The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected

Chapter One :- Of Memories And Of Dreams

Tom rubbed his nose thoughtfully; he didn't like this. There was something definitely wrong about it, something wrong about the whole set up. Two years of gruelling fighting in the trenches had made him much more careful, much more mellow. True America hadn't 'officially' joined the war until 1917 but Tom had felt that it was his duty to protect the country where the League was based. His duty to protect its members if nothing else. Looking before he leapt was now something programmed into his mind and he was glad that it was there. He was no longer the young boy who had joined the League so long ago, he was now a man, or at least he was a man in mind.

He had seen many horrors in the war that had taken place, many images, and horrific images of what men could do to each other. The violence had shocked him; it was something that he hadn't thought twice about in his early years as a spy. In truth joining the Secret Service back then had been adventure, travelling not about thinking up new and improved ways to kill other men. He didn't know why he had rejoined the American Secret Service after the armistice. The first thing he'd done when the fighting had stopped was to get the hell out of France where he'd been fighting. He'd gone back home. If one could call it that. It didn't feel like home anymore, not without Becky. Perhaps it was a craving to find the good old times that had led him back to that Government Office? He sure as hell felt as though he'd seen enough murders to last him a life time, and yet, here he was on his latest mission with the risk of killing floating over his head.

He guessed that another reason he had taken up his old job again was to makeup for his mistake with M. He had tried so hard to stop him and yet ultimately he had won. M had gotten his war, with or without his preternatural kit of weapons. There'd been an arms race. True…it had been over building some ships (ships which didn't even come close in comparison to what Nemo was capable of) but it had been a cause. Fuelling the trouble. So many lives had been lost in the war and even though he had killed M, killed him with a single shot; the war had still lived and in a way that meant M still did as well.

Ironically the war had also begun with a single shot. The assassination of the Arch Duke of Austria-Hungary, the heir to the throne. He was gunned down just outside a hospital, which would have been funny had it not been so wrong. The Duke had been visiting a man who had been shot in a previous attempt to kill him. The assassins had taken three attempts to kill the man. Even Tom reckoned his shooting skills were better than that. Whether that was a good thing or not escaped him.

That was beside the point though and it most definitely was not funny. He had been killed and the river of war, that had been held back by the feeble dam of alliances, broke forth and flooded the world.

He remembered the day when it had been announced the diplomatic ties with Germany had been renounced. He remembered that day in April when the United States ultimately declared war on Germany. The trouble was he remembered too well, the deaths of so many of his friends, and the deaths of so many innocent enemies. Tom hadn't found the experience of war glorifying as some had said it would be. He found himself feeling sick as he looked on the bodies of the fallen German men lying next to the bodies of his comrades. They were all the same really; all had families, mothers who would weep for them, hearts that would break when they were told their loved ones weren't coming home.

So maybe that was it, maybe that was why Tom had rejoined the service. He wanted to stop anything like that from happening again. He didn't want his sons to grow up in a world torn with war. Nothing like that should ever rip through Europe, America, Japan, and Russia. No one had ever done enough to warrant a retribution like what had happened.

He brought himself back to the present with a tug; living with memories was not the thing to do. He had learned that when he began to brood over Allan. For a long time afterwards he went over things again and again, wondering whether there was anything he could have done. Even when he had travelled with Nemo he couldn't stop the echoes in his thoughts, his dreams. He felt a guilt. There was no denying that. Now there was no more fighting to worry about the old haunts were coming back.

He hadn't had the power in his mind to banish the feelings of blame. His mind eventually twisted it so that he saw so many different ways in which he could have protected Allan. So many ways in which he could of stopped his murder, but now it was too late. It had only begun to relax when he left the Nautilus to return to America for a while before the fighting. Back when things were only light grey instead of the murky black they were now. He realised that everything to do with the League reminded him of Allan. It wasn't always a bad thing to be reminded of. Whilst Allan had taken the position of mentor in his life, things had been pretty good.

