Author's Note: Well, greetings and welcome to Chapter 3 of Ghosts of Old! This is going to get gradually darker, and for those of you with that age-old question burning on your lips, I have no idea how long this is going to be! Lol… hope that helped *snort* Yeah, right. Anyway, working on three pieces at once is quite a challenge that I've carelessly thrust myself into, but I feel I'm up to the task! Bring it on! Bwahaha! *nervous laugh*
Caraphoenix: I can't see Becky as an agent myself, but you're hitting pretty close to home on another topic…Enduro: No need to shrug so… especially not when you might be closer to the truth than you realise.
Psychozzy: Glad I can keep you writing your own story. Good to know. I haven't read the second chapter actually, if it's the story I'm thinking of…
Sethoz: Happiness for Tom? In my story? Whoa… what's wrong with me? I think I must be coming down with something, lol :) Sorry this took so long, and update your stories already! Lol.
RogueSparrow: *strums lightly on guitar* Rock is good… in small doses, which is why this chapter is quite calm as well. I'll ease you in, something that makes me think this might be quite lengthy, almost a` la Silver Bullet.
Rayne: I'm thinking everyone's favourite vamp will show plenty of emotion soon, and I should know, shouldn't I!
Capt. Cow: How come everyone is always asking me in particular for a love story (not that I have anything against that)? :)
Graymoon: I think everyone twigged who that 'guy' was in the last chapter. And I'm just going to say this for the record, though you may not understand until later *chuckle* you… are a genius.
LotRseer3350: Darker than this? Jeez… that's gonna be pretty damn dark then, lol. This is going to get – as you might have seen from the trailer – pretty dark and tense, and the rating might slip up a little too later on. We'll have to wait and see though. Thank you kindly for your comments.
Tom clung to Huckleberry Finn as though he would fade away if he let go, his eyes clamped shut, his emotions just under the surface, fighting to be released. His breathing was slightly disrupted by the shock to his belief that his oldest friend had died, and when he opened his eyes just slightly, they were lined with unshed tears. Still, he embraced Huck, afraid to release him, not knowing what to say. He was fully aware that all eyes were on them though, and he cared very little about that… all that mattered was that he share this moment with the partner he had thought lost forever.
Huck's arms were around him as well, and he finally patted him on the back, and although Tom could not see the other young man's face, he knew from experience the smile was there, warm and disarming, as he said, "It's okay, Tom… you can let go now."
But Tom did not want to. He took in a deep breath, and despite his urge to cling on for as long as possible, he drew back, studying Huck's face, as if searching for signs of deceit, any indication that this was all a trick. He found nothing… this was Huck. "My god," he managed in a shuddering voice, shaking his head, "it's you."
"Well who else's it gonna be, Tom? Injun Joe?"
Where he normally would have laughed at the childhood reference, Tom ran his hands through his hair with a sigh of disbelief, blinking back the tears and noticing they obeyed his silent inner command to stay there. He glanced to the beautiful Becky, and the grinning Joe. "How long?" he asked of them quietly.
Becky took a step towards him, running a hand gently over his arm. He shuddered slightly at her touch, expecting cruelty or shunning from her, but instead surprised at the tenderness he received. "Months… we wanted to wait until we were certain he'd pulled through to notify you, and then we had to try and track you down. That wasn't easy, Tom… we were worried."
Without warning, staring into the clear blue eyes – so like Mina's – for a long time, he took her in his arms then, and gave her an affectionate embrace, subtlely taking in the fragrance of her hair as he held her. It was just as he remembered it… like wild flowers.
"Well now I'm jealous," Joe quipped lightly with a soft chuckle, hands in his pockets, and when Tom broke away from Becky, he smiled at his long-time friend.
"Damn," Tom mumbled, and looked between the faces gathered, and then to the smiling League. Even the normally stoic Captain Nemo was smiling just at the corners of his mouth. Tom cleared his throat, and threw a certain inquiring gaze to the regal Indian man, who nodded his acknowledgement.
"Of course," he agreed to Tom's silent question. Then he turned to the other Americans and said, "You are all welcome aboard my Nautilus to discuss these matters and become reacquainted. My crew are at your disposal." He strode towards them then, and half-bowed politely in greeting. "My name is Captain Nemo. If you require anything, you need only ask."
"Thank you, Captain," Becky acknowledged with a warm smile. Tom suddenly remembered his manners, and lightly slapped his forehead with a grimace as to his lapse in formality.
"Sorry," he muttered to everyone, and then continued, "this is the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." He addressed the fellow Americans as he said this, and indicated the individual League members with a hand; "Captain Nemo; Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker; Dr. Henry Jekyll and Rodney Skinner."
