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.

            Quatermain is alive. Allan. Mina's hand went to the scarf around her throat in contemplation. She felt – but that wouldn't be fair or even right to either party. Allan. She looked over to Nemo. He heard the news and gave no outward sign of joy or anger or – anything at all. He sat in his armchair, customary frown in place, seemingly looking inward. This certainly does complicate things.

            Sawyer was looking from one to the other, his excited grin faltering, then falling away completely. Poor boy. Skinner had yet to put the grease paint on his face, so no-one could tell what the thief was thinking, or even where he was looking. They sat in silence, and Tom in bitter disappointment for moments stretched long.

            Skinner stood abruptly, "Well, if that's all then, I'm going to go finish my game wid ducks." Mina acknowledged his exit with barely a nod.

            Skinner limped down the hall past so many end tables with white rose in the vases – white going crisp brown at the edges.

            "Ducks, we need to talk," he said.

            "About what?" Jekyll asked, pouring himself a cup of tea. Darjeeling, if he remembered correctly.

            "About…Francis," Skinner said.

            Jekyll's hand jerked, sloshing hot tea onto his dressing gown. Skinner cursed and started up to help him, then his injured heel hit the ground roughly and he sat down again with another curse. He pulled his foot into his lap and rubbed it tenderly.

            "What's wrong?" Jekyll asked. He'd gone pale but not even that shock could stop the doctor in him, and he jumped at the chance to change the subject.

            "Ah, splinter," he said. "So this – "

            "Let me see." Jekyll set the cup down and reached for Skinner's foot. Skinner held it out and remembered how Hyde had told Jekyll where the burns were. As the skin healed and scarred, it turned invisible once more.  Something occurred to the thief.

            "How's Hyde know what to tell you?"

            "Hmm?" the doctor turned the appendage to study the side.

            "I say," Skinner began.

            "Oh, I suppose he sees you. Looking through his eyes is quite an experience really…"

            "So I'm invisible to everyone but the beast?"

            "Mmm…and he says to let you know he doesn't appreciate being called a beast." Jekyll set the foot down gently and got up to retrieve a pen knife from his case.

            "But…he can see me. And tells me what he sees."

            "Yes. Sometimes after a little prodding," Jekyll tilted his head and lifted the foot once more.

            "So he – yowch!" Skinner jerked his foot back, "Do you mind?!"

            Jekyll didn't say anything, merely wiped the splinter and drop of blood on a serviette.

            "So, you were saying?" Skinner looked closely at the doctor, but the nervous wreck was gone. So was a certain amount of amiability.

            "I, ah, who was Francis, ducks?" Skinner asked gently. Jekyll's eyes hardened, Skinner assumed at the whole episode of you thought I left but I didn't.

            "You hid in my room and spied on me." It was a flat statement, and ducks wasn't exactly looking at him. Or even in his direction. Skinner shifted slightly.

            Jekyll sighed.

            "Was this just a furthered scheme from the chess game before? Is that game now cursed?"

            Skinner frowned. Jekyll wasn't making a whole lot of – oh. "I…just wanted to make sure you were alright. Honest," he said. He licked his lips, "Who was Francis?"

            Jekyll seemed to lose focus, then came back. "Francis taught me to play chess. He was a very…close…friend."

            "How cl - oh." Skinner chewed on his lower lip. That wasn't too odd, you found it in the slums every once in a while. In the mansions, too, sometimes. Some lords pay a pretty penny for a willing lad. Or even for an unwilling one. He remembered something his da had told him, before he went away, that the very rich and the very poor were alike; they had a freedom the middle class could only dream of. If you asked Skinner, the middle class built its own bloody cages, who was he to care if they went mad with their own rules? Except this was ducks.

            Jekyll pulled his robe tighter like he wanted to disappear, pull right into himself, poof! Leave nothing but a memory behind. What would happen to Hyde, he wondered, if 'enry went away?

            "I-I thought science could make it better, you know," Henry looked up at him with red rimmed eyes, "I wanted to separate myself from the baser instincts, a-and…and I got Hyde instead."

            "And?" Skinner asked. Now would be a prime moment to find out about this third monster – hold it! Second monster. Ducks in't a monster.

            "And what?" Jekyll looked at him, perplexed.

