Author's Note: Ugh… BTLOTM was being a pain, lol, so I decided to give this a whirl instead. Thought it might help to let the wolves alone when they obviously don't want to be bothered, and instead… write the story with Dorian in? O_O Hmmm… am I feeling all right? *touches forehead* Didn't think so. ^_^
RogueSparrow: I rock? Awesome *picks up guitar and has a jam*
angelic katty: Dorian was born that way.
Psychozzy: Wow… that's quite a compliment. Thank you.
LotRseer3350: Ack the flattery! Don't spoil me you guys! Lol.
20xd6: Hmmm… want a chainsaw? Might work better… he is immortal after all…
Leigh S. Durron: Chills down your spine? Excellent. Mission accomplished.
drowchild: No, it doesn't connect with 'Mad World'. You can decide for yourself if that's a good or bad thing. Don't worry… he's in this chapter.
Rayne: Ah, excellent, pleased reviewer #1. Glad you approve of the Dorian Mark II as I've come to call him ^_^ Lol.
Capt. Cow: Soon enough?
Graymoon74: Ah, phew. Glad you're pleased about Dorian's new look as well. Couldn't help but write a little about Dorian. I brought Allan back in BTLOTM, so I thought everyone's favourite immortal deserved a chance too.
Sethoz: *cackles maniacally* Ah excellent… glad I've nabbed your attention, dear friend. Hope this satisfies.
"Salau!"
The orb sailed through the air after being launched by one of the sailors, and the marksman watched it with detached interest as it continued on its trajectory. He had been up here for almost two hours, and so far, he had gone through quite an impressive amount of ammunition. It mattered little to him, for the captain of the mighty vessel he stood on the deck of at that very moment did a marvellous job of supplying him with more when he needed it.
He squeezed the trigger, feeling the recoil from the impressive gun, and watched the target explode, pieces of the buoy splintering off in all directions and then vanishing into the waves as the submersible – above the water for the time being – rushed past.
Special Agent Thomas Sawyer lowered the elephant gun, accustomed to its weight now, and hefted it in one hand as he opened it to reload. The gun – Matilda as it had so fondly been called once – bent open quietly, permitting the action, and the American wasted no time in doing so. As of late, he had spent more and more time on the conning tower of the Nautilus, practising his shooting and his marksmanship with either the Winchesters or the elephant gun… he always found the latter more effective for long range somehow.
Maybe because this is a hunter's gun, he surmised with half a frown as he propped the butt to his shoulder whilst snapping the weapon shut. He narrowed his eyes, ready for the shot he had been planning since the get-go, and called, "Salau!"
The next target was launched, and instead of waiting for it to land, he arced the barrel of the gun along with it, gritting his teeth with the concentration, and pulled the trigger, hoping it would find its mark.
Even as the target was struck, Tom did not allow himself the triumph he had once so revelled in, slightly startled when the disembodied voice said, "You're getting frighteningly good at that, Sawyer."
"Jeez…" Tom muttered, and rested the butt down on the metal below his feet, eyeing the direction in which his companion's voice had originated. "What are you doing up here?" He had a fair idea… it was nearing their evening meal, and every night now, Tom had to be collected – just about. Each time it was a different person, sometimes Rodney Skinner – the 'gentleman thief' who stood beside him now – but more often than not it was their resident woman; Mina. He wondered where she was tonight, and then decided not to let it bother him… as difficult as that would be.
Rodney Skinner shuffled beside him. Tom heard him sigh, and then his words as he said, "One of Nemo's men said there's a message come through for you." Though he had no way of telling, Tom thought the invisible man turned his head in the American's direction. "From 'home' apparently."
Tom just about dropped the gun, instead forcing it roughly towards the area where he assumed Skinner was standing, hearing a light 'oof' before he charged to the door, and shot through it. He bolted down the steps leading from the tower, vaguely making out the thief calling after him. He ignored the protests, and charged down the corridors to the communication room, darting in and out of bustling crewmen as he did so, nearly knocking one right off his feet. He called a rushed apology over his shoulder, unaware of why he was so desperate to read this apparent message.
