Sawyer Fan – That was one of my favourite scenes to write and one of the main reasons why I wrote the story, so I'm glad the reunion went down well with you and Tom and Allan. Thank you!
Eliza17 – Was I right? Either way, the more Allan & Tom father/son bonding in fanfics, the better! Thanks very much for your review.
"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 8
by Ten Mara
Rating: T
CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina
DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine. There are quotes and mention of scenes from the Tom Sawyer books by Mark Twain and the Allan Quatermain novels by H Rider Haggard.
xXx
A while later Tom woke up, and the first thing he saw was Allan asleep in an armchair beside the bed. The American wondered if this was real, then it hit him. Ghosts don't snore!
He nearly laughed out loud, but stopped in time. As much as he wanted to wake Allan and talk to him, the hunter looked exhausted. It was enough to know that he was there and alive.
Tears came to Tom's eyes then, which struck him as somewhat ironic. Despite how upset he had felt, it had taken much more of an effort to cry about Quatermain when he thought he was dead. Outside of his room and around others, anyway. Sawyer had kept his grieving as private as possible. Mina practically had to pull the tears out of him with a rope on the Nautilus when trying to help him deal with his loss. His emotions about everything that had happened these last few months were also playing a part too.
The agent swiped at his eyes, then heard a noise on the other side of his bed. Mina was there. For a moment he felt embarrassed and uncomfortable that she had witnessed his tears, but there were more important things on his mind. "He's alive."
"And so are you." She bent over and tenderly kissed him on the forehead.
Her actions and the look on her face made him wonder if he was dreaming – and hope very much that he wasn't. Then he was distracted from that line of thought as her smile faded and she said, "I'm sorry we didn't tell you about Allan sooner."
"It's okay. I know why." Indeed, Tom felt extremely weak – he had not done his body any favours in throwing himself into that embrace with the hunter. But the favours it had done his mind and spirit were infinite. So he figured it would balance out fine.
Mina filled him in on how Allan had come from Nairobi when he knew that Tom was here at the plantation and how he had remained by his side taking care of him.
Soon, Allan awoke, and Mina quietly excused herself and slipped away to give them some time alone.
Old and young man looked at each other with undisguised relief.
Sawyer tried to sit up, but Allan hastily stopped him with a firm hand to his shoulder. "No – easy, son. I'll come to you."
He stood, then leaned over so that they could embrace without Tom having to move much.
Then Allan retook his seat, and regarded the young man lying on the bed. He asked with a twinkle in his eyes, "So, Tom – what do you think of Africa?"
"Hot!" Sawyer replied with feeling.
The hunter laughed and nodded. "Trust you to top everything: the most amount of time trapped in a cave, the highest temperature . . . ." He squeezed Tom's hand. "Now set a record for the most amount of rest and model convalescence, hmmm?"
The American pulled a face, then grinned.
The hunter's tone was half light and half rebuking. "You gave me quite the scare."
"So did you! I only almost died. You did die." Tom's voice nearly disappeared on him then, not so much from its overuse during his fever but from the emotions going through him at the moment.
"So we do our best never to worry each other again."
"Good idea," the agent said, though privately he wondered how many days those good intentions would last. In their line of work, anyway. He sighed, then asked, "Do you remember me telling you a bit about that balloon excursion I went on?"
Allan's face showed his puzzlement at the topic, but he nodded. "Hijacked by the mad professor, yes."
"Well, during a storm over the Atlantic Ocean at night, he started ranting about how we wanted to leave him. So he said we would leave right away, and he tried to toss me overboard. Actually, he did. I managed to grab hold of the rope ladder as I went. That plunge, that horrible feeling before I got hold of the ladder – that's what I felt like when you died. And afterwards. I kept thinking back over what I should have done differently in the fortress so that you weren't killed."
Allan clasped his shoulder firmly. "No more blame. There is none for you to take." Tom nodded, and Allan could see that it was truly no longer a burden on his shoulders. The hunter could have left the matter there for now, but wanted to do some confessing himself. "My last thoughts . . . . I was so relieved that you were safe, so proud you'd gotten M. Wished I could have known you for longer. I was sad about dying, but sadder that I hadn't really lived for the last few years anyway. It took joining the League and meeting you to change that."
