Disclaimer: Why would you need it now? Same as usual…
Author's Warning/Note: Major angst in this one, because it has three angst-ridden people in it.
Fallen
Part 3-Phileas, May 22nd, the Day Before
I hadn't heard all of the conversation before coming it, but I thought that perhaps Verne was taking advantage of my Rebecca. When I came in, I knew I had made a mistake. Rebecca didn't see the gray hairs that I can now easily spot, nor did she see how haunted it felt around him. Looking in my own reflection had made me aware of those features, but this Jules was brimming with them, and his eyes…oh God I never want eyes like those. They were so full of self-loathing and horror and loss. What had happened to this person I called my friend? What could give him such eyes?
" Fogg," he said, his voice making my name sound like something not used for so long or something that he mourned too long. My eyes has softened, I could tell as Rebecca rose and I caught a glimpse of myself in her eyes again. Jules, or the person so much like our young friend, rose and seemed to look me over, like we hadn't seen each other in years.
" Who are you?" I asked. I knew he was Jules Verne, but how could he be? Even after I hurt him, even after the yellow fever and all the things that he had seen or done, this could never be the Jules Verne I knew.
" I am Jules Verne, but," he said, his voice too full of remorse for me to nearly stand. He needed a drink when he was done, " But I am from the future."
" The future?" If this was the future I would lock Jules up in a closet and not allow him to go on adventures with us. I didn't want this to be his end result, him coming here so broken.
" Just from a year, but it always seems so much longer," Verne said, looking down and shaking his head, almost in shame. " I came back warn you."
I slowly lead him to the main gallery and brought out a small decanter as well as good whiskey. Passepartout had gotten the paper and gave it to me as Verne poured a drink and swallowed it whole. He had never done that before, and now I realized that something horrible had happened to him.
" What happened to you?" Rebecca asked, seating herself on the other side of him. I also saw that Verne never looked up when Passepartout was around, never even looked at him. He hardly looked at Rebecca or myself, simply looked at the bottle or the table.
" I…tomorrow, you're going to go and fetch me so we can have lunch on the Aurora," he said. He was starting to choke on his words, I could tell, but he continued until he couldn't speak more. He told us about the shortcut, my murder, about the League getting Rebecca, and then he stopped and wouldn't tell her what happened. I gave Rebecca a look that told her I needed to speak with him alone, and she slowly got up and left to find something that might help him. Passepartout was busy elsewhere, and I leaned over and made Verne look me in the eyes. He couldn't. He would stare only a minute before he tore his eyes away but that was all I needed. He blamed himself for my death. He thought that it was his fault I had died, or would die, tomorrow.
" Verne," I started, then thought through what I was about to say. What could I say to him? It wasn't his fault? He would argue long and loud, probably even tell me what happened to everything and I didn't need to know. His whole manner told me that the League, in one year, made him want a quick death, perhaps being able to hang himself or cut his own throat. I had thought of that long and hard when Saratoga died, but all of them wouldn't be accomplished because everyone was always hovering over me and making damn sure I wouldn't kill myself. I had to settle with death-wishes and duels, chances I would die until Rebecca made me help young Al. Now, the one person I would shelter from all that if I could, here he was in front of me and in my worst nightmare of the sense. He was hurting and what could I say to him? That I'm sorry, that it wasn't his fault when he would go on believing it no matter what excuse I came up with?
Instead of all that, I said, " Verne, how did you get here? Why here?"
He didn't look at me for a moment, and when he did he never looked in my eyes. He always used to. " I found the Phoniex, and I couldn't think of a better time to come back but the day before…before all of it happened. I had to tell you because what else would I do, tell myself? How would I react?" Verne now looked at me straight in the eyes, and there was so much self-loathing that I promised myself that whoever did this, even if they were never born again, I would kill, " I would probably kill myself before letting any harm come to you or Rebecca or Passepartout. I would hang myself, or jump from the window, or…" he stopped, whatever determination nearly burned out, because his eyes were lined with tears and he was nearly ready to break the lock with my eyes, " or I would never want to see you again so that I knew I could never bring harm to you."