He burst into the room containing the communications equipment, a little out of breath without realising, and managed to say, "There was a message for me?"
The crewman looked to him with wide, startled eyes, seemingly on the verge of calling for assistance in thinking Tom some sort of deranged madman, and muttered, "Um… yes… yes, sir. It is over there." He pointed to the far table.
Tom strode to the table, and picked the message up in his hands, reading it. It had been translated from Morse into writing for him, and he carefully read the words… and then reread them. This didn't make any sense. They were asking him to return to America… for what; he didn't know. It didn't go into detail, something he found rather frustrating indeed. He shoved the message into his pocket; brow furrowed in confusion, and mumbled his thanks to the man on duty. He nodded his response, listening for any further communiqué, and Tom stepped from the room.
His hands found his pockets, as he went on his way to find Nemo.
The pen darted across the page, and then, suddenly, it stopped, the blue eyes that had been fixed upon it wavering before closing. The headache was resilient, she had to give it that… but it was getting beyond annoying. She had already taken some painkillers, and had done nothing to ease the pain. Sighing, she set the pen down, and removed her spectacles, before freezing as if a chill had run up her spine.
Twisting in her chair, she let her eyes fall upon the portrait. The face painted there stared back at her, that same cocky smile finding its way deep into her soul and cutting deeply. She turned back, and shuddered. Why had she kept it? Why hadn't she destroyed it? Why?
Because you can't, and you know it, answered a small, knowing voice in the rear of her mind, and she succumbed to its reasoning. She knew it was right. She rubbed her temples, and risked a glance at it again. The dark eyes stared right back at her, and she forced herself to look away, chiding herself for her curiousity.
Standing from her desk, she strode to the chest and pulled a cloth from it. She proceeded to hook the cloth over the corners of the painting's ornate frame, and let it hang; covering the face upon it. She had had enough of staring at it – and having it stare back – for one day. Once the cloth settled, fluttering for only a moment, she felt her spirits soar just that little bit in order for her to brighten a little.
She saw someone at the doorway – or rather sensed and then saw them as she turned – and noticed it was young Agent Sawyer. He was watching her. She was suddenly glad the portrait was covered. No one had seen it yet, other than herself. They did not know she had kept it, having claimed it after the Mongolia incident, very much in secret.
"Can I help you, Agent Sawyer?" she asked of him politely, dusting down her skirt subconsciously as she moved from the wall, not wishing to draw attention to it in any way now that she had concealed it from view.
He regarded her with hazel-flecked green eyes for a moment, looking at her through the blonde feathered 'bangs' – as Americans called them – along his brow, and then replied, "I was looking for Captain Nemo. Have you seen him?"
Wilhelmina Harker stood at the foot of her bed, feeling its silent call to her, and then shook her head. "I'm afraid I haven't. But it is closing on dinner. Is it important?"
"Yes," Sawyer replied at once, and nodded. "I need to go back to America."
"America?" Mina inquired, raising a brow. "Why is that? Have you been recalled?"
Sawyer shrugged loosely under the thin fabric of his white shirt, buttoned up to his chest, and sighed. "I'm not sure. I got a message calling me 'home'. That's Missouri… always has been. Guess it always will be."
"Was there no way to contact them in return for details?" Mina asked sceptically. They had been burned in the past – quite literally for one member – and she was in no hurry to feel the flames of betrayal again so soon. "It could very well be a ploy."
"I'm aware of that," Sawyer challenged gently, his eyes playing over her face before focusing on the draped frame. "What is that?"
"Excuse me?" She feigned ignorance. It had served her well on occasion in the past.
He nodded toward it, still hovering in the doorway. "The thing you covered just before I came along. What is it? A picture?"
"No," she said to him in response. "It is a mirror… sometimes I tire of seeing my reflection." She realised afterwards that it sounded feeble, and somewhat vain, especially when coupled with the wan smile she offered him, and quickly added, "Besides… it is damaged. I will have one of Nemo's men repair it when I can."
