He felt a surge of pride as the boy made the shot, and he heard the crack of the gun. The mission was over, despite the fact that it had been a phony directive, contrived by the enemy. But it had enabled him to meet some of the finest people he'd ever known - people he'd grown closer to in the short time of their work than anyone he'd ever met before. He felt a surge of happiness, pride - regret that he, at least, had to leave so soon.
And then the pain came, surging in a hot tide, and he opened his mouth, barely able to gasp out a few words before it overwhelmed him, and agonizing darkness encompassed the world . . .
Alan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He blinked, focusing on a foreign ceiling, trying to figure out where he was, his mind working at top speed. He turned his head, looking around, and caught sight of Mina, dozing by the fire. Jekyll was sitting next to her, and he lowered his book at the sound of shifting weight.
He dropped the book onto a side table as he stood and walked across the room, saying quietly, "Mina, he's awake." Alan glanced at the two of them, as Mina jerked into wakefulness and followed Jekyll to the bedside.
Alan pushed himself into a sitting position, looking down to see his arms - tanned, yes, that was nothing new, but the skin was youthful, elastic, and his body was free of the aches he had begun to feel, pains that he knew were brought on by age. His glasses were no longer a necessity, as he could tell that his eyesight was as sharp as it had been in his youth.
"What happened?" he asked, and was startled into silence at the sound of his voice - the ever-present accent and depth of maturity could not mask the smoothness of the tone, which had disappeared into the gruffness of age with his son's death. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew without looking out the window that he was in Africa, and his last memories -
"The shaman wasn't speaking figuratively, and he didn't lie," Alan answered his own question. "I was dead."
His few words seemed to assure Jekyll that he was mostly unchanged, despite the life and youth granted to him. "Yes, you were. We brought you back to Africa, buried you - and then the shaman restored you to life." The doctor shrugged, a slight frown on his pale, somewhat delicate features. The angular face was drawn in thought, lips pursed. Mina simply raised a brow, and a smile curved her lips.
"It is you," she said simply.
"And you thought otherwise?" Alan asked, reaching up to run a hand through his short, dark hair. From anyone else, that statement would have sounded arrogant. But Alan's confusion shone through.
"We didn't know if you had been restored to us unchanged," said Jekyll quietly, standing and sliding his hands into his pockets.
Mina opened a drawer, took out a square mirror, and passed it to Alan. Glancing at it, then her, he said, "I beg your pardon?"
She snorted. "Oh, no, you haven't changed."
Alan glanced at Jekyll, who was clearly trying to hide a smile. "Just what am I missing?" he asked, giving up all pretense of knowing what was going on.
Jekyll said, "Can you stand?"
Alan, as yet unsure himself, didn't say anything, but pushed the covers aside, finding himself clad in a loose pair of pants, and regained his footing.
Jekyll then took his arm and led him to a mirror. Alan stared for a moment at the man gazing out at him. The hair was only slightly longer than he usually kept it, and had the blackness of his youth. The skin was firm, the body young and muscled. The blue eyes were clear, but age beyond his apparent years shone out from the azure depths. The evidence of harshness of life, which Alan knew well, which he believed had been irrevocably imprinted on his soul and body was gone - from the flesh, at any rate. "Ah," he said simply after a moment, turning to look at them from where they were gazing at him, still absorbing the changes. "Well, I can see why you might be disturbed."
Mina said quietly, "I'll tell the others that you're awake."
Jekyll came over to him. "Are you all right?" He touched Alan's arm fleetingly.
Alan shrugged, walked over to a tray sitting on the endtable by his bed, and picked up the glass of water sitting there. "I'm fine - I feel better than I have in a long time." He took a long drink, rubbing his head slightly.
He looked over as the door opened. Skinner. A moment later, Tom burst into the room, followed at a more sedate pace by Nemo, and Harker lastly. Tom pulled up short at seeing him on his feet, and Nemo moved smoothly aside to avoid a collision.
After a few uncomfortable seconds of staring, Alan turned and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the others to find their seats.
"What exactly happened after I died?" he asked, and the question came out almost casually, to his surprise.
"We destroyed the facility," said Skinner. "The explosives pretty much took care o' the job, but when they was done I went in and finished up a few places that needed a little - extra help. KaBoom!" There was a smile in the invisible man's voice, which manifested from the space between Nemo and Jekyll.
"I killed Dorian," came Mina's voice, soft with hatred and laden with unmistakable danger. Alan raised a brow - but it was clear that he would not hear the rest of that story now.
