Author's Note: Okay… severe case of writer's block. I thought I'd try and write a short to help with it… whilst listening to two amazingly contrasting film CDs. This is the result… hopefully it has some sort of purpose and plot. As for the title… well if you read it, and then go through your mental list of songs… it might make sense, I hope.
In the swirling mists everything was an enigma, and for a time it was a great confusion of faces, words and feelings. Nothing made sense, and everything merged and blended together in a horrible parody of explanation. He tried to make sense of it all. He failed. With a silent scream, he called out for help… anyone who would bring him some semblance of hope in this time of uncertainty. He cared not who it was… as long as they were friend, not foe. He needed comfort, though he did not know why. He seemed saddened by something, but it made no sense.
His voice called out until it was hoarse, and he gave up all hope in the mists of this place. He was lost… maybe forever. Who knew?
Then it came back to him... everything that had happened recently. M was dead… the Phantom destroyed; Huck avenged. His purpose had been served. But what was he doing here? Was he dead? He remembered no pain, no suffering… nothing. How could he be dead if he remembered nothing of the dying?
"Just like you to confuse the simplest o' things," came a voice through the mists, and he whirled in shock to try and find the owner, though he knew its sound. He would recognise it anywhere, though he thought it had been lost forever in the ebb and flow of time.
Then a figure strode out of the mysterious fog, their form becoming more and more tangible with every step they took toward him. They were just as he remembered, though it had not been long since they had parted ways, and the other man had died. His chocolate eyes were gentle and soulful; the youthful curl of his brown locks a tousled mess atop his head, giving him a mischievous air that had always brought a smile to everyone's face.
"You…" the words failed him for a moment, until he managed, "… you died."
"You always were observant, Tom Sawyer," came his chuckled reply, and he moved right up to him.
Special Agent Thomas Sawyer regarded his lost friend in awe. He seemed so real, so full of life, but in his heart, Tom knew that Huckleberry Finn was gone forever.
"Am I…" Tom stumbled over his words. They seemed to want to betray him at every turn. "Am I dead?"
Huck let out a hearty laugh, and patted Tom on the shoulder. "Well of course you ain't, Tom! How could you be dead?"
"But-" Tom cut himself off this time before his mind failed him. This wasn't possible. There was no explanation for all of this. What was he doing here? What was this place, and why was Huckleberry standing before him as real as he last remembered him… with the exception of the gunshot wound?
Huck took to pacing the small circle absent of swirling mist, and kicked at a stone that was not there. "Ya' see, Tom," he began in a light, colourful Southern drawl that Tom had long since lost almost entirely, "there's plenty o' things that ain't explainable with 'alive' or 'dead'. Do you understand that?"
Tom nodded. Still, he could not comprehend, and silently urged Huck to press on.
"Well… and I learned this not long ago, mind you," Huck added, pointing a finger playfully at Tom's chest, their eyes meeting, "there's some things much more complicated than almost anyone can comprehend. Only kids… children, can truly understand what we're doin' right now." Huck paused whimsically, narrowing his eyes, and crossing his arms over his slim chest. "You gettin' this yet, Tommy-boy?"
"I hate when you call me that," Tom mumbled, mirroring his friend. It was like they were kids again, sizing each other up and trying to be bigger and smarter. Though in reality, it had been a bit hit and miss with the intelligence -they had both had their moments-, Tom was by far the tallest… by at least a whole five inches. Tom had really shot up during their teenage years, and Huck had somewhat dwindled in that area, but he made up for it in the size of his heart.
"I know you do," Huck countered, mischievously, "which is why I keep doin' it."
Tom rolled his eyes. "I still don't understand. What is this place?"
Huck laughed lightly again, and furrowed his brow pensively. He shifted his weight for a little while, as if considering how to word such an explanation, before finally, and somewhat simply saying, "This is you."
Tom stared. "I beg your pardon?"
"This is you, Tom," he laughed, "though that ain't the best way to describe it. It is the simplest way, and I thought you might appreciate the effort." Huck grinned broadly. "Anyway… how can I put this? You're certainly not dead… you'd know, and I'd know, and as far as I know, you're still very much alive."
"Huck…" Tom warned. His friend had always had the habit of prattling on, drawing out a subject until it wore very thin and lost all semblance of meaning. Tom had enjoyed it… it had made him laugh sometimes. But right now, he was just confused and impatient. A little concerned too.