Becky gave a light gasp behind her hand, and Tom quickly cut in with, "He's invisible, but don't worry. He's… don't worry." He smiled his old charming smile at Becky, and she nodded slightly. Then he turned to the League, and said in regards to his oldest companions, "This is Joe Harper. I've known him nearly my whole life. Rebecca Thatcher-"
"Becky," she offered quickly.
Tom smiled, and looked once again, still in awe at the face that should not have been, not any longer. "And…" He laughed quietly, disbelieving. "Special Agent Huckleberry Finn."
"I thought-" Skinner started, only to receive a none-too-subtle elbow in the ribs from Mina, and he gave a quiet 'oof', quickly descending into silence, realising his track of thought was not appropriate.
Tom gazed at the invisible man, or where he thought the other's eyes would have been, and smiled lopsidedly, saying, "So did I."
Huck Finn sat in the dining room – or rather luxury stateroom as he thought it should be called – on the… what had the Captain entitled it? The Nautilus… that was it. He sat opposite Tom and Becky, with Joe by his side, a cooling cup of oddly coloured tea in front of him, barely touched. They were too intent on talking. Tom and the others had removed their coats and been relieved of them by some of Nemo's crew, which had startled and unnerved Huck slightly. He still wasn't used to people waiting on him, even after all the care he had had to undergo.
"So… what happened? You died… I saw it with my own eyes." Tom was shaking his head in disbelief still, Becky watching him… in fact; Huck noticed she could barely take her eyes off him. Even Huck could tell that Tom Sawyer had matured a heck of a lot since their last parting.
Huck shifted slightly in his seat, trying to recall how many times he had told this tale, even as he launched into it again, "They said that when they found me, I was almost gone. They reckoned if they'd have left it a minute longer, I wouldn't be here now."
Tom frowned, guilt washing over his features, and his head bowed slightly, the rather long blonde bangs falling in his face.
"Hey," Huck began, leaning against the table slightly, and calling Tom's attention to him. "Don't be like that… what am I gonna blame you for, huh? I thought I was a gonner too… I don't blame you for leaving like ya' did… someone needed to stop that madman." Huck bit his bottom lip for a moment, hesitant. "Which reminds me… did you…?"
Tom raised his head, taking in a deep breath. He seemed taller all of a sudden as he nodded confidently. "I got him, Huck."
The shorter American could not stop his grin. "I knew you'd get him."
The two shared a knowing gaze for a long while, before Huck continued, "Anyway, where was I? Oh, that's right… they found me in that building where that maniac shot me, and managed to get me to a hospital. The Secret Service paid for all the bills, and they got me the best treatment they could… at least, that's what they say."
"And that's what they did, Huckleberry Finn," Becky cut in then, jabbing a feminine finger in his direction for a moment with a warning smile and a slight narrowing of her eyes, "so don't you go saying all those things again."
Tom cast a glance between the two, and cocked his head. Neither embellished on the details, which Huck knew would drive his friend more than a little crazy. He liked to know what was going on when and where he could, however he could… and being denied the data would bother him. More than anything, Huck found it amusing, and grinned at his partner.
That's if the Secret Service still count Tom as an agent… no good having a partner who's off with some British… whatever they are. Odd bunch though, invisible and all that. Huck couldn't deny that there was an odd aura around the group as they had greeted one another. They had split off to give the American's some time to catch up, and Huck hadn't seen them since.
"They weren't sure I'd make it, even in the hospital… but they said it was a miracle I'd survived at all, the bullet was so close to my heart."
Tom let out a slow exhalation, and whistled softly, leaning back in his chair. "So the Service let you back in?"
"They sure did," Huck revealed with nothing less than a proud smirk. "You gotta admit, they haven't got that many agents as it is… they couldn't wait 'til I was up and about again. They were scared I'd tell 'em no."
"After what you went through, I'm not surprised they thought that," Becky offered quietly, dropping her gaze for a moment. She had taken on a kind of sisterly mantle in regards to Huck, which was sometimes the most gentle and warming thing he could think of, but in other times it was just about as annoying as the Widow Douglas and her unnecessary mothering all those years ago.
"It's part of the risk we all knew about when we joined up," Joe input, shrugging his shoulders. Huck nodded.
"Don't go ganging up on me again. You know I hate that." She narrowed her eyes. Tom smiled, and seemed content. Huck couldn't help but feel at ease just because of the sheer inner joy he read in Tom Sawyer' eyes. He couldn't remember ever seeing the other young man so happy. Despite his burning urge to demand all there was to know about this 'League', Huck fell silent, and simply enjoyed their company, Joe, Tom and Becky continuing to talk around him as if nothing had ever happened. But Huck knew for a fact that Tom was aching inside, filled with guilt that needn't exist… Huck didn't blame him. How could he?
