CHAPTER 8

Dr. Jekyll paused hesitantly at Quatermain's door, collecting his thoughts for what he knew was a certainty. What he was about to discuss with the hunter would not sit well, probably causing an unwanted skirmish. Sucking in a shaky breath, he summoned the courage to tap on the ornate door, cringing slightly when he heard the bellowed greeting on the other side.

"It's Dr. Jekyll. Might I have a word with you?" the nervous man asked through the closed door.

"What are you waiting for, man," Allan called out impatiently. "Come in." He eyed the fidgety doctor entering inside his room with leeriness. Something was definitely bothering Jekyll. Placing his spectacles down on a pile of papers, he gestured for his guest to pull up a chair.

"I wanted to discuss this with you in private," Jekyll began. "It's about Tom..."

"Still have questions about my plans?"

"No, this is a different matter." Henry bobbed his head once in a display of determination. "I know Tom's welfare is your highest priority, and you'll want to do what is best for him," the handsome doctor rambled out in one breath.

"Just get to the point, Jekyll," Quatermain said with a stifled yawn, rubbing at his sleep deprived eyes. "You foresee some sort of danger?"

"I want to address Tom's reaction to your presence."

"To me?" At first the dark brows furrowed, but Allan waved the notion aside with a swipe of his hand in the air. "Is this what has your knickers in a twist?"

"Yes," Henry nodded his head emphatically, "people react differently to a shock like this..."

"A shock?" The hunter paused, looking at Henry with skepticism. Sawyer shocked to see him? "He'll be fine, Jekyll. If you don't mind, I need to worry about more pressing matters." Quatermain turned his attention back to his papers, ignoring his guest.

Dr. Jekyll blinked at the curt dismissal, his confidence waning. He heard a deep, guttural laugh in the back of his conscious, the mocking nature of it making the doctor sweat.

"Come on, Henry," Jekyll's split personality, Edward Hyde, teased. "Are you that afraid of him? What about that American pup you were so concerned about? All alone, thinking the great Allan Quatermain is dead. HA! Let me show the old man some concern for the boy!"

"Allan," Henry persisted, pushing Edward's voice deeper into his mind, "he thinks you're dead. Surely seeing you just 'appear' would cause a negative reaction."

With an exasperated sigh, Quatermain glanced over at Jekyll. "Yes, he'll be surprised...like you all were, but he'll get over it, just like you all did. I'll talk to him..."

"Maybe one of us should talk to him first," Jekyll pointed out, "to tell him you're alive."

The hazel eyes grew hard. "I can bloody do that myself."

"I know you want to see Tom, make sure he's alright," Jekyll soothed, trying another approach. "It's been difficult, not knowing..."

"Then from where I sit, this conversation is over," Quatermain replied sharply. "You've made my case for seeing the lad...first...quite nicely."

"Don't let him talk to us that way, Henry. Let me out, I'll persuade him."

"No," the doctor growled to his inner voice.

"Are you still here?" Allan snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"I'll leave when I've stated my concerns," Henry replied shakily, not liking the look in the older man's eyes.

"You have, and I say they're without merit." The seasoned adventurer went back to his papers.

"And I say that Sawyer could see you, and bolt in confusion," Dr. Jekyll responded testily.

Quatermain's head shot up, his nostrils flaring at the tone in the doctor's voice. "That's preposterous!" he thundered.

Finding his courage, Jekyll stared back at his leader. "Is it?" he questioned. "He comes home, finds a dead man waiting for him? What do most people do when they've seen a ghost? They run from it, that's what."

"Sawyer won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Look at all he's been through, man! He's watched a vampire rip out the throat of a deadly thug, saw an invisible man, chased down a beast, and faced many challenges and dangers." Quatermain threw his hands up slightly in futility. "What more proof do you need?"

"You may be absolutely right," Jekyll answered, "but there's still a chance Tom may react differently. He took your death extremely hard..."

"That's why I need to see him!" The table vibrated from the fist that slammed into it. "To let him know it wasn't his fault!" Lowering his head, the hunter avoided looking at Jekyll directly in the face. Dammit, he was getting emotional again.

"All I'm asking for is a few minutes of Sawyer's time. You can see him as soon as he realizes you're alive and not some apparition. With someone possibly after him, we can't afford to have him wandering around in a daze." Henry's tone quieted as he studied Quatermain's thoughtful frown. "It'll only take a few minutes, and I know you can be a bit more patient for Tom's safety."

Grunting, Allan nodded his head in concession. "I won't speak to the lad until you do," he vowed begrudgingly. "I don't want to be chasing him all over the bloody city."

Jekyll chuckled inside at Quatermain's obvious attempt at nonchalance. It was no secret to him or the others that the gruff, standoffish, old explorer had developed a paternal attachment to the young spy. Rising from his seat, Henry smiled in parting.

