Author's Note: Okay, you all have to remember you asked for this to continue, okay? If you regret your decision *hides behind cushion*, I take no blame :P Well, hopefully, you won't regret it, cuz if you do, then I'm doing something wrong as a writer. Thanks to drowchild, Raven Silvers, Lissa, Soli and Hellcat for their encouragement, and to Sethoz for faithfully reviewing every single LXG thing in my name : ) Thanks, pal! Okay, I'm going to automatically add reviewers to an update list, because this one will probably take me quite a while, because… let's face it, this is just a filler for me to creatively occupy my hours between writer's block for my other story 'Out of Sight, Out of Mind'. You know it, I know it… we all know it! Anyway, readers of the LXG novelisation may well recognise little snippets throughout this series. Please tell me specifically if you do not wish to receive update notices. I won't be offended : ) *crosses fingers behind back*

Scene: This takes place from when the League first see our dear Tom Sawyer in his entirety. I have added some bits, and just so you know, I did this all by memory, and even wrote out what I knew of the script (*cough* I have seen this film too many times!) and went from there. Starts off in Dorian's library, and finishes on the dock.


                "Damn."

                Tom had missed him, by a matter of inches, and he cursed himself all the way out of the loft of the extensive, and rather dusty house. He still held his Winchester in his hand, a prized possession, and the bandana was still tied firmly around his neck. He hadn't thought to take it off. He had done away with that stupid helmet the first oppurtunity he had got… and not a moment too soon. Talk about a hindrance!

                He was making his way down the rickety steps and through the murky rooms again when he heard conversation from down below. He supposed he should at least introduce himself to the people he had aided… maybe they would want to thank him. Tom doubted it.

                Nobody ever wants to thank me. All they want to do is try and scold me for something I didn't do. I'll probably get blamed for starting off a firefight, knowing my luck!

                 Tom was in the process of climbing down the steps to the main body of the library when he heard the hammer of a gun cock, and in a quick glance he determined he was in no danger himself. It must be in the centre of the room. Someone was in trouble. He heard the familiar, yet somewhat unknown sound of a sword drawing from its sheath, and that was when he made his -rather dramatic- entrance from behind the concealment of a library-shelving unit.

                Tom -through years of intensive training and practise- cocked the rifle one handed, letting go with all but his right hand in the finger lever; the gun rocked forward in his grasp, and another shot was loaded audibly into the barrel. He aimed quickly with ease, and saw the gunman eye him curiously, a little stunned by Tom's sudden and unannounced appearance. All others turned their eyes upon him as well: the old leader; the regal foreigner, and apparent martial arts expert; the invisible man in the black with a white face; and the smug, suited man with the cane-sword. Even the woman half-turned her eyes upon him, not having much freedom to move. She was being held at knifepoint by one of the Phantom's still-living gunmen, and she didn't look too panicked by this fact.

                Tom had been going to say something along the lines of 'Let her go, mister, or I'll shoot you'… but on reflection this couldn't seem any more of a stupid thing to say. That surely would have made him appear adolescent, stating the obvious in such a juvenile and arrogant way. It went without saying… he pushed his mind along.

                "Shoot!" the gunman challenged, eyes ablaze with anxiety and certain eagerness. "Go on!"

                The people all around Tom began to withdraw their weapons from view. The regal foreigner relaxed his fighting stance to stand normally, though still visibly tense. The invisible man simply slumped his shoulders more, and raised his hands slightly to show he was unarmed to begin with. The grey-suited man slipped the sliver of metal that was his sword gently back into its scabbard, and released his uptight grip, letting it swing in his left hand. The old leader pushed the hammer forward once more on his Webley pistol and lowered it to his side, showing he was not one to risk the lady's life. The gunman looked to Tom. Sighing slightly, he mimicked the older man, pushed forward the hammer and held the gun out to his side, taking his index finger away from the trigger. He would not fire, and the gunman knew this… the triumph was unmistakable. Now what did he plan to do though? Even in a plain old fist-fight, Tom and the others had him seriously outnumbered. He sure didn't look like anything threatening, save for the knife.

                "I thought as much," he said to the woman more than anyone else, a wide manic grin spreading across his face, "that they would do anything to protect you."

                So that's it… snag the lady and try to make a swift exit. Sneaky son of a…

                But the woman spoke, and in soft, soothing tones that confused and eased Tom both at the same time; there was no fear in her words, "See, now that's your biggest mistake."