Maybe that's what Tom wants, Huck reasoned, furrowing his brow discreetly as Becky recalled the tale of how Joe had been made a Special Agent during Tom's absence. Tom nodded his head approvingly and congratulated Joe, who acted as modest as he could… which wasn't very much at all, something that humoured Huck.
But he couldn't help but wonder… would Tom leave this collection of individuals now that Huck was back 'from the dead'…?
Not only had it taken him days to even find the nearest port, but Dorian Gray had also had to endure the stinking presence of peasants and merchants on the vessel on their journey back to England. It was some small grace that the boat had been headed for London at all, but it – in no way – made up for the discomfort of the lengthy travelling period. People had constantly hounded him, encroaching on his privacy and getting too close for comfort.
I may only be newly resurrected, but I still have my values, he thought as he stepped from the dock, in desperate want of a hot, cleansing bath… and the repossession of his painting, which he had discovered missing from Moriarty's fortress in Mongolia. He had a fair idea where it had gone, and there was very little doubt in his mind when it came to certainty regarding the explanation.
Mina… she claimed to despise everything about me and my 'wicked ways', yet she seems to have claimed the one thing that was my very undoing. How very odd. Smiling as he walked, back in his element, very much the picture of a gentlemen as he sauntered briskly and confidently – some would say overly so – down the streets to Melmoth House, his property, he couldn't help but think over his plan, the one he had had much time to formulate and work on during the journey from Mongolia.
It was perfect, so simple and yet so undeniably genius in its construction. Truly, his mind had not suffered from the 'death'. Chuckling lightly, he arrived at the rather dilapidated door to his home, and tried the handle, finding it locked. Rolling his eyes, he rapped on it with the pommel of his cane, waiting for any signs of life from inside.
It was a few minutes at least before a tentative hand pulled back the shutter in the spy-hole, small, beady eyes peering through for a moment before the door opened a crack, and a timid mousy voice inquired, "… Mr. Gray? My goodness, is that you?"
"Would you mind terribly letting me into my own house, Annabelle?"
The maid hopped away from the door, and nodded briskly. "So sorry, Mr. Gray, but we had lost all hope of you ever returning. When we came back from our small vacation you granted us, we found your library in such a state that we thought you gone. We've had all manner of people hounding us for papers to the property, interested in its lease."
I cannot recall allowing them any kind of vacation… oh well, no matter.
Dorian scoffed inwardly, walking up the stairs in need of treatment, Annabelle hovering back from him slightly but following him nevertheless. "A hot bath and some brandy would not go unwelcome, Annabelle."
She was used to his clipped tones and abrupt nature, and the way he would disregard almost everything that spilled from her rather big mouth. It seemed to have no affect on her any longer, something for which Dorian was mildly grateful. There was nothing worse than an offended servant, a presence that he despised if ever there was one. He did not want hesitance and second-guessing in his company. He needed – demanded – confidence and loyalty, and he only ever hired what he liked the look of.
He did not have many individuals in his employ, but those he did keep around were determined to keep him satisfied, something he enjoyed. Seeing them scramble to keep in his good graces was entertainment enough. Who needed plays and the like when there was enough drama in the household?
Smiling, he reached the head of the stairs, heading for his library whilst Annabelle scurried off to do as he had asked of her… no, not asked… he had told her. There was a difference, one that he was not blind to.
He pushed open the doors to his library, hesitated in the doorway, letting the smile grow across his handsome face at the realisation that it had been restored.
Faithful and resolute to the end it would seem, he thought, even as one of his manservants came up behind him, seemingly not in the slightest bit intimidated. One of his more tolerable employees, Dorian did not mind the presence of James in most circumstances when the opinion of one with a brain was called for. And James most certainly did have a brain, though he knew when to shut it off in need for obedience only.
"I require an investigation to take place, James," Dorian said by way of acknowledgement as he strode to his favoured chair and lowered himself into it, savouring in its quaint comfort as he toyed with his cane in his left hand. "It calls for the combined efforts of a number of my old… contacts. Summon them for me."
"At once, Mr. Gray," James confirmed, and walked straight-backed from the room without hesitation. Dorian watched him go, admiring the way the man had not even flinched – as Annabelle had – at the change in his appearance. It was, after all, less than subtle, and a little startling.
Smiling, he awaited the word that his contacts had been summoned, something that he would expect almost eagerly. Perhaps not quite so keenly as a hot bath perhaps, but word that an investigation was pending would be most satisfactory indeed.
Then the games can truly begin…