Author's Note: And the second of the challenge ficlets for this week, considering there was a photo challenge as well, and a gorgeous one at that.
He knew he wasn't alone in this building; that was the only certainty. He had seen the man come in here… but now he couldn't find him, and he wished more than anything that he hadn't gone in alone… without help.
You are such an idiot, he thought grimly, turning a corner carefully with both pistols withdrawn from their holsters at his waist. Swallowing dryly, he was certain he could feel someone near to him. It was almost like a ghostly presence around him, and it did nothing to improve his nerves. His breath curled away from his face in the chill; the windows around him were steamed with condensation, drafts and wind seeping through the cracks and fissures in the once-solid walls.
He heard a crack, and turned on his heel, aiming both guns out in front of him, only to find nothing there. Tom trembled for a moment, thoroughly unnerved, even as he heard the all-too-familiar sound of a gun cocking down the corridor behind him… where he had been facing.
"Shit…" he mumbled irritably, even as the man spoke.
"Lower your guns, and turn around… slowly."
Tom did as he was asked, turning his head first, before he dropped his arms to his sides.
"Now put them on the floor," the man commanded, his own six-shooter pointed straight at the American's heart.
Again, Tom obeyed, not at all fond of the idea of being shot; especially when the rest of the League was probably too far away to help if he survived the initial shot. He'd be dead before they could get to him, should he disobey.
"Now what?" he grumbled, looking to the man, both pistols now on the floor just in front of his feet, where he couldn't reach them without being seen or stopped. The man shrugged.
"Not much else to do, really, is there? I mean… I've exhausted my options, and you have been following me all night. I'm getting a little tired of it, and needless to say, would like for you to stop." He smiled wanly. "Now, I know you're not going to do that without some… persuasion, so… I really only have one choice."
Oh god, this is it… not exactly how I wanted to go, either.
Without another word or gesture, the man pulled the trigger, and Tom closed his eyes with a wince, turning his head just a fraction, waiting for the searing impact… only it didn't come.
The man couldn't have missed… his aim had been perfect not moments before.
Tom opened his eyes, staring at the alarmed man with equally wide eyes.
And then there was a harsh breath, and a hand print showed itself in the condensation on the glass panel to Tom's left. After a moment, there was a coiling of breath from an invisible face, and the print smeared downwards.
"Skinner!" Tom hissed, looking to the man, only to find he was too shocked to have even moved. Without another thought, Tom grabbed one of his own guns, and fired a shot into the enemy's shoulder, winging him successfully and forcing him to drop his weapon with a cry. After that, Tom dropped to his knees beside where he thought Skinner had fallen.
"Dammit, Skinner, you were following me the whole time?" he asked, disbelieving, wishing he could see the wound, wherever it was. He couldn't tell how bad it was, and how to dress it. He suddenly understood why Skinner often cursed his 'gift'.
"You're always gettin' yourself in trouble, Sawyer… thought I'd try and change that," Skinner replied, voice strained.
"Where are you hurt?" Tom asked briskly, removing his jacket, his holsters and then his vest. He left the holsters and jacket on the floor, holding the vest readily, to apply to the non-visible wound.
"My shoulder. I was standin' right in front of you when the bugger let off a shot. Here." An invisible hand took the vest, and settled it over the apparent wound. "I'll keep the pressure on; you go out and use that thing." A hand jabbed at Tom's belt, where a flare gun nestled. He'd forgotten all about it.
"Right." Tom was quickly making his way over the now-unconscious perpetrator, and out of the building, ignoring the biting cold as he took the gun and shot a flare into the sky.
Hurry, he mused impatiently, bouncing on his toes to keep from freezing, even as the pounding of Edward Hyde's feet approaching became apparent, followed by a swirling of mysterious bats. Mina Harker materialised in front of him, beautiful and curious.
"Tom, what happened?"
"Skinner's been shot," Tom reported quickly and with urgency, looking to Hyde, as if in prompting.
"A few minutes and my formula will be done," Hyde reported gruffly. Tom nodded. "Go inside and make sure the thief's all right."
Tom and Mina ran back into the building, and soon came upon the invisible thief's place of rest, where the vest was rising and falling to show Skinner's breathing.
"Mr. Skinner… whatever have you done to yourself?" Mina quipped lightly to ease the mood.
"I was protecting his sorry behind, that's what I was doin'," Skinner complained with a hint of humour to his voice, even as Jekyll could be heard approaching.
"Thanks," Tom said gratefully as he waved Jekyll over subconsciously, crouching at the thief's side. "That's the second time you've saved my ass."
Fin