Author's Note: I am so sorry this took so long in coming. I got swamped with other… stuff. *bats self on head* No more excuses! *shakes head* Alrighty then… on with the show… oh no… this is the last chapter! I can't believe this is over! *cries* I'm okay, seriously, just… wow, this started off as a pointless one-shot that I wrote on New Year's Day, and now it's a full length recap of the story! O_O Talk about… crazy? Determined? Committed? You decide ~_^ Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter. It's been a blast!
Scene: The funeral.
Shout outs:
Psychozzy: I'm glad you thought the snow was a nice touch. Couldn't go without including that. Sorry to hear about all the crazy insert bad word here going on at your school! That sounds… nasty, to put it very mildly. I'm glad I can cheer you up somewhat. I'm guessing the woman hasn't heard of 'publicity', huh? ~_^ Thanks for sticking with me!
RogueSparrow: Yeah, it is sad, isn't it, my good buddy? I'll miss writing it. It was fun while it lasted. Aw, you're too kind! Really, your reviews always make me smile, thank you for that. I hope this pleases.
Leigh S. Durron: Thank you very kindly for the support about how I wrote the last part. Glad it was satisfying. Thank you for your loyalty.
angelic katty: I figured he had to try and get away at one point, right? I mean… he's Tom Sawyer! He wouldn't take it lying down! Glad you approved of that. Thank you for your kind words, and your patience.
Graymoon74: Ah yes, good old voodoo… or witch doctors, whatever you want to call it/them. Lol. What would we do without them? Well, Quatermain would stay dead for one. Ah, but you forget, dear Graymoon74, that Scooby Doo did… crap, at the theatres, and the sequel is out! So… there's hope for us LXG fans yet! Do not despair… remember, optimism! Thank you kindly for staying with this story.
Chisara Notell: Thank you very much for your kind words. Mean a lot, they really do. Very comforting as a writer. Well… it was almost two weeks wasn't it? I swear, if it hadn't been for that stinking ban, this would be over already… wait… is that a good thing? Glad you stayed with me!
kingleby: Aw, I made you cry? Bless your little heart, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to… oh wait, did I? I'm not sure, but I'm going to take it as a good thing. Thank you for your praise and your patience!
Sethoz: Sethoz! It's ending, pal! It's nearly over! Ack! No more poking me now, you! I'm gonna kinda miss that… oh well, there's always the other stories, 'eh? Lol. Ah yes, that good old word 'counterproductive'… I love that word, lol. I kinda left it to the reader's imagination what happened to Skinner, but my impression is that they rushed him straight back to the Nautilus because of his severe injuries. Make sense? M is dead! Rejoice! And Reed! Rejoice! And Allan… I guess that calls for sad faces, huh? : ( There we go, Allan, that's for you. Me? Christian? Why dear, Sethoz, (even though I loved the way you slipped that in there, lol) you know I'm an atheist ; ) Thanks!
Silent Bob 546: Ack! I made someone else cry! Here, have a tissue. *offers you tissue* Better? Hope so. And as for Dorian *throws cream cake, splatting him in the face, and dusts off hands* Ah, much better. Thanks!
Ellina: Hey, thanks. Glad you liked it. Thanks for the review!
drowchild: Aw, there, there, it's okay. It's not so bad. I have more stuff… although not so completely Tom-orientated as this one was… and still is for this last chapter. Thank you so much for staying around!
Beck2: So glad you enjoyed that last chapter, and that it relayed it all for you… I make no sense! Anyway, hope this last chapter ends it nicely for you, and thank you for sticking around and watching it unfold.
Skaye: LOL! So funny, what you said about Moriarty. Gave me a good tickling. Thanks for the review!
LotRseer3350: Yes, sadly, all things must come to an end… at one time or another. Sad but true. I'm gonna miss this story, and it's comforting to know other people will too. Thanks for staying around and having patience with me.
Fritz Will Get You: Last chapter, Fritz… sorry to say. Did I tell you I love your name? Cuz I meant to, and if I didn't… I love your name! It's funny, and original. Anyway, thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoy this part!