Truthfully however he had run away from his problems; he hadn't faced them. He had run straight into a war. He had run to where he was standing now, outside a building in a small suburb just south of Paris. And it was getting to the point where he was sick of running.

All intense spiritual wonderings over he did actually have a job to do. A small grin spread across his face. Yes. The current mission: he was tracking a very suspicious politician, someone who had made protest about the peace treaty. The word had come from the President of the United States himself to have those men watched. Peace was something desperately needed in this world at the moment. They couldn't afford to have some selfish individuals crush the whole thing. Several people were being watched in a similar fashion, true most of them were German… Tom felt rather special actually, being given the oddest and most interesting case of the lot.

He took another look around the corner. The man was of wire like build: tall and thin. He carried a walking stick which served no proper purpose; it was just there because the man liked to swing it as he walked. The man was heading for an orangey- grey building down at the bottom of the street. Tom frowned, he'd never gone there before, and from all he'd learnt about the man it was that he had pattern in his life and he didn't change it unless something serious went wrong.

Tom let him go inside the building and waited for a few seconds. He had to give the man time to settle down inside before he followed him in. He smiled slightly; with all his years of practise he had forgotten one of the first rules in spying. When you follow someone you don't follow behind them, you don't shadow them; it's too easily spotted. You have to stay ahead of them, learn from what they do as to where they are going. He'd slipped up but that didn't matter. The man had no idea that he was being followed by the Agent and Tom had every wish to keep it that way. Another smile spread across his features and his pulled down his wide brimmed hat over his face, there was nothing quite as fun as the chase.

Turning the corner, he put on a very realistic casual walk, a close copy of those he could see around him. The trick would be to blend; no one took any notice of a man walking by. He came and went in their minds as nothing more than a vague memory. He realised as he walked along that he really had missed the thrill and excitement of spying so much. He loved the danger, the anticipation. The fighting had been so different in the war, a brutal fight to the death, just a race to see who could die first. This was subtle and a battle of wits, you only died if you went wrong.

He reached the building and looked at it for a few seconds. It was a rather shabby restaurant. Now this was really odd. This man was very rich and he always went to top quality places, places where he would be treated with respect and where he would get the publicity he required to make people support his career. Tom couldn't help but grin slightly, he could think of a couple of reasons why a man would choose to come to a place like this.

Pushing open the door, he walked in. The place looked thoroughly dingy and to be honest the agent really didn't like it. He sat down at a vacant table, locating the politician as he did so. He was sat at the back talking to another man who had his back to Tom. He pulled out a note book and quickly wrote a description from what he could see, he needed to follow every lead he could. Usually written records were discouraged but if anything went wrong his government wanted absolute proof of what had been going on. A photography would have been better but cameras were just a little too conspicuous.

A waiter came over, pulling out his own pad and Tom rolled his eyes; he'd better buy something, "I'll just have a beer ." The waiter nodded and waddled off with a sullen look upon his face, obviously disappointed that Tom wasn't interested in spending more money.

He returned a minute later carrying a glass of one of most repulsive looking liquids Tom had ever seen. It looked as though it had the texture of syrup. He grimaced; he really did not want to drink that. He looked around the smoke filled room and wondered whether it had been such a good idea for him to come in here after all. He shrugged; it was too late to do anything about it now.

The man arrived at the table and set the drink down so heavily the table shook and the drink slopped over the sides of the glass. Tom looked up at him and raised his eyebrow. The man gave him a nasty little smirk and then handed him a piece of equally grubby paper.

Tom's hand strayed to the pocket of his coat where he had his pistol concealed, he was feeling nervous. Something was not right, he held the piece of paper in his hand until he was sure the waiter was safely behind the bar and then he unfolded it. There written in a bold hand were the words,

'Thank you, Mr Sawyer, for walking into our little trap so blindly.'

