A/N: Well, glad to see you're still enjoying it. The reviews are still coming in, but that's not the point, is it? *clears throat* It's getting the story told, right? It's hard to believe myself! Anyway... that waffle out of the way, thanks so much for reviews, please don't stop just because I said that! Heehee. Okay, I'm a muppet... a big one :D On with the story...
Sethoz: True, true... save for Aunt Polly and a couple of others, Huck was all poor Tom had *sniff* *remembers M died horribly, and is satisfied*

Beck2: Yep... LXG is loads of fun, isn't it? Glad you're enjoying my work. Let me know if you want an update notice or not. Hope to see more of you in the future and welcome!

            It turned out that Tom Sawyer had not been very hungry at all... in that he ate nothing, simply sat at the table in observation of the others. His eyes kept floating to Mina, and Henry found this quite odd. Yes, they all had their silly infatuations with the woman -with the exception of Captain Nemo of course-, but Henry had never seen the American stare so outright. Whenever the woman looked at him, he simply smiled. Edward stirred inside of his mind, not a pleasant sensation.

            "Why do you stare, Henry? Isn't that... rude? It's not as though you've never been caught staring at the vampire before." Edward chuckled, a dry mocking sound that made Henry grip his cup a little too tight. His knuckles whitened, and he quickly set the cup down, hearing it clink on its saucer. He cleared his throat, and smiled at Mina, who glanced to him curiously.

            Since he was sitting in a room occupied by the rest of the League, Henry immediately decided that verbal retaliation was not the right way to go about this. At least not here. He just sat in silence, and let Edward chatter away.

            "That's right, Henry. Just listen. Oh how I love it when you cannot fight back... not that it is ever worth it."

            Henry sighed deeply, and rubbed his left temple discreetly, trying not to draw attention to himself. He glanced to Sawyer at his side, noting the rigid way in which he sat there, not saying a word, barely even blinking. Was something the matter with him? Was he ill?

            Shaking his head, he tried to ignore Edward as he persisted, "There is something disturbing about the American... I can smell it on the brat."

            Henry gave up on trying to eat or drink anything else. That comment from his alter ego almost made his choke on a slice of toast. He managed to hide this behind his napkin however, and tilted his head and waited... Edward would clarify. He always did.

            Edward chuckled heartily. "Can you not see it? The betrayal in his face. Voice our concerns, Henry. Do not trust him..."

            "Just shut up!"

            Henry didn't realise what he had done until everyone looked at him, and Skinner's cutlery clattered to his plate noisily in the otherwise silent room. Nemo blinked. Mina raised a feminine eyebrow, and shared a confused expression with Sawyer.

            "Oh my," Henry mumbled, "I am sorry... Edward, he..." He indicated his skull as if that would explain everything. But still, they stared. "I apologise. I did not mean to... excuse me, I am not well." He nodded curtly to them, placed his napkin on his plate of unfinished food, and exited the room without another word. The others of the League watched him leave with bemused expressions on their faces, looking to one another for answers that did not come.

            Henry headed straight back to his room, leaving the lights off so that he could sit in silence, comforted by the fact that without illumination, the reflection of Edward Hyde would not persist in the claim that Tom Sawyer was not trustworthy. Henry couldn't believe that... he wouldn't.

            But then again...

            Amelia Kendrick had learned long ago sometime during her fourty-odd years in existence, that concentration and determination were both key factors in the success of her 'art'. Her talents required both, to extreme levels, but Amelia had mastered the technique of being aware of her own actions and those of her victim simultaneously. It was difficult, but an advantage she was willing to suffer a few headaches for.

            Seeing through the eyes of Agent Sawyer, Amelia discreetly glared at the vampire as she ate delicately, the breakfast far from satisfying to the woman. Amelia made no attempt to nourish the body of the American... it bothered her little if he hungered or suffered from thirst, as long as he was strong enough to host her consciousness, that was all that mattered.

            "So, Tom, gonna tell us about your friends then? When are you planning on seeing them again?"

