Author's Note: This chapter is a little shorter, but hey? It's a chapter right? Written all in one go for a change, which was nice. Squeee! Why am I squeee-ing? No matter. Hope you 'enjoy' the update.

BigMacAttack: Tom angst does seem quite addictive. Thank you, and I hope you like this part.

Marcus Lazarus: You confused me with your name change, heh! Took me a moment to figure it out. Skinner's a good lifeline, in his own ways, as you can see.

funyun I have almost no restraint when it comes to angst, so it was probably quite a shock. Especially to me. How did I manage?! Heh.

Angharad: Thanks, and I hope you like this too.

Sawyer Fan: He would've died without water, especially with the torture. Gah. Not good. Not even I'm that mean. Skinner may be a thief, but he thinks on his feet.

Capt. Cow: Olympics bore me, heh. Argh! Not the cherries!

Sethoz: #It was a murder, but not a crime!# Sorry, Chicago moment. Ahem. Gah, you and that breadstick. Glad you loved it, and here's the next part.

Funky In Fishnet: Thank you for the compliment. Very comforting. M's trying to kill him… or M-muse, I should say. ::pokes M-muse:: Oh, thank you for the comment about Skinner. Also very comforting. Skinner is third of my fave-list, so I'm glad I can pull him off.

Acid: Gah, updating! Updating! O.O

Freedomfighter82: Feeling okay now? O.o You went a tad nuts there.

kingleby Hehehehe, here's the update.

wakingbear I suck? O.o Um… I suck? Here's more… do I still suck?

And now for the new part of Envenom…


Dante was on his way to his room to refresh himself before checking with James in his offices, his pace brisk and precise, his mind blissfully set on his actions. He never gave in to mindless wandering of thought, and it had served him well in his years.

Of course, when he turned the corner, the last person he had expected to encounter was the immortal, Gray. They regarded each other for a long time, simply studying one another, as if for the first time, perhaps sizing each other up for a potential combat. Dante was confident he would get a few blows in before Gray would end him though, if it ever came to that. He wasn't deluded enough to think he could win, though. After all, Gray was immortal, and therefore impervious to defeat.

"Out for a stroll, Gray?" he asked gruffly, eyeing the man with curiosity. He hadn't seen the man out of his room much since their arrival. Though, he supposed, the amount of time they had spent on the Nautiloid trapped together was enough to make any man – immortal or no – seek privacy for a while.

"I was heading along to distract myself for a while," Gray commented in response, his light drawl almost lazy, though not quite so bored as normal. "I find my mind runs away with me when I have little to occupy my time with… and I'm not fond of that."

Dante's mind started to run, and he smiled just at the corner of his mouth. His brain snapped into focus, locking on the answer to the unasked question. "You're going to the boy."

Gray lifted his brows nonchalantly, and eyed his cuticles for a moment, twirling his cane idly in his other hand. "As a matter of fact… I was. I do believe the Professor would allow me the privilege. After all, I have no overpowering urge to… break every bone in his body, as another would." He eyed Dante knowingly, making the lieutenant chuckle lightly. "Care to join me?"

Dante hadn't been expecting that, and he ran a hand over his close-shaven head in consideration. It was a very tempting offer. So long as he kept from hurting the boy too much, James wouldn't mind, would he? Why would he? The boy was here for only one reason after all, and that was for this purpose. James hadn't even intended to capture the American, but hadn't quibbled with the fact when Dante had delivered him. What could it hurt?

"Very well. I accept your 'offer'," Dante replied with a sly smirk.

Dorian Gray smiled lightly, and led the way, the lieutenant not far behind him, their paces matching easily and swiftly, light but ready should anything happen. It wasn't that Dante expected anything to occur. James' fortress was nigh impenetrable, after all, and he was confident in that respect.


Skinner was in the process of trying to dispose of the towel when his expertly tuned ears caught onto the sound. Approaching footsteps that caused his heart to constrict madly for a moment, and his hands jerked with the thought that someone might catch him.

Sawyer caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked to Skinner immediately, asking the question with his slightly alarmed gaze. He knew something was wrong.

"Someone's comin'," Skinner whispered harshly, and with lack of anything else to do with it, he grabbed the fire poker, hooked the towel onto it, and thrust it into the very back of the flames. It ate the cloth immediately, gnawing and burning at it hungrily and greedily, and he lay the poker back where it had been, concealing himself in the corner for further – and far from eager – observation. He watched as Sawyer glanced to the door, face twisted into an expression of mild despair and consideration of his actions, before he relaxed as much of his body as possible, and feigned unconsciousness.

Skinner had to hand it to him; it was quite a clever idea. It might save M from hurting him too badly, after all. But then again, as his listened, Skinner furrowed his brow. That wasn't just one figure… it was two.

Was Dante coming back as well?

The door opened carefully, and two figures entered, as Skinner had expected. But what he had not counted on was Dorian being the first of the pair. With a single spin of his cane, he carried on in his entrance, permitting the rough lieutenant to enter as well. The door closed behind them. Skinner could see the less than subtle rise and fall of Sawyer's chest, and internally asked the young man to calm his breathing.

Calm down… c'mon, calm down. They'll know.


Dorian cocked his head in idle thought, watching the figure hanging from the chains, and looked to his companion. Something wasn't quite right about the way Sawyer hung there, and Dorian studied his form again. He could see the bloodied shirt, the burns on the torso, and the matted hair at the side of the dropped head. Narrowing his eyes, he looked to Dante again.

