A/N: Action and angst galore! I'm so glad you liked that last chapter... here, as a reward, have the follow-up to the cliffy ;) Keep up with telling me what you think. It makes me smile every time I open my mail :D
Skinner did all his mind yelled at him to do, which was find the biggest rock at hand, and launch it with all his strength right at that man's smug face. He did exactly that, and watched with satisfaction and pride as the rock hit Charles Evans right in the head, unbalancing him.
The man to his right turned his gun in Skinner's general direction and pulled on the trigger angrily, firing off three shots before realising no one was there.
It didn't matter. It had given Sawyer just the oppurtunity he needed to withdraw his pistols and pump half of the rounds into the very same man, who disappeared back into the shadows screaming in agony.
Delacroix mirrored Tom, and shot at two different targets at once, arms wide, taking them both out. The man to the left of Evans went down in pain, and someone up in the building ahead fell out of the window shouting as he was struck.
One of the other assailants launched themselves at Sawyer, ploughing into him from the side, causing them both to go down, and punching Tom round the face, trying to rid him of one of his guns.
Skinner ran in despite his reservations and jumped on to the back of Sawyer's assailant. The man grunted, and Sawyer gave a cry, shouting, "Get off! You're gonna crush me, dammit!"
Skinner practically tore the man from Sawyer, who groaned, and got to his knees before a foot met him in the chest, slamming him back into the fence, causing him to lose grip on his pistols. It was Evans, bleeding from a wound to his temple, Skinner noticed.
Delacroix had become too entangled with a large brute of a figure to notice, and Skinner was grappling with his new acquaintance, who more or less growled at the invisible man in fury. He struck out at him blindly, trying to land a blow on him.
Sawyer coughed from the kick to the chest, and only just managed to avoid the next one aimed at his face, ducking, and then throwing himself into Evans bodily. The two went down in a heap.
Skinner was caught unawares, and something hit him before he succumbed to darkness, and remembered nothing further.
His chest burned from the blow, and his mind tried to make sense of what had just happened, but it failed miserably. Instead, he just concentrated on punching Evans in the face as many times as he could before his strength failed.
That was approximately seven times before Evans kneed him in the gut painfully, and he rolled over onto his back, gasping, before a foot slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him at once.
"Tom!" he heard Anise cry through his haze of discomfort, and opened his eyes just in time to see the polished shoe coming straight for his head. He rolled over again as quickly as he could, and scrambled to his feet, slightly dizzy.
He heard his name called again, and looked up as Evans approached angrily to see Anise throw something his way. It sailed over Evans' own head, and Tom caught it in both hands, spinning it skilfully until the barrel met the Englishman's face. He stopped at once, and eyed Tom sceptically.
"You wouldn't dare."
Tom raised his eyebrows, panting, his ribs aching slightly with each breath he took. "No?" He remembered the threats Evans' had thrown their way, the dogs as he'd killed them. "Shall we test that theory?"
Before Tom could pull the trigger though, a huge bestial roar met his ears, and a pounding could be heard as Hyde entered the scene in a rage. Bats exploded into the area from all around, and the confusion gave Evans just the oppurtunity he had been waiting for.
His hand snatched the barrel of the gun, aiming it off into the sky as it fired, and his fist slammed into Tom's jaw, throwing him to the ground forcefully. Tom closed his eyes as colours swam deliriously in them, and he groaned as everything went suddenly quiet.
Running stopped at his side, and a hand touched his arm. "Tom? Tom, are you all right?"
Anise... she was okay. Tom opened his eyes slowly, and looked up at her in mild discomfort, and nodded. "I'm fine."
Mina Harker was at his side too then, and she looked into Tom's eyes. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Tom told her abruptly, wishing she would go away and mind her own business. He got to his knees, and then used his hands to push himself to his feet carefully, still a little light-headed from the blows Evans had landed on him. Anise touched a palm against his cheek softly, and Tom met her gaze. She was practically in tears. "Oh, god, I thought he was going to kill you." She smiled despite her statement.
Tom winced slightly, subtlely so Mina wouldn't bother him with questions, and replied, "Sure seemed like it for a minute there."
Anise had pulled him tightly into an embrace before he could do anything to stop it, and he gave a gasp. She drew back from him at once, appearing guilty. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing," Tom stated, holding a hand to his stomach.
Hyde paced over, and grumbled, "Henry will want to confirm that."
Tom looked up at Hyde, then at Mina who was staring at him defiantly, and sighed. "Fine." Something struck him then in his mind, and he searched the ground and surrounding area at once.
"What is it?" asked Anise.
"Skinner," Tom informed her and the others, "he's around here somewhere."
"Oh, I didn't know you cared," groaned a voice from a little way off to the side. The fence rattled as if a hand had groped against it, and then Skinner's voice was heard again, "That was bloody cheeky of him. Hit me when I wasn't looking."
"You okay?" Tom asked with concern, wishing he were able to see his friend to confirm whatever answer he would give.
"Nothing a little scotch won't fix," Skinner grumbled.
Tom laughed, and regretted it. His ribs protested. He hoped against hope he hadn't broken one. "Thanks for the rescue there."
"Anytime," Skinner offered, "that is, when I feel up to it."
