Author's Note: Yup indeedy, another long update time… my apologies. I do try. Anywho, you didn't come here to read my waffle, so without any further adieu (after the shout outs, of course, lol), here is Chapter 4 of Ghosts of Old. By the way, the chapter title comes from a Radiohead song, and I just thought it fit in its own odd, cryptic way. Please do let me know if you get it ~_^
Leigh S. Durron: Thanks for the poster! Love it! As I'm sure everyone else will (that reminds me, everyone, the poster/cover art for this story is now up on my site; check it out!). This one's your favourite? Intriguing, but not a bad thing.
Psychozzy: So glad that line made you laugh. I only put it in that way cuz I got halfway through it, and it evaded me. Blah, lol! You know how it is.
Sethoz: *stares at you, and then rereads what she has written so far* Jeez, I am still being nice to Tom! O_O What's wrong with me? LOL! So glad I'm writing a convincing Dorian… I was worried cuz I haven't 'portrayed' him before, so I haven't had as much practise if you catch my drift. Yes, you, write your stuff! Write it!
RogueSparrow: *writes note for Sparrow saying 'Do not annoy immortal' and sticks it to her head, reversed so she can read it in the mirror* ^_^
Enduro: No Dorian content? O_O Are you mad, dear Enduro? Lol. How could I resist? He's so annoyingly appealing ^_^
Graymoon74: *Clez's head swells* Ack, no stop! You're giving me a fat head! O_o Again, as with Sethoz, I'm glad you believe I'm writing a believable Dorian. That's comforting. Do not despair! Dorian's dark plans will manifest so very soon, muahahaha! Note to self: shut up.
Tom and Becky walked side by side as the sun set outside the Nautilus, the long lazy Missouri day slipping away. They weren't even sure where they were headed; they just knew that their feet intended to carry them there… wherever 'there' may be. They travelled close together, barely more than two inches apart, but not speaking. Since Huck and Joe had entered into a colourful tale about something – Tom had honestly forgotten – after the former's return to health, they had barely said more than a word to one another.
Occasionally, their eyes would look to one another, at least until the observed turned to regard the observer, and the eyes darted away again as if embarrassed. Tom himself could not comprehend the behaviour, and tried to fathom it, sort it through in his busy, confused mind and find a reason. Needless to say, he failed.
He supposed it was because he had simply forgotten how beautiful Becky was… looking at her now made his heart skip a beat, and almost leap into his throat. His breathing faltered slightly, and his knees would weaken. He had heard about the behaviour as a child – Mary having been a hopeless romantic at times, something that had annoyed Tom greatly at the time – and had thought nothing of it until then.
"So," Becky began suddenly, her voice carrying the southern edge, but soft and almost soothing, like gentle music, "Huck and Joe are heading back into the town tonight with… is it Skinner? The man with no body?"
Uh oh… not Skinner. Here's hoping he doesn't start any trouble. Tom furrowed his brow. But I guess Huck and Joe can handle themselves. His eyes met Becky's, and he shrugged, and nodded. "Sounds like fun… as long as Skinner keeps himself under control." He smiled, noticing her look of concern, quickly adding, "Don't worry… he's a good guy when you get to know him. He can just get a little… excited. And he does have a body… it's just invisible."
Just shut up… just… stop talking. He cleared his throat quietly, and stopped walking as well, not even realising he had done it until Becky turned back to him from a few steps ahead.
"Tom?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Are you all right?"
Looking to his right he realised what had happened. His feet had been commanded by his subconscious to stop… simply because he had come upon his cabin without even noticing. He cocked his head, as if the door would explain, and then looked to Becky. "Um," he began, cursing himself for his fumbling, "this is my room." He jabbed a thumb at the door to emphasise, and noticed his brow was still furrowed as if confused.
She paced back over to him, and stopped in front of him, looking up into his face with a slight frown. After a moment, she asked quietly, "Can I come in?"
Tom stared, unblinking and thrown by the statement. It wasn't so much a question, because Becky Thatcher had to know that Tom Sawyer could not and would not say no to her. He fumbled madly for a moment, before settling for a simple and decisive nod, sending his tousled bangs into disarray.