Tom smiled, then hesitantly asked, "Do you – um, do you remember being dead?"
"In a way, yes. A distinct sense of peace and happiness. But I'm feeling very happy here too."
"Mina told me how you stayed with me. And I can remember some of it – it's just that until now I thought you were a ghost or a dream. Thank you."
"That's what a father does. Speaking of which . . . ." Allan took a deep breath, wondering if he should wait, but this was important, and Tom was looking at him curiously, tired but in no imminent threat of falling asleep. "After Harry's death, I turned my back on everything and was rotting away in Africa. I wasn't even enjoying the place anymore, not like I used to. Then came the League to give me a purpose, but you gave me purpose too, that I never thought I'd have again."
Allan hesitated, feeling very nervous. How on earth could he go about asking Tom this very important question. Would you like to be my son? Would you do me the honour of becoming my offspring?
Proposing marriage to both his wives hadn't been this awkward for him.
He knew what the answer would be, knew it without a shadow (or a solid) of a doubt, but the manner of asking stumped him.
He felt as awkward as on his wedding day to his first wife - when their eyes met at the beginning of the ceremony he had felt he ought to say something. Stuck for just what, he had ended up stammering, "Good morning," of all things, to the amusement of all their guests.
Then he remembered how easily the right words had come off his tongue earlier, when the young spy was in the fever's grip. "I'm not sure if you remember or not, Tom, but when you were sick I said that I was ready to be taught how to live again, as in really live, and to be a father again. Guess who the only person is that I want to fill those roles? Of teacher and son."
The young man stared in astonishment at this strange but very welcome proposal. Then a delighted smile filled his face. "You do know what you're letting yourself in for, don't you?" he managed to ask.
Allan laughed and nodded. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. And I know I'm getting the better end of the deal. No – it's true. And this time I won't be as absent a father. I was always off hunting, trying to scrape a living for us, and Harry died in his twenties. I missed your childhood and youth too, but hope to see you through the rest of your twenties and beyond. If you don't get into anymore tangles like this one," he said in a gently scolding manner.
The American chuckled, then became serious again. "I never knew my father. Vague memories of my mother. I'd be honoured to have you as my father."
Allan's face showed his joy. "If you were under twenty-one, I'd adopt you. I assume I still could, but I'm not sure of the procedures with you now being of age, and also it would probably require you to change your surname. I don't want you to have to give up your name. You've got too many adventures filed away under it. But that won't stop me redrawing my will to make you my heir."
"Still leave the money to the charities. I'm well off enough. And 'Sawyer' does mean a lot to me," the agent admitted. "But it's great to be considered a Quatermain too." Then he found himself thinking back to one of the times on their mission when Allan had really shown his feelings.
"Tom?" Allan asked softly, giving him a gentle nudge. "You're starting to worry your old man. Is something wrong?"
The American explained. "One of the proudest moments of my life was when you called me 'son' in M's fortress. But it was also one of the worst, because you were dying. Those were your last words."
"I'm just glad they got through to you. Eventually."
"They did, but I'm not having you die for me again."
"If it's a choice between you or me, then let's just say that there is no choice to be made," the hunter replied firmly.
Tom wanted to argue that point, but doubted his voice was up to the task. Or ever would be, for that matter. And how could it be argued anyway? Even before this, Allan would have risked his own life to save him, and now he was his son, well . . . . Then Tom realized there was an important detail to discuss. "What should I call you?"
"Whatever you feel comfortable with. The important thing is we know where we stand. Any terms are just bonuses in the matter."
"Well, I don't want any favouritism," Sawyer said, then winced at how it came out. "I mean - when we're the League, as in on missions, it would be best if I stuck with 'Allan'," he explained hastily, looking up worriedly at the hunter to see if he understood.
Quatermain nodded with perfect comprehension. "That's fair enough."
"But otherwise – " Tom wanted to say it while he still had enough voice left – he could feel it getting fainter, and he was getting more exhausted too. "Thanks, Dad."
xXx
Tom dozed again, then a little while later when he woke, he heard Allan saying, "We've adopted each other." The American opened his eyes and saw that the hunter was talking to Mina, who looked very happy at the news.