                Was that a growl?

                "Thinking that I need them to protect me," she continued in a voice barely above a whisper.

                Tom's eyes widened when he saw a deep red flushing through the woman's own pupils, taking over her entire vision, shortly before she whirled on him so swiftly it did not seem possible. Her speed was otherworldly. With a savage revealing of fangs she bit down into the gunman's neck, the latter still gripping his knife as if it would save him from his terrifying fate.

                Oh my god, was all Tom could coherently think as he half-stumbled back in shock and terror, an interesting mix of powerful emotions that surged through him. Even with all the suspicion he had believed in as a child, he had never in his life seen anything like this before! Dead cats and Satan, howling dogs, ghosts and buried treasure had filled his days and nights back in Missouri, but now as a young adult, he never thought he would actually see anything like this… a vampire. A real life vampire! And a beautiful one to boot…

                The man gave a gargling strangled cry, shortly before the woman let him drop, bleeding madly to the ground. She stood growling hungrily, blood smearing her flawless face, before she threw her head back and dropped to her knees, face and fangs plunging forward to the man's neck again to continue her feed.

                Not exactly what I signed on for… Huck would never have believed this!

                Tom cast his eyes over to the old leader for a moment, who stood transfixed in a morbidly curious way, dark, wise eyes staring down at the auburn-haired woman, patiently waiting for her to finish. The invisible man looked oddly fascinated, in a horrified sort of way. The regal foreigner merely arched an eyebrow… whereas the suited man did not look in the slightest bit surprised. It even shocked Tom that the man was not smiling smugly for a change.

                The woman threw her head back again as she stood, and droplets of blood marred her face as she came up, wiping her lips and nose with gloved fingertips, and then licking them in a satisfied way that intrigued Tom, and made his stomach churn simultaneously. All traces of his own appetite faded away at once. The woman ran her hands through her hair, and pinned it quickly, with ease. It seemed as though she had done this many times… Tom really didn't want to think about that. The women withdrew a small folding mirror from her pocket, and opened it quickly.

                "Extraordinary," the foreigner commented dryly, before all fell quiet once again.

                Say something… break the silence… this is really uncomfortable. God dammit, just crack a joke or something!

                Tom smiled, mostly forced, and strode forward, feeling the weight of his Winchester in his right hand and said, "Boy… they told me European women had funny ways."

                Smooth, Sawyer, real smooth. He cringed internally, and saw five sets of eyes meet his face. He looked only at the woman, seeing the startling clarity of her blue pupils now, and he felt his throat go dry quickly, even after what he had just seen.

                Always the gentleman, he noticed a marring on her skin, and pointed it out, saying, "You missed a spot." He wiped his own face to give her a better indication, and she heeded his alert to the problem. She meekly wiped that part of her face with a fingertip, and hung her head a moment, hair pinned back now.

                "Excuse me," she mumbled, and then, as if remembering who had informed her of the blood, she turned her gaze upon him, asking, "and you are?"

                Pride filled him now, even after all his failings, and he found his left hand gripping the barrel of the rifle as he turned to regard the others as well. "Special Agent Sawyer," he informed them clearly, "of the American Secret Service."

                That was when the old leader took a visible interest in the situation, and -arms behind his back- strode forward a couple of measured paces, inquiring, "So America is aware of the situation?"

                Tom shrugged, and said the only thing that sprang to mind, "War starts in Europe, how long's it gonna take 'til it crosses the Atlantic?" He knew in his heart, like the rest of his American associates, that this was true. It would only be a matter of time. All eyes were on him now. He cleared his throat quietly and decided to press on, "I followed you," he revealed, and then waved to the vague area where the gunmen had been standing before the combat, "I picked off a straggler, and then I took his place." He smiled at the old leader, who wore a ghost of a grin himself.

                The suited man chose that moment to speak, and Tom realised he had never heard someone sound so cocky in his life! It was an irritation from the moment the man opened his mouth to say, "Very noble." Sarcasm dripped like venom from every word. "But this is a private party… and you're not invited."

                How mature… Tom glared discreetly.

                The woman glanced to her companions, a veiled smile on her lips. "Actually, Dorian has… declined." She looked momentarily to Tom, and then to the old leader. "So we are one shy of a full deck."