"All right, all right, I'm getting to it," Huck said, holding his hands up for emphasis, and then he snapped a finger. "I know… think of it this way, Tomm-"
Tom's glare cut off the name, and Huck grinned disarmingly again. Tom shook his head with a slight smile.
"As I was sayin'… put it this way, and it's simple." Huck sighed lightly. "You ain't dead, you're alive… but in this place, anything's possible."
So it was a guessing game all along, Tom thought, and sighed for himself. "You mean to say this is a dream?"
Huck nodded vehemently, with far too much enthusiasm. His brown hair bounced about his head, and ended up in his dark eyes. He frowned, and brushed it aside with his fingers. "I suppose I could have just come out and said it… but that wouldn't o' been so fun as makin' you guess."
Tom stared for a moment, and then laughed, punching Huck lightly in the arm for teasing him. "I wish you wouldn't do that to me!"
Huck rubbed his arm and feigned injury. "Well you know I love teasin' you… what would've been the fun in saying 'it's a dream'?"
"But… there's something I still don't understand," Tom said. "If this is a dream, then how come it's so real?"
"Dreams are places where anythin' can happen. You can fly, you can go anywhere, you can do anything." Huck paused, and then added sombrely, "Even see the dead one more time."
Tom hung his head slightly, guilty and aggrieved.
"Oh, don't be like that, Tom… I don't blame you," Huck told his friend, and it was with more earnesty than the taller of the two young men could ever remember hearing. It was almost heartbreaking. "I chose it… remember?"
Tom closed his eyes… if this was a dream, then why was it so sad? Why weren't they happy? Wasn't that the whole idea of dreams?
"Look… I chose it, because you simply got more to live for than I ever did, Tom-"
"Huck, don't say that!" Tom cut in sorrowfully.
"No, let me finish." Huck waited until Tom was subdued, and then pressed on, "I'm talkin' about some things that not even you know about yet. There's some things that are gonna come along and you might even be glad-"
"I won't ever be glad."
Huck held his gaze, as if to say 'be quiet', and Tom paid heed to it. He had always obeyed Huck's silent pleads, though he didn't know why.
"I meant you'll appreciate it, and I know you already do, though you'd rather tell yourself you wished it was you instead," Huck continued, standing facing Tom again. "I'm glad I did it, Tom. I wasn't doin' anything special with my life anyway. And as I said, you got more to live for than I ever would've, regardless of how hard I tried…"
Tom's eyes swam with unshed tears, and he blinked them back. His friend's words were sinking in and weighing his spirit down terribly. It made him feel awful to hear how Huck -even if this was only a dream- felt about his sacrifice.
"And there's one thing I gotta ask of you, Tom… a favour," Huck added quietly, and he took a step towards his friend slowly, drawing his eyes. The two locked gazes again, seriously.
Tom nodded.
"Promise me you won't forget about Becky."
"I haven't," Tom insisted, and for a moment, he had a flashback of begging with Aunt Polly over something or another… some crime he had not committed and been blamed for regardless, such as his half-brother Sid breaking the sugar bowl.
"I know you haven't seen her since my funeral," Huck pointed out, quite literally with that finger again, as if chiding Tom for bad behaviour. "You can't just let her fade outta your life. She means a lot to you… always has… and you mean a lot to her." Huck sighed. "It was all over her face when we left that dock… you remember that night?"
Tom nodded, arms hugging around his chest as if he would fall apart if he let go.
"I know all about the letter you wrote, and how she treated you, and though it weren't fair for her to act that way, you need to understand why she did it."
"I do…" Tom mumbled. "She loved you. In a different way, Becky loved you… and I didn't protect you."
"Tom," Huck told him, looking up at his face, "nobody can expect you to hold to all of your promises… no man could do that… it's impossible. Some things are just inevitable. Some things are unavoidable. Some things… well they're just fate."
"But it's not fair," Tom replied.
"I know it ain't fair. If it were up to me, that whole night would've never happened, and we'd still be out there wreakin' havoc," Huck chuckled lightly. He sighed. "But that ain't how it happened, and we gotta accept it." Another pause, and then he persisted in a lighter tone, "Besides, you got a good thing goin' for you now… this… what do you call it?"