Without any further adieu… the final chapter of Shadow Games…
Most of the journey back to Africa in order to bury Allan Quatermain alongside his son – something that Tom had been more than insistent of since his death – was spent either in his cabin, or up on the conning tower… very rarely did he seek company. He felt terrible… empty and dead inside. He had made a terrible mistake, letting himself be 'ambushed' like that, and if he had just paid more attention, Allan Quatermain would still be alive, and Moriarty would have met his end at the hunter's hands. Not that Tom hadn't taken pride in knowing that his best friend, Huckleberry Finn, had been avenged, by his own hand… no one else would suffer at the hands of that maniac.
He stood on the very promenade of the Nautilus, his hands in his pockets, the wind playing coolly through his blonde hair and whipping it about his face, and he closed his green eyes, bowing his head back and letting the air play over him. It felt good to simply stand, alone with one's thoughts… not that they were amazingly comforting.
If only I had realised… but would it have made any difference? What's to say Reed wouldn't have tricked me anyway… made me go along with him some other way? It might not have made any difference at all. He frowned, bringing his head down, eyes still closed. There's no way of knowing, I guess.
Over the past few days, on the journey, the other members – as in the ones who were still alive – had tried to socialise with him, make him feel better about himself. Skinner, of course, had spent a lot of time in the infirmary, healing after his burning. On top of the death of Quatermain, Tom had the guilt associated with Skinner's wounding to deal with.
I wonder why he saved me… it wasn't as though I had ever been kind to him at all. There are more worthy people. He opened his eyes and looked out over the dimming horizon at the waves lolling lazily about, lapping against the Nautilus' exterior. He heard them splash gently, and felt the cool salty air on his face, and frowned.
He had visited the invisible man a couple of times, but not much conversation had taken place. It had been a little awkward. It was like that with everyone now… they weren't sure what was going to happen to them now that their unofficial first and only mission was over. Would they stick together, outcasts and misfits all in one place, comforted by one another's presence? Or would they disband, head back to their native countries and lives? Tom wasn't sure what he wanted to do… but he knew he should report back to his government on the death of Moriarty.
I doubt they care… they lose one good agent, and they lose interest… it's weird how that works. He remember the almost nonplussed way in which they had informed him to carry on… well… in truth, he was starting to forget what had happened, and the details were faded, nearly lost to him now. He just knew that Huck's death had barely caused a stir, though they had seemed to regret the loss of one of their best.
Sighing, Tom turned back from the rail, and leaned against it, his boots firm on the ground beneath him, even as the door opened. Captain Nemo pushed his head out, and looked to him, as if he had expected to find him… it was no surprise. The last few days had been the same.
"Agent Sawyer, I expected I would find you here," Nemo informed him, and Tom nodded. "I came to tell you that we would be submerging in a moment. We have charged the solar panels, and night draws in. We will be arriving alongside Africa in the morning. You should try to eat something, and get some rest."
"Okay. Thank you." Tom nodded, and pushed off from the rail, pulling his hands from his pockets as he went. Africa… Tom wasn't sure how they would go about transporting Quatermain's body to his grave, and bury it. Tom supposed Quatermain had friends in the area who would be more than happy to lend a hand in putting the hunter to his rest. Tom slipped past Nemo, and moved silently down the ladder, before moving off down one corridor.
Nemo called after him, voice gentle and understanding, "In every endeavour, there is loss, Agent Sawyer. Despite the presence of optimism… it is the way of things."
Tom glanced back over his shoulder, locking gazes with the Indian captain, and sighed again, replying, "I guess you're right… but it doesn't make me feel any better about it."
After a few, quiet moments, Tom hung his head, and walked off again, back to his cabin. He had no doubt Nemo would have some food sent to his room, as he had the past couple of days, to ensure that the American at least had the oppurtunity to eat if it so happened he wished to. To be honest, his appetite had fallen.
When he got back to his room, he kicked the door closed behind him, melancholy as ever, his optimism all but absent. He froze when his eyes fell upon the rifle leaned up beside his chest at the end of his bed, and he walked over to it, taking it in his hand, hefting the impressive weight.
Matilda… Quatermain's elephant gun. It was heavy… almost painful to grip in one arm. Tom held it in both then, to even the load, and sighed, propping himself on the edge of the bed. He looked down at it, studying its detail.
