Author's Note: Hi everyone. It's me, Clez. Nice to see you all. Glad you enjoyed the prologue as well. I know it was short, and a 'wicked tease' (if you've seen a particular LXG deleted scene, or read the novel, that will make sense) for leaving it where I did… but it did get the intended response! Tension! How I love it. Yes, so anyway, I'm sitting here listening to my 'Underworld' soundtrack, and getting inspiration from a 'Van Helsing' trailer. *sigh* That film is gonna be so cool. *slaps self* LXG! Sorry… got distracted, sinfully. Yeah so anyway, here's chapter two, after some shout outs:
Rayne – *hands you some cookies for your wait* Sorry if I kept you in suspense, my friend. Hope this satisfies your need to read more :D
nobleblue – Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed 'Silver Bullet'. It was a treat and a challenge to write, and it was so successful that I thought I'd write an AU sequel. Why not, eh?
RogueSparrow – Ah yes, the favoured 'Dorian glare'… everyone is trying that recently. Hehe. Usually works quite well, but you gave in to defeat. Amazingly, you did make sense… at least to me… hmmm…
Raven Silvers – Thank you for the claim of brilliance, my dear friend, Raven. You know your comments mean a lot to me. I couldn't let you have a sneak! It wouldn't have been fair! :P Hehe.
freeformchick – Thank you most kindly.
Emily M. Hanson – Mini series? Why, it's a full-length! :D I hope you enjoy it!
drowchild – Ack! *takes cover from your outburst* Wow… I think I may have made your day, huh? Talk to you on AOL!
Sethoz – *throws a bag of Buttons to you, cuz she knows you've run out* Now, now, my dear Sethoz… when have you ever known me to write Tom angst, physical or mental? *bursts out laughing* I know, I know! Funny thought! Worth a try…
Steam swirled from the cup that sat in front of Rodney Skinner, self-proclaimed gentleman thief, and he sighed deeply and heavily. It was late, but other than Sawyer, none of the League members even let the thought of sleep cross their minds at this hour. Skinner made it obvious he was watching his cup, and then remembered he hadn't applied his greasepaint, and frowned. No one could even see his face. The glasses were abandoned as well. After all… he had been doing his own thing – consisting of drinking and giving in to boredom – before the meeting had been called to discuss certain 'matters'.
He shrugged his leather coat back onto his otherwise bare shoulders properly, and settled back into his seat, eyeing the shadow his wide-peaked trilby cast onto the polished surface of the table. Skinner listened intently to the others, though he made no obvious sign of his attentiveness.
"So," began the smooth voice of Wilhelmina Harker from her place to Skinner's left, "we are in agreement then." She paused here, to take in the faces of her fellows, and sipped from her cup of hot tea. She looked radiant as ever. Her silken auburn tresses of hair were pinned up neatly in her trademark bun, out of her flawless smooth-skinned face and her icy blue eyes. Her full lips were formed into a line of pensive consideration, but no lines marred her forehead. Her feminine fingers, so lean and yet so precise when she was working, embraced the cup she drank from, and Skinner shuddered despite himself at the beauty she gave off in waves. Wearing her usual effeminate skirts of black, and her blouse of fine white material, Mina – as she preferred to be called sometimes – looked ever the part of the intelligent scientist.
"I won't deny that he has been acting oddly," was the response that Mina drew from their resident medical expert, Doctor Henry Jekyll. He sat opposite Skinner, and the invisible man turned his head to regard his friend – the two had grown quite close as of late, and were spending a lot of time together, as much as Jekyll sometimes tried to shoo Skinner out of 'his infirmary'. Ever the gentleman, Jekyll was perched as straight as a pole in his chair, leaning forward ever so slightly on the table with his hands knitted together on the immaculate surface. He was dressed as smartly as ever – which always surprised Skinner – in his pressed and cleaned shirt, tie and jacket suit, complete with pocket watch dangling from a delicate chain. His thin chestnut hair was combed over one side of his head neatly, and his brown eyes perused the faces of his companions.
The third member to speak was sitting at the head of the table, owner, designer and builder of the mighty ship that hummed and churned around them as they sat alongside Paris. Captain Nemo was a proud, stern man who never betrayed his emotions in his eyes or his lined, wise face. His dark gaze was enough to reduce the strongest and bravest of men to a whimper and a curt 'aye, sir'. He was not a man to be taken lightly, especially when dressed – as ever – in his regal shades of blue and white, all sashes and trimmings, topped off with an elegant turban. An ornamental sword hung in a black scabbard at a belt round his waist, and Skinner himself had seen the Indian man put it to damn good use. "I concur with Dr. Jekyll's assessment. Our friend is indeed not himself."