"The League," Tom filled in with a proud smile.
"That's the one," Huck mused quietly, his eyes finding a new spot of concentration far off into the mist as if reminiscing. "Well that would've been fun… but," he shrugged, "nothin' to be done about it. You gotta keep it all together, Tom… stop moping around all day about things you couldn't help. You just gotta remember you did all you could… that's all any man can say. That's somethin' to be proud of, you understand?"
Tom laughed, his eyes still swimming with tears. "When did you get so smart, Huckleberry?"
Huck shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically, and he looked deeply puzzled for a minute. "Who knows?" He met Tom's gaze again. "And you tell Becky Thatcher not to worry her pretty head about a thing… okay?"
Tom laughed quietly.
"Everything's gonna be fine… sooner or later, you'll see that," Huck told him, "and then you'll thank me!"
The laugh came easier and louder this time. The sense of time passing quicker came to him more forcefully now, and a great melancholy swam within his heart. He was waking up.
"Remember what I said…" Huck told him warmly, sighing, and patted Tom on the arm.
Tom grabbed him and hugged him, clamping his eyes shut against the emotion.
"I miss you, you know that?"
"Of course I do," Huck told him, and pulled away gently. "And I know the feelin'."
Tom smiled in a lopsided fashion, and Huck did the same. They had been so alike in so many ways.
"Just remember what I said," Huck repeated, and he was already starting to fade from focus, his words lingering on the air for just a moment, falling away into the mists, lost to Tom.
Tom nodded his acknowledgement, and just stood watching his best friend disappearing into the mists, somehow easier to bear than the first time he had watched him fade away.
That was when everything started to close in on him, and instead of giving in to the fear he had first met in this place; Tom simply took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting it envelop him…
Green eyes opened and stared up at the ceiling, the covers lost sometime during the night from the bed, now on the floor. He shivered for a moment, and then sat up, taking in the sight of his cabin around him, the few disorganised personal items scattered here and there in disarray.
The details of the dream swam back into his conscious mind, and he let a smile touch his features. It was cool in the cabin, but he felt oddly warm. He slipped off the bed, and pulled on a robe hanging from a hook. He tied the robe shut, and simply stood in the middle of his cabin, lost for what to do next.
Tom Sawyer looked down at the item closest to his foot. It was a book, and he scooped it up and flicked through it.
"Becky…" he mumbled to himself. Inside the pages were letters he had written to her, but never sent… sketches of her he had done in late hours before he had realised what it was he was doing. In his youth, he had drawn quite a lot, and even remembered how he had first charmed Rebecca Thatcher by 'learning' her how to draw. He smiled at the memory. He had improved somewhat over the years at least, and the faces -or rather, face- that stared back up at him from the book had form and substance… he even liked to think they looked like Becky.
Tom lay the book down, pages open, on his bed, and dressed, knowing it had to be around breakfast time on the Nautilus.
Sure enough, when he was pulling on his right boot and tying the laces, there was a delicate knocking on his door. He regarded the origin of the noise as if it would introduce itself, and then shook himself out of his reverie.
He realised he had made a mess of his laces, and refrained from getting up for fear of falling over, instead calling, "Come in."
It was Wilhelmina Harker… Mina. Tom's breath caught in his throat. What was she doing here? They usually sent Skinner or Jekyll to collect him if he was late for breakfast.
"Mrs. Harker," he greeted her, and realised he had made an even worse mess of his lace. Growling at it, he simply pulled the boot clean off his foot, and laid it on his lap to sort the knot out.
Mina strode into the room with that usual alluring confidence, and glanced around. "Agent Sawyer… when was the last time you took to cleaning your cabin?"
"Um…" Most of Tom's focus was on the ridiculous knot in his laces. "I don't remember… maybe never."
"Well perhaps it is time you did." Mina came up before him, and watched him fiddle with the boot. "Breakfast is ready."
"Uh huh."
Tom was so rapt in trying to untie the knot, which seemed intent on foiling and enraging him, that he did not notice Mina properly. The details of his dream kept playing over in his mind as well, diverting his focus, and he almost caught his finger in the laces.
"Agent Sawyer… did you do these?"
Tom's head snapped up quickly, and he saw Mina was holding the book in one hand. Part of him wanted to panic… the other part was curious. They melded together, oddly, and he found himself admitting, "Yes."