"I'll not bother you further. Good night, Allan."

"Yes, good night," Quatermain returned half-heartedly.

Closing Quatermain's cabin door behind him, Dr. Jekyll puffed his chest out a little in satisfaction. He had stood up to their leader...and won.

"What's the matter, Edward?" Jekyll asked his brutish alter ego. "Got nothing to say?" Hearing only small grumbles from the far reaches of his inner being, the lanky doctor was assured of a peaceful night sleep for a change.

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Only a few streets down from his house, Sawyer brought Dorian to a quaint tavern he frequented with Huck Finn and Joe Harper. The owner and his wife, the O'Brien's were fond of the three men, their boisterous laughter and antics livening many an ordinary night. A sad smile formed as Tom realized this was the first time since Huck's death that he's darkened the doorway.

Seeing the blonde agent enter, Mrs. Aimee O'Brien rushed over and gave Tom an enveloping hug. "Lookee here, Charlie my love," she called out to her husband in her thick, Irish brogue, "my pretty lil' Tom has come to see us!" The middle aged woman wrapped an arm around Sawyer's waist, ushering the young man further inside. "It does this ol' heart good to see a sight like you walking through the doors," she continued to gush. "Is my Joey coming as well?"

The smile faded from Tom's face. "I can't rightly say, Miz Aimee," he replied softly. Had Joe avoided coming here too?

"And where have you been my dearest boy?" Aimee O'Brien demanded good-naturedly, hoping to bring back that smile she adored so much.

"Been over in Europe..."

"Europe? Charlie? Did you hear that? Our Tom's been in Europe all this time!" Aimee cried out happily. She turned her attention back to her favorite customer and pinched his cheek gently. "Missed you so."

Smiling shyly, Sawyer ducked his head a little. "Missed you and Charlie too, and no one in Europe can cook like you two can."

This brought a laugh from the greying woman. "Ah, that's my sweet Tom!"

Dorian squirmed in the background, the impulse to vomit building at every word. He most likely would have gotten sick by now, if he had anything in his stomach to bring up. "Excuse me," he fumed, digging Sawyer in the back with his cane, "we did come here to dine...did we not?"

"Oh...yeah," Tom realized, having blissfully forgotten Gray's existence for a moment. "Miz Aimee, this is someone I worked with...briefly...back in Europe. Mr. Dorian Gray."

Eyeing the aristocrat quizzically, she let out a huff of air. "Well now, he's a dandy looking sort isn't he? Can't imagine the two of you becoming friends."

"We aren't." Both Tom and Dorian said in unison.

Aimee chuckled to herself. "So I see!" Slipping her arm through Sawyer's she led him through a small doorway, and into the dinning area. "I can't imagine what's keeping my Charlie," she said absently, gesturing for Tom to sit down at a little corner table. "I'll be back in a wee bit, dearest."

The immortal stood stiffly near an opposite facing chair, waiting for the proprietress to offer him a seat as well, but the woman scurried away after arranging the table. Angrily he plopped down into his seat giving Sawyer a venomous glower. He was not accustomed to being ignored so blatantly.

"What'd I do now?" Tom grinned at the immortal. "You wanted to eat, right? This is the best place I know of."

"My digestive system can hardly wait," Dorian said dryly. He eyed the large room, decorated in soft, earthy tones, accentuated by warm lighting. The atmosphere made him yearn for the dark, posh, romantic restaurants he patronized back in London and Paris. This place was...comfortable, happy, and inviting. Scowling, Gray folded his arms across his chest. If the food was a banal as the decor, he was surely going to get indigestion!

Chuckling, Sawyer shook his head. "Stop your poutin', will you?"

"I am not pouting," Gray answered testily.

Tom shrugged. "Suit yourself." Shifting in his seat, the spy felt the small, but thick journal of Huck's that he had placed in his back pocket. He reached behind him and pulled out the item, his eyes demanding answers from the man across from him.

"Why did you take this from M?"

"At the time I was furious at Moriarty for stealing my portrait, so I took something that he prized," Dorian explained, his tone one of boredom. "If Moriarty tried to double-cross me, then I had this to barter with."

"This?" Sawyer looked down at the journal. "It's just Huck's thinkin' book."

A brown eyebrow rose, the comment biting. "Thinking book? That description is astoundingly over simplistic...even by your normal standards."

Ready to tear into the immortal for the insensitive remark, Tom calmed himself. It was actually Huck's term for the journal, but he'd take the blame for the terminology for his friend's sake. Poor Finn had been accused of being ignorant all his young life, and Sawyer wasn't going to allow the smug aristocrat to do it to him in death. True, Huck was simplistic in his ways, and sometimes it drove Tom himself crazy, but it wasn't because he was stupid, it was the fact that few had taken the time to help the impoverished youth. No one was more thoughtful or loyal than Huck Finn, and the young spy couldn't begin to express how much their friendship meant to him.

