Author's Note: Okay, okay, it took me ages, but the inspiration was long in coming, and I actually had to sit in front of this thing *pokes computer* and force myself to start so I wouldn't lose interest _ which would be bad… very bad. So let's hope the end result is better than what I thought it would come out as o_O And I didn't get this all written in one go either… had major block until I put on the PoTC score, and it just flowed… weird.
angelic katty: Ah good… I made people laugh! Thanks for the support on that, I'm no comedienne!
Graymoon74: Tom, is it? Am I that predictable, dear Graymoon74? Can you see through me that easily? *looks down at self* Aiye! I'm transparent! Hehe, only kidding. But still… what makes you think it's Tom, 'eh? Hate the torture stuff? Pff… liar ~_^
Sethoz: Hehe, random quote! Funny though… that part of the movie makes me smile : ) See? Anyway, yeah, thanks for the review, but don't kill me! Remember Tainted View, Dystopia and Bodyguard and rethink that option, missy! Cuz I'm nowhere near as bad as you! … Most of the time. Don't look at me like that! Cliffhangers are fun dammit!
Rogue Sparrow: I wanna see that comic when it's done, you! I have to see it! Gah, I wish I could draw comics _
Anacalagon: Ah yes, cookies for Skinner… of course, gotta do that *gives Skinner cookies* Don't eat them all at once, Rodney, you'll be sick.
Without further delay, and my sincerest apologies for the disgusting wait I put you through… here is Chapter 6 of Ghosts of Old…
The classical music in the room only served to relax him further, safe in the knowledge that everything was proceeding as he had planned… not exactly, considering his 'death' had never been in his mind to begin with. That had been rather unexpected, and not at all pleasant. No matter… it would be inconsequential soon enough. He would have what was his… he knew she had it… he knew her, after all. They had been lovers once, and if nothing else, he felt he had gotten to know her for what she was… a little too predictable.
James was off somewhere, doing… something. Possibly fetching him another brandy. He was too caught up in the music to remember, and frankly, he didn't care. As long as the man was doing his job – which he always did, something that made Dorian happy at least – then it was of no concern to the relaxing gentleman. He hummed along quietly with the music, even as James strode in with a small tray, setting a glass down beside Dorian, whose eyes were closed.
"Sir, you have a message from your aide aboard the Nautilus. He claims that everything is in place, and he will be moving when he receives word from you."
Dorian sighed dramatically, and opened his dark eyes, throwing a look of boredom to James, before saying drolly, "Very well. Reply, telling him to proceed. About time we had some excitement around here." He smiled slyly, a cunning light in his eyes. James nodded his head once in acknowledgement, probably only smiling because he thought he had to, and sauntered casually from the room, an air of obedience making him the only bearable aide to have around.
Once the man was gone, Dorian gave himself in to the music once again, and was lost with his thoughts.
The people aboard the Nautilus barely seemed to notice the time as it 'flew' past, escaping them and stealing away some of their day surprisingly quickly. Not much happened for them to preoccupy theirselves with, but as the day was ticked away by the clocks on the vessel, the people gradually realised it was drawing in on the later half of the afternoon.
Huckleberry Finn was one such person, walking the halls, occasionally lightly scuffing the toe of his boot along the ground, and trying not to make any marks. He was humming lightly to himself, trying to pass the time… he knew it was passing, but it seemed – to him – to be dragging. He had nothing to do. All of the members of the League were off doing other, important – he guessed – things… League business no doubt. Joe was sleeping off his hangover… had been all day since breakfast, where he had nearly vomited. Huck screwed up his face at the memory, remembering it rather vividly. And then there was Tom and Becky… whom he hadn't seen most of the day, because they were spending their time together. It was something he had picked up on at breakfast; their proximity and comfort with such.
There was no doubt in Huck's mind as to why this was occurring. Even as children, Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher had been attracted, but too shy and reserved to act upon it. But now that they were mature – Becky at least, he supposed with a smirk – adults, they could see it for themselves that they needn't hide, and had to show what they clearly felt for one another. And it appeared they were. Huck smiled… and then remembered Joe.
Joe Harper and Becky Thatcher had entered – not too long ago – into a relationship… one that had obviously been doomed to fail from the very beginning, because it was clear to Huck that they had not clicked, as it were. There was a rift, and it was as plain to him as the nose on his face that Becky had not truly felt for Joe… though she did care for him deeply. It just wasn't the same… no one could ever compare to Tom in her mind, and it was written all over her face, though she was probably unaware that Huck could read it so clearly.