What am I supposed to do with this?
A knock at his door disturbed his reverie, and he looked up, hand instinctively finding the trigger of the weapon… but so far as he knew, it wasn't loaded. It was just a habit. He called out, "Who is it?"
Tom wasn't particularly in the mood for company.
"It's Mina Harker," replied the voice through the door, soft and feminine, and Tom found himself facing a fork in his mind. Let her in and face her soothing blue eyes that always seemed to make him feel guilty without solid reasoning… or turn her away. It was near unbearable.
He closed his eyes, trying to think, before he called, "Come in."
It wasn't long until the door swung open, quietly, and she slipped inside, beautiful as ever, but seeming more at peace than he had seen her before. He had heard she had defeated Dorian Gray in combat, destroying him with his own painting… as ridiculous as it sounded.
Should have figured his own vanity would kill him.
She stood near the door for some time, trying to avoid eye contact with him it seemed, until she said, "I see you kept Mr. Quatermain's gun."
Tom glanced to her for a moment, and shrugged, exaggerating the movement for what it was worth, and said, "Only until I can decide what to do with it. Maybe there's someone in Africa who would want it… I don't know."
Mina crossed slowly over to sit beside him, and there was only a matter of ten inches between them, if that. She was regarding the gun in Tom's hands, and she had cocked her head to one side, as she began to say, "I have a thought… it is just what I think Allan Quatermain would have liked… after all, he was very fond of this weapon."
"Yeah he was," Tom mumbled, staring down at the rifle as if it would provide him with all the answers he would ever need. He would – needless to say – be disappointed.
Mina took in a slow breath, delicate and pensive, and then she offered, "If I understand how Mr. Quatermain looked on you… as a student, and one he respected I might add… it is my impression that he would rather you kept it."
Tom looked to her suddenly, furrowing his brow in confusion.
She can't be serious…
"I am being most sincere, Agent Sawyer. I saw that he trusted you… it would be a shame to see his prized possession passed onto another man who is wasting away in Africa. I'm sure he would rather see it treasured and in the hands of one he taught."
Tom averted his gaze, not sure what to make of the information he had just been provided with. Maybe Mina was right… but then again, what if she wasn't? Could Tom really justify keeping the weapon himself? What would he use it for?
There's always target practise… He almost smiled at that thought, and looked back to Mina, shrugging, and saying, "Maybe you're right."
Mina smiled, and nodded. "It is what I think he would have liked. After all, he took you under his wing… the two of you were close, though perhaps you couldn't see that for yourselves until it was too late. It is as they say… you cannot truly appreciate what you have… until you lose it."
Tom's eyes locked with hers, and he knew he must have looked saddened, for she frowned, and offered a heartfelt, "I am sorry we lost him, Tom. He was a great leader, and he will be deeply missed."
She touched a hand to his shoulder, comforting and brief, and then stood from the bed, walking for the door. Just as she turned the handle, she said to him, "I hope you will join us for dinner this evening. There are not many of us left, and it would be a shame to lose another, if only in spirit."
And then she was gone, the door closing behind her as if she had never been there, a simple apparition. Tom stared after her, and then regarded the gun in his hands once more, before resting it back in its place.
She's right… I can't let it rot away in the hands of another retired adventurer. Maybe he would rather I kept hold of it. He kept his eyes on it for a moment, before thinking over what Mina had said to him regarding dinner that evening.
Why does she always have to be right? Doesn't she ever get tired of it? He smiled, realising that she was indeed correct. He had been selfish to sit on his own every night, wallowing in unnecessary guilt, for he couldn't change what had happened. It had been inevitable… fate, almost. He couldn't alter it, though he wanted to. If he had the power to go back and correct every stupid mistake he had ever made, from upsetting Aunt Polly, to letting Sanderson Reed creep up behind him and use him as a hostage, then he would… but he knew he couldn't.
And he just had to live with it.
Though dinner was a rather silent affair, everyone seemed mildly comforted by Tom's presence. They made polite conversation, drank tea and ate native Indian food, which Tom had to admit… was pretty damn good when he thought it over. People he knew he could trust surrounded him – save for Skinner, who was still recovering in the infirmary, and Tom knew he could always rely on that man now – and it wasn't uncomfortable.
For one time in his life, Tom felt welcomed, and appreciated. As a child, he had always been glared at, called a mischief-maker and nuisance. His Aunt had loved him but sometimes he had felt like a burden, especially with Sid and Mary for the woman to take care of as well. But now, he was taking care of himself, – for the most part – he had responsibilities, and he was part of something.
Which reminds me… what's going to happen to us now?
As he glanced to the faces of the others collected – Mina, Nemo and Jekyll – he couldn't help but wonder if they were thinking the same thing themselves…
The intense heat of the African sun at midday beat down on him, as he stood over Allan Quatermain's newly dug grave, his cross-shaped headstone firmly set in the ground, the mound depressing to look upon. He stared down at it, melancholy and feeling unimportant, with his Winchester slung across his back, over his shoulders, his hands draped over the stock and the barrel, respectively, to keep it in place.
At least he'll find the peace he was looking for. He'll get to see his son again.
Glancing up to the crowd opposite him, a small gathering of Quatermain's friends and acquaintances from the area, Tom saw the rest of the League approach, all of them… Skinner had been pronounced healthy enough to join them, and it showed. His skin was no longer horrible to look upon, charred and burned, but now… well, if it weren't for the leather coat and trilby, he would have been invisible save for his footprints.
Jekyll had removed his jacket, and slung it over his shoulder, trying to free himself of some of the heat. Nemo was as regal as ever, his face stern and impassive save for the sadness shown in his eyes… his ever-expressive eyes. And then there was Mina… outfitted entirely in the respective mourning tones of black. She wore a veiled cap, and even black gloves on her hands. But the neck on her dress was a little lower, though Tom had tried not to notice. The red scarf was present around her neck, as always.
Tom lowered the gun from his shoulder, and settled it down to his left, the butt on the ground, and his hand rested over the end of the barrel, the onlookers silent and respectful in their own grieving.
Skinner was the first to speak, and Tom was grateful the locals had not panicked at the sight – or lack thereof – of him, "Do you remember he swore Africa wouldn't let him die?"
Must have missed that one.
"I wish the old boy had been right…" And Tom realised he had never heard Skinner sounding so sincere. It made his insides tighten horribly, sadness swimming in him again. Tom found himself agreeing with the invisible man.
The question had been burning in him since the trip to Africa had started, and Tom couldn't hold it in any longer, as he quietly asked, "So what's next?"
He had been thinking it over on the journey… and even on the way from the docked Nautilus to this graveyard, the trip a combination of walking and horseback or – for Mina and Skinner – a carriage. They weren't strong enough or dressed appropriately for the riding of horses.
To his surprise, Nemo was the one to respond, "I have long hidden away from the world. Now I wish to see it anew as the century turns." He balled his fist enthusiastically as he spoke, looking at his companions.
Tom had almost forgotten that the year was drawing to a close, taking the eighteen-hundreds with it, and bringing new prospects… quite daunting, but exciting nevertheless. He glanced to his gathered companions, even as Nemo added invitingly, "You're all welcome to join me." He spread his arms slightly, and looked to them all, to emphasise his offer.
Tom had to admit, it was a very tempting offer, to travel and see the world. But he wasn't sure…
"We've all been hiding in one form or another," Mina said to no one in particular, and she looked to Tom for a moment. He wondered what she meant by that.
She's not wrong, he thought to himself. Just look at us. Jekyll sought solitude from his demons in Paris; Skinner is invisible, for crying out loud; Nemo hates the British, and has been secretive for years; and Mina pretty much hates herself for what she's become. And as for me… well I've never really fit in, have I? It was depressing when he put so much thought into it, but at least he was being more realistic now.
"The Nautilus awaits," Nemo informed them, a gentle hint that they should not linger. Tom looked over into the background, where a man was performing some kind of – he guessed – ritual, perhaps in honour of Quatermain. He had a fire going, and was waving some kind of short staff around, chanting to himself in his native language. Tom furrowed his brow, an odd feeling settling in the pit of his stomach… not entirely foreboding, but something just felt out of place.
