A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Thanks so much for all the reviews :D Mean a lot as always. As an extra note, with much help from Sethoz, my basis' for Amelia and Gregory are now uploaded on my site under Fanfiction & OCs. All of the characters from this fics are now uploaded with biographies and pictures. Here's a cliffy to start off the new year with ;)
Graymoon74: Ask yourself, would you trust Tom with that behaviour? Hehe. P.s. About the chapter 'already signed' thing, just close the window, and click submit again ;) Never fails for me.
Sethoz: Bwahaha! Patience is a virtue ;) :P
Angharad: He has an adorable vulnerability to him, doesn't he?
Silent Bob 546: And this would be a bad thing whyyyyy? Sawyer monitor? Yes please!!!!
drowchild: Jekyll is a good guy deep down. Needing to watch his back? Hmm... think you might be right there. I think 'Poor Sawyer' doesn't begin to cover it. *hands you some cookies and some frozen hotdogs for your campfire*
MJ: It was either Jekyll or Skinner, and for some reason, Jekyll appealed :S
Mina uttered a small yelp when Jekyll burst into her room with such urgency that she thought something was on fire. She gripped her test tube tightly after almost dropping it, and her hand shook with the shock of it all. She muttered a curse, and whirled to the doctor, eyes fiery and angry, face drawn into a grimace.
"Jekyll!" she chided, "Whatever are you doing?"
The man panted and gasped like a fish out of water, and finally managed to ramble, "Sawyer... gone, left to see his friends. He's not himself. Edward seems to think he will betray us, but I noticed he left without his second pistol and rifle."
Mina stared, disbelieving, and finally managed, "Doctor, are you quite all right?"
Jekyll muttered under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick up in random directions. He actually looked quite comic, although Mina was certain that had not been his intention. "Something is wrong with Agent Sawyer."
"Where did he go? Did he say where exactly?"
"No he didn't..."
Mina furrowed her brow. "And what is it Hyde suspects?"
"That Sawyer will betray us," Jekyll repeated, waiting eagerly for her reaction, which seemed to disappoint. The way his face fell when she replied was most confusing.
"Well... surely the... Hyde can't expect us to believe Agent Sawyer means anything other than to confuse and cause mischief as always, Doctor Jekyll." Mina smiled to reassure him, and he stood staring at her with a puzzled expression.
"But, Mrs. Harker-"
"Look..." she smiled again, setting down the test tube. "I'll admit Tom's behaviour did confuse me for a while. He had a different scent to him, and it concerned me."
Jekyll waited for her continuation.
"But then I realised it was perfume from a woman, and my senses were just... off," Mina added, "I really don't think we have anything to worry about."
Jekyll stood, disarmed now and looking very vulnerable and misunderstood. Mina almost felt sorry for the poor man. But he was always rushing to conclusions, it seemed, being the pessimist. That was not what she needed right now. She was depressed enough as it was, and didn't need him casting an unnecessary shadow over everything. True, he was a sweet, considerate man, but he did sometimes irritate.
"Now, Doctor, your concerns are noted," Mina said, realising how official she sounded, and reminded herself to tone it down, "but I really must persist with this experiment before I leave the chemicals too long. They only have a limited shelf life." She nodded to him, and turned back to her desk.
Her senses informed her Jekyll had paced away. She could tell by the way his scent grew faint, and her heightened hearing picked up his distant footsteps as he withdrew.
As she fully comprehended what she had said, she started to feel pangs of guilt as to her treatment of the man. Perhaps she had been a little hasty to brush him off so quickly... but then again, perhaps not.
Who knew? Not Mina.
God dammit, stop walking! Just, stop your feet; you know you can do this! They're your stupid feet, stop them!
The feeling of submergence, or rather being stuck somewhere in between the pit of his being and the surface, was torturous, perhaps even worse than being all the way down in the darkness. Amelia was struggling, he knew, and he had to fight her with every ounce of his being he had left.
There was nothing more terrifying to him right now than pondering on the fact that if he didn't fight, he might be lost forever, a mere shell of the Tom Sawyer the League knew.
He still felt her trying to push him down, but her efforts were weaker now... something suggested a great pain in her that he could not understand. Was this hurting her? If so, then he had to try harder.
Tom wanted them to suffer for what they had done to him... the pain, the torture, the use of awful memories, and the torment. Not to mention their plot to destroy someone he looked on as a dear friend, and perhaps more. He didn't know what it was, and this was not the time to dwell on that.
I just need to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer...
Amelia's eyes snapped open with such ferocity and abruptness that Gregory took a step back, even as the woman's head turned to him, and she panted, "It is done." That was when Elizabeth entered the room, and moved directly to her mother, whispering quiet things in her ear as if in reassurance and comfort. Amelia nodded, but Gregory was bored by such compassion, and left, determination on his face.
He moved with unbelievable speed to the foyer, where he knew the American would be waiting. Gregory half expected the boy to be unconscious when he got there, but when he arrived in the entrance to the building, he looked around in stunned yet stoic confusion.
Where the hell was he?
Tom felt Amelia slip out of his mind entirely, and immediately -as before- gasped and almost collapsed with the waves of intense, merciless pain that attacked him and gnawed at every fibre of his being. His shoulder burned from the stab wound, and he gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out. He had to act quickly if he had any hope at all of trying to stop their plans from coming to a culmination.
Tears stinging in his eyes from the agony, Tom scanned the area quickly, when he heard hurried footsteps approaching.
Gregory...
His first instinct was to stand and fight, but without the element of surprise, he wouldn't stand a chance. Gregory was strong, and brutal. Tom was wounded and unprepared for such a struggle.
He did still have one pistol though...
Gregory looked this way and that, dark eyes scanning every inch in his line of sight, and growled under his breath angrily. He was in the main body of the foyer now, down the stairs in the entrance hall where the American should have been. He couldn't have gone far. Had Amelia let him go too early? Had he escaped?
No, it was impossible. He was wounded... he wouldn't possibly be able to move fast enough.
Of course, this thought was pushed completely out of Gregory's barbaric mind when something unexpectedly slammed into the base of his skull, driving his forward and down simultaneously.
Tom acted quickly. When he saw the man in plain view, and thought the time right, he pounced, his own stealth and agility surprising even him. In his state, it was a miracle he could move two feet, let alone physically launch himself from his shadowed hiding place under the staircase, pistol at the ready.
He slammed the butt of the gun into the base of Gregory's skull, and he watched the man pitch forward.
Tom shoved aside the triumph as he realised Gregory was still very much conscious, when the man held out both hands to stop him from falling flat on his face on the floor. With an audible growl of rage, he whirled on Tom; dark eyes alight with his fury at the situation.
Gregory pounced on him, and drove him back, even as he aimed. He was rammed back into the wall behind him with such force that he gave a shout and loosened his grip on the pistol, not having had time to fire. He did not drop it though... instead, Gregory tore it from his grasp, took a step back, and kicked out the back of his knee. Tom fell halfway to the floor, and then used every ounce of strength he had left to plough his way forward, tearing Gregory's feet from the floor he had purchase on.
The two men went down in a tangled confusion on the floor, and started trying to physically tear at each other. The malice in the fitter man's eyes was terrifying, even as he -in quite a juvenile, cruel way- took a wrenching tight-fingered grip in Tom's hair, yanking his head sideways, and then rammed his fist into his face. Tom flew off to the side, landing roughly on the floor, colours swimming behind his eyelids.
Tom became aware of his surroundings just in time to avoid the stiletto that soared towards him. It hadn't occurred to him that Gregory was trained in projectile weaponry, but he had been naïve to think otherwise. He scrambled madly to one side, hearing the blade skitter and scrape along the area where his head had been only seconds before.
Though Tom ached madly and perspired wildly with the exertion of keeping himself conscious and upright now, he stood, ducking a fist from Gregory, punching the man in the stomach on his way down, driving him back and away, just long enough for Tom to kick out at him as an extra effort.
His booted foot landed in almost exactly the same spot he had punched, and Gregory doubled over, dropping Tom's gun.
Tom lunged, fingers of his left hand closing around the barrel as he rolled, cursing himself for doing so. His shoulder burned something fierce, and he almost blacked out as he came back to his feet, feeling oddly unbalanced without the other Colt in his hand for symmetry.
He came up with the business end of the gun pointed directly at Gregory's forehead, and the man had a hand raised near Tom's arm. Both men stopped, regarding one another seriously. It was a tense moment; Tom panting wildly with exhaustion and pain, Gregory angry beyond comprehension at the sheer nerve the American had exhibited in attacking him.
That moment seemed to drag on for an eternity.