A
terrible reason to write a story, I'm sure, but I simply had to use the lyric
from the Cranberries song "Shattered" off the Bury the Hatchet CD for something, and this show and these
characters were the obvious choice (despite the fact that rock was not around in the 1860s--hey, it's the
sentiment that counts). Only one or two
lines from the song actually fit (the lines in italics), but I use those one or
two lines that work--and hopefully the story works as well. It acts as a sort of epilogue for "The Book
of Knowledge" and contains a few spoilers for that episode. I should send it to TPTB as a pointed
expression of my desire for a second season, but that's another story. I make no money off this story, and I am
only borrowing the characters for an afternoon. They'll be returned, I promise (though I might keep Jules hostage
for a while...oh, all right, I'll be a good girl and put him back with the
others... sheesh, can't a fanfic writer have any fun around here?...)
Strength
Shattered by your weakness
"He sleeping soundly all night,
master."
Rebecca paused in the doorway,
watching her cousin and his valet quietly conversing in the corner next to
Jules's bed. All three had been taking
turns staying by Verne's side and watching over him ever since breaking him and
Passepartout out of that Corsican League hospital. Jules had been recovering well, with all the enviable speed of
the very young.
"Good, very good,
Passepartout," Phileas replied softly.
He turned from the manservant to look down at the youth on the bed, and
his face softened, probably without his realizing.
Rebecca was glad to see the worry
lines leave her cousin's brow and only hoped he didn't hold himself accountable
for what had befallen the Frenchman.
Phileas did have a tendency to do that; heaven only knew what he could
do to himself if he thought he was responsible for getting Verne sick (and he
could probably find a way to make himself think that, too). He had a knack for letting his guilt seep
throughout his entire soul so that he became saturated with pain. Self-hatred. It was one of his weaknesses.
Shattered by your weakness
Jules murmured something Rebecca
couldn't make out from her position in the doorway of the laboratory, and he
shifted restlessly on the bed. Passepartout
was instantly at his side, muttering soothingly to his countryman in their
native French, while Phileas leant over Verne on the other side of the bed,
resting a hand on the young man's shoulder.
"It's all right, Verne," he said quietly but firmly. "You can rest. You're safe now."
The writer relaxed.
Phileas looked up with a slight sigh
and at last noticed his cousin. He gave
her a smile as he raised himself from Jules's bedside. "Rebecca," he said softly, and she
came fully into the room to join the others.
"You look done in,
Passepartout," Rebecca whispered, looking down at the little valet in
concern. "You should get some
rest." She didn't think he'd slept
at all since bringing Jules back to the Aurora. He had certainly spent most of his time in
the lab with the other Frenchman.
"Yes, Miss Rebecca,"
Passepartout replied politely without looking up at her. He was repositioning the blankets over
Jules, who'd kicked them half off the bed with his movements. "As soon as I'm making sure Master
Jules all right."
"It's all right,
Passepartout," Fogg told the other man, laying a hand on Passepartout's
arm and arresting the manservant's tidying.
"We can handle it. Go lie down." He added with a scowl that didn't quite come
off as sincere, "That's an order."
Passepartout looked up and held his
employer's gaze seriously, then relented, smiling. "Yes, master," he said, clicking his heels together and
bowing the upper half of his body. He
looked down at Jules one more time, then slipped past Rebecca with a disarming
grin and murmured apology. She smiled
back, watching him leave the room. His
loyalty and determination to stay with Jules upon leaving the Aurora for the hospital--and his current
protectiveness of the boy--was utterly endearing to her, even though it had
gotten the manservant into trouble. His
loyalty to them all often got him in trouble.
It could almost in a way be considered a weakness.
Shattered by your weakness
Phileas was finishing the job
Passepartout had started, rearranging the blanket over Verne's chest to keep
his upper body better covered. Rebecca
watched her cousin work efficiently and smiled slightly at the care Phileas
took to make sure he didn't waken Jules.
Her cousin's gentleness and consideration could sometimes be surprising,
even to her.
"It's all right, Phileas,"
she whispered when he was finished and looked up at her inquiringly. "I'll stay with him for a while. You go read your newspaper or something."
He scoffed at that--but
quietly. "Read my newspaper,
Rebecca? Don't be ridiculous. I'll be watching over my manservant and
making sure he actually gets some sleep."
Rebecca grinned as she settled herself into the chair placed next to the
writer's bed. She looked up again when
she felt Phileas's light touch on her shoulder.