            Amelia turned Sawyer's head slightly to the left to take in the form -or rather, lack thereof- of Skinner, the invisible man. He was looking at Sawyer through pince-nez sunglasses, and cocking his head to one side.

            "This evening. I'll be heading out about eight o'clock, if that's okay with everyone," she said through his mouth, her own lips never moving. She projected it clearly in her mind, linked with Sawyer's and the words came out of his body, in his own voice. They were none the wiser to the deception. She was, however, a little concerned about the doctor, Jekyll... he had seemed agitated, and Amelia had noticed his watching Sawyer. She had even -only ever so slightly- sensed his worry. If the man continued to be a nuisance, Amelia would be forced to take drastic action... she didn't want that... it would risk her exposure.

            "Sounds nice," Skinner had replied without her realising, and she noticed she must have left the body of Sawyer almost completely still for a while, as both Harker and the invisible man were staring, perplexed.

            "Sorry," she apologised through Sawyer, "I'm a little tired. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go lie down." Amelia made him stand, noticing she had a small amount of difficulty in doing so.

            She could feel Sawyer's mind fighting hers, scrabbling for purchase, trying to rise to the surface. She used her spare focus to force him back down, and nodded the head of the man to the others, leaving shortly thereafter.

            Amelia got Sawyer's body all the way back to his room, and used his hands to turn the key in the lock afterwards. She tossed the key aside after that, and braced herself. The pain in her skull was swelling.

            Sawyer was fighting with all he had.

            The feeling of being submerged under water was lessening, and he struggled vehemently to make his way to the surface of his own being, forcing his mind further upwards until he felt a great weight lifted partially from inside of him.

            He gasped, realising that the sound emerged from him audibly, and then he almost collapsed to the floor in shock. His breathing quickened drastically, quick panting gasps as he fought for air, stunned that he had succeeded in breaking free, if only for a moment.

            He had to grab the nearest object to keep himself upright, and that object happened to be a small table. His fingers closed about its rounded edges, knuckles white with the tension, and he somehow miraculously managed to keep on his feet.

            The pain slammed into him full force then, wracking his body. The abuse he had so far undergone took its toll, and he wobbled dangerously, even as he let go of the table. He stumbled back into the wall, knocking over a lamp on the way. The cuts, bruises and mental agony all attacked him at once, and he almost failed to keep breathing. His eyes were wide with the blow he had sustained, and he gave a shallow cry of distress, hoping someone might hear him.

            As he slumped back against the wall, he realised he didn't have long to enjoy his freedom... not that the word 'enjoyment' accurately described what he was going through. He could already feel her coming back.

            "No," he growled, and tried to rise, his shoulders aching from when they had had him restrained in that awkward position for hours on end. It was a marvel his wrists were not bruised. He almost wished they had been... the League would have seen them. He favoured his left arm suddenly as he tore open the wound from the knife that Elizabeth had stabbed him with, and that drew another shout out of him, strangled and full of his suffering. Tears stung in his eyes, and he clamped them shut, gritting his teeth, breathing unevenly all the while.

            God, it hurt so much.

            "Leave me alone," he managed weakly, looking for something, anything that could help him. His elbow brushed against his side, and he froze. His guns... why hadn't he realised before?

            Tom had two options... one was suicide, shooting himself to escape the torture again and save Mina from the mad woman that was Amelia Kendrick... this wasn't too favourable, despite the 'nobility' of its intentions. The second was the choice he opted for. Using his left hand, suddenly extremely thankful for being ambidextrous, Tom withdrew the pistol.

            "Put the gun down!" a voice said sternly in his head, and he felt his fingers weaken in their grip.

            "Dammit, no," he growled, and forced them to tighten, his index finger slipping through the trigger guard and finding its rightful place.

            "Drop the weapon... it will do you no good, unless you intend to turn it on yourself, which I will not allow, and you know this. It is useless, Agent Sawyer."

            With his last ounce of strength, he aimed blindly and squeezed the trigger, hearing the explosion of the gunshot and the subsequent shattering of an object, shortly before everything went frighteningly dark and numb once again.