Huck knew he was often underestimated, but so long as people got the right impression in the end, that was all that mattered to him. People often perceived him as 'that guy down the street, kinda bungling and shy'. He laughed quietly, finding himself once again outside of his cabin. Huck sighed, realising he had walked around the entire deck of the ship, and he hadn't even noticed on the way. He glanced at his small, somewhat dented pocket watch, and then slipped it back into its pouch, knowing the evening was drawing in. He remembered Skinner saying something about showing the other League members the town tonight, and that they would be leaving soon… after dinner.
Entering his cabin, he wondered how awkward that would be… and if Joe would recognise the emotions on Tom and Becky's faces.
Joe Harper rolled off his bed with a large, impressive – and somewhat painful – thud when the knock sounded on his door. He gave a muffled 'ow' into the blanket he had dragged down with him, and raised his thoroughly tousled head out from underneath it, even as he called out, "All right… I'm comin'."
"Agent Harper… are you all right?" came the soft voice of Dr. Jekyll through the door, though it stayed closed, and Joe prayed he wouldn't open it and see him a tangled heap on the floor. He shook his black curls from his face, and tried to rise, nearly tripping on the blanket, and growling at it in irritation.
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, Doctor. I'll… I'll see you-" – he kicked at the blanket, and wobbled dangerously, grabbing the bedpost for balance – "in a minute."
"Very well." With that, the footsteps signalled the retreat of the friendly man, and Joe let out a sigh of relief, looking down at his feet as they came loose of the blanket.
"Aha," he muttered triumphantly, and grinned mischievously. At least his headache was gone… that was the intention of the nap… which had lasted for quite a few hours. Sleep I lost last night, he realised. He looked around for fresh clothing, and realised he hadn't brought any aboard with him. He grumbled a curse, and then saw something set out on the dresser for him. It was a set of new clothes… his size and colour and style, and he raised a perplexed eyebrow at the oddness of it. "… The hell?"
Then he grinned again. "Nemo…"
He certainly appreciated the thought, considering the stench of his other clothes… last night had been a little too frivolous for his somewhat sensitive stomach, and it had decided to revisit the things he had sampled… in reverse. He grimaced at the thought, and quickly went about changing into the fresh, clean-smelling items laid out for him. They were a perfect fit, and he glanced in the mirror at his newly attired self with a satisfied smile.
"Not bad, Harper… not bad at all."
With a sigh, relieved at the lack of hangover he was now suffering from, he made his way to the dining room, only to almost crash into Huck on the way. The shorter man glanced up at him and smiled. "Feelin' better?"
"Yeah… much, thank god," Joe replied, mumbling half of his sentence, a habit he needed to break quickly. He was working on it, but so far it wasn't going to plan. "I've never had a headache like that… I didn't know they existed!"
Huck laughed, nodding heartily. "Oh yeah… and they come at you with a vengeance. Especially after the kinda thing that happened last night."
"What happened last night?" Joe's eyes widened in a paranoid manner.
Huck laughed again, loudly and his eyes were filled with mirth. "Nothing! I'm just messin' with you. You're so easy to prank!"
Joe rolled his eyes, realising the joke in Huckleberry's words… the other man had always loved to do that, and he knew he should have been getting used to it, but… oh what did it matter? There was never any harm in it. Smiling at Huck, he pushed into the dining room, to find they were the last attendees.
And that was when he realised what he had so blatantly missed at breakfast. Tom and Becky were sitting very closely together, and he observed them carefully as he moved to sit, noting their affection in their eyes… aimed towards one another, subtle yet readable to someone as observant as Joe Harper… Agent Joe Harper, for that matter. It was as plain to him as if it had been laid out in writing.
It had always been about Tom… he had seen it in her blue eyes when they had been together that something in her heart had been lacking, and she had never truly loved him… she had always held a special place for Tom Sawyer… always. No one could ever compete with that, and he knew that now, feeling like a fool.
An angry fool, nonetheless.
Joe had never realised as a child how much he had cared for Becky Thatcher, but as he had grown into his adult years, the affection and admiration he felt for her had come into being, and manifested with a fire that could not be ignored. He had given her everything he could share, and it had clearly not been enough. She had tried to return what he felt, and for a time… it had been beautiful, and they had had the time of their lives… until she seemed to realise what she had been denying herself. It wasn't Joe she wanted, and she was only keeping at bay what she had forever known in her entire being.