Skinner sighed. Perhaps he should attempt to be the voice of reason for once. He almost chuckled, before managing to utter, "Give him a break, 'eh? He's had a rough time of it… poor kid."
"I doubt Agent Sawyer would appreciate the reference to his youth," Mina began to Skinner's left, astute as ever, "but perhaps you are correct. He has had a lot to deal with as of late. What with his ordeal, and then the death of Miss Delacroix to top it all off, I don't blame him for withdrawing into himself." She paused once again, ever the one for tension and atmosphere.
Do vampires always feel the need to take the mood out of proportion I wonder? She always seems to need everyone on edge… maybe it comes from the whole Dracula ordeal… melodrama is part of her nature, perhaps.
Regular as clockwork, she persisted after a long pensive moment, "But nevertheless, this still does not explain his appetite and appearance. He has taken to having his meals in his cabin instead of in our company, and last I saw of our American friend, he was pale. Doctor… are you certain he has not taken ill?"
Jekyll shrugged his lean shoulders slowly. "I examined him not long ago, two days maybe, and he seemed fine. He's healing extremely well, considering what he endured. He was running a slight temperature, but I accounted that for the healing itself. It's taking a lot out of him to get back to how he was, Mrs. Harker."
Skinner nodded, and then realised – yet again – that no one would see the movement. "He's not wrong. Remember how I was after my toasting?"
"Not exactly the same, Skinner," Mina voiced, and Skinner frowned at her abruptness, before she softened and continued, "I realise the burning must have taken a lot out of you, but Agent Sawyer almost died, and lost someone in the process. It has certainly taken its toll on him."
Nemo shook his head carefully back and forth, dragging out the motion as he raised his cup to drink. "It is an unfortunate sequence of events indeed. Agent Sawyer will no doubt recover in time. He simply needs our support, guidance and patience."
I hope you're right, mate. I rather enjoyed the kid's company before all this werewolf rubbish, Skinner thought with a furrowed brow. He scratched his chin, causing the sleeve of his jacket to draw up from under the table and hover for a moment, before dropping to the tabletop. "Who was the last to speak with him anyway?"
"I was," Mina said, and then let an edge linger as she added, "as usual."
"Now, now," Skinner hastened to say, and his eyes met her face, "no need for an attitude. You are the only one he opens up to, after all! Last I saw of him, he barely said two words… if that. So don't go getting all high-and-mighty because you're best o' chums. It isn't our fault he doesn't want our company. He picks and chooses who he wants to socialise with, and I, for one, am not going to push him, all right?"
Mina reeled discreetly from the verbal attack, and visibly drew back into her chair, watching the steam rise from her delicate cup before muttering, "Very well… my apologies. I know very well that everyone here has the best intentions at heart, but Agent Sawyer needs intimacy, not our subtlety. It might help to open him up if we approach him for a change."
Jekyll and Nemo nodded their acknowledgements. They were in agreement with Mina Harker. At least one of them was due to reason, Skinner knew. Jekyll – like Skinner himself – had been yearning for Mina's affections since the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen had started out not a year previous. Skinner was still shocked the British had instated them as an official line of defence. Not that it doesn't reward, of course, he thought with a light, wry smile.
Mina nodded, and then eyed Skinner… or rather, the vacant void where his head should have been, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
Skinner caught the not-so-subtle hint, and rolled his eyes. "I'm up for it. In fact, just to show how willing I am to take part in this 'endeavour' to return our plucky American friend to his old self, I'll go check on him right now."
"At eleven-fourty, Mr. Skinner?" Mina asked of him, cup and saucer in her hands. She looked quite the prim lady as she sat there, and Skinner almost laughed. The first time he had seen the real Mina Harker, he had been intrigued and frightened both at once. After all, watching a vampire tear the very throat from a man was quite a sight to behold, even for someone such as Skinner, who had prowled the less-than-hospitable streets of London for many years.
He stood from his chair – which was far from comfortable right now for some reason – and nodded, saying, "Why not? You said so yourself, Mina," he noted the scornful look he received for being so bold as to address her so, "he's been looking rather tired lately. Stands to reason he isn't getting much shut-eye, doesn't it?"
"I suppose you are right."
'Suppose'? She knows perfectly well that I am right. I wonder why it pains her to say something like that though.
So it was that Rodney Skinner departed the room, abandoning his still-steaming cup of tea. Three helpings of the stuff in one sitting were more than he could take, after years of acquainting his liver to substances such as scotch, and sherry. By far, they were his beverages of choice. He wasn't used to drinking so much sobering liquids, and it didn't seem to suit him. Perhaps, from years of drowning his sorrows and worries in liquor bottles and shot glasses, he had grown to despise teas and other such sensible drinks. Who knew?
