Guilty Conscience
Author's Note: Sooo, yeah. Sorry it's been a while since I updated, I've just had junk to do. And then I totally forgot about it. But here it is. I can't really tell you how much I appriciate such kind reviews. My ego is throbbing, I'm going to have to lance it off before it explodes. ^^ …
WARNING: Once this story hits chapter six, this story will change to an R. I'm saying this again because I don't want people to be confused if it suddenly disappears. It's not disappearing it's just jumping over into the R section.
…
Skinner gave a deep sigh as he trudged down the hallway, back to check Tom's room for the second time. He had been looking for what seemed like hours now, but his search had proved inconclusive. Not only that, but no one else had seen him either. He had hunted down both Nemo and Mina, and both had shrugged and suggested that he check his room, which he had obviously already done. After a while, he found himself stopping random crewmen in the corridors to ask if they had seen him lately. One of them had nervously shook his head and offered politely to show him where Sawyer's bedroom was, upon which Skinner blew up and proceeded to bite his head off, screaming some strand of irritated nonsense about how 'if I didn't know where his room was I would've asked you where his room was because I have the sense enough to look there first of all places and why wouldn't I know which room was his, don't you know who we are and just how the hell would you know where his room is anyway?'…
Admittedly he had gotten a little carried away. The man positively ran from him with his tail between his legs. And he was still no closer to finding Sawyer. As he approached the room, he looked around to see the exact same sight that had greeted him an hour ago when he last looked. Finely made bed, clothes picked up off the floor and onto a chair, bathroom door opened just slightly. No sign of the kid anywhere. Exasperated, he turned and started on his way back to his own room. What did you say to him, Jekyll? He asked himself tiredly. He was becoming increasingly worried, but he figured that Sawyer would have to come back on his own time. American boys and their tempers…
'I believe I said awful things to him, terrible things..' he remembered Jekyll saying. Sawyer wasn't one to bruise easily, so the words must have indeed been cruel. Or maybe he was just being too stubborn about it. So where was he? Taking a few words that hard? And what about Dr. Jekyll? That little episode couldn't go on ignored, could it? …He would certainly have to talk to Captain Nemo about it. If he had an outburst like this once, it was liable to happen again, and he wasn't about to let this crew live in that kind of danger. Hyde had single handedly pulled this ship back together once, surely he could just as easily tear it apart. He was unstable. But undoubtedly the others would take pity on Jekyll, being the good man he was. They would more than likely resent Skinner for suggesting that they think twice about letting him stay, ever hopeful that a solution would just fall into their laps if they let it well enough alone.
Not a moment's rest, if anyone bothered to ask him. They couldn't just leave the problem alone, could they? But it was likely that they would accuse him of being cold hearted, when his intentions were really the opposite. But why should he expect any different? Most people considered him to be some perverted voyeur, a dull miscreant who was pretty much only concerned with his own business and did what he saw fit. Perhaps he did like to spy on people now and then and maybe get a few laughs out of the process, but they apparently didn't understand why. He enjoyed the idea that he could see anyone at any time whenever he felt like it, check in on them from time to time. It never occurred to him that it was an invasion of privacy. Maybe he was somewhat spoiled, or took advantage of his abilities. After all, Quartermain hadn't much appriciated his elusive drop-ins. Well, no use mulling over things.
He was just about to give up his search for now and enter his room when, much to his relief, he saw Sawyer plodding down the hall, gaze low and lost in thought, seemingly unaware that Skinner stood a mere few feet away. "There you are, Tomcat, I been lookin' all over for you." He said, loud enough to get his attention.
Tom looked up with what appeared to be shock and quickly averted his gaze, slowing his pace. "Mm." Was all he said.
"What's on your mind?" he asked carefully, seeing the distraught look on his face.
" 'What ain't on my mind, that's the million dollar question'." He said. Such a remark usually would have made Skinner at least chuckle, but his tone had been too dead and mirthless, as though he were merely repeating some rehearsed line he had no taste for.
"…Sawyer, I kno-"
"If you wanna talk to me about this afternoon, let me save you the trouble." He said sharply. "I ain't talkin' about it."
"Come on, don't get all fussy on me." Skinner said, a little irritated by this point as he tightened one of his gloves that had fallen loose.
Tom gawked at him with what almost looked like hurt before looking away again and walking quickly past him to return to his room.
"Sawyer-." Skinner called, confused. As Tom walked past him, he snatched him by the upper arm and turned him to face him. "Tom, I'm not lettin' you do that. Don't walk away from me when I'm not your problem."
He struggled only momentarily before relenting to his grasp and standing still, unable to bring himself to look at his face. He swallowed and took a deep breath. " 'm'sorry, okay? Just tired."
"That ain't it and you know it. You can't fool me, kid, remember?" he studied his face for answers. "Tell me what it is."
"Don't much feel like talkin'." He muttered. "Let go."
"That's too bad, Sawyer." He stated roughly. "I just spent a good coupla hours goin' outta my mind tryin' t'find you just to have this conversation, so you owe it to me."
He grimaced, trying one more time to weakly break his hold.
"Stop fightin' me." He pleaded. "Now I don't know what went on between you and Jekyll, but I know it couldn't be good t'tear you up like this."
He looked up briefly before shaking his head. It broke Skinner a little to see emptiness where there had once been fire and luster in his bleak eyes. "I can handle myself just fine, and it ain't really any of your business. I don't need your help." He said coldly.
"Not gonna stop you from gettin' it." Skinner lifted an eyebrow. "First off, where were you?"
"So now what, Skinner, you too?" he said, lashing out with a wolfish glare. "You gonna chastise me for being some smart ass kid?"