Then Allan looked over at something and commented, "Looks like Skinner is up and about again."
Indeed, a floating hat appeared at the bedside, a hat which was now looking and sounding cheerful. "Well, well, who have we here?"
"Are you all right?" Tom asked him.
"Thanks to those meds, I didn't have to go through anything like you had to. Not even close. How are you doing, mate?"
"Very well."
"Just not much of a voice, hey? And did I just hear something about adoption?"
"Yes." Allan nodded proudly towards the bed and said, "I have a son."
A lot of possible jokes sprang into Rodney's mind then, but he resisted, even though they were good-natured ones. Instead, when he congratulated them and said, "You two deserve each other," the others could tell he was being totally sincere.
xXx
Skinner was well enough to stay with Tom and keep him company while Allan had a nap on a nearby bed. Rodney looked over at the at last peacefully sleeping adventurer.
"Now I know what a really happy Quatermain looks like. It suits him. And it's good to see you back to your cheerful self too, if a very pale and thin version thereof. You'd do anything to get out of cricket training, wouldn't you!"
Sawyer began to comment, but his voice went hoarse again. He gave a wry grimace, then reminded himself that things could be a lot worse. Skinner gave him some water.
"You were pretty vocal for a while there, ki – mate," Rodney revealed. "That's one of the reasons why you don't have much of a voice at the moment."
"Vocal?"
"Didn't seem like you were spilling any spy secrets. Let's just say that I am now able to recite the Declaration of Independence. And parts of other revered works. You seemed to think you were back in the schoolroom."
"I'm sorry," Tom said with some embarrassment, though he was also grinning at the mock pain in the invisible man's voice.
"Don't be. That 'Jabberwocky' poem was pretty good. The first dozen times anyway. And as I've said before, you read things out very entertainingly. Besides, I admit there was one time where I was heartily wishing you'd cease and desist, so what did you go and do? You went so silent and still that I thought you'd died on me." Skinner's delivery was light, but the memory still brought a horrible feeling of dread each time he revisited it.
"I'm not that spiteful."
Didn't think so, ki – Tom."
"Skinner, what's up?" the American demanded with some amusement.
"Whaddya mean?"
"I mean, that's twice you've started to call me 'kid', then corrected yourself."
"Being sick hasn't affected your powers of observation. Just a habit I'm trying to break myself out of."
"Why?"
Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "After we found out what you did here, the example you set, it just doesn't seem right to keep calling you 'kid'."
Is that why Allan hasn't called me 'lad' or 'boy'? Not that we've gotten to talk much, but he has got a new term to call me anyway. And it's a much better one. "I know you didn't mean anything insulting by it."
"True. But it doesn't suit you."
xXx
Later Skinner was chatting to Mina when he realised something.
"What is it?"
"When Tom called Allan 'Dad' back there, several time during the conversation, I didn't even really notice the change, because it sounded so natural and right. It just didn't hit me until now. Does that make any sense whatsoever?"
"Perfect sense."
xXx
The first time Henry helped Tom to stand, the younger man was shocked by his own frailty. The spy's muscles were tired and aching, and trembling set in despite his best efforts. The next attempt was better, however the effort tired him out very, very quickly, even with support.
That inwardly appalled Sawyer. He knew and accepted that he was very lucky to have survived what he had with no permanent effects, but this temporary weakness was hard for someone young and used to being so physically active.
"You'll improve over the next several days; you'll see," Henry promised.
I'd better!
Allan knew what was going through Tom's mind and distracted him as best he could. They swapped more adventure tales and talk.
The hunter asked, "Have you read 'The Ingoldsby Legends'?"
"I've heard of them, but not gotten around to reading them."
"I think I've got my pocket copy on me. I can read it to you, if you like." Allan found the book in his shirt pocket, then realised something. "My glasses . . . . My good pair is broken and I'm not sure where the spare pair is. Probably in Nairobi - I didn't think to bring them with me. But I can recite parts from memory." Then a thought occurred to him and he curiously opened up to a random page and tried to read the print.
"Dad, what're you doing?" Tom asked.
Allan gave a chuckle. "When I was resurrected my wounds were completely gone, so I just wondered if my eyesight had been affected for the better too. But I guess that was too much to hope for." He tucked the book away.