She smiled sweetly, lighting up her whole face, the expression even reaching her blue eyes, and entered the room. Tom let out a slow breath, and walked in after her, closing the door, realising she had activated two or three of the lamps. The room was cast into a gentle illumination, throwing soft shadows against the walls and over Tom and Becky's young faces. The agent stood by the door, his hands slipping into his pockets casually, as though he didn't know what to do with them.
Becky ran her hand over the items on Tom's jumbled desk: books; notes; shell casings that rattled when she brushed over them. She picked one up with a smile, before softly and silently placing it back down. Her eyes roamed, and she smiled at Tom, saying, "This is a nice room."
That was when Tom looked around, furrowing his brow. This? A nice room? His eyes fell on the objects lying in random spots around the floor and over chairs. Luckily, his bed had been made, making up for some of the other mess. "You're kidding… right?"
She laughed, and not just with her face… it was with her whole body, truly humoured. She shook her head, her blonde tresses flowing with the motion as she managed to mutter, "No, I'm not kidding."
"Oh…" He didn't know what else to say, drawing a hand out of his pocket and subconsciously scratching his head, trying to find another topic of conversation.
"You and Joe didn't say much."
"What?" His eyes rose to meet hers, seeing she was moving toward him slightly, stopping beside a low table where her fingers played over the very brim of the lampshade.
"You and Joe… before you left – you and Huck – Joe was like a brother to you almost. Now… I don't know, but you seem reluctant."
Tom narrowed his eyes in perplexity. He hadn't noticed anything, only that Joe had been watchful of Becky, as though Tom were going to lash out at the young woman, something that was unthinkable… probably to anyone who met her. To even muse on hurting her intentionally in any way was atrocious, and just – to Tom at least – not done.
"I… I didn't notice anything," he managed to say after a moment.
Her eyes lowered as she spoke, in a quiet tone as though afraid of being overheard, "Is it because he and I were involved?"
Inside his mind, Tom let out a surprised shout, but kept it from coming into audible being, simply staring, eyes no longer narrowed as he stammered, "W… er, what?" Then he shook his head, closing his eyes and saying in continuation, "The two of you were involved?" He just couldn't see it… where had the attraction come from? He had never seen it before, not once.
Becky looked slightly alarmed, as though she had made a mistake she had not intended, and let out a timid, "Oh…"
"I had no idea."
"I thought you knew."
Tom shook his head vehemently.
"Sorry…"
Why is she apologising? Tom thought, fighting against the strong pang of jealousy he felt. Never in his life would he have thought he would be jealous of his old friend Joe Harper… but a relationship? Joe and Becky?
Okay, calm down, now you're thinking a little too much like Dorian Gray. Tom shuddered at the realisation, in that he considered himself better than Joe, and therefore more worthy of Becky than the fellow agent. Of course, this was ridiculous, and he thought of Joe more as a brother than a friend. They knew everything about one another… at least, they had.
"You…" He faltered for a moment, running his hands over his face after drawing them both from his pockets, before sighing and continuing, "you don't need to apologise. There's nothing wrong with that."
"I really did think you knew. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."
He crossed his arms, and furrowed his brow casually. "How long were the two of you together?" Then he quickly added, "I was away for a long time, remember? How would I have known?"
I didn't quite mean for that to sound so snappy, he realised too late, seeing the slightly offended expression on Becky's face as she replied, "We were only together a few months. It wasn't anything serious."
Tom felt like rolling his eyes at her immature way of brushing it off. It was still a relationship, whatever way she coloured it, and that meant… what did it mean? Tom wasn't sure, and it was starting to give him a headache as he mused it over. Finally, he managed to piece together enough of his consciousness to ask, "What happened? Why did it end?"
Becky blushed noticeably, the heat rushing to her smooth cheeks and flushing them red for a moment, before she delicately cleared her throat, and muttered something that failed to reach Tom's ears.
He cocked his head, and threw her a questioning gaze, calling for restatement.
After a hesitation, Becky mumbled, "It was because of you."
Tom couldn't stop staring, taking in the sincerity on her features as she regarded him in return, until the intensity of his gaze became too much and she was forced to look away. Was she really telling the truth? If he were to trust to the way she looked at that moment, then the answer would have been yes, no questions asked. But if he listened to his inner sceptic, then the answer was a hesitant no. He wasn't sure what to believe.