"He'll be all right," he
told her.
Her brow wrinkled, and she wondered
in passing if her cousin was talking about Jules or Passepartout. "Of course he will," she
replied. "He just needs rest." With that reply, she knew she'd covered all
the possibilities.
Her cousin nodded, seemed about to
say something more, then shook his head and smiled ruefully. Rebecca laughed at him in confusion. "Are you all right, Phileas?"
"Perfectly fine, dear
cousin. Just remind me to never again give
lifts to explorers you find fascinating."
He squeezed her shoulder, grinning cheekily, and beat a retreat before
she could hit him.
Rebecca shook her head in
exasperated resignation and turned back to look at the figure on the bed. The smile disappeared from her face; her
brow smoothed. She calmly watched Jules
sleep, with all the appearance of the patience of a saint.
I'm trying to control myself so please don't stand in my
way
Sometimes she really wondered if she
was a bloody fool.
She could be so damned
impetuous. Sitting still had never been
a strong point with her, but if only she'd really learnt some patience
somewhere along the way, rather than just rushing blindly into things as was
her wont. Perhaps that had nothing to
do with what had most currently happened to her young friend, but his present
weakness was only reminding her of hers.
Of all of their weaknesses, especially when put together. It wasn't just herself she tended to get
into trouble, after all. It was the
others too. Phileas did a fine enough
job risking his life on his own; he really didn't need her help in that
department. Passepartout would follow
any of them into death, and gladly. And
Jules...perhaps if he'd never met them, he would be safe in his Parisian garret
right now, scribbling away in his notebook, rather than lying on this cot
looking pale and ill. Or maybe he'd
already be forced into working for the League.
She just didn't know.
And she felt so helpless right
now--she'd been feeling that way ever since Jules had become ill. She'd made the suggestion to go to Africa
herself, for a holiday for all their sakes, and look what happened. She couldn't fight against this sort of thing. If she wasn't careful, she'd drive herself
mad, and she couldn't afford that. None
of them could afford it--she had to leave the guilt to Phileas; she had to be
strong for all of them.
Shattered by your weakness
"I'm all right,
Rebecca." The voice, barely above
a whisper but not at all weak, came from the bed. Rebecca roused herself from her thoughts and met Jules Verne's
gaze. He was looking at her in sleepy
concern. "You don't have to stay
with me, you know."
Rebecca gave him her warmest, most
reassuring smile and took his hand, setting aside her own worries for the moment
with a practiced ease she'd honed through necessity and years in the
Service. She was just grateful he was
lucid and conscious, knew where he was and to whom he was talking. She would never admit to how frightening
she'd found his earlier incoherency and delusions. His non-recognition of them, his inability to communicate with
them had been utterly frustrating, particularly since it was Jules Verne. "No,
Jules, I want to," she told him, her voice hushed. Her smile widened into a grin before she could
stop it. "It's good to have you
back."
He smiled as well and settled
himself more comfortably against his pillow, his eyes closing. He seemed older somehow, she thought, as she
inspected his face. Serious illness could
do that to a person. But there seemed
to be something more to it than that.
He'd said very little about what had happened in the hospital since
coming back aboard the Aurora and
being put to bed once again, only mentioning something about the drug the
League agent had been giving him was a hallucinogen. She wondered what he'd seen in his fevered dreams. She knew it hadn't been pleasant.
Shattered by your weakness
"Thank you," Jules said,
his eyes still closed.
"Thank me?" Rebecca
questioned, forcing a light tone into her voice and a bright smile back onto
her face. "For what, Jules?"
He looked up at her
consideringly. She restrained herself
from brushing his hair away from his eyes.
"For letting me stay," he said at last. "All of you--Fogg, Passepartout. For letting me get to know all of
you." A smile broke over his face
slowly, like clouds making way for the dawn, and he closed his eyes again,
falling asleep, the smile still resting on his lips.
Shattered by your weakness, I was shattered by your smile
He'd pulled through it on his
own. Despite the drugs he'd been given,
despite illness and delirium and threats to his friend, he'd pulled through it
all and escaped, even before she and Phileas had come to rescue him and
Passepartout. All four of them had
always pulled through everything together.
He was as strong, if not stronger,
than the rest of them.
Rebecca smiled gently, squeezing
Jules's hand before letting it go and sitting back in her seat to relax. She knew they all had many more adventures
to go. Together.
Shattered by your weakness...
