A/N: Thanks for your reviews again, guys. I was very pleased when they started to arrive *grins like a maniac*. Some much-deserved angst in this chapter, and there are even a few owies, believe it or not :O *smiles evilly*
The Nautilus came into view as the last hours of the night approached quickly, and Mina Harker's heels did not hinder her brisk pace.
"Oh, Mina, do you think you could carry me?" Skinner quipped with a light-hearted chuckle as they came up on the others gathered outside. They watched their approach, and Mina made a point of ignoring the invisible man.
She came up to face Nemo and Jekyll, and asked, "Did you find anyone?"
"No one," Nemo reported with confusion evident in his tone. "There were none of Evans' men visible on our search. We crossed quite a distance in our task, and turned up nothing for our troubles."
"Same here," Skinner breathed, clearly a little worn. "Didn't find a thing. Wouldn't mind some grub and a Scotch now though... everyone back?"
Jekyll's eyes perused the crowd present, and he frowned. "We appear to be short two agents."
Mina took in the faces of the crown, nearly all of Indian appearance, and knitted her brow delicately in puzzlement. "Did we make it clear they were to return by this hour?"
Nemo nodded. "We did. There was no confusion."
"Something must have happened," Jekyll stated at once.
"Do not jump to conclusions, Doctor," Nemo said to him calmly, turning to talk to his sailors, perhaps ask them if anyone had seen either of the two missing agents.
Mina turned to look behind her, and all around. There was no sign of them. "There was no flare?"
"Nothing. My men were in the crow's nest keeping watch. They say they saw no sign." Nemo came back over to them. "No one has seen them since they departed this morning."
Mina felt a flurry of concern disturb her inside, and she forced it back down to replace it with reasonable consideration as to possible explanations. There were a number of things that could have happened.
They could simply be late, having lost track of time for a reason Mina did not wish to ponder on. They could have become distracted. They could be engaged in conflict, and unable to launch their flare. Or they were in too much trouble to handle.
Mina turned to the others, and sighed. "We must depart once again and try to discover what happened to Tom and Delacroix."
She gave very little attention to the exasperated sigh of Skinner from beside them, as she said to him, "Dress yourself. We will need to ask questions, and you should be seen."
"Aye, aye," he mocked, and walked into the Nautilus to pay heed to her command.
If he did not hurry, Mina fully intended to march in there after him and drag him out by his ears if need be. She wanted to waste no time in discovering an explanation for their absence.
If they were in danger, they would need help as soon as they could get it.
Charles Evans' head snapped to face the door as it clicked open. What walked in made a grin spread across his face in a matter of seconds. He laughed quietly beneath his breath, and stood in the glowing from the fire, clearly illuminated in his prim and neat grey suit.
Jacques and Anise strode into his presence; over the man's shoulder was a limp form. One Charles recognised no less. It was Special Agent Tom Sawyer, the very guest for whom he had been preparing.
"At last," Charles sighed, even as Jacques let Sawyer fall off his shoulder to the floor. "I want him unharmed, Beauvais, remember that."
Jacques nodded once, and looked down at the young man lying now on his back on the carpeted floor. He did not stir. The dark eyes came back up to meet Charles', and the firelight was reflected in them eerily.
Charles cleared his throat impatiently, and raised an eyebrow at the mess in which Jacques represented himself.
"I am not to blame, sir," Jacques began, waving a hand half-heartedly at Anise, who lurked at the edges of the room, Charles noticed. "This American shot me, and then Anise decided to follow suit, rather unnecessarily I might add."
"You moved to strike him," Anise countered heatedly, standing up straight now at the challenge. "I do not remember that being in our plan."
"I was seeing if he was intimidated," Jacques explained lazily, "I would not have harmed him. The price to pay for that would have been too high, even for me."
"You're not wrong," Charles warned, perhaps reminding them both as to his presence. They looked at him in surprise, and backed away from their personal conflict. The two had never got on well, and always clashed. It bored Charles now.
"What would you like me to do with him, sir?"