Sawyer nodded slowly, a smooth motion that disturbed his blonde locks for a moment, before he moved to continue on his search. Sighing, Mina pursued him casually, feeling a slight hunger in the pit of her stomach. She thanked whatever was responsible for it being a normal hunger… not that of the vampire within. With the presence of fresh, young blood, the result could have been disastrous had she not been able to quell it in time.
"I will accompany you," she told him when he threw her a questioning gaze over his shoulder, "it is close to dinner, as I said. We will be called shortly. If we head for the dining hall, we may catch Nemo in order for you to make your request."
The young man smiled and nodded for a moment. The expression faltered and faded away.
"Is something the matter?"
He glanced to her again, his eyes clouded over with confusion, and he furrowed his brow as he said, "I'm not sure. It's just…" he paused, pensively, "Missouri… St. Petersburg actually, was always my home before I joined the Secret Service. When me and… a friend of mine went away… and something happened…"
Mina noticed his hesitation, and gently urged him to continue.
"It was when we were chasing the Phantom… something went wrong, the mission went bad, and he died. When I went back…" another lengthy, uncomfortable pause, before he managed to finish with, "let's just say I wasn't exactly 'home' anymore."
Mina nodded slowly. She felt sympathy swell up inside of her for the young man, but decided against showing it. Her veil of nonchalance had always served her well, but she could show emotion whenever she chose. She quickly surmised that this was not an opportune moment for such a thing, and said, "I assume that you will be requesting to return specifically to St. Petersburg?"
He nodded, remaining silent; seemingly battling with his inner urge to let his own emotions rise up and take over. The agent did a good job of hiding them, apart from in his eyes; the soulful green eyes that always betrayed what he was feeling, whether he realised or not.
Mina let her words die down after that also, and walked in silence along with the young man, both similar in height, but so very different inside. One a spy, the other a vampire and a chemist. They were quite the pair, to be seem walking equally, side by side down the corridors of the Nautilus; Sword of The Ocean.
Doctor Henry Jekyll rolled over in his bed, unable to sleep, and stared at the ceiling above him, contemplating their course change. They were no longer headed to… he couldn't remember their original heading now, but he knew they had changed it to make their way to America at the request of young Agent Tom Sawyer. Nemo had obliged, considering how they were no longer undertaking a mission at the moment. They hadn't long completed a minor one, including a kidnapped politician's daughter in London. It had not lasted very long, and after a brief investigation, they had found the poor girl locked up in some slum, and Hyde and Sawyer – along with a rather bumbling Skinner – had rescued her whilst Nemo and Mrs. Harker had taken care of the men outside.
"And what did you do, Henry? Nothing… as usual."
Henry groaned, and rolled onto his front, burying his face in his pillow as the voice of his alter ego, Edward Hyde, bubbled up in his subconscious again. It was never easy to shut the brute out, but at night it seemed more difficult. It was almost as though Edward were nocturnal.
An interesting thought, he mused to himself, and rolled over onto his side, snuggling into his blankets as he felt the churning of the engines through the very bulkheads themselves, and before long… much to his surprise, he was asleep, giving in to dreams.
Whether or not the dreams were his or Edward's… he would not remember in the morning.
It was only a matter of days – two to be precise – before the League managed to draw their way through the Mississippi like the mighty sword the Nautilus represented and resembled. She cut through the lazy waters with ease, like a hot blade, and travelled with stealthy silence that did them little good in the daytime.
Tom was impatient in the hold, walking back and forth next to the shell of an automobile in the process of reconstruction. He eyed it every now and then, almost eagerly, and he was watched by a grinning Rodney Skinner – though no one could see it, for the man had left his face unpainted – and a very intrigued Mina Harker. She raised an eyebrow, and smiled ever so slightly at his behaviour.
Dr. Henry Jekyll had arrived not too long ago, still tidying his chestnut hair to one side, and offering everybody a weak, somewhat timid smile and a muttered, "Good morning."
It was indeed morning; around ten o'clock in Missouri to be precise, and Tom felt the shift in the vessel as they started to turn towards the dock. He hoped there were no boats in the way, and at the thought, he smiled ever so slightly, remembering flashes of his childhood, such as pirating with his friends.
Captain Nemo pushed through into the hold not too long after the shift in their speed, and he nodded to Tom. "Only a few minutes now, Agent Sawyer. Are you certain this was the place intended in the message? It appears to be nothing more than a fishing community."
"This is the place," Tom replied swiftly with a nod, and walked to the ramp before the ship had even finished moving. Mina strode up to his left, with Skinner, Jekyll and Nemo taking up positions around them. Tom took a deep breath. He had no idea what would await him on the other side of this door.
The Nautilus ground to a halt, and with a clank and a slight creak, the ramp slowly lowered, crashing gently down on the bank of St. Petersburg.
Tom and the others strode forward, and as they emerged into the sunlight, Tom squinted slightly, and glanced up. His breath caught in his throat at the sight that awaited him. Standing in front of a covered horse-drawn carriage in the sunlight were a young man and woman side by side.
The man looked up the ramp at him with blue eyes, and a cheeky grin. His curly black hair settled around his brow, ears and neck at the back, and he glanced to the woman by his side. Though Tom could not see them for definite, he knew the man wore pistols at his hips… he could see the impressions of them upon his thigh-length black coat.
The woman was smiling up at him… actually smiling… at him! He hadn't thought it possible when he'd last seen her. They had parted on such awful terms. He had written her a letter about the death of his partner, and when he'd arrived back to try and talk to her in person, she had practically beaten him to make him leave, thrashing against his chest furiously. He winced at the memory, and then caught her light blue eyes beaming up at him, and he couldn't help but smile lopsidedly. Her blonde hair was free, falling in gorgeous, elegant waves about her lean pretty face, framing her smile and making her whole face shine as if encompassed in light.
"Becky…" he managed, and found he couldn't take his eyes off her. He knew Skinner for one had to be staring, but right now he couldn't think of anything other than Rebecca Thatcher, just as beautiful as he remembered her.
The young man beside Becky laughed, and said; – with a light Southern drawl – "Well at least he hasn't forgotten your name. That's something."
"Be quiet, Joe," Becky chided lightly, and threw him a scathing look.
Special Agent Joseph Harper chuckled quietly, and crossed his arms over his chest, even as the League finished its descent of the ramp. Tom parted from his companions, hoping no one too superstitious caught sight of Skinner and thought him a ghost. He strode up on the soft bank to Becky and Joe, and smiled at them.
"It was you, wasn't it? You sent me that message." He looked between the two of them, and Joe shrugged mischievously. Tom was tempted to give him a light punch in the arm, before he found himself asking, "What's goin' on?"
In response, Joe looked over his shoulder as the door to the carriage clicked to signal it was opening. Joe stepped aside, and Becky moved a little closer to Tom and turned her face to the cloaked and hooded figure that hopped out of the confines of the horse-drawn transport.
The League looked on as the figure finished their short climb, and stood before Tom Sawyer, almost eerily, before a hand pushed forth from the cloak, and reached up to the hood.
Tom watched warily. Was this some kind of prank? Were they trying to teach him a lesson somehow?
The figure took a light hold on the front of the hood, and pulled back on it, casting their face into light and dropping the cloth gently down their back. They had mahogany-brown hair, tousled and falling in every direction imaginable as if the young man had not bothered to even try and neaten it. Their chocolate-coloured eyes laughed even if the face did not. They regarded the other man seriously, though a ghost of a smile haunted their face.
Tom felt his breath snatched from him, and his knees weakened at once. He almost had to grab at Becky to keep himself from falling, gasping, "Oh my god…"
The figure laughed, and strode toward him, looking up at him, at least four or five inches shorter.
Tom stared down at the other man for what seemed like an eternity, his emotions battling with him for supremacy: joy; disbelief; confusion. It all swam up in him and clashed horribly, and before he knew what he was doing, he had thrust his arms out and embraced the other man so suddenly that he could have sworn he knocked the wind out of him.
Behind the embracing pair, Becky Thatcher and Joe Harper smiled.