"Has there been any word on what happened to the medicine that was supposed to come before you did? The riders?"
"Barrington's men ambushed the riders who were coming back from Nairobi. They stole the medicine. The riders who were sent to the Sydney farm never got there – we're not sure what happened to them yet, but Mr and Mrs Sydney were unaware of the outbreak over here. And at the moment we don't know where Barrington and his group ended up." Quatermain's face hardened. "But when I do find them, look out."
Tom remembered something else. "I've been meaning to ask – have we got word about whether the League is official?"
"We've been a bit too distracted. There should be word when we get back to Nairobi. Nemo is going back there soon to contact the Nautilus, and he can contact your people too to let them know what's going on."
"If the League is official, you'll be a part of it, won't you? You'll lead it?"
"Just try to stop me! Though you'd do well in that position yourself."
Those words came back to the spy when Dale came in to thank Tom, and get thanked in turn.
I came here to learn about Allan, but I think I ended up learning more about myself, Tom realised He no longer had doubts about himself as a leader. But it was great to have a certain cantankerous leader back too.
Sawyer said to Dale, "Everyone I've spoken to has said how good you were at keeping things going here when I was sick."
The native worker smiled. "I like helping sick people. Every time the Doctor has visited us in the past, I have been interested to see what he does."
"Do you want to become a doctor?" the American asked with interest.
Dale's face became very animated at the thought, but then fell. "I – I cannot. It is impossible. Excuse me, I must go."
Worried and curious, Tom watched him hurry out and made a mental note to investigate that matter further as soon as he could.
xXx
The other patients had by this time been moved out of the room, and Tom was the only one left, now in one of the proper beds.
Doctor Ben Hanrahan was up and about – he also examined the agent and confirmed Henry's diagnosis that he would be fine.
Most of the rest of the League were in Tom's sickroom and heard the good news, and were relieved. Mina and Rodney even hugged (initiated by the latter, of course). Nemo's smile was the broadest that anyone could ever remember seeing it, as much as one could with his beard.
Hanrahan also had something to say to Sawyer. "Now I know why you're a part of this group. I'm glad you were here for these people. "
Ben looked over at Allan, who as usual, was sitting in the wingback chair at the bedside. "Well, old fellow. Now that all the worry and danger are over, I must bring a rather odd matter to your attention. As you know, you made me executor of your estate, and I started distributing it as instructed. Now that you're back, I'm not sure what happens!"
"Most of it was to charitable institutions or to dear friends, so that is no matter. Besides, possessions and monetary wealth aren't important. I have all that I want." Allan looked down at the half-asleep but happy Tom, and then over at those of the League who were present. "In that regard, I'm an extremely rich man."
"And you still have a roof over your head," Captain Nemo pointed out with a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, and quite a roof it is too! Thank you for providing it."
"Well, from now on you probably don't need a will," Skinner remarked. "If anything happens to you, we just cart you back to Africa, get the witch doctor and up you rise again. Just try not to get blown up. That could make it a bit tricky."
"I'm not sure if it was a one time deal or not. Still, I am going to do my best to avoid that situation happening again for a long time."
"Please do," came from Tom.
xXx
Jekyll, Mina and Allan continued helping Tom with his progressive activity within the immediate confines of the room. He was walking, going progressively further, all the time with at least one of them supporting him. When Allan was not one of his 'support pillars', the hunter hovered protectively in the background and alternated between pride in his son's progress and trying to hide his concern.
Usually forced inactivity sent the spy crazy, but this time he was managing to be a model of good and patient behaviour – on the outside, and even on the inside most of the time too. The others kept him company, talked and joked, and read to him whatever he wanted or filled him in on news and stories from their pasts. Also he knew how lucky he was to be alive and that Allan was back, so those were two amazing second chances, and it did not seem right to be ungrateful that he couldn't be his usual active self at the moment.
"You're doing very well, Tom," Jekyll commented as he and Mina helped him back to bed after a walking excursion in the room, his most sustained one so far. "But don't try it by yourself yet."
Tom nodded as he sank back against the mattress and pillow. Even though he was worn out from the effort of walking, he couldn't help but be amused at the friendly order. Like any of you would let me try it alone anyway! At least one League member was always in the room, which tended to curb any ideas of solo efforts. Smiling, he quickly drifted off.
