A/N: Two words. Braces suck.

CHAPTER 15

            He was under the ocean, drifting aimlessly around, in a state of bliss. He was tired, and he took solace in the fact that nothing could touch him, here.

            All was peaceful.

            When he first came here, he had struggled. Now, that was no more. He knew he couldn't get out, and eventually, he had surrendered to the ever-changing currents, letting them take him wherever they wished. He had found out that it was nice; no more troubles, the world he had once belonged to became irrelevant. All that was was his ocean. His peaceful, beautiful  ocean that no once except him could enter.

            There had been times when a voice, distorted, would speak to him.

            He would listen; why, he did not know, nor did he care. All he knew that whenever that voice — a female's — spoke to him, he felt this strange stirring of feelings inside, something like affection, foreign to him in this state. For some time now, the voice had not spoken to him. There still was a voice, but it was different, less frequent. The first voice would speak to him at regular times, and he had grown to enjoy that voice.

            The voice would tell him of strange things; about a thing that could fly without wings but propelled by something called an "engine", about a person called Lizzy, about a white frost, about the weather, the date, and the day.

            The new voice would tell him about the day's weather, just like the first one, and other things — things that he did not long to hear. He wanted to listen to that first voice once more.

            One day, while he floated in his blue abyss, he decided he would get out of this place for a while, and find that voice, to get it to speak to him again.

            Now, he truly opened his eyes.

            And realized that he was drowning.

            He struggled; tried to fight the current, to push himself towards the surface that he sought, above him. This was not the first time; when he came here, he had tried to do the same, but that had never succeeded. This time, he fought with all he had.

            The surface was nearing, a little out of reach; he reached up, tried to touch it, and kicked, fighting the strong undercurrent that pulled him down.  He fought back; with a mighty surge of power, he propelled himself upwards, breaking the surface...

LONDON, ENGLAND

DEEP IN THE CITY

JEKYLL RESIDENCE

            Marie carried some clean, pressed bedlinen down the hallway, entering the room of her toddler Noah so she could leave some inside in case he needed a sudden bed-sheet change. Downstairs, her beloved husband Henry was treating his patients in his office.

            She was proud of her husband; he was the sole breadwinner, while she was a fairly good seamstress. Noah was in the garden, playing with Lizzy, Skinner's twelve year old daughter.

            She stopped in the process of putting some sheets in the cupboard, thinking of the comatose man in the next room.

            After falling into a coma in Norway, when the Nautilus had arrived back in England, Jekyll had volunteered to take care of Skinner until he woke up. Mina was willing to do so, but Jekyll had reasoned that he and Skinner were good friends, and Skinner would have done the same for him. They dared not risk a local hospital, afraid that Skinner's invisibility might be revealed.

            Lizzy was living with them, and doing well in school. Her piano skills were greatly improving as well, something Skinner would be proud of if he ever woke up.

            Vicky had stayed, for the better part of the two years. One night, when Jekyll came home from visiting a bed-ridden patient, he had just checked on Skinner and Vicky wasn't there. Marie hadn't seen her leave, too. They had found an envelope on the desk in the room Skinner was kept in: two hundred pounds, hard-earned from the job the wingless Vicky had found, and a short letter with an all-too familiar scrawl.

Dr. and Mrs. Henry Jekyll;

I regret to say that I cannot stay to take care of Skinner any longer. I am thankful to you for letting me put up with you this past year and a half, and letting me take partial care of him.

However, I cannot take it any longer. I feel personally responsible for Skinner's current condition, and have thus decided to leave London. I do not intend to come back in the near future.

I hope you will understand; it was my terror at Him that caused him to be in this state.

Please accept my apologies; I trust you will find the money I have enclosed in this letter enough to recover the expense of me staying with you.

                                                                        Take care,

                                                            Vicky A.

