Author's Note: Thought I'd add a chapter so people would know why Jules was feeling what he did.
Disclaimer: I am only writing this as practise Fan Fiction. I am not making any money off of this, nor do I own any of these charactors.
What The Mind Thinks
Jules Verne slept on his desk. His hands were on the parchment of paper where an unfinished drawing was. As he slept thoughts raced across his mnd. Memories and ideas were floating faintly in his mind. He saw Arago mouthing something to him, but he couldn't see what it was. He then saw Phileas offering him a glass of brandy, and Rebecca smiling as she did a bit of needle work. He looked around and saw his surroundings became more clear. He was at Shillingworth Magna reading a book. But something wasn't right. Why didn't it feel right? The Foggs are my friends. He pondered as the dream went on. Suddenly he saw Count Greggory. He was everywhere, he was everyone. No!
"No!" Jules jumped awake and looked around blinking.
Morning and the sun was just peeking into his garret, his sketch had long since been finished. When had I finished it? I don't even remember going to sleep. he thought. He stretched and yawned and dropped the pencil on the desk looking out his window with a faint smile. It was good to be home, he didn't dislike the Foggs abd he prayed he hadn't seemed rude in his eagerness to leave. They had been kind enough to offer him a trip home before Rebecca went to Spain and Jules had jumped to take it realizeing a bit too late, that it sounded like he wasn't happy there.
It's not that I'm not happy. I love being there, but being there only makes me feel I'm imposing. Like I'm forceing myself to stay.
He tried to convince himself that that was just it. That he was only a friend after all. He wasn't suppose to want to stay with the Foggs all the time. Despite his feelings for them as friends, he was beginning to see them as family. Part of his family, with the same likes and dislikes.
Jules stopped his thinking and slid his jacket on. He needed breakfast and he needed to think of a way to appologize to the Foggs without exactly saying he was sorry. They wouldn't bring up how fast he got packed or how fast he left with them, but he still felt a little upset. With that he left his garret testing the door before he wandered into the streets of Paris to begin another day of writeing and thinking and drinking.
That night Jules was just finishing a glass of the cafe's cheap wine which Pierre had been kind enough to buy for him. He was a bit drunk and loathed the idea of going back to his garret. It was cold, he would be hungry, and he'd have to fight off more conflicts with himself about his honor, dignity and moral views. He walked hazily down the street avoiding dark alleys as he had been told so many times to do. He made the few steps up to his garret and closed the door behind him. He wanted to do some more writing on his play, he had an idea in the back of his head about a ship that ran under the sea, so far that a giant squid could.... He sighed and collapsed unto his bed in his jacket and shoes and started to close his eyes. Despite others opinions, drinking cleared Jules' mind and right now he knew what was really on his mind.
I'm scared they'll turn me away, he thought.
That's why I always feel bad asking them for help. They're the only ones I can turn to, for help and support, and they could turn me away........