He broke the lock and now all I wanted to do was end his misery and maybe even comfort him, like a father to son when he's had a bad dream. He had just confessed that he, and probably our Jules, would rather kill himself or alienate himself from us then have any one of his friends hurt by saving him. Was that because I had died, or would die, trying to save him? Was that because…he had said that the League had gotten Rebecca and I slowly tried to work out what happened that made him so scared to say what had happened. If I was dead, Rebecca would mourn me deeply, and if she was captured that would be a grave insult, especially if it was rescuing Jules. My mind came up with the worst-possible thing for the League to do: make Jules kill her. If that had happened, then he would hate himself and never wish to face the world. He would be responsible for two of his bestfriend's deaths, and why wouldn't he look at Passepartout? I could ask him slowly, try to make him give me an inkling of what really happened.
" Verne, why aren't you talking about all of it? I wouldn't talk about Saratoga, or Erasmus, or…"
" Fogg, I saw you and Erasmus before I knew who you were," the statement cut me off quickly.
" What?"
" There was a ship that stopped in France, in Nantes. I got onboard as a cabin boy and we started to sail out when my father stopped us and made you come back. I saw you in the crowd with someone who looked like your brother, and I realize now it was Erasmus Fogg and you on the ship I tried to escape on. My brother," he nearly choked, but continued, " my brother and I thought you were agents in the French Secret Service, and made up adventures for you two to go on. I always thought you were the older brother and that you tried to save your brother whenever you could."
I remembered that journey. We had been traveling to Indonesia to find a missing person from the Service when the ship suddenly stopped. I had seen a young boy, about fourteen or so, come up and stand straight, looking a taller man with graying hair and hard eyes in the face. The man had taken his arm roughly and pulled him ashore, where they boarded a carriage and left. Erasmus made the joke that he saw me in the boy's position, with my father not being so calm about it. Had that indeed been young Jules, trying to run away?
" I never knew," I confessed, remembering that incident and the mission. It had gone smoothly, and I hadn't known that the boy had caught a fleeting glimpse and years later I would break into his garret and beat him senseless.
" I know. I just remembered when I was in the cell, and it almost struck me as funny," he said, " but I never laughed at it."
" Why not?" I knew why, I wanted him to say it.
Verne didn't look at me when he said it. " I didn't think I should laugh when my friends were dead, or when I was the cause of so many deaths. I didn't want to remember laughing and day-dreaming with Paul because he had been killed…they blew up the French Navy ship he was in the day before I remembered it and…" he cut himself off again, and I put in a few more places. They had killed his brother, so they killed his parents too. They probably destroyed their home as well. And they made Jules watch.
I added three more weeks to how I would destroy Gregory and also put in two more torture items on my list. He would pay dearly for what he had done, even if he hadn't done it yet.
Verne drank most of the bottle, and began to talk as a drunk. That helped me somewhat, and I kept Rebecca and Passepartout away until Verne had fallen asleep and I sat watching over him. By now Gregory would not get a swift death, and it would be the most painful ever imagined by any feeling human being. He had stripped Jules of anything I considered part of him, and I would make Gregory pay for it.
" Phileas?" Rebecca's voice made me look over at her as she walked in and took a place near the sleeping Jules as well.
" I heard," she said, " about Passepartout and myself, at least." Damn.
" I won't let this happen," I said plainly, " Even if it is the future, I don't want this for Jules." I realize what I had said. Usually I called him Verne, but now I had moved to his first name while he wasn't listening. What did that say? Only that I was simply his friend, a father-figure and I wouldn't let him be hurt, anymore then someone would let their son fall off a horse without cursing the horse first. I wanted to protect him, but this person showed that I couldn't and that was the worse thing I had ever encountered.
" He doesn't want it to happen either, that's why he told us," Rebecca said, " we will make it right."
" How, make sure that he doesn't take the blasted shortcut?"
" No," Rebecca said, and smiled sadly at the older Verne before looking at me, " We'll both go, and maybe then we'll save him."