Charles stared at Jacques for a long time, considering this, and then down at Sawyer, a smile creeping onto his face. "I would like to speak to the boy the moment he wakes... leave him here. Just," he paused, taking in a deep breath of inner triumph, "make sure he's secure."
Jacques nodded, and made to go about his task without question.
Anise looked Charles in the eye only when his attention was diverted. The moment he looked to her, her gaze shot away. He sighed. "I warned you, Anise. I warned you against it, and still you ignored my cautions."
"You did not tell me who he was, what he was," Anise murmured.
"You knew perfectly well what I planned for him, Anise," Charles grumbled, his patience on this matter wearing thin, "and still you allowed your feelings for him to grow beyond the border of simple business. You let yourself fall for him."
Anise looked to him quickly, as if he had dealt her a blow.
"Do not look so shocked that I know, Anise," Charles said to her as he sat himself comfortably in his seat once again, "I have known you for some time now. What made you think that this time was going to be any different? You are somewhat predictable, my dear girl."
Anise had left the room before Charles could continue, and he cast a half-hearted glance at Jacques as he secured Agent Sawyer.
Breathing heavily and slowly as he started to regain consciousness, Tom tried to remember what had happened. It was all blurred together in his mind, like he couldn't get a clear picture. He fought against the fogginess, and tried harder.
When it came back to him, the urge to retch followed, but he bit down hard on the thick cloth gag in his mouth, and shuddered involuntarily. The smell still lingered in his memory, and how whatever it was had sucked all the strength out of him within a limited time.
He lay on his front on the floor of a generously decorated room, where a fire crackled in the far corner. His hands were bound tightly behind his back with a strong, thin rope, and he took in his surroundings with aching eyes even as he tried to free them.
Paintings hung at calculated intervals around the vast walls, mostly of faces that would not come into focus. The furniture was made of the finest fabrics and wood, polished and dusted with care and precision. The carpet that covered the floor beneath him was soft, but firm, and he was very uncomfortable.
As he tried to loosen his bound hands, he groaned at the throbbing in his temples.
"I am told the after effects are quite... unpleasant," came a disgustingly familiar voice from a chair facing the fire, and Tom saw a figure rise from their seat. It was Charles Evans, dressed rather similar in fashion to Dorian Gray, but perhaps not with quite so much flare. He paced over to Tom with an openly triumphant look on his face, and reached down.
It was only when Tom felt him pull him to his knees by his shirt collar and waistcoat that he realised his jacket was gone. He remembered wearing it before passing out. He had known without moving that his guns and holsters were gone.
Evans pulled the gag down around his neck, and smiled at him arrogantly.
For a long time, Tom simply stared, trying to force down the urge to retch all over the hideously expensive carpet, and maybe even Evans' shined shoes. The thought tempted him, but despite that, he found himself saying, "You planned this all along."
Something had clicked in him, but he wasn't sure what it was. He just knew his statement to be true, even before Evans started nodding.
"I won't deny it," Evans stated blandly, standing before him with an aggravating sense of superiority about him.
Tom closed his eyes as the nausea rose up in him again, and he grimaced. "What did you do to me? What was that stuff?"
"Ah," Evans breathed. It seemed he had been waiting for this question. "Chloroform."
Tom looked up at him, brow furrowed hazily in confusion. The name did nothing to answer his question.
"It's a substance used in surgery to anaesthetise patients," Evans explained smugly, holding up a rather large container of clear liquid. "Very effective, as I'm sure you can agree." He laughed quietly, and set the bottle down. "If inhaled, it can cause dizziness, nausea, and even coma if used in too high a dose. In extreme cases, where the user is a little eager, the heart fails."
Tom stared up at him, the sensation finally subsiding long enough for him to ask, "What do you want from me?"
"Well, that's really quite simple," Evans began, and then halted. "Well not really. It's actually very complicated, and rather long-winded. I'd prefer you found out in good time, Agent Sawyer."
"Whatever it is," Tom started quietly, locking gazes with the man, "you can just forget it. I'm not telling you anything, or doing anything you want me to."
Evans raised an eyebrow, saying, "We'll see about that, my dear boy." He leaned closer, in a low voice repeating, "We'll see."