Tom, seated on the floor, continued. "I checked Moriarty's body - he was definitely dead. Apparently he dropped the box containing Mina's blood, Hyde's serum, and Skinner's skin, and it fell through the ice. After bringing his body - and yours - " he broke off for a moment, trying to control the emotions running through him.
"We brought you and Moriarty back to Nautilus," continued Nemo, covering for Tom's silence. "I sent out some of my men to retrieve the box, and we destroyed the contents. Moriarty was buried at sea, and we brought you back to bury in Africa."
"Thank you," said Alan, inclining his head.
His words seemed to cause a rift in the conversation, and there was a deep silence that no one seemed able to end. Alan knew that only he could do so, and he took a deep breath, asking the only question he could, the only question he never wanted an answer to.
"I was dead," he said abruptly. "You buried me, I assume?" Everyone nodded, and he took a deep breath. "So how, exactly, did this happen?" he asked, using one hand to gesture at himself.
"It was - weird," said Tom, after searching for the right word for a moment, and failing.
Alan looked at him, brow raised. There was a moment of thick silence as the others exchanged unsure glances.
"Oh for heaven's sake," said Mina, apparently loosing patience with the reluctance of her companions. She sat back in her chair, her elbows propped on the arms, her fingers steepled. "There was an old African at the burial. A shaman, I believe. He had a fire going, and he began to chant. As he did, the sky darkened, and lightning struck your grave. There was a pulse in the air, and it began to rain. He preformed some type of ritual, and the earth - gave you up." She shrugged. "He cut his hand in the ritual, and poured a few drops of blood on the grave. I could tell that it wasn't human blood, but I don't know what it was, exactly. He said that Africa would never let you die, that the earth cherishes you."
Alan looked at her strangely, his brow raised at her practical, pragmatic overview. "Don't look at me, I'm just repeating what happened," Mina retorted, inwardly overjoyed that he was back, and apparently unaffected by his resurrection.
"Where exactly are we?" asked Alan, sitting back farther and pulling his legs under him Indian-style. He turned his head and looked straight to his right and said, "Don't even think about it, Skinner."
There was a thump as the invisible thief apparently stumbled in shock. "I wasn't gonna do nothing," he muttered, the voice moving as he returned to his seat next to Jekyll. Alan snorted ungraciously, turning his attention to Nemo, who said, "We left Nautilus, and returned to where you had lived. The house, of course, was no longer there, but there were other structures left intact."
"We're in the guesthouse," said Alan, as he remembered the building he'd thought worthless, but his first wife - Julia - had said with her gentle insistence might one day be needed.
"It appears to be so," Nemo replied.
Alan stood, walking to the window. "What day is it?" he asked absently, twitching aside the curtain to look at the sky.
"Tuesday, Tuesday the fourteenth," Jekyll answered.
"We'll have sun tomorrow," Alan said, and then he turned from the window. Lighting reflected in his eyes, but his voice was utterly calm. "We'll return to London, and report in."
"Who to?" asked Skinner, as he picked up a book and began flipping through it. The pages turned, moving of their own accord as the invisible man leafed through the novel.
Alan shrugged. "Even though our enemy was the one who brought us together, by no means did he create the League."
"How do you know this?" asked Nemo, surprised. They had all assumed the League itself to be a farce, a machination of Moriarty to simply gather those unique individuals whose . . . talents . . . he intended to steal.
Alan's face hardened, and he replied harshly, "My son was a member."
Knowing that this was a sore topic, Nemo said gently, "Moriarty did say that he was keeping the government "busy". I wonder what exactly he meant by it, and what it forebodes for us."
Mina shrugged, the movement both economic and graceful. "Whatever it is, I'm sure that someone needs to know that Moriarty was a traitor. We don't know how many of his people are still planted within the government, posing a threat to everything that occurs in their vicinity of beaurocracy."
"There was some pretty fancy lingo in there," said Tom, shaking his head.
"Women," Skinner was heard to mutter.
Alan rolled his eyes as Mina zeroed in on Skinner. "What, exactly, do you mean by that?" she asked icily.
"He meant," said Jekyll, boldly interrupting the conversation to say, "That it's time for all of us to get rest, seeing as we've a long journey back to the Nautilus and from there, London, starting tomorrow."
There was a good deal of surprise at Jekyll's uncharacteristic interruption. Alan yawned, covering his mouth, and it seemed that this was the cue for everyone to stand, mutter their assorted goodnights, and leave. Till morning, anyway.