            "What about the other one?"

            "What other one? Oh! The other voice. I told you, I don't know. Hyde does. I'm sure he does but he won't tell me. Sometimes he doesn't tell me things…sometimes he tells me too much…" Jekyll was loosing it, fast.

            Skinner exhaled, blowing out his breath in a whoosh. "Okay, why don't we get you to bed – "

            Jekyll's head snapped up, "Why?"

            "To sleep!" Skinner urged. What did he think?

            He helped Jekyll up even as the man curled in on himself and made sure he was lying down on his bed when he left. He passed his hand over Jekyll's hair gently, bringing back memories of when he used to take care of his younger brothers and sisters when they were sick.

            He closed the door gently and turned to go, limping slightly, foot still sore from the removal of the splinter. "Skinner!" Skinner's muscles bunched slightly.

            "What?" Déjà vu. Sawyer was hurrying toward Skinner, gun in hand. "What the bloody – "

            "Shh!" Sawyer held one finger in front of his mouth with exaggerated care. Bloody Americans.

            "What?" Skinner hissed.

            "Something's wrong."

            Skinner gestured to Sawyer's gun with irritation, "Gee, I hadn't noticed. What is going on?!"

            "Keep quiet! Look, where's Marlowe's crew?"

            "What?" He looked to one side, then the other. "I can't see either crew, you nonce! Maybe they're at lunch."

            Sawyer raised an eyebrow and Skinner sighed mentally. The boy was a secret agent after all, if something was wrong he probably knew when to worry and when to not. But all Skinner could think now was getting to Jekyll's file again and going over it with a fine toothed comb. There had to be something about past companions or his mental history. "Alright," he sighed aloud, "What do you think happened…"

            Sawyer shrugged, "I dunno. I heard Nemo talking to the second 'r third mate about not seeing some people for a day, and I figgered, we're on a boat, right? Where're they gonna go?" Skinner shrugged back.

            "Shall we ask Quatermain if he's seen anything?" Sawyer paled slightly and Skinner wanted to stamp his foot in irritation. No one wanted to speak to the damnable spirit back from the dead, it seemed enough the bastard was up and around. Of course, to be fair, Tom probably had no idea how to approach his once mentor. Poor brat.

            "Right then, what do you want to do?"

            "I, uh," Sawyer bit his lip, "I'm not entirely positive – "

            "If you don't know, just say it. Here," Skinner began to strip quickly, "I'll go nose around. But not on that boat! Ducks just got the splinter out from last time."

            "Alright, we- ducks?"

            "Yeah," Skinner answered slowly. If he had flesh tones he'd be blushing.

            "Uh," Sawyer said, "When we were in England, uh, this lady called me d – uh, that, and she was, well…" Now Sawyer blushed. "Is that like, a, um…"

            "It's a pet name," Skinner reached to fix his collar irritably only to find he'd already taken it off. Sawyer looked at the door through the thief.

            "You two spend an awful lot of time together," he started.

            "Yeah, wot business is it of yours?" Skinner snapped.

            "N-nothin'!" Tom held up a hand to pacify what he couldn't see.

            "Roit then." He brushed past the agent and began storming off. His elbow knocked against a slightly open supply closet and he hissed in pain. He grabbed his arm and swore. He opened the door slightly to slam it but something fell against it. "Oh, for God's sake!" Skinner reached a hand in to shove back what he thought was a broom but felt something soft and wide and sticky. He pulled his hand back in disgust and opened his mouth to make some inane comment.

            "Oh, hell."

            His fingers were sticky with blood. "Boy," he said quietly, "I think we found where the crew's got to."

            "What – " Sawyer stepped forward and wrinkled his nose at the blood. Skinner let the door fall open and one of Nemo's Indians fell out, blood dried or drying on his chest from several stab wounds.

            "So," the thief said conversationally, "Who gets to tell Nemo his crew's dead?"

Author's Note~

Okay, I wasn't planning on this twist, but here it is. The explanation will be in the next part, which should be out soon, barring too many midterms or parties. There should be an in-depth interview with Hyde next chapter. For those who are wondering, I have no idea how many chapters this monster will have, but it looks like a lot.

Watch the skies for more! Reviews make it better.