Tom smiled despite his aching, and looked to Mina, who said, "We should return to the Nautilus. Nemo no doubt heard the gunfire. He will be wanting a report."
A hand still to his aching side, Tom walked with the others, noticing Skinner retrieved his weapons for him, pistols in his hands and the Winchester slung over his shoulder.
Charles Evans fumed as his feet stormed the distance of his New York residence. He had let them slip right through his grasp. How could he have been so blindly confident as to the ease?
Grumbling to himself, he resisted the urge to tear apart the person who entered the room next, very dishevelled and bloody indeed. They were a mess, and Charles wished he would leave and clean himself up before disturbing him at a time like this.
"What do you want now?" Charles demanded furiously, turning on his heel to face the man.
"To offer my apologies," came the thick French accented reply.
Charles sighed and rubbed his eyes in a hurried fashion, ignoring the mad stinging in his temple. He ran a hand over the wound there, and his fingers came away scarlet with blood. He glared at it, and persisted, "And what good do you think your apologies will do me, Beauvais?"
Jacques shifted his weight slightly, and grunted. "I will not make the same mistake again, sir."
"No you will not," Charles confirmed, and stared at the man before him with mild disgust. "Oh for heaven's sake, will you go and get yourself cleaned up? I don't enjoy having your filthy blood all over my carpet."
Jacques made a small noise, and looked down at the floor. Thick blood was dripping sparingly onto the otherwise spotless carpet. His eyes seemed to find his own torso, and then looked back up at Charles.
Charles arched an eyebrow. Jacques stood before him, at least six holes visible in him. His mangy shirt and vest were turning brown from the blood that oozed from him. The man seemed to have forgotten all about the damage.
"Out!" Charles shouted impatiently, pointing at the door to emphasise. Jacques did so, and he found himself slumping down into an expensive chair.
Charles thanked his patience for not having Jacques ripped limb from limb for his incompetence. His job had been simple had Charles failed, and the man had somehow managed to make a mess of it anyway.
"If I wasn't so determined," Charles growled to the fire crackling away in the wall as the light played off his features, "I would blow that ship to hell and forget all about it."
He, of course, meant nothing other than the submarine that was perched so innocently in the docks not far from where he was now. It was tempting to load it with as much explosives as he could lay his hands on and watch as it burned, its occupants along with it. It would be quite satisfying.
But that was not in his plan at all. No... far from it.
He would have his way soon enough... all he needed was to have patience, and a little faith.
"I really would appreciate it if you could refrain from moving, Agent Sawyer," Henry grumbled as he tried to determine the extent of the damage the young man had received.
Tom Sawyer ceased his shifting, and sighed loudly. He sat on a bed to the side of the room, his shirt and waistcoat lying messily next to him on the sheets, and stared around impatiently with green eyes.
Henry had been at this for about ten minutes, managing to ignore the grumbling in his head about how he could keep Sawyer from fidgeting. None of the solutions really seemed very pleasant to Henry, so he shut Edward out as best he could.
Miss Delacroix stood near the back wall, looking very pensive and worried. Henry had noticed she could barely keep her eyes off Sawyer, but kept his nose out of it, moving along to further inspection.
After a further ten minutes of examination, and several threats on how he would stop his shifting, he allowed Sawyer to re-dress himself. Henry went about rolling down his sleeves once again as he said, "Nothing too serious. Just some bruising. You'll be sore for a few days. Make sure you tell me if it worsens."
Sawyer nodded as he slipped his waistcoat on, 'neatening' his rolled up sleeves. He tucked in his shirt as he replied, "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
Henry sighed as the two left the room, and he was left to his thoughts. Edward's too inevitably, as always, as they assaulted him as soon as he was alone.
Lethargy had taken such a sudden hold of him that he had retired to his own quarters after escorting Anise to hers. She had kissed him on the cheek in parting, and he had been standing at her door when it was closed longing for much more.
He had come back here, hands comfortably in his pockets, and he had tried to read a little of one of Quatermain's old books before sheer exhaustion had actually made him fall asleep in the process.
He woke some four hours later, the book laying open on his chest, and he groped about in the dark for the nearest lamp. His hand located it, and managed to avoid knocking it over before he turned it on. He squinted against the light, and looked down to his chest where the book lay sprawled.
Tom groaned sleepily, and rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other removing the book and closing it. He yawned, and rolled over in his bed, lying on his stomach now, ignoring the dull aching. His weary eyes stared at a distant point on the far wall as he took up as much room in his bed as was humanly possible, and his mind wandered.
His thoughts trailed back to the confrontation with Evans and his men, and how close to death he had really been... Anise too. Tom wasn't sure if the notion had frightened him or angered him... perhaps both.
The memory of seeing those poor dogs put down so mercilessly made Tom want to kill Evans brutally, with just as little compassion. It made him so angry he clutched the corner of his comfortable pillow tight enough to make his own hand ache. He loosened it, and sighed heavily, his whole chest rising and falling exaggeratedly.
Tom was suddenly, once again, very tired. His eyes were heavy, and his breathing was slowing. With the last of his conscious strength, he reached over and deactivated the lamp once again, before immediately succumbing to sleep.
In his rush to cast the room into comforting darkness, he had failed to notice the ominous shadow in the far corner of his room, piercing gaze watching him steadfastly as he slept.