Mina smiled lightly, her lips curving upwards at the edges subtlely. "They are very good."
"Uh…" Tom furrowed his brow. "What? They are?"
Mina nodded. "You have quite a talent… I never would have taken you for an artist."
Tom laughed, and realised the knot was loose, and he slipped the untied boot on his foot. "I wouldn't say that, Mrs. Harker. At least they're better than my childhood drawings anyway…" He trailed off, and the dream haunted him again.
"Besides, you got a good thing goin' for you now…"
Tom swallowed.
Mina seemed to notice his sudden shadowed expression, and she cocked her head delicately to one side, closing the book and laying it aside. "Is something wrong?"
"Um… no," Tom told her, "not exactly. It's just… I had a dream last night, and it seemed so real."
Mina took it upon herself to sit on the edge of his bed with her head turned to face him. She raised her eyebrows curiously, urging him to continue.
So it was that Tom -a little reluctantly at first- relayed the dream to Mina, trying not to miss anything, seeing she was listening intently. When he was done with his tale, ending on rather a longing note, he tried to read her expression. He failed.
"Many doctors believe that every dream has a meaning, Agent Sawyer," Mina said at last, and it was with a pensive expression that she did so. "Your dream is no exception, I'm sure. I am no expert, but if I had to guess…"
Tom waited for her to persist. He wasn't disappointed.
"I would say that you had a visitor last night."
Something in Tom's expression must have demanded immediate explanation, for Mina added, "Perhaps not in the strictest terms, as can be explicated with tales of ghosts or spirits… but in here…" Her fingers touched the side of his head lightly, and he was too lost in her eyes to draw away. "Your friend… even though just in a dream… worries for you, as I do sometimes. I see you every day, Agent Sawyer, and the way you move around in the hopes that no one will see you so you do not have to put on a brave face is not lost on me."
Tom narrowed his eyes. This was shaping up to be a very confusing day.
"Everybody has loved and lost in one form or another, Tom."
She called me Tom… she never calls me that…
"We all find our own ways to deal with it," Mina continued, and her hand came away from his head, resting delicately on her lap. "Yours was perhaps to wish for words of comfort from a dear friend, someone lost to you now."
Tom diverted his gaze. The melancholy rose up in him again.
"I am not saying it was not an intriguing dream, a very realistic one," Mina said softly, "but it was just a dream, Agent Sawyer."
He didn't even take in the name this time. He was too busy staring at the floor sorrowfully, going over every single detail in the dream again, and trying to make some sort of sense of it all.
Mina stood from the bed, and walked towards the door. Before going through it, she stopped, pensively, and turned to him. "And Agent Sawyer?"
Tom looked up at her from the bed, and blinked.
"Just because it was only a dream," she said to him in a distant sort of way, her voice like a woeful song, "by no means was the advice not correct." She smiled. "This 'Becky' may still love you… do not miss out on the oppurtunity. It will be something you will regret."
And then she was gone. Tom stared after her for a long time, just letting everything sink in.
Finally, he smiled, and glanced over at the book that now lay closed nearby. Sighing, he nodded to himself. He stood from the bed, making his way to the door, his mind made up to request to Nemo that they head to Missouri.
There was someone he needed to see.
Thanks, Huck…
A/N2: You see what I mean? Incessant ramblings of a sufferer from writer's block. Lol. But still… it just kind of took over whilst I was writing it, and this is the result. It all just kind of wrote itself, and I hope with all my heart it makes sense, and that some sort of message got across. As for the little details, such as Tom's sketches… if you've ever read 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer', you'll know what I'm talking about. Tom used to draw, and this was he first got Becky's attention. Quite sweet actually. I'm guessing he wouldn't have given up on that entirely. Who knows? That goes for the sugar bowl incident too. It's also from the book. As always, this rendition of Huck is (hopefully) quite original, but still in with the canon book character. I tried to give him a Southern tang, to contrast him to Tom. If you want to see a picture of who I always base him on physically, check out my site. If not, and you think you'll know the name anyway, it's Breckin Meyer. He's just… Huck… to me. One of these days I have to get around to writing something that isn't so damn depressing. Anyway, please do leave me a review and tell me what you think of this. Thank you.