Disclaimer: Not mine. The concept goes to America's Best Comics and Alan Moore and Fox 20th cent., the characters come from their classics. I don't make any money off this, and as a starving student, neither will you if you sue me.

Note: Taking some liberties with Jekyll's past, now AU from the second League graphic novel as I understand it ( not actually having read it myself. ) This is a drastically different reason why Jekyll created Hyde, and why he now acts the way he does, also leads up to revealing what the third voice in his head is – onward!

~Interlude 2: In which we delve into Henry Jekyll's past and witness events leading to the creation of one Mr. Edward Hyde

            His name was Francis Delong, and he was currently sleeping. Maybe. His legs twisted in the sheets and an observer could see much of his torso and tousled hair on the back of his head, and one eye. Closed.

            It popped open as someone so rudely pounded on the door. "Francis! You dozy prat, stop playing around! We have to be in class in twenty minutes!" The eye slid closed again, presumably as whoever was knocking ceased in order to put his ear against the door. Not hearing any movement within, the knocking redoubled with a certain amount of anxiety. "Francis! For the love of God-"

            Francis, wrapped in the sheet mentioned earlier opened the door and smiled muzzily at his associate, a young spidery man, Henry Jekyll. "Yes?" he said.

            Henry's mouth worked for a moment. "You aren't even dressed?!" he shrieked. Francis sleepily raised one finger to his lips.

            "Shhh! You'll wake my neighbors. I'll be out in a jif."

            Henry checked his watch – again – approximately thirty seconds after the first, second, third time he'd checked before. "Ungh! Francis!" he groaned, gently thumping his head against the wall outside of Francis's room. He could just leave, just go to class and be on time and just leave Francis who would give him a hurt look and refuse to talk to him at lunch at the café or turn away whenever he spoke just to punish Henry and make him feel horrible, so in the long run, Henry decided to stay. Besides, if you're late, might as well walk in with someone else so the professor can split his irritation, not just focus on one person. Especially if that one person happened to be Henry Jekyll, who was positive Professor Smithe hated him anyway. Henry was a paranoid young man, and believed this of most of his professors.

            "Well, are you coming?" Henry opened his eyes to see Francis, fully dressed, and halfway down the stairs. He grinned.

            "Henry! If I may, a moment of your time – " Sara touched his arm. She was a young lady who sat in on some of their classes without being registered. Due to her father's wishes she was unable to take a profession, but he enjoyed intelligent conversation at the dinner table.

            "Hm?" he caught his lip in his teeth in mid murmur.

            "I'm sorry, were you talking to yourself?" she smiled and color rose to her pale cheeks. Henry supposed she was pretty enough.

            He blushed, "I was looking over my notes. Ah, what do – er, what can I help you with?"

            "I was just wondering…you are close to Francis Delong, he's your friend, yes?" At his nod she continued, "Is he fond of young ladies – I mean, a certain young lady – ahm."

            "Is he seeing anyone?" Jekyll asked.

            She nodded, "Y-yes."

            "No."

            "What?" she looked up, looked hopeful. Henry sighed internally, they never ask about me –

            "He is not seeing anyone currently. Is that all?" he gave her a sterile ever helpful smile with his face tilted just so to prompt her exit.

            "Oh! Yes, thank you," she smiled warmly and Henry set his jaw.

            "Sara Johnson asked about you," Henry said.

            "Oh? And what did she want?" Francis's face was the epitome of innocence, and a precursor to someone Henry would later know.

            "She just wanted to know if you were attached to anyone special."

            "So what did you say?"

            "I said no. You aren't seeing anyone."

            Francis looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

            "Oh – are you?" Francis just smiled. Henry felt his chest tighten uncomfortably. "Is she anyone I know?"

            Francis held the moment for a few seconds longer, then he laughed, "No, there's no she! I really had you going, didn't I?" Henry laughed with him and yes he had and something in his chest eased slightly making it easier to breathe.