"So who's comin'?" Tom asked, tearing his eyes from the chanting individual, reminding himself that it was rude to stare. He glanced in turn to his gathered associates, and waited for their individual responses.
Nemo bowed his upper body, placing his palms together in front of his face; the movement directed at the fresh grave… his own sign of respect to Quatermain. He did not speak, simply moved away.
Skinner was the next to move, slipping around Jekyll as he bid Quatermain his final farewell, "So long, old chap."
Tom watched the hat and coat move off after Nemo, catching up with quick, precise strides. Jekyll was soon following, parting with a sorrowful, "Goodbye, Allan."
Mina and Tom were left on respective sides of the graves of Allan Quatermain and his son – whose name Tom, shamefully, did not known – before the woman moved to the foot of them, and bowed her head, truly saddened. Tom could see it on her beautiful face, and it only made his own sorrow swell, even as, in her soft, soothing tones, she said, "Goodbye." With that, she started to move away, her long skirts dragging a little way behind her, very much like the train on a wedding gown… but dark and mourning.
Tom only then noticed the other mourners were gone, and without giving it another thought, pulled his Winchester up by the barrel, using his right hand to pull up on the lever. He released the gun with his left hand, and gave a deft jerk on his arm, sending the rifle spinning swiftly around his limb, before he clamped his hand around the stock, the affirming click of the gun music to his ears.
He crouched, and lay the rifle down on the mound, saying simply, "Thanks." And he meant it… could not have meant it more if he had used all of his mustered strength. Allan Quatermain had truly helped him, in more ways than one.
A gun for a gun…
Tom patted the firing guard with his hand, and then stood, slipping his hands in his pockets with a final glance at the etched name on the cross-shaped headstone. He smiled wanly in farewell, and moved off to catch up with Mina, who – he realised – had waited for him. He came up alongside her, and walked with her back to where the carriage and horses had been tethered and stored. It wasn't an altogether long walk, and the heat had started to slip away, he noticed… clouds were drawing in.
He glanced up at them, and turned his head to Mina, never breaking stride. "You see that?"
Her blue eyes rose for a moment, and she too furrowed her brow, even as thunder rolled in the heavens. "Odd…"
Nemo, Skinner and Jekyll hesitated also, and turned back to the others. They wore pensive expressions of confusion as to the sudden change in weather. Tom was still staring upwards, as another groan of thunder rumbled. "That's not normal… right?"
I don't know Africa, but I know this isn't right. Mina simply shook her head, even as a crescendo of noise from behind them caused the spy and the vampire to turn, eyes staring back from the direction they had come.
Tom narrowed his eyes, seeing the witch doctor yelling skyward, his fire swirling up with unbelievable, supernatural direction and speed, and a wind tore at the League for a moment, unannounced and somewhat eerie.
"What's going on?" Tom asked no one in particular, even as the other three men came closer. "What is he doing?"
He received no response, shortly before a great arm of lightning burst from the heavens themselves, crackling downwards and slamming into the Winchester rifle, spreading across the grave.
The eyes of the League widened, as the energy crackled over the grave, and Tom let a small smile sweep onto his young face, even as it dawned on him what the witch doctor was attempting to do.
The storm suddenly started to die away, the lightning and the thunder receding and fading as abruptly as they had arrived, and Tom kept his smile on his face, even as he said to the others, "C'mon… let's go."
He turned, and with Mina, pushed on along the path, leaving Nemo, Jekyll and Skinner to stare at the struck grave for a few moments longer. They were soon catching up behind them, even as Tom's smile broke into a grin, and he shared his expression with Mina, whose eyes were alight with newfound hope and confidence.
Together, the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen walked away from their first mission.
And into a new century…
A/N2: That's it folks… it's over. That's right, everyone… all done, no muss, finito! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it, and I do hope that the extra content in this chapter was satisfactory. I couldn't just write what came out of the film… had to add more. Please do leave your lovely comment on the way out the door, and let me know if this was worth it. Thank you all for your patience, and for sticking along for LXG, retold ~_^ Ciao!
~Clez