                Tom did not let his grin show. He did not want them to think he was some sort of over-enthusiastic Yank who leaped into every chance of adventure… which was sort of a good way to describe him… maybe.

                  "On the contrary," the man titled as Dorian interrupted with a slow drawl to his voice, "the battle was just the spur I needed. That and the… thrill of a friendship renewed."

                Though Tom couldn't be sure, he thought the woman grimaced. Did he mean her? What was their past? He was suddenly very eager to know any way possible. He did not like the meaning behind that phrase, and the way Dorian had said it… he didn't strike Tom as the trustworthy, let alone likeable kind of man.

                Dorian turned his head once more to Tom, and with a smug smile, partially concealed, he persisted, "So you're not needed."

                And who said it was up to you, you stuck-up, poncy-

                The old leader striding forward cut off Tom's train of thought… just as well. It hadn't had a pleasant conclusion. The experienced -for he truly gave off that impression- man held out a single hand towards Tom's prized rifle, and he offered it freely in both hands, turning it slightly so the other man could take hold of stock and barrel safely and firmly, which he did. The elder man held the gun up, and Tom was pleased to see a kind of intrigued admiration there as he sighted casually down its barrel, turning it this way and that in study.

                "Winchester," was all he said, and he had an accent… was that Scottish? Tom didn't know, and he wasn't about to ask, but he was almost certain. He had encountered a wide variety of people on his travels.

                "That's right," Tom confirmed, and the grin broke to the surface, manifesting itself on his face, "it's modified, American style."

                Why does it feel so damn good to say that?

                The older man chuckled quietly. "American style shooting too."

                "Well, whatever it takes," Tom agreed, even as the rifle was handed back to him, stock first. Tom slid his fingers into the trigger guard and lever comfortably, and looked the other man in the eye. An idea struck him.

                Don't smile… just don't smile… he'll see it's a lure.

                "If you like it," Tom began casually, and cocked his head slightly, smiling lopsidedly, "I brought two."

                That cinched it, apparently. The older man handed him back the gun fully, as if he had been waiting for this very offer, and nodded only once. With a sly smile of his own, he added, "You're in."

                The child inside of Tom wanted to cheer at this revelation, but the more mature part of him pushed that adolescent down and warned him to keep 'mum'… as he and his fellow schoolmates had called it back in his earlier youth. He nodded himself, not pushing his luck by saying thanks. He knew that the older man realised Tom appreciated it, and that was enough.

                Dorian sneered visibly, and Tom did not care. He was triumphant internally, and glanced half-heartedly at the suited man, as if to say 'serves you right'.

                The older man cleared his throat, and all attention returned to him. He was very clearly the leader now, on closer inspection. There was an air about him that commanded respect and concentration, even from the easily distracted Tom Sawyer. Of course, this man had just done him a great favour, and he would probably never know how thankful Tom truly was.

                "First meetings," he began in that thick, yet understandable accent again, and he held out his hand formally, "usually warrant introductions." A pause. "Allan Quatermain."

                Tom took his hand, feeling the firm confidence in the grip and pumped it in greeting. "Tom Sawyer."

                The next to stride forward to acknowledge Tom was the regal foreigner, and he half-bowed to the young man, saying, "I am Captain Nemo. Welcome."

                Tom nodded, and shook his hand also, though Nemo as he called himself, seemed reluctant to do so, as if it were alien to him. Tom smiled in a warm fashion, and that appeared to ease the Captain… captain of what though?

                 "Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker," the woman offered, and the two shook hands as well, though Tom tried to keep his grip on her a little longer than with the other men. Even from here, he could smell her enchanting perfume. Becky Thatcher was forgotten in a hasty instant.

                "Pleasure to meet you," he added to her in particular, and she caught the sincerity, and smiled with a delicate bow of her head for acknowledgement of the comment.

                Dorian was at their side in an instant, as if territorial, and he cut in, saying, "Dorian Gray. Charmed," and then he pulled Mrs. Harker off to the side. Tom glared after him, shortly before another voice won his attention.

                The accent was beyond casual, and lulled in certain points of the sentence. Tom recognised it, after staying in London for a few days… cockney through and through. "Rodney Skinner, gentleman thief, at your service." His arms were wide. Did he want a hug or something?