            "So Sara Johnson, eh?" Henry nodded still smiling. "She's the poppet who takes classes so she can chat with daddy, isn't she?"

            "Yes, what of it?"

            Francis grinned and the light caught his dimples. Not cute little boy dimples, more like devil dimples. "Anyone she marries gets the girl and the father all in one. I wonder what else they share – " he wiggled his eyebrows lewdly.

            Henry's eyes widened, "Francis! I don't believe you! How can you be so crass?"

            "Crass? Oh, lighten up, Henry." Francis reached across the table and punched Henry's arm, lightly. "Come on," he stood abruptly.

            "What?" Henry asked. He, too, stood.

            "Let's go do something."

            "Like what?" He followed as Francis wove his way in and out of tables until they reached the street.

            "Like this." Francis unfolded a wooden board with a checkered pattern of light and dark squares on it.

            "What?"

            "Chess!"

            "Oh, I, uh, I don't play," all the same, Henry lifted a pawn from the velvet bag and examined it in the light.

            "What do you mean, you don't play? It's a gentleman's game."

            "Well – "

            "And aren't you a gentleman?"

            "I, ah –"

            "It'll be fun! I'll teach you, Henry," he took the pawn from Henry and set it in line with the rest.

            A short while later, the sun crested and Francis stood to shut the curtain while Henry decided his next move. "Alright, I'll move the horsey one, I suppose," he said, lifting it and moving it in an L to block Francis's pawn.

            "It isn't a horsey, it's a knight."

            "Well, it has a horse. On it." Francis stood, looking down and studying the board, though Henry shifted uncomfortably. He felt Francis was studying something else. Brown eyes studied his every feature.

            "Francis?" he asked. He stood slowly. Francis placed a finger to his lips and helped him stand.

            This was – was something to do, too.

            It warmed as the months passed, and Henry warmed as well. He and Francis continued to study together, to be the best of friends, until Sara Johnson asked about Francis again.

            She asked the question when she already knew the answer, which was something like cheating, "Dear Henry. I was wondering if you would pass along a message for me?" She smiled sweetly like daddy's little girl.

            "Ah, to whom sh-shall I pass this message?" he asked. She pressed close to him, and he backed into the wall a step back. Her hand ghosted over his lapel.

            "To Francis, silly, your good friend, Francis." She raised a finger to flick his chin in a much more familiar fashion than she really had the right. Good girls don't get so close to strange men. Well, then again, Sara was one to push boundaries, after all, she was one of two women taking medical classes –

            "A-and what do you want me to say?"

            "Just tell him, I won't be inviting him to dinner anymore, so he can stop making up stupid excuses!" She pushed Henry roughly, "And let him know that I know why he never wants to eat with me!"

            "Ah," he said. She glared at him, shaking with anger that was directed, well, toward him. "Why doesn't he?" Henry asked.

            "Because there's someone else," her eyes teared slightly, "But don't worry, I'll just tell people that he's met some biddy who's rich and fragile, when they ask."

            He considered this. Sara was a clever gel, telling him just about everything they'd missed in the past two months. "Do they ask?" he said.

            Sara sniffled, "Some do. But what I had, that was some silly girl's crush. I hope you two have something more." She whacked his arm lightly, "And I hope he takes good care of you, you poof."

            Henry was unsure of how to handle women in general, and crying women especially. Wordlessly, he held out a handkerchief. She took it with a smile. "Doesn't that mean that he's a poof, too?" Henry asked tentatively.

            "Oh, I suppose so. But you two, you'd better be careful. Everyone can see it." At his blank look she explained, "The way you touch each other, like you know what you see when he takes his clothes off – you touch like lovers." She smacked his arm again in frustration. Henry, for his part, looked charmingly bewildered. Sara sighed and considered it might be a blessing that he had someone to look after him. Lord knew what Henry would be without Francis to pull him into life and fun and – well, it was rather as though Francis played the part of Mrs. Jekyll. The thought made her smile.