"Because of me?"
Becky nodded, and moved toward him, causing Tom's heart to skip that predictable beat yet again. He remained frozen to the spot, unable to draw away from her as she approached, silent and graceful, comparing in beauty and elegance to Mina Harker… something he had thought nigh on impossible until that morning, when the fine details of Rebecca Thatcher had come flooding back to him in startling clarity.
"But…" He fumbled again, something that seemed to be becoming a habit wherever Becky was concerned. "But we never really… I mean-"
She was standing right in front of him now, and the fact that the brilliant blue eyes had met his own hazel-tinted green oculi cut his speech short as his breath caught in his throat at the sheer sight of them. His throat went dry, almost unbearably, and he stammered, shaking his head and finishing quietly, "We… we never even-"
This time, it was her hand touching to his mouth that stopped him, and his very heart threatened to burst from his chest as it increased in pace so much he could feel and hear the very drumming throughout his entire skull. He looked down at her, suddenly feeling all words and thoughts fail him as he regarded her truly for the first time since leaving her on that cold dock when he and Huck had left on that fateful mission.
Becky Thatcher looked back up at him, smiling ever so softly and tenderly, whispering, "I know we didn't, Tom… but did you ever stop to think, that maybe we should have?"
Her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stand on end, a chill rising up and down his spine as her fingertips played over his lips, and then along the line of his jaw, affectionate and almost teasing. He found his entire being yearning for more, hungry for her to take it that one step further.
Words still refused to form in his throat, constricted by the urge consuming him and eating away at all rational thought, until he was forced to close his eyes against her gentle touch and give the slightest of nods.
Her voice reached his ears again, saying, "Well… then ask yourself one more thing, Tom…" She paused here, waiting for an unbearable moment before she finished, "What's stopping us?"
Her hand fell from his face, her soft palm grazing against his crossed arms, even as they parted, the left hand reaching to touch her waist, testing her credibility in her proposal. She did not flinch, her whole body still and prepared.
His eyes rose slowly and somewhat timidly to meet hers, his loose bangs playing across his brow and in his gaze as they regarded one another for what felt like an eternity, moving steadily closer together. He could feel her breath playing across his cheek, and it only served to intensify the pace of his heart.
Tom bowed his head to her slightly, hesitating, his right arm rising up her own arm as he moved closer, and let their lips meet softly for a moment.
He felt her body shift to lean into his a little, her right hand carefully gripping his left arm. He let the kiss become firmer – only faintly – and allowed his right hand to come to rest on her neck, playing through her blonde hair and feeling the silky softness of the tresses. She gave a slight sigh, and her hand released itself from his arm, reaching up to run through the loose curls at the back of his head, pulling him closer to her, as if asking him to continue.
Tom did not disappoint, his kiss becoming more passionate and needful, to which she only reciprocated gladly.
Even in the embrace of the woman he had fallen in love with upon first sight, Tom still swam in confusion… though he did not know why.
Mitesh felt his shift in the communications room slowly drag its way along, crawling like a weary insect, waiting to be put out of its misery. He groaned, rubbing his reluctant eyes, and sighed heavily, thanking his graces that he was alone, and therefore able to give in to the overwhelming boredom and tediousness he felt.
Resting back in his sturdy wooden chair, and allowing his eyes to close for just a moment, his mind wandered, drifting off to places he had thought long forgotten, times and situations he would sometimes rather put out of his mind.
"Pledge me your allegiance, and you will not be forgotten, Mitesh… I have seen your dedication, and the way it passes by those around you, unnoticed and unappreciated." The man's dark – almost black – eyes bore into Mitesh, as if scanning his soul. "In my employ… this will not be the case." A long pause trickled away here, like water through a crack, slow and torturous as the pristine gentleman allowed his long fingers to play over the smooth cane. "What is your answer?"
Mitesh's eyes opened as a noise filtered through the room, and he looked around before registering the sound in his mind. Morse code.
He scooted closer to the machine, and began to jot down the coded letters. The pencil played slowly but deftly over the paper, and before long, a message appeared before him, making his eyes widen with disbelief.
For the eyes of Mitesh. In need of assistance. Reply when able. Wolf.