Skinner…
He watched in silence as Kathryn met with Sawyer, Jekyll and Mina. He wasn't quite sure how she took to his comrades. And as far as he knew, she hadn't met them before, nor had she met Captain Nemo, the captain of the Nautilus. Since Skinner had last seen her, Kathryn had lost what little ability to show emotion she had. She was stone-faced and stoic. And he wanted to know why. So, he politely excused the other three from the room.
"Skinner…" she said, arranging a number of bottles on her dresser. They were crystal bottles, filled with various liquids, in many different colours. Skinner could only assume they were poisons of different sorts. "Skinner, I'm curious…"
"What?" he asked, skirting around her to examine the bottles. He would consider them beautiful, if he were only under the impression that they were different chemicals or perfumes. But there were so many, and all different, too, that's was made him nervous.
Kathryn carried a few sinister-looking items to her vanity and arranged them, along with the ones already there, into an organised pattern that only she could decipher. "Why is it you recruited me to the League?" she asked, unpacking one of the few dresses she owned and tucked them into the wardrobe. "Why is it you need me?"
Skinner thought quickly. Truth to tell, he had no idea why they needed her. "Your particular talents would prove useful in our future exploits," he said, using some excuse that he hoped would convince her for the time being. "I mean, what team of extraordinary individuals wouldn't want such a talented murderess among them? Your techniques and skills are legendary throughout England. There are so many that fear even the sound of your name. That's why we recruited you."
"Is that a fact?" she said, tucking some clothing into the drawers of the dresser. "I'm not as talented as everyone seems to think." She hid two pairs of her ankle-high button shoes just under her bed, and a third pair of more provocative boots inside the wardrobe behind the fabric of her dresses. "Half the time, and I'm honest when I say this, half the time, it's pure luck. Half the time, they end up killing themselves on accident, and so I haven't killed as many as are reported in my records in Scotland Yard."
Skinner crossed the room to Kathryn's side and brushed her stray hair from her face. "Look, love," he said softly. "I don't judge you for your past. Lord knows my past is far from laudable as well." She scoffed softly. "You don't remember how I introduced myself to you the first time we met?" he asked, seeing the sparkle of recollection in her eyes. "Let me remind you… 'Hello, Miss. Name's Rodney Skinner, Gentleman Thief.' I'm still a Gentleman Thief, I'm just invisible now." He wrapped his arms gently around Kathryn's waist.
She tried to push away from him. "Skinner, please," she said softly. "It isn't proper."
"Now, when have you ever worried about what's proper and what ain't?" he asked as he pulled her closer. "What I grew to love most about you is your indifference to propriety. And your resistance to conformity." He honestly did love her; he just hadn't had a chance to tell her.
"Skinner," she whispered. "Please… I don't want you to get hurt."
This surprised him. "Kathryn," he murmured, running his finger lightly along her cheek. "You won't hurt me. You can't hurt me…" Then he pulled her closer and tenderly kissed her. He could feel her return his kiss with more fervour than he expected. He pulled her closer and kissed her again, and felt her arms slip around him. The cool touch of her skin against his bare shoulders sent chills down his spine.