            Henry smiled at that, uncertainly. "Be careful," she warned. She glanced to either side then pecked him on the cheek. "And take care of each other."

            "I saw you, speaking to the poppet today," Francis said. He lay on his back with the window open otherwise the room would get too stuffy. This way, he could smoke, too. He exhaled and considered the cigarette.

            "What?" Henry lay on his stomach, trying to go to sleep. But this was Francis's time, when he could get maudlin and contemplative about life in general, or jealous about Henry speaking to the poppet. "Oh, Sara!"

            "Yes, oh, Sara," Francis mocked. "Oh, Sara who was getting oh so close to you, what exactly were you talking about?" When Francis said exactly, he meant exactly.

            "We, ah, discussed…you, actually." Henry twisted around until his was on his back next to Francis. Francis looked at him through slitted eyes and puffed smoke into his face. Henry raised a hand to wave it away while his eyes itched. "Apparently, everyone knows who, ah, you share your bed with – "

            "You mean, you?" Francis stabbed out his cigarette. "Of course they do!" Henry looked unsure. "What, did you think it was some grand secret?" Francis touched his arm and laughed. Henry smiled. No, of course not.

            "Actually, the only person who probably doesn't know is my father."

            "You mean, Professor Whitly knows?"

            "Yes, probably. But my – "

            "And Professor Mordent?"

            "Yes – "

            "And –"

            "Henry! I'm trying to tell you something. Sara is most likely the only one clever enough to put it together. But my father has requested my presence at the manor this coming weekend. I leave tomorrow." Which is just like Francis to be so dramatic…but at least no one really knew. That just meant they suspected, which led to gossip, but no one believed gossip.

            "Now, he only asked for me, so I'll go alone – ah, also because he tends to a tad excited."

            "Excited?" Actually, most tended to gobble gossip up because it was entertainment and better news than the paper.

            "Yes, very. I'm his only son and he may just disown me, but sometimes he gets violent."

            "Oh?" Henry sat up and started paying attention, "How violent?"

            "Just smashing furniture about. This time, he may smash me about some. I fear," oh, so this is where Francis gets tragic.

            "Have you been drinking?" Henry interrupted.

            "No! I have not."

            "Do you want me to come with you?"

            "NO. Henry, you'll probably make the problem worse. As it is, he'll just be outraged and such."

            "Will you be alright?"

            "Of course! He's my father. Why, what do you think will happen?"

            "I don't know."

            They lay in silence as Francis's hand traveled lower and lower. "Have you told your parents?"

            "No. Hoping I'll never have to." He shifted. The curtains stirred in a lazy breeze. Francis would go for the weekend, be back by Tuesday at the latest. Then Henry would do the honorable thing and let his own family know. Or his mother at any rate. Yes.

            Two weeks. Two weeks and Hannah stood to the side next to Sara, both girls watching him while his school chums stood back respectfully. Henry folded his hands in front of himself for want of something better to do with them. He sweated under his top hat and wished for a breeze.

            The mortician had done good work, one could hardly make out the bruises one his face and down on his neck. Francis looked almost as though he were sleeping, except for the heavy makeup. Henry reflected that possibly this was somehow his fault, in some way. Something made him like this, made Francis like this.     

            Science could make it better.

            A drop of sweat trailed down his temple. Science could find what made him wrong like this, what made Mr. Delong act so – rashly as they claimed. Of course he thought it was a burglar and he was so horribly distraught when he found what he had done.

            Science could separate the wrong from the right. He was a good man – could be a good man with science. Separate him from his baser instincts. Make you better.

            Yes.

            One year later Edward's first kill was a Mssr. Delong last of the family the manor utterly destroyed maybe the burglar came back the gossip said and – and – and…

Author's Note~

Am heading off to college now, will be a couple weeks until I get my hands on a computer due to some humorous procrastination by my dad. So maybe he thinks it's funny. I don't really. Anyway, will have more current plot later. Not a graphic slasher so you won't see any porn here, stop holding your breath. Do you know who the third voice is yet?