Not Skinner, that was sure. It bothered him very little, as well, when he pondered on it a little more. The rest of the League were more than welcome to waste away with the mind-numbing tediousness that was tea, and other non-alcoholic beverages… but Skinner would choose scotch, sherry and their familiars any day.
Without realising it, Skinner had come upon Agent Tom Sawyer's cabin already. He had passed the time of the journey by debating drinks in his mind, and that suited him perfectly. It was one of his favourite topics. That and women…
Now, now, concentrate, Rodney. You've got a good deed to do, and you're going to do it. Of course, one of the first truly 'good' deeds he had undertaken had left him with agonising burns as a reward, of all things. Maybe I should rethink the whole hero occupation.
On second thought, it was quite rewarding, he realised as he rapped his knuckles on the cabin door lightly. Waiting for a number of moments, and humming a tune to himself, the silence told him that Sawyer was quite possibly asleep.
"Can't hurt to be sure," Skinner muttered, and carefully tried the door. Unlocked… perfect. He opened it carefully and silently, his stealth second-nature now. He poked his head inside the door, careful not to dislodge the large trilby, and peered around.
The bed was unoccupied, and the bathroom was dark. On top of that, Sawyer's jacket and holsters were gone from their lodgings. Skinner mumbled thoughtfully, and pulled the door closed once more as he pondered on where the young American could be.
Maybe he went to get something to eat… with his coat? No… that's not right. Then he smiled as he came to the only conclusion. Conning tower.
He whistled a jaunty tune to himself as he traversed the corridors, using the map in his mind to make his way up to the bridge, and conning tower ladder that resided close by. It took him very little time, and he was soon bracing himself for the chill of the metal rungs of the ladder that would no doubt await his feet. He let out a slow breath as his suspicions were confirmed, and clambered steadily up to the conning tower.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt to wear some socks and shoes from time to time, he realised, and then pondered – for the first time, miraculously – just how Nemo's crew got the target practise equipment outside. He halted just at the door to the tower, before shrugging it off. It didn't really matter to him anyway.
Skinner pushed open the door slowly, lest he knock the young man over or anything similar, and emerged into the cool night air of Paris, France. "Sawyer?" he called into the darkness, and looked left and right, even up to the very tip of the tower, in case the impulsive American had taken it upon himself to clamber up for a better view of the clear sky, with its vast black, dotted with bright stars, topped off in its beauty by the crescent moon. Skinner took a moment to bask in the glory, and then shook his head as he remembered his purpose. He really did daydream too much lately.
Is it still called 'daydreaming' if it's night and you're still awake? The thought drew a chuckle from him, and he circled the entire tower in search of his friend before almost stumbling over something on the floor.
He was about to rant about people leaving potential hazards lying about when his eyes – he had forgotten the colour of them himself long ago – rested upon the source of such an obstruction.
"Uh oh," he mumbled, and bent down to pick up Sawyer's long black jacket. Not far from this item of shed clothing were the young man's holsters and guns, discarded and left without regard. Skinner slung the jacket over his arm, and retrieved one of the guns from the holster, flipping it open as Sawyer had once showed him, checking the rounds. All six were still in the chamber. A similar check of the other Colt revealed the same result, and Skinner felt a lump form in his throat.
Sawyer was nowhere in sight.
Down along the docks some distance from the Nautilus; 'Sword of the Ocean', a small fishing boat had just pulled in to harbour, and was being tied securely when the passenger stepped up onto firm, dry land once again. He took in a deep breath of the familiar night air, that which he had sampled not long ago, and smiled grimly.
Ah yes, this was it. If he looked down to his right, and squinted just enough, he could almost make out the surfaced submarine and its blinking lights. The Nautilus was indeed in Paris, as his informant had… well, informed him.
He took from his inner jacket pocket a small satchel, fastened with a leather tassel, and pulled it open. He took some coins from inside, and slipped them into the cool, dry skin of the fisherman's hand, thanking him for his hospitality. With that, he took his leave of the friendly gentleman, and started off down the dock at a leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, humming lightly to himself. A large portion of his bearded face was cast into shadow by his travelling hat, and he looked out from under its peak with dark, soulful eyes. It was a beautiful, peaceful night.
Peaceful, that was, until all the dogs in the area started yowling with everything they had.
A/N2: Okay, make all the assumptions you want. And before anyone points it out, I know this chapter was devoid entirely of anything Tom Sawyer-based… unless you count a coat and some guns. It's not cruel, it builds… wait for it… just a little longer… patience is a virtue… that's right, you guessed it: tension! Ah, how I love it. Rightio, enough of my babbling. Expect the next update in a couple of days, or whenever I feel like it… only kidding. You know you can count on me… when have I ever let you guys down, huh?