Becky Thatcher was in love with Tom Sawyer.
Tom had noticed Joe's mysterious gaze the entire time they had been eating, and it had bothered him more than a little. There was something hidden in it that confused and even concerned him, made him worry that he had angered his long-time friend, whom he had known since… before he could remember. As children, Joe and Tom had been practically inseparable – save for when Huck came into the picture, which was actually quite often now he thought about it – and he was worried. He thought he already knew the reason for the odd looks.
Becky had told him before their… show of affection, that she and Joe had entered into a short-lived relationship… if you could call it that. The exact amount of time was lost on him, but he knew it was long enough for things to happen, for jealousy to threaten, and it most certainly did. It was showing in his friend's eyes, and Tom's mind was filled with concern. He didn't want anything to come between them, not now… not when he had only just recovered so much of what he had thought lost. The thought was unbearable.
Becky was in her cabin, and in his mind he had an image of her brushing her beautiful blonde hair, even as he cleaned one of his Colt six-shooters, a crooked smile slipping onto his young face and lingering for a moment. He sat in wan candlelight, which flickered for a moment, as if caught in a slight breeze, though nothing drifted into the confines of his room, and for a moment… the keen eyes narrowed, glancing here and there for anything that lurked. He snapped shut the chamber on the pistol, and cocked back the hammer.
Which was when a knock on his door nearly made him pull the trigger. He froze just in time to stop the shot, and breathed out a sigh of relief when Huck's voice sounded; "Can I come in?"
Tom hesitated for a moment; though if someone were to ask him why, the reply would have been nonexistent… he didn't know why. "Sure," he called out, and a second or two later, the door opened and Huckleberry Finn stepped in. He closed the door behind him, and Tom watched the candles, noticing their reluctance to flicker like before. His brow furrowed suspiciously. A chill ran over his spine, making him shiver ever so slightly.
Huck looked as though he had something on his mind, even as he walked over to where Tom sat, and took up the opposite stool, the low table between them serving as a short barrier almost. Tom's eyes watched the other American, and noted his tension in his body. There was a brief sigh, and Huck's voice was filled with curiousity and concern when he finally spoke; "Tom… after… after what happened, what did you do?"
I was hoping he wouldn't ask that. Tom hung his head for a moment, guilt surging through him. He felt terrible for not knowing his friend had been alive all the time he had been out playing the hero. "I… I notified the Service, and… and sent word back home."
Huck nodded slowly, his brown eyes wandering aimlessly as if trying to find some object to lock onto, something that would provide some pitiful semblance of reason for his friend's shameful behaviour… at least how Tom saw it. "I see… and… you went after him?"
The way Huck spoke the word 'him' sent a shiver down Tom's spine again, and he glanced to the venomous expression on the other man's face, so filled with spite and hatred that he actually found himself intimidated for a moment. His eyes narrowed pensively, and then he nodded. "Yeah… I couldn't let him get away with what he did to you."
"Almost did."
Tom shook his head, still in disbelief as to the young man sitting opposite him, tangibly. He kept expecting the image of Huck to fade away, swirl into nothingness and the shadows, and for him to wake up realising this was all a dream, too good to be true. But it didn't happen. This was real.
His voice was distant when he spoke, his eyes locked on his best friend even as he said, "You died."
"No…" Huck stared right back. For a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Tom had the dreadful feeling the chocolate brown eyes were accusing him of some awful treachery. In those eyes, he thought he saw the claim 'you should have known I was alive', but he tried to tell himself his imagination was being too colourful.
Then Huckleberry's hand rose from his lap, and pulled down on the loose, unbuttoned fabric of his off-white shirt, revealing an ugly scar on his chest, from where the bullet had torn into him. "… I almost died."
Tom closed his eyes, head hanging again, and he reached forward with his occupied hand and laid the weapon he was holding on the surface of the table with a hollow noise. It perfectly represented how he was feeling inside… hollow, empty and useless. He should have properly checked Huck for any signs of life after the terrible incident in which Moriarty – the bastard; Tom's heart swelled with relief at knowing he was dead – had shot his partner, and killed – no, nearly killed – him. That had been the worst day in Tom's life… that and the death of his mentor, Allan Quatermain.
"Huck… I'm so sorry… I should have known. I should have done something, but I didn't. I just panicked… seeing you lying there nearly tore me apart… thinking you were dead, and that I would have to carry on without the best friend I've ever had."
His head did not rise as he spoke, