A/N: Well, hopefully this chapter serves as a longer dose. It changes about a bit, here there and everywhere, but my aim is that I'll fulfil my pledge to bring you longer chapters... as I promised. Shout outs are as follows;
drowchild: Tense? Try... okay I can't think of a word worse than that. No worries about the food... can't have a loyal reviewer starving now, can I?
Anacalagon: Glad you liked that bit :D Got a little bit of bizarre inspiration from Cap'n Jack Sparrow believe it or not *stares blankly at revelation* Bet ya' didn't see that one coming, did you? More Skinner... why of course!
Silent Bob 546: I pity him, and I'm the one writing the stuff! :S
Sethoz: I'm going to take this as a good thing, that I can scare my readers so thoroughly with my own hidden sadism... okay... now I'm scaring myself. Congratulations on being the only one to truly recognise the Spiderman reference, as loose as it may have been. Hehehehe.
Lissa: Ack, thanks muchly for the correction on Sid. *slaps head* Forgot about that *shamed* Bad, Clez, bad!
Angharad: Skinner and Jekyll as a team up was just too tempting...
LotRseer3350: *is listening to TTT music right now as she writes this* Thanks for the kind words, and enjoy the new chapter!
Elizabeth stood as still as she possibly could in front of the young man, who was not much older than herself it seemed, and regarded him curiously. She cocked her head, and noticed he flinched. Elizabeth smiled, overjoyed that he was frightened of her already. He had barely seen her talents or how cruel she could be... she wondered if her mother would allow her some time with him.
Casting a glance to the door, Elizabeth moved around the chained captive, taking in his irregular breathing, his heavy perspiration, and the visible pain in his green eyes... eyes that were starting to lose their light. He hung rather limply now, one knee buckled, as though he were giving up. A shame...
Elizabeth came back round to stand before the weakened American, and looked to the wound she had caused before. Cocking her head again, black tresses tumbling around her face, she touched the bandage her mother had applied. Her touch was not gentle, and Sawyer winced visibly, gasping slightly. Smiling, Elizabeth saw that the blood had soaked through, and then she tore the bandage off. She was disappointed when Sawyer refused to scream. He didn't even look at her.
Raising an eyebrow, she took in the sight of the fresh bruising around his chest and stomach area. The way his breathing laboured, it wouldn't have surprised Elizabeth to learn of bruised -perhaps even cracked- ribs... maybe internal bleeding. Gregory had certainly let himself go. Elizabeth brushed aside a moment of admiration when she saw a brief image of her father and his cruelty in her mind. Her face fell back into shadowed anger, and she glared at the American.
Reaching out with her mind, the chains began to constrict and rise, pulling on the man's wounded shoulder. Now he screamed, and Elizabeth felt elated, smiling broadly at his open display of agony. She let him back down to the floor, and for a moment, both knees buckled, but then he seemed to remember his injury and one foot slammed back defiantly to the floor, his panting audible.
His eyes met hers then, and for a moment, Elizabeth was almost certain she saw unshed tears in them.
How pathetic, she thought without humour, and wondered what else she could do to enjoy her time in this room alone with the man.
Tom looked around himself, brow furrowed. He looked through locks of blonde curly hair, and then realised his feet were bare, the cool of the ground beneath them making him look down at himself.
He looked up, startled and afraid, eyes darting this way and that for some semblance of recognition as to his situation. What was going on? The last thing he remembered was Gregory approaching him... Gregory.
Now, as he looked himself over one more time, he was a young boy. When he took in his surroundings, he realised he was in St. Petersburg, Missouri.
"Oh my god..."
"You watch your mouth, Thomas Sawyer."
Tom whirled, heart leaping into his throat, and everything in him stopped when he saw the pair of figures standing before him near the riverbed. He started to shake, and he stared at them long and hard, his memory working double-time to make out their faces... faces he had almost forgotten.
Tears swam in his eyes as he mumbled, "Momma...?"
The woman nodded, and held out her arms to him. Without thinking, he ran to her and threw himself into her warm embrace, sobbing against her skirts. He trembled with grief, but after a moment, his eyes rose to the second figure. He was a tall man, proud and strong, with dark hair and green eyes. His facial hair did nothing to hide his welcoming smile, and the suit he wore made Tom think back on Sundays in church.
"Papa?" He could barely remember his father... but the eyes... those were the eyes that always stared back at him in the mirror. The man tousled Tom's hair with a laugh and nodded. Tom was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He still couldn't figure out what he was doing here... why his parents were here. They had died... hadn't they? That was what his memory told him.
When he spoke, his youthful southern drawl was back, his every word abbreviated or turned into an adolescent form of slang as he asked, "What're ya' doin' here?"
His mother looked down on him with sky blue eyes, and smiled again. Her hair was blonde, falling down to her shoulders in curly locks that answered Tom's life-long question of just where his hair had taken its appearance. Who else but his mother? She wore a bright, floral dress of whites and pinks, long skirts touching her ankles. She was a lean woman, but far from short.
"Why else would we be here, Tom?" his mother replied, looking to Tom's father. He really could not remember the slightest detail about his father.
"We're here when you need us most," his father said in clear tones that spoke of confidence and experience. Tom suddenly wished the man had been around in his youth, to guide him then.
"What's goin' on?" Tom asked next, stepping back slightly from the embrace of his mother. He was frightened again. His breathing quickened.
"Tom, now don't be frightened," his mother eased, and she crouched to be more at his level. She reached out gently, and her fingers caressed his cheek lovingly. Tom fought back the emotions again. He had truly loved his Aunt Polly... but she could never have been a mother to him.
His father came down beside him, and looked him in the face. "We're only here to help."
"But, what am I doin' here? The last thing I rememb-"
His mother interrupted him softly, saying, "Don't worry about that, Tom. We need you to do something for us, okay? Can you do that, Tom?"
Tom stammered for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes 'm."
"Good boy, Tom," his mother said, and stroked his bangs out of his face. "Now listen carefully..."
Gregory drew back, noticing there was no resistance from the American now, and he smiled openly. He glanced to Amelia with a sly expression, and waved a hand.
"All yours, my dear... I can assure you, your job will be much easier now," Gregory said. The look on Amelia's face was enough to take away all the pain he still felt at the rear of his skull.
Well... touché, boy... you hurt me, and I went that one step further, and hurt you more than you will ever know.
Gregory watched Amelia come up to face Sawyer, and she stood before him, silent for a moment, before turning her head back. "Gregory... what did you do? I have barely any resistance..."
Deeply satisfied, Gregory started to wipe his hands on a handkerchief now, feigning boredom. "Well... trick of the trade, dear Amelia. Attack them where it hurts."
Amelia regarded him curiously for a moment, and then decided she would rather not bother trying to decipher the man's riddles, and so turned her attention back on her vessel.
Gregory watched as Amelia released the boy from the shackles. She seemed to have such immense control over his body now that he stood quite firmly, still staring blankly at her. There was no sign of weakness visible, not even when Amelia instructed Juliana to go about bandaging the shoulder again. Juliana was far from gentle after years of torment, Gregory knew... any responsive 'patient' would have showed the signs of tenderness as soon as she started, but Sawyer simply stood stock-still, eyes never wavering from the gaze he and Amelia shared.
"If you'll excuse me," Gregory began, stifling a yawn, "I can see I am no longer needed." With that, not waiting for any kind of response or acknowledgement from the women around him, he departed, smiling smugly all the way back to his room.
Skinner shivered for just a moment, wishing he had been able to don some sort of clothing before heading out to the edge of the dock to wait for any signs of Sawyer. He had been standing here for a good twenty minutes after sorting out a game plan with Jekyll, and he hugged his arms about his bare chest to try and warm himself, if only slightly. He didn't even come close to succeeding, and watched a pair of ladies walk past, grinning to himself, following them with his eyes before remembering his purpose. He shook his head, and yearned for a drink to warm his innards.
C'mon, Sawyer... how long can one guy stay 'gone' for anyway? You've got to come back some time... haven't you? It dawned on him then that maybe Sawyer wasn't coming back. They hadn't considered this. It was something else to take in and log, try to make sense of. Skinner took comfort in the fact that no one could see the utter confusion sweep over his face.
He hopped about quietly on the balls of his feet to try and regain some semblance of comfort, and tried not to breath too heavily, lest his breath be seen curling away from what should have been nothingness. He groaned quietly, and leaned back against the building nearest to the dock. He grumbled under his breath, and then cut himself off short when he caught sight of a mop of blonde hair that could only belong to one person.
Sawyer!
He was traversing the ground between the slimming crowds of New York and the Nautilus with ease and purpose, and Skinner watched him, coiled like a spring ready to... well, spring. His eyes never left his target, and as Sawyer nodded to some of Nemo's men, Skinner trotted off after him stealthily, tiptoeing up the ramp so as not to make it rattle.
He followed after Sawyer, pausing absolutely when the young American halted in his tracks, and looked over his shoulder. Skinner took in the almost pale complexion of his friend, and confusion sprang back into precedence. Something really was wrong with the younger man, and Skinner's concern swelled in the pit of his stomach. Either that or he was hungry... and this was no time for food.
Stop staring, kid... move! Please...?
And Sawyer did, after a moment of staring about with pensive narrowed eyes. He set off on his way again, looking oddly unburdened without his rifle. Jekyll had informed him that Sawyer was only carrying one pistol as well, but when Skinner realised fully where they were going, it only stood to reason the American was planning to rectify that unbalance.
Sure enough, the arrived at the quarters of Tom Sawyer, and he retrieved his secondary pistol, opening the compartment and loading a fresh replacement bullet into it. He checked his other holstered pistol, and then filled up his Winchester with ease and startling speed, the blank look on his face probably the most unnerving thing. Skinner, despite himself, shuddered momentarily at the expression. In his moment of weakness, he jogged a lamp on the table, before jumping back away from it silently, and staring wide-eyed at the alerted Sawyer.
The gun rose, prepared, and the green eyes stared resolutely around, before the rifle hung at his side, held in his left hand. He made to exit the room, and Skinner breathed in as much as possible so the two men would not collide. He let out the breath in relief when Sawyer passed right by him unawares.
Easy, Rodney... easy. You've done this a million times... what are you frightened of? Skinner swallowed, taking another deep breath, and traipsed on after Sawyer, realising with a racing of the heart that he was heading for the quarters of the only woman onboard.
Mina glanced to the door when she heard a knock upon it, and tilted her head ever so delicately to one side. She set down her book at once, notes forgotten, and moved to open it, surprised to find Tom standing there. He smiled at her disarmingly.
When he didn't say anything, Mina laughed quietly, and asked, "Is something wrong, Tom?"
"No, not really," Tom replied, and he sounded oddly eager for once. What had come over him? Mina took a sniff on the air discreetly, and smelt that same faint perfume, and something else... it couldn't be.
No... it was impossible. Jekyll had said nothing of a wound before. Maybe it was only a cut... nothing to concern herself with.
Be careful, Mina... you've been burned before. You don't want it to happen again.
Mina narrowed her eyes at him with a slight smile, and inquired, "Well, what is it then? Did you want my help with something?"
Tom regarded her curiously for a moment, tilting his head to one side so that his hair fell around his eyes. He shook it aside and shrugged. "You could say that." He laughed. "One of my friends is eager to meet you. I told her about you, and she was fascinated."
Mina narrowed her eyes anew, and said, "How much did you tell her, Tom?"
"Oh, not too much," Tom insisted, holding up his right hand, the left occupied by his rifle. "Just about your science, that's all. That you were a chemist... that sort of thing."
Mina thought deeply about Tom's words, and then realised the sincerity behind them. There couldn't be any harm in it, so long as her urges didn't kick in whilst they were talking or anything of the like. The last thing Mina wanted was to reveal her vampiric self to anyone outside of the League. She had done that for years before, and she was living to regret it. The faces of her untimely victims haunted her dreams, both in the night and the day when her mind ran away with her.
"Very well, Tom," Mina said with a sigh and a smile. "If you will give me a moment to change, I will come and meet your friend." She nodded her head to him when he smiled, and closed the door, locking it for the time being whilst she undressed out of her drab clothing. She wasn't going to go and get all dressed up and fancy to meet one of Tom's friends... she just hoped they were female. Perhaps it was the same woman who Tom had come back smelling of recently... she supposed she would find out.
Within five minutes she had changed into a fresh white blouse, long black skirt with her heeled dark boots. She ensured the collar of her blouse was buttoned up tight, and she took her red necktie and fastened it about her neck firmly. She slipped on her ankle-length coat, buttoning it all the way up to her throat, and put her scarlet scarf about her shoulders, adjusting its position and throwing one long end over her left shoulder. She retrieved her veiled cap, and held it in her now-gloved hands as she reopened the door, smiling at Sawyer, who was standing in the exact same position she had left him in. He grinned at her eagerly.
"You look nice," he told her, as though it was perfectly natural to say such things, and behaving in a manner that suggested he had never seen her dress so, before now. She laughed delicately, shaking her head. She slipped her hat on over her fastened hair.
"Thank you, Agent Sawyer. Shall we?" she offered, waiting for him to take the lead out of the corridor, and subsequently, the Nautilus. He knew where to go after all. He took the hint, and started off at a brisk, yet easily matched pace, Mina on his heels.
As she walked, she thought she sensed something, but then realised that she could hardly trust her otherworldly instincts sometimes. They always seemed to throw her off. With this in mind, she followed Tom.
Ah! Mina, don't follow him!
Despite the screaming in his head, Skinner jogged after the American and the vampire, cursing himself for his rash behaviour. He needed to speak to Jekyll... now! He needed to inform the doctor that he planned on following to wherever they were going. Something was very off about this whole situation, and the invisible man intended to find out just what that certain something was.
As they started to descend the ramp, Skinner had a sudden idea. He tapped one of Nemo's trusted crewmen on the shoulder, seeing him start. "Ssh, it's only Skinner," he eased, and saw the man relax. He never took his eyes off his quarry as he whispered instructions to the man. The Indian crewman nodded, and Skinner was on his way again, briskly but cautiously. Despite the thinning of the crowds, the last thing he needed was to bump into some Yank who would yell out at the top of their voice and alert Sawyer and Mina to his position.
Just don't lose sight of them, his mind informed him needlessly, and he rolled his eyes at the unnecessary yammering of his own brain. He wished he could turn the blasted thing off, but he would need his wits about him if his gut instinct turned out to be correct.
So it was that Rodney Skinner put all his thieving techniques -without the actual thieving- into full swing. He ducked and darted through clumps of unawares people, shutting out their conversations, all available attention diverted firmly onto his target.
Sawyer and Mina pressed on with ease through the crowd. Obviously there was something about the young man holding a Winchester rifle that parted the people like he was about to turn on them all threateningly. With the way Sawyer had been behaving, Skinner wouldn't have been surprised.
They seemed to walk for miles, but Skinner knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He was quite lost though.
Why didn't I bring a flare gun? Idiot...
As he carried on behind Sawyer and Mina at a safe distance, Skinner just hoped that Jekyll could interpret his request... and pay heed to it without debate.
Suddenly he didn't feel so confident.