            Marie resumed packing the linen. If Skinner woke up and found out that Vicky had left...she didn't know how he would react. She gathered up the stack, and she could hear the shrieks of laughter down below as Lizzy chased the two-year-old Noah around the garden.

            She left the room and entered Skinner's room. He was still in his coma, and she felt sorry for him. She turned her back to him as she opened the cupboard and packed the spare linen in. She hummed a nursery rhyme as she did so; Noah enjoyed this kind of thing. She finished the last of the linen and turned to leave.

"Henry!!!"

LONDON, ENGLAND

DEEP IN THE CITY

SKINNER RESIDENCE

(NEW YEAR'S EVE)

            The whole place smelled like roast turkey, and the many streamers and confetti bags were hung up; the massive tree in the middle of the hall was filled with home-made (and badly done) ornaments by the children; namely, all the kids except Will and Ajit. Will had, though, solved many accidents with the glue more than once.

            Ajit and Alice had come from India and America respectively the week before, both in the Nautilus. Tom had arrived with Alice, and had told Allan in private that he had had a hard time convincing Huck and Becky about what had happened.

            It was the first New Year since Skinner's recovery, and that in itself was cause for celebration. Christmas had been a wonderful affair, with lots of cake, fun and song. Skinner was too lazy to take down the Christmas tree and had re-named it, much to the delight of the younger ones, a "New Year Tree". They had all New Year wishes, stuck to a ornament, on the tree.

            Skinner was now leading the younger children on what he called a "Red Indian Dance 'o Luck" around the house, while the parents and the older boys helped to set up the party. It was already 11.45pm, and Skinner and Tom had somehow kept the children awake to celebrate at midnight.

            Marie lifted the roast above the heads of the children as they came hooting by, around the dining room. The Mrs. Jekyll laughed when she saw her son, dressed up in what was supposed to be Red Indian Chief's hat. He was adorable, grinning with glee, the hat sloped at an angle on his head, hanging crooked.

            Tom was holding the platter of sweets when he nearly walked into the line. "Hey, watch it!" he laughed. "I have the sweets, you know!"

            The children swarmed him at the mention of sweets. Skinner pretended to be offended.

            "You're abandoning the Red Indian Dance 'o Luck for sweets?" he asked. Luck, Lizzy and Alice turned at the same time and nodded in unison before turning back to Tom. Mina, Dorian and Allan laughed. Nemo raised an amused brow. As much as he disliked being on shore for two long, he had been seriously relieved when he had received word that Skinner had recovered and had convinced his sister-in-law to let Ajit come to England for a week or so.

            Skinner then shook his head and laughed, good as new. He was feeling much better; he had gotten over his heartbreak when he had learned that Vicky had left. That was close to a year ago.        

            "Is that a knock at the door?" Mina asked. Skinner listened and nodded, mouthing a "I'll get it".

            Skinner was humming a song he remembered his mother used to sing at New Year's on the way to the door. He pulled the door open and said, without looking at the crazy salesman who came out at this time of night, "Sorry, but we don't want to buy anything."

            A familiar laugh made him look up. Vicky Attenbrough stood there, smiling. A very wingless Vicky Attenbrough.

            "D'you really think someone is crazy enough to come out here selling things at this hour?" she asked, giving him a fond look. When he didn't answer, she continued. "I missed you."

            He looked at her, studying the lines of her face. She didn't look like she had changed, physically; but in her warm, amber eyes, he saw the void and the pain and the joy of seeing him again. "You left."

            "Yes, I did," she said. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her coat that came to her hips. A thick shawl was wrapped around her neck, and her beanie was badly-knit, the colors clashing. "And now I've come back."

            "Why?" he asked quietly. "Why did you leave?"

            She looked down at the snow beneath her feet before answering. "I...I needed some time. Alone. To think."

            "You needed a year and a half to 'think'?" he asked angrily. He was angry; angry that she had left, not sparing a thought about him..."I'm sorry, Vicky, but you had your chance."

            With that, he slammed the door in her face.