When he woke, to his amazement he was actually alone. He sat up carefully and swallowed the water that was in a glass on the bedside table, then picked up his pocket watch from beside the pitcher. It was late afternoon. Over three hours. Hopefully the others are getting some rest too. He felt stronger and clearer headed.
Sounds of distant laughter came through the nearest window. The window had been left open to allow fresh air in, with a strong net screening to keep out any insects. The agent looked longingly at that window, filled with a sudden desire to at least be able to look at the outside world and what was going on in it, even if he couldn't be out there just yet.
The window wasn't too far away, really, and he figured that he could get to it by holding onto the furniture that was along the wall. Plus there was a settee below the window, so once he got there he could sit on it and catch his breath and look to his heart's content. The curtains stirred in a small breeze as he watched. Tom wanted to feel that air on his face. And he was feeling a lot better.
Confident that reaching the window was a simple, uncomplicated matter, the American swung his legs around and shuffled his frame forwards so that his feet were touching the floor. Allan's wingback chair was now in reach, and Tom used that as a support to push himself to a standing position.
Made it! He stood there, shaking a little, moving his hands to better grips on the solid upholstery. Then after getting used to standing, he started moving along, around the back of the chair, heading for the next piece of furniture.
Tom was at a wooden bureau, nearing his window goal, when disaster struck. There was a heavy fold in one of the rugs that he didn't notice – until his foot encountered it in mid step and he lost his balance.
In trying to grab hold of something solid, he ended up knocking something over on the bureau, which it hit the floor with a crash at almost the same time as he did.
"Ouch . . . ." Tom muttered into the rug. I wanted air, not floor. "Damn." But apart from some future bruises and injured pride, he could tell he hadn't done any serious damage to himself. He'd taken out the metal pitcher and washbasin from the bureau. They were lying next to him.
There was the sound of running footsteps and the door was flung open. There stood Mina. The American tried to work out whether to go for nonchalance or sheepishness and hope for mercy in his weakened condition. He had plenty of water next to his bed, so saying he was thirsty and going for the other pitcher was no good. The 'I fell out of bed' excuse would not work – he was too far from it to be feasible – and besides, it was pretty obvious what he'd been up to.
Indeed, the fear and worry on Mina's face quickly gave way to fury. She looked a single hairs breath off morphing into vampire mode. Before Tom could get a word in or attempt to start peeling himself off the floor, she stormed towards him, yelling, "What are you doing? What were you thinking? You idiotic male!"
She loomed over him, hands on her hips, and continued her tirade at an incredible decibel level. "You are sick! You nearly died. YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE UP!"
Well, technically speaking, at the moment I'm not! Tom thought but wisely held his tongue.
"What if you'd badly hurt yourself?" Mina continued on in this vein, not stopping for breath. Tom had gotten himself into a sitting position by this stage but before he could do more, she swooped. He expected to be supported back to bed, but instead she hauled him bodily into her arms and headed for the bed, as if he were a bride being carried across the threshold. Not that the 'groom' was at all pleased. And Tom now knew that ice blue eyes could be just as piercing and deadly as bright red.
By this stage there was a growing audience. Allan, Nemo and Jekyll were now in the room, having been summoned by all the noise, but kept their distance due to the unfolding melodrama and the fact that Tom wasn't hurt. Besides, this was the most entertainment and excitement there had been for ages.
Drawn by the yells, Doctor Ben and a number of the natives also pressed into the room or looked in the doorway, and quite a few dark faces (and one invisible one) were now pressed against the windows or screens, their owners uncaring that they were stomping all over the flowerbeds. A number of jaws dropped at seeing a woman carry a man so easily. Mina's feats at the accident site in Nairobi and her true nature had not reached these ears yet.
Mina was still at it, in incredibly fine verbal form as she dumped Tom unceremoniously on his bed. Fortunately he was no longer on a makeshift one, so it protested, but withstood the strain. To him, she was outdoing even a combination of his Aunts Polly and Sally when he or one of the other children were in trouble. As Huck had once said about Aunt Sally: "She was so mad she couldn't get the words out fast enough, and she gushed them out in one everlasting freshet."