"It's not like that." He defended.
"Just what were you thinkin' last night, huh?" Tom snorted. "I was an easy target? Too young and naïve to say no? Well you got what you wanted so-"
"Stop it!" Skinner snapped, appalled. "Just what in the hell makes you think that?"
Tom seemed to flatten, bowing his head as his scowl disappeared. "God, I didn't mean that…"
"…What is the matter with you…?"
"Just let me go…please."
"No." he answered simply, holding his grip firm.
"Stop tryin' t'save me." Tom said. "It won't do you any good."
"What do you mean?"
"Well it hasn't so far." He growled, shaking his head as he saw that he must offer an explanation. "Jekyll thinks that I was the one that killed Quartermain. That I stabbed the old man in the back and left him to rot back in Africa. That I was a burden to this crew. That I'm useless, can't care for myself. That I get people killed, that I'd do anything to save my own skin, that I shoulda been the one t'die. I guess it's what he was thinkin' all along, and I've been walkin' around blind to it. Happy?" He said these things void of emotion, staring blankly over Skinner's shoulder.
"Well I guess he don't know much, than. Besides, he told me t'apologize for 'im…" He raised a hand to touch the boy's face, startled when Tom turned his head away as though the hand would sting him with a faint whimper. He slowly lowered his hand with a disheartened compassion as Tom mumbled something incoherently. "What did you say?"
"I said he's fucking right." He repeated loudly, eyes staring into Skinner's shaded sunglasses. "Isn't that what you wanted to hear? It was my fault, I've always known that. I guess I must've just thought I could pretend it never happened. Maybe I didn't kill him, but I didn't make a move to help him, and standing by and watching is just as bad."
"Sawyer…" he stammered, shocked.
"I was hiding behind other people. All my goddamn life I've been tryin' to grow up and I haven't learned anything. Quartermain told me to keep my eyes open because he couldn't watch my ass all the time. That's what he died doin', watchin' my ass, because I didn't listen to him. I let him die. I didn't learn a damn thing, and I let a man die for it." He explained, both angered and ashamed.
"No, that's not-"
"Just like when I was a stupid kid. Expecting everyone else to look out for me. Like Quartermain. Like you." He trailed off.
"Now just you listen here, what I did was my choice, my decision for me to make, and there ain't a minute in my mind I regret doin' it. You hear me?" He raised his hand again and hesitantly rubbed the back of it against his cheek. Tom looked down with an expression almost like the touch pained him. "Same as it was for Quartermain, understand?"
"I should go home." He said simply. "I can't stay here any more. I'm no good to the crew, and I bet anything that they agree. And besides…I'm sure I've got things t'take care of back home. Things I left unfinished." his eyes misted over in a hazy state of apathy.
"Sawyer, I'll tell you something," Skinner gently released his arm. "Watchin' yourself all the time, twenty-four seven is a damn near impossible job. People look out for each other when they care about each other, get it? Because I happen t'like watchin' your ass…"
He looked up, shaking his head. "I ain't your responsibility…"
"Yeah you are…" he ruffled his hair. "See I care 'bout you, mate. An' just 'cause I got the scars now t'prove it don't make me bitter none."
"…You want me to forget about it? I couldn't take care of myself, damn it, I couldn't do it, and now Quartermain's payin' the price. It's the first time I've ever really been ashamed a'myself, and…and it's not even the first time I should." he whispered, staring down at the ground.
Skinner pulled his arms around him in a suffocating embrace, hard enough to ensure that he wouldn't be speaking without some definite effort. "Sawyer, don't you even remember the things ya did, you idiot? Without you, that whole crowd at the carnival in Venice woulda been blown t'smithereens, not to mention the rest of us. It's for that that I owe you m'life once. Your sharp shootin' that maniac before he made his get away, what about that? Quit pinin' over what ya couldn't do and look at what you could. At what you did."
Tom was silent for a long while, his mind assumedly chewing over what he said.
Skinner pulled him back and studied his face, scanning his tired eyes. "Okay?"
"…I'm sorry." He said.
"Nah, nah, none a'that, just cheer up. Smile, come on." He flicked him in the chin.
Tom tried to give a halfhearted smirk, but failed and looked down again, shrugging. "You think I'm bein' stupid?"
"Yeah. Sort of." He agreed, placing a hand behind Tom's head and forcing him into a sudden kiss.
This time Tom willingly accepted his grip, clutching back at him as though he were his only lifeline. Skinner blindly reached his hand behind him, opening the door to his room and pulling them both inside. Tom again found himself pinned to the bed, struggling to remove Skinner's jacket as he kicked off his shoes and numbly reacted to every other touch he felt crawling over his skin. Tom clenched his eyes shut for a moment as he felt a hand moving up his leg and caressing the pulsating muscles underneath, allowing himself to cry out as it reached the expanding mound between them. His lips fell open to meet Skinner's wandering tongue, cheeks flushing and breath heaving in his lungs. His eyes opened breifly and he looked up for a minute, causing him to stop.
Skinner stared down at him with his chest rising and falling at a rigid pace, confusion beginning to dawn on his features. "…What is it…?"
"Skinner…I-I can't do this…" he quickly pulled himself away and stood.
"What?" Skinner pushed himself onto his knees, staring at him quizically. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"I'm sorry…" He turned away, walked out of the room with his head low and his shoes still lying somewhere on Skinner's floor.
"Tom-" he reached out a hand, but stopped himself, freezing in bewilderment as he heard the boy's footsteps echo down the hall. "…damn…" he stuttered before sitting back and burying his face into his hands in frustration. …what is goin' on in that head of his?