                Tom cocked his head, pointing loosely at his chest area, where it could clearly be seen underneath the leather jacket that there was nothing but air residing there. "And you're-"

                "Invisible? That's right… not for long though, hopefully, if all goes according to plan of course." He grinned in a manner that would even have startled poor old Aunt Polly. His charm was on overload, and the humour of this was not lost on Tom. He smiled and laughed quietly.

                "Let's not be hasty, Skinner," Quatermain told him, jabbing with a finger towards him, "we've got a ways to go yet before you can get your cure."

                "Cure?"

                "Long story, Agent Sawyer," Skinner drawled cheerily, "I'll tell you about it some other time, maybe."

                Dorian spun a matching bowler hat in his hands idly as he stood with Mrs. Harker. The latter looked rather infuriated by something, but soon it was lost beneath her dark beauty and curious blue eyes. "Shall we?" the man offered, and sighed heavily. "If I'm not mistaken, we are running on a deadline here."

                Tom subtlely rolled his eyes, but he thought Mrs. Harker caught the display, and smiled slightly. He fought the urge to return it and said, "I'll just be a minute. I've gotta fetch some things."

                Tom made his way out to the place where he had laid his possessions, seeing the man was still lying there. He thought about revealing his position to Quatermain and the others… but he wasn't sure his stomach could take another vampire show of appetite. He threw off the bandana, practically ripping it from around his neck, and pulled off the cloak. He tossed them so that they landed on top of the insentient figure. Tom grinned, and retrieved his jacket, slipping it on quickly. He reclaimed his primary Winchester after that, slipped his hat on his tousled head, and scooped up the weapon he had promised to Quatermain.

                Well, Huck, I haven't known the guy too long, but he seems worthy of it. Tom smiled at the memory of his friend, and then made his way back to meet the others, all of who were waiting for him. He had half expected them to make their escape whilst he had been gathering his possessions. He spun the secondary rifle, offering it stock first to Quatermain, who laughed lightly at the younger man's 'showing off', and took it in his firm grasp. He admired it in a veiled way, and nodded his thanks.

                Dorian Gray, impatient and perhaps even jealous of the instant bond Tom and Quatermain seemed to be displaying, huffed quietly and turned on his heel to the rear of the house. He patted his hat down securely onto his head as he went, swinging his cane out in front of him. Mrs. Harker openly rolled her eyes at the other man, and followed, Nemo making it out before her. Skinner shrugged with a grin and trailed after the woman.

                Tom glanced to Quatermain. The older of the two sighed, and Tom smiled slightly. He wasn't about to say how tired he thought Quatermain looked… he had just got himself a break, and he wasn't about to ruin it by running his mouth.

                Tom followed Quatermain to the rear of the house, and was the last to slip out of the wooden door, bringing them out onto a back entrance to the dock outside Dorian Gray's abode. Tom let his thoughts run once again, even as he listened to Dorian speak; "So what's the next port of call?"

                Tom tried to find the hidden meaning in that question, but failed. Why didn't he trust him?

                Maybe it's because he's too sleazy to be a nice guy. I saw the way he looked at Mrs. Harker… something happened, and I'm determined to find out what. What does she see in a creep like him anyway? He's nothing but trouble.

                "Paris," Nemo answered, in loud clear tones that travelled all the way to the back of the procession as the six headed down the wooden steps to the dock below. "Only one more member to recruit."

                Members, huh? Shame I wasn't invited… but then again, maybe we'd all be dead by now if I had been… I certainly wouldn't have been sneaking around following these people all day, that's for sure.

                "'Capture' is more the word," Quatermain corrected as they drew to the end of their descent. "And it will be quite the hunt."

                Dorian, Nemo, Skinner and Mrs. Harker reached the bottom of the stairs even as the woman said, "You make him sound like some sort of animal."

                She's got a point, Tom thought. But then again, I've seen a vampire and an invisible man all in one day, so what else is possible?

                Quatermain and Tom reached the dock then, and the former held his new gun in both hands as he commented, addressing the female vampire confidently, "Speaking thus, Mrs. Harker, your conduct a moment ago?" Tom rested the barrel of his own Winchester on his left shoulder comfortably, as he normally did when not using the weapon.

                Skinner chuckled quietly, and sidled his way up beside her, peering cheekily over her shoulder even as he said, "We're all… aquiver, with curiousity."