He looked up in panic at the door and large man stood there, a very muscular man; he had an extremely threatening look about him. Sort of…I want you to come here so I can hit you really hard. Nothing would give me more enjoyment than that. Tom frowned, not much chance of getting out that way apparently. He glanced over at the table where the politician was sitting with the other man. The unknown one turned to look at him then he smiled and gave a little wave.

"Damn."

Rosaline was dreaming such a pleasant dream; so peaceful and very calming. She was lying in a meadow, surrounded by beautiful and fragrant flowers. She could see lilies, chrysanthemums, pansies, peonies, poppies, violets and so many others in all the colours you could imagine. She breathed in their scent deeply, letting in lull her into a sense of security. Not a usual dream for her but she didn't notice the unrealistic quality, the false sense of safety that the flowers issued along with their scent.

A man behind her watched as she let down her natural protective guards. He would win her soul with this dream. He was amazed at how he was able to infiltrate the mind and twist their thoughts so that they believed they loved him. Her head relaxed back as she became even more at ease, giving him his cue to move into position. He floated behind her, sprawling his legs out so that when she thought she would come into contact with the ground she would actually meet his leg. How dramatic. How coincidental. How perfect to sow the first seeds of an imaginary relationship.

Slowly she felt a desire to be right among the flowers, to look up at the sky with them. Gently Rosaline lay back. She remained there for a few seconds, her mind taking a little while to register what had happened. In this relaxed state your sensations became warped and confused the brain into thinking strange thoughts. She knew that she hadn't met the ground but for the life of her she couldn't place what she was actually lying on. Something soft and yet rough. A fabric?

Rosaline sat up, passing a hand along the back of her head whilst trying to decided whether she had imagined the leg or not. She turned to look, her curiosity over coming all her rational thoughts. She started violently when she saw the man. The only men she'd ever been this close to before had been priests and men in the market. Nothing like this. Never so intimate. She blushed.

Dorian smiled at her reaction, he hadn't felt so alive for years. In fact hadn't felt so alive for twenty years, ever since Mina... ever since Mina allowed him to see his demon. The smile gently widened as he wondered what her reaction would be when she found out that he had faced his demon and won. Unfortunately winning over your demon doesn't lead you back to life. It leaves you stranded there in limbo: not good enough to go to heaven, not dead enough to return to hell.

He watched her as mouth opened with shock and then as she frowned in confusion, "Who-who are you?" She felt a little stupid asking such an obvious question, but it was something that needed to be asked. Practicalities. The world around her was only kept sane by worrying about the practicalities. She felt some sense of rationalisation kick in, beginning to think critically about this stranger in her dream. Beginning to think critically about the whole idea in general. Was he really as harmless as a dream? He didn't look it.

Dorian sighed as he watched her become alert again, especially after he'd gone to all that trouble to calm her down. His nose twitched and he tried his best 'I am trustworthy smile', "I'm a friend." There. Stupid girl should buy that. She hadn't even asked properly and he was showing he knew what she was thinking. Displaying his 'awesome powers' that would make her believe his every word.

Something was definitely wrong about him. Rosaline could not put a finger on it, however. The smile he gave was so warm and so caring that it couldn't be real. She watched him all the more closely, despairing of the dilemma that was taking place inside her. She wanted to go and sit with him, a hypnotic shadow was falling across her mind and she wanted to give in. The girl realised as a shadow clouded her regular thoughts that she would like nothing better than to go and walk to him. Walk anywhere to be with him. In her mind two things made a connection: her mistress's walk onto the landing and her own need to walk. The painting. He was the man from the painting! She scrambling away from him, her heart beat sped up. She didn't like him and she certainly didn't feel safe anymore. It was so confusing, he didn't give off an aura of someone who would behave like a friend and yet he seemed so gentle.

Watching as the girl managed to choke something out he saw something he'd never thought he'd see again. True kindness. He hadn't seen such purity since before he had met Basil. But it was naïve. Naïve and stupid and it did not attract him. She was like one of the flowers she'd be admired but soon it would all fade and she would be left a jaded weed. He was brought back to earth by the sound of her voice, "I asked you who you were."

Smiling, he replied, "I know, and I answered."

"I don't believe you," she stated simply, face contorted with suspicion. She found herself moving further away from him. There was a change going on in her mind and it reflected in her surroundings. She was no longer relaxed and as she grew tenser the flowers were growing higher and getting more compressed around them. Rosaline continued to move backward unaware of this change until something sharp cut into her thumb. She exclaiming in shock and pain, she quickly retracted it.

She held up her left hand there was a small cut on the tip of her thumb, it must have been pierced by something fairly sharp to have gone quite so deep into her thumb. Turning her head, another gasp escaped her.

What had one been a soft bed of flowers had now turned into something horrible, reflecting the insecurity she felt? All around her were thick bushes of thistles, their sharp prickles grew from the stems an inch in length, walling her in like an animal in a cage and starting to dig into her arms and back. She could move no further from the mesmerizing dark haired man. Something that worried her more though was the fact that she was beginning to forget why she'd tried to run anyway.

"Careful," he cautioned, an automatic and unfeeling response. Then he added in a more pleasant and amiable voice, "Why don't you come back over here?"

"Because I don't trust you", she snapped, nursing her thumb. Even as she sucked the blood away the reasons for not trusting him were growing fainted, grains of sand slipping between her fingers. Resorting to her last attack, Rosaline allowed herself to become irritate. Anger began to flow through her as she realised her dreams were being violated by some stranger. Some charming stranger who was slowly captivating her attention, the thumb dropped from her mouth, blood continuing to run unnoticed. "I think," began the girl matter-of-factly, "you're the man who's been hurting my mistress."

Dorian smirked at her, shrugging his shoulders, "You got me," he surrendered mockingly, without a slightest trace of regret. "Anyway now that we've established that why don't we stop this silly behaviour and you come and sit with me?"

Rosaline shook her head firmly and moved as far back as she could with out touching the wall of ugly prickles that surrounded her. She wanted to awaken but if she didn't wake up when her thumb was pierced by and she'd first felt the pain then there was a good chance she wouldn't wake up until this man was ready for her to. Feeling pain in dreams is a similar draw back to the present, like falling: you woke up; the pain was generally real.

An expression of mild irritation breezed across Dorian's features, but then he looked at her scared little face and his features softened visibly. Had you looked into his eyes you would have seen the twisted maliciousness that was starting to consume him once again. He had missed the thrill of enchanting someone and the girl's eye were trained on his face in such a way that he couldn't resist, such unspoken adoration of his face. His tone of voice became honey like, soothing, and enchanting, he pleaded, "Please come. I just want to sit with you."

His voice rippled through her mind, clouding it over in a drug like manner. She looked at him with confused and dazed. He was such a handsome man, he skin clear and smooth, expression so dark and interesting. His hair falling in soft waves, it was begging for her to come and touch it, to let her fingers trace the patterns it made on his face. She had a faint feeling of déjà vu, as though she had seen the face somewhere before.

"Come to me," he beckoned once again, resorting to his empty flattery, "I think you are so beautiful."

Rosaline took a sharp in take of air as she felt her feet moving towards him all memories of her life in reality disappearing. The soft flower petals felt like a breath of wind underneath her feet when just crushed the blooms accidentally. She wanted to fight, everything inside her was screaming for her to sit still, but the man was so intoxicating. She just needed to hear his voice, to be with him and touch his soft brown hair. That's all. It would do no harm. It couldn't. He obviously was kind and gentle.

He watched her coming towards him, falling under the spell that had charmed so many young women so long ago. It reminded him so strongly of life, of having a physical body. A moment of melancholia threatened to engulf him but he remembered quickly why he was doing this. 'Just one kiss,' he thought as she came closer, 'one kiss and you'll be mine. Nothing will be able to save you after that.'

Rosaline reached him and sat down next to him on the bed of flowers. He gently took her hand and she obligingly allowed him to keep it, enjoying the closeness. This felt so wrong to her and yet so right. She now believed that he loved her, that he wanted her and she felt complete. This was love was supposed to be like? Wooing and all the soft compliments that her mistress used to tell her about. Back when her mistress had gone out and socialised. There were no men around the house now…so maybe that was why she had come to him so readily. Curiosity if nothing else.

She leaned her head against him and he rested his head on hers. He didn't blame her for falling for him so quickly. This felt comfortable and stable. Two very good things to have when he was on a time limit. All around him the flowers took on a delightful pastel hue: pinks, blues etc. Those light colours that make you think of early spring and the promise of warm days it brings. Everything was set to manipulate her and it was doing such a good job. He almost pitied her. Almost.

He knew that his time with her was coming to a close and he still had yet to seal all the work he had done. He tore the head of one of the prettiest flowers he could see and tapped her arm with such sensitivity that she felt tingles running through her. Rosaline raised her head and her eyes met with his. Yes, love. It must be love.

She knew that something should have told her that this had been done so many times before. A repeated and calculated routine. But she didn't want to know; she didn't want to leave him at all. Her took her hand in his and pressed the flower into it. He congratulated himself as he saw her understanding bloom, a flower all on its own. He delicately pushed her hand back to where it belonged and she looked away from him, realising with a sharp pang that he actually was going to go away. Her soul, her mind, her heart were confused and consumed all at once. He couldn't go!

He lifted her chin slightly, feeling a little sad himself that this was going to end. It couldn't deny that it didn't feel nice; he could learn to 'love' someone like her maybe to heighten the illusion. He could if he had a heart. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. The girl closed her eyes, feeling that nothing could have made her any happier. When she opened them a seconds later the only thing she saw was her room.

At first extreme disappointment looked set to take over when the voice rippled around her, "Free me, Rosaline. I love you... Do you love me too?" She clenched her hands in panic, stopping when she felt something between her fingers. She raised her shaking hand slowly, afraid of what she was going to see. Her fears were confirmed when she saw the slightly squashed pink and white flower there as real as she was.

"A demon," she hissed, tumbling out of bed in fright.

Author's Notes

Right, now I know that a 20 year time gap is rather large, but I felt seeing as they aren't exactly normal people they probably don't age exactly like them either. For my story let's just say that they don't. I need you to think of the characters the same in appearance; otherwise this will not really work.

If you insist that they have to age then think of the aging in mind, growing wiser learning from past mistakes. Also if you want me to work it in to my story plausibly I can, I have something that will link it in if you're desperate. So yes that was my rant, just imagine them the same in looks mostly, but much more mature in the way they think and act.

And another thing, this isn't going to be a Mary Sue story with Dorian and Rosaline falling for each other and that making Dorian turn all goody-goody two shoes. That would just be boring. Give me a couple more chapters and I'll have more characters introduced so the emotions will thicken. And besides Rosaline doesn't really love Dorian he's erm, seducing her, so there. :P

Oh and a big thank you to my first reviewers,

Funyun – Thank you, you're probably one of the main reasons why I carried on with this fan fiction.

Drowchild – See my little note about the ages, I already have a reason as to why they wouldn't have aged in appearance, I'll add it in as we go so don't worry . They're all as hot as ever.

Xini – I owe this obsession to you, and I hope you'll help keep this story alive until I finish it. Haha, Xini. Look at this. A year later and you've revived it again. More trouble than you're worth. p 28/10/05

Marah Valin – Thank you for the support it means a lot to me. Glad you want to know what happens I have a very juicy plot going on. And yes Dorian is definitely being a bad boy. He'd lose all of his sex appeal if he wasn't! .