Tom spat in his face, watching as Evans stood, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket. "I really hope you don't keep that up... I wouldn't want to have to hurt you."
"Go to hell, Evans."
What happened next was rather unexpected, considering what the man had just said to Tom. He had grabbed him quite forcefully, and thrown him across the room. With his hands behind his back, he could do very little to alter the way he landed, which was surprisingly painful. He lay on his side, hearing the dull approach of Evans, and he rolled onto his back, kicking out with both feet just in time to shove the man backwards with enough force to make him fall over a low table.
Tom came to his knees, seeing, despite the fall, that Evans was back on his feet already. He had a hold of Tom's hair before he could do anything, and with his fist clenched tight, backhanded him around the face. He let go of his hair, and Tom clamped his eyes shut against the pain the blow caused in his face.
Evans laughed, a little too maniacally for comfort, and Tom pushed himself backwards and into the man as he made to grab him again, this time by the scruff of his clothing. Evans went down, Tom partially landing on him, but the Englishman shoved him off.
Tom gave a loud cry as something slashed across his shoulder from behind, and he felt blood flow from a fresh wound, even as Evans gripped him and spun him around on his knees, looming over him with a knife in his hand and a crazed look in his eye.
The knife was to his throat in an instant, and Tom felt the sharp blade push against his skin. Evans' other hand had latched tightly in the front of Tom's shirt, holding him up at an angle from the floor.
"Charles!"
The voice broke Evans' concentration on his bound victim, and the pressure on the knife wavered somewhat. Tom swallowed dryly and panted, physically worn and in pain after the scuffle. The knife had not been removed from his throat entirely however, so Tom remained quite still.
"Remember the plans, Charles," came the deep French accent that Tom annoyingly recognised to belong to Jacques, the very man who had captured him.
Evans took the sharp knife from the skin of Tom's throat, and pulled him roughly to his feet, ramming him against the wall.
The wound on the back of Tom's shoulder throbbed at the impact, and he gasped, biting back a cry. He felt blood running from his nose now too, but with his hands tied, could do very little to stop it.
Evans stared intently into Tom's eyes, a little of the crazed edge to them still clinging to his gaze as he stood there, very close to him.
Another set of footsteps came running into the room, but Tom just stared back at Evans, quite intent to show the man he was far from afraid of him, despite his recent attack.
"What happened?"
Tom's gaze broke from the man's face then at the sound of the voice, and his eyes met a form he recognised. He felt his heart skip a beat, and his mouth parted slightly in disbelief. Every scrap of reason was gone from his mind now, replaced with confusion and hurt at the person that stood before him, unharmed and unaware of the disturbance other than the obvious noise they had created. Now he remembered the voice in his ear before blacking out in that building... he hadn't recognised it before.
"Tom..." Anise mumbled, stepping back a small distance until she bumped into an armchair and held a hand to her mouth. Her eyes shone slightly in the pale glow of the fire in the corner of the room. "I..."
"It was you..." Tom realised with a great lurch in his stomach at the apparent betrayal. "You did this... you knew all along."
And then she ran from the room. Tom stared after her retreating form, and tried to breath rhythmically, failing spectacularly.
Evans' laugh only served to dishearten him further. He hung his head for a moment, and then looked the older man in the face. "She used me... you used her against me."
"Well done, my dear boy," Evans acknowledged with a smile of sheer pleasure at Tom's reaction. "It did take a little too long to figure out though, I have to say. If you'd have questioned her for even a moment, I may have failed."
Tom could think of no retort, and he even ceased in his efforts to loosen the rope around his wrists. He just stood, exhausted and aching, in front of Evans and Jacques, unable to move or do anything other than stare at the floor.
He didn't even react when Evans repositioned the gag securely in his mouth, and walked away, saying, "Make sure he's comfortable, Jacques, won't you?"
The gruff man grinned wickedly, and reached out with a large hand to grab hold of Tom's shirt to pull him along. He received no resistance, and found that the bound and gagged man walked quite calmly along with him.
If only he had listened to Mina.