                Tom felt uncomfortable for the woman all of a sudden. He wasn't sure why, but something about Skinner's question just seemed misplaced. There couldn't be anything good to the end of this tale, he knew… but he simply waited as Mrs. Harker strode forward, further up the thrust of the dock.

                "Very well," she breathed upon realising all were equally curious as to an explanation. Not Tom though… he knew enough about myth and mysterious folklore to last a lifetime… he had had quite a colourful childhood, after all. "My husband was Jonathan Harker."

                Married? Didn't see that one coming… Then he realised his mental blunder, and sighed. Mrs. Harker, you idiot… of course she was married. Wait, she's a widow? Tom frowned.

                "Together with a professor named Van Helsing," she pressed on, her voice carrying eerily on the London evening fog, "we fought a dangerous evil. It had a name… 'Dracula'. He was Transylvanian."

                Skinner picked that moment to chime in and say something stupid; "Ooh, European?" he asked with humour in his words. "One of those radicals the newspapers love to report on?"

                Mrs. Harker's voice took on a dreamy quality, and Tom noticed she was removing a glove as she uttered, "I don't know, Mr. Skinner." She turned then, glove on her right hand removed and she delicately pulled down the high collar on her jacket. Tom grimaced, and then hung his head to hide his sympathy and disgust. So she was a vampire. The scarred over puncture wounds on her neck confirmed that much.

                "Is the vampiric sucking of people's blood radical behaviour?" Mrs. Harker arched a feminine eyebrow.

                Skinner hung his head too, trying to look casual once again, as if in a futile attempt to hide his error. Tom glanced to the others. All of them looked uncomfortable to some degree… save for Dorian Gray. He was eyeing Mrs. Harker almost hungrily. Tom felt the desirable urge to wipe that look off his face… with his fist. Somehow, he managed to keep it contained.

                "Ah," Nemo muttered suddenly, a thankful interruption in the silence, "our transportation is forthcoming." He sounded almost relieved. He proceeded towards the very edge of the dock. Curious, Tom pressed after him, coming up behind the man on their short journey.

                "A boat?" he asked inquisitively, glancing this way and that up the river for any signs of one. He saw nothing, and his confusion doubled.

                "It travels on water, if that's what you mean," Nemo agreed, but then glanced to Tom very oddly, almost with excitement. Tom raised an eyebrow, even as Nemo continued, "And beneath it." He turned and crossed his arms, facing the gathered men and single woman.

                What does he mean? What is this, some sort of rid-

                Something monstrous burst out of the river's waters then, rising with such speed and suddenness that Tom almost fell backwards into Quatermain and Skinner, who now stood right behind him in awed observation of the rising spectacle. It was a ship of some description, though far more grand than any boat Tom had ever ridden on back on the Mississippi. Its gleaming hull displayed great depictions of relics and godly visages that found no place of understanding in his brain. It had a great conning tower that overlooked all, and water dripped and ran from every outward surface. It was a sight to behold… it really was.

                Many things to describe it ran through Tom's head, a selection of which were: astounding; impressive; well if that isn't the biggest damn ship I've ever seen I don't know what is… but off all these, the one that had to creep out of him was a simple, pathetic, "… whoa…"

                Well that was perceptive, you dummy. You could've picked any word but that… but no… you had to go with the simplest thing you could find. Tom decided right there and then to shut off his brain for a while. His mind went completely blank, and he could do nothing but stare up at the inspirational sight.

                Nemo turned his back on them, and held his arms aloft to show off what was clearly his greatest achievement; for it was obvious the man had created this… ship. "Behold!" he exclaimed proudly, "The Nautilus; Sword of The Ocean!"

                Tom still stared, jaw hanging open, mind still blank. This vast creation was just a bewilderment in itself, far outstripping the impressive automobile previously seen.

                "Next stop," Nemo began in closing as a kind of triumphant announcement, "Paris!"

                With a slight whimper of amazement, Tom nodded feebly, and followed the others to board the Nautilus, mind still switched off lest he utter something worse than he already had. But he already knew, with everything he had seen in such a short space of time, even if he permitted himself to think, nothing would have happened anyway.

                Surely nothing could top this…


A/N2: OKAY! Second part done… do you know how long it took me to write this part? It has to be the longest chapter I have ever written, and boy, am I chuffed :D Didn't think I had it in me! Anyway, now that you've been so kind as to read it, please leave a review on your way out to let me know what you think. Thanks! Until next time…