At first Gray smiled in triumph, his companion's silence telling him his remark had hit a nerve, but the look now on the blonde's face was one of sorrow, not embarrassment. Sighing, he fingered the cheesecloth napkin that held his eating utensils. He would have to force himself to play a little nice here and there if he ever hoped to get the American's help in getting back into the League.

"It turns out your friend was getting too close to the truth," Dorian offered.

"So that's why M murdered Huck," Sawyer muttered.

"No," Gray corrected, "M killed him for this journal. He knew all along who this Finn person was, and why he was there."

The American agent's eyes grew wide. "How? Huck was workin' undercover!"

Gray shrugged. "M boasted he purposely let the spy in his gang for amusement, and when that became boring, he would kill him. But somehow your fellow agent found out something even M hadn't planned on."

Tom could barely hold in the rage that overtook him at M's cold-blooded treatment of Huck. That bastard knew all along? Huck had walked straight into a death sentence! Placing the journal back into his pocket, Sawyer held his fury in check. With Gray sleeping under his roof, the young man knew he'd get no rest, allowing for the perfect opportunity to read the last entries in the book.

Aimee O'Brien whisked back into the dining area, her face beaming. "Sorry dearest, had other customers to attend to," she explained to Tom, placing a menu down in front of Gray. "Turns out Charlie is in back, making up a batch of your favorite...crawdad gumbo." Hearing the immortal snort in disgust, the greying brunette jerked her thumb in Dorian's direction. "I figured 'this one' wouldn't appreciate a delicacy like that."

"Your concern is touching," Gray said sourly, opening the menu.

"I haven't had that ages," Sawyer smiled at the woman, his stomach reminding him how long it had been since he last ate. "It sure would go down fine tonight, Miz Aimee. Thank you."

The lady winked and playfully cupped Tom's chin in her hand. "Anything to see that smile." Turning to face Gray, the happy demeanor faded. She didn't like this one for some reason. "I'll be back in a few minutes to get your order, Mr. Gray. You will be ready then, won't you?"

Seeing the aristocrat's shackles rise, Sawyer hurried to stop the nasty remark that was sure to escape the man's curled lips. "Thank you, Miz Aimee, I'll help him find somethin'," the spy said cheerfully, kicking Dorian lightly under the table to remain silent. "Don't want to keep your other customers waitin' on account of us."

Mrs. O'Brien left the two men alone, rushing into the bar area to greet the customers slowly filing in from their various places of work to enjoy a quick drink before heading home. Gray returned to his perusal of the menu, his face a mask of displeasure. Had he sunk this low? Being forced to mingle with the common folk? He had visited pubs back in London, but only to find victims for his cruel entertainments.

Yes, his victims. An involuntary shiver left the immortal's body as he recalled how he was forced in the pits of Hell to endure the pain and shame his victims felt at his hands. Some of his former victims were in Hell themselves, inflicting the punishment they suffered upon him.

"Somethin' wrong?" Sawyer asked, watching Dorian's face turn ashen.

Gray's brow furrowed at the question. "Never mind," he chose to snap, going back to the menu. "What is this crawdad gumbo concoction that female alluded to?"

"It's really good. A bit on the spicy side."

"And what in heaven's name is a...crawdad?"

Sawyer grinned. "They're like baby lobsters."

Lobsters? Dorian's agitated countenance softened a bit. He did enjoy lobster. Besides, nothing else on the menu looked consumable. "I'll try this dish you're so fond of," he relented dramatically. "At least I can't die of food poisoning."

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Soaring above the quiet countryside, her silken, auburn hair flowing freely in the wind, Mina flew over the spot where she had discovered the strange, powder like substance. Her conversation with the elderly resident earlier in the day had proven quite fruitful, providing many possible theories on the kidnaped agents. Using her bat-like powers, she scaled up to the top of a rock formation with agility and speed, her eyes searching eagerly as she glanced down below.

The powdery material formed almost an oval shape, the grass around it totally untouched...as if an object had arrived there from above. How could something so huge have descended from the sky, and leave barely a trace? Even the area inside the powder was undamaged, with no signs of anything landing on the ground.

Mina thought back to what the elderly man had said; the agents were suddenly engulfed by a bright light, then disappeared. Only light...no mode of transportation to carry the men off. Even something styled after Nemo's automobile would have left some sort of tracks. A carriage, a group of men, a hot air balloon...all of them would have left sort of imprint.

A troubled frown came upon the full lips of the beautiful half-vampire. Bond was right; this was very well something more sinister.