The wan lighting in the room was provided mostly from the fire, and it played oddly around the room, casting eerie elongated shadows across the walls, like faces and dancing figures, gleefully expecting mischief. Dorian almost smiled, his face consumed by the gloom for a moment, from his place next to the lieutenant. Their twin gazes watched the rise and fall of the chest, before it settled on the immortal. He knew what was amiss about the positioning. Even as he watched carefully, the right foot shifted very slightly, almost an unnoticeable action, were it not for his experienced and keen eyes.

Smiling just slightly, he approached slowly, propping his cane beside an armchair to his right, and walked up to face the hanging figure at a reasonable distance, within reach, but far enough away should the boy wish to strike, for what little good it would do him.

Dante watched eagerly, almost quivering with anticipation, something that Dorian noted as over enthusiasm and cast aside.

Reaching out with his right hand slowly and steadily, he angled it to Sawyer's head, and carefully lay it down on the back of the skull, disturbing the hair.

Either he had startled the boy, or Sawyer had wanted to startle in return, but either way, he jerked noticeably, and thrashed upright with a slight yell. The chains rattled noisily, and Dorian withdrew his hand calmly, eyeing the surprised face as it turned in his direction. The panting asserted itself in Sawyer's frame, and his eyes blazed with anger.

"Gray," he growled, even as Dante stalked forward, representing the lion circling the wounded prey, singled out from the herd and prized for the kill. As to whether or not M did indeed plan to kill Sawyer was unknown to Dorian… and frankly, none of his concern. He cared very little what they did with the child, so long as he could have his odd moments to… what was the word? Gloat, perhaps? Not exactly what he was after, but it would suit his purposes.

"Hello, Agent Sawyer," he returned simply, almost kindly, save for the undertone of intent. He was not here to comfort… oh no. And he was aware that Sawyer had to know that. It was clear in his posture and expression. The boy expected more blows; more pain.

Glutton for punishment, Dorian thought to himself with a smile aimed at the agent, and sighed lightly.

"What're you doin' here?" Sawyer asked breathlessly, twisting his head to watch Dante nervously for a moment, though it was clear he tried to hide his anxiety about the lieutenant. He simply failed to keep it from the immortal that was all.

"Why, I came to see how you were… holding out," Dorian replied lazily, admiring the ring on his finger for a moment as if he had never before gazed upon it.

"You don't care, Gray," Sawyer retorted with indignation. "You never did. What do you really want?"

Dante had paused slightly off to Sawyer's side, gazing at the bloodied patch almost keenly, but Dorian ignored him. "Well… use that vivid imagination of yours, Thomas, and you might answer your own question. I know for a fact that my friend here," he indicated Dante with a slight wave of the hand, "is quite eager to sate his urges. I, however, am not one for physical exertion."

It washed over Sawyer's face then, showing that he at least partially understood what the immortal meant by that. M would break the body, and Dorian would toy with the mind, as a cat would a mouse. He had always quite admired felines for their cunning and prowess.

"I see James removed the blade," Dante said slyly, practically a hiss, and Sawyer watched him, breath quickening. "I expect he did that whilst you were awake, boy, hmm?"


Tom couldn't keep his eyes on both Dorian and Dante at the same time, but for the moment was satisfied with them being firmly on the lieutenant, trying to figure out what it was he was building up to. It would be a strike, he knew, but of what kind… and where?

When Dante asked his question, Tom couldn't stop his retort, "You already know the answer to that."

Dante laughed, and carried on pacing around Tom, leaving him to stare at the suspicious figure of Dorian Gray, who simply watched, impassive and as infuriating in presence as he was in voice. He was up to something, Tom knew, but he couldn't put his finger on it, even as Dante struck.

The bare fisted blow landed to the lower left side of Tom's back, stealing a cry from him, and he threw his head back a little, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, before rolling his head forward again, eyes closed for a moment, too swarmed in his own thoughts to even notice Dante's laugh.

"A man can only hold out so long," Dorian began. "He can only take so much… before the body simply gives up on him. The mind follows, but usually takes more before it snaps."

Tom listened, but only because he couldn't shut out the voice. If nothing else drove him mad, Dorian's talking would. He steeled himself for the next blow that he expected from Dante, which came at the back of his right knee, with a solid kick, and he merely gave a muffled sound of discomfort before easing the foot back to its position, ready for the next blow.

"It can take so much more abuse before it all just fades away… memories, happiness… optimism." Dorian's continuation was just as steady as his beginning, and Tom tried his best to ignore, knowing he was beginning his mental strike as Dante continued where M had left off.

Dante was still behind him, and Tom closed his eyes, knowing – feeling – it was coming, even as Dorian pressed on.

"Piece by piece, you lose who you are."

Tom cried out as a shallow cut landed across his back. His fists clenched in their chains.

"The light will fade from your eyes."

Dante struck again, with another shout from Tom, though quieter.

"You forget the meaning and feel of a smile."

The third cut earned a groan and slight whimper from Tom, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying not to feel it as it washed over him.

"You cease to be who you were known as."

Dante stalked around in front of him, the very edge of his jagged dagger red with Tom's blood, and the agent opened his eyes to watch the lieutenant.

"You become a blank canvas, almost."

Dante pulled back a fist, and Tom braced himself, wincing ahead of time, almost angling his face away.

"… You die."

Tom screamed with all the air in his lungs as Dante's fist slammed against the puncture wound in his side, and by the time the cry had faded away, he had slipped from consciousness again.

To Be Continued…