The girl I'm going to marry won't fight, popped into Tom's head once more, only with considerably more incongruity than the last time.
As for Allan, as much as he was concerned for his son's wellbeing, he was not going to go anywhere near until Mina had finished her unleashing. Unless she morphed into vampire mode, of course. But for now, a good ticking off would do the young man no harm and hopefully prevent him trying that trick again too soon – though Tom's solo had at least shown that his adventurous spirit had not been boiled away by the illness. He had been so quiet and tame lately that Allan had begun to worry, as ridiculous as that sounded.
Well, I am the one who told him to outdo everyone with a model convalescence!
Besides, it wasn't often that the hunter got to admire a beautiful woman in full fury. Even better, that fury was not directed at him. Until now he had no idea of her verbal talents, but she was even outdoing his friend Captain Good. Good had been in the Navy and had talent at yelling and swearing, which he had demonstrated to great effect during one particular incident in their quest for King Solomon's Mines. He had sworn for ten minutes straight, scarcely ever repeating himself.
Mina was showing no signs of stopping, and she was also showing signs of other things, most likely inadvertently. But Quatermain was an old hand at observing human nature. There was more than anger and worry fueling this incredible outburst, though the hunter had a feeling it would be a while yet before that other ingredient was fully acknowledged and acted upon. If at all. But if they do, then perhaps I'll gain a daughter-in-law as well as a son!
By now people were climbing on each other's backs at the window to get a look in. At least they did not have to ask the closest what was being said – Mina's declarations about Tom's foolishness were loud and clear, and probably audible back in Nairobi.
The American lay on the bed on his back, arms folded across his chest and mutiny starting to blossom under the tirade. As wrong as Tom knew he was, the male ego does not appreciate being roared at, even if by the one he coveted. That, and a degree of humiliation and frustration at the shackles he was being kept under while recuperating finally made him snap.
So when Mina showed no sign of flagging or stopping, continuing her telling-off with an angry, "You were told not to try walking alone! You're still too weak!" he pushed himself up on his elbows and fired a salvo back.
"That was three whole hours ago!" he yelled without any irony whatsoever.
The gathered audience held their collective breath, divided about whether this was an incredibly stupid or incredibly brave move. Mina was momentarily shocked speechless. She stared at the young man, who was now propped up on his hands in a sitting position, at his frustrated pout, the light of battle – of life – finally blazing out of his pale face, and her rage disappeared as if through a trapdoor.
His words really registered with her then, their quintessential Tom Sawyer attitude, and, much to everyone's astonishment, she started to laugh. "Oh Tom," she managed to get out, "You are a one! And thank God you're still with us."
His own frustration quickly dried up and died then too. He also started laughing, seeing the funny side. Then Mina leaned down and enfolded him in a hug.
They held each other tightly, before realising just how much company they now had and hastily pulled away, staring around in amazement and embarrassment.
"Okay, folks. Show's over," Skinner announced from his position outside the open window which had been Tom's goal, then regretted he had spoken when Mina turned on him.
"And what do you think you're doing there?"
Skinner felt and heard the natives disappear from around him as if they were fog in the sun's rays. Thus abandoned, he tried to stay brave. "Love, where else would they get to see a woman manhandle a man and throw him onto a bed, hey? They couldn't even get that in the bawdier theatres in Europe! Unless it's a man dressed in drag, of course. Next time you do it, be less vocal if you don't want to attract attention."
Blushing, Mina sighed. Until this incident, Tom had been a model convalescent, even though it went against his very nature. But the fear that had gone through her when she heard the thud and crash and realized something had happened to him . . . . Especially when she had left his bedside for what was only going to be ten minutes.
By now Allan figured it was safe enough to approach the bed. "Are you all right, son?" he asked, touching the crown of Tom's head.
"I'm okay. Even my eardrums."
"Good, then I won't box them! I think you've been told off enough. For now."
"Hey, I was doing fine trying to get to the window by myself. I didn't fall – a fold in the rug tripped me." You guys left it unattended! But he had enough self preservation and sense left to know that saying the latter out loud would not be a good idea.
END PART EIGHT
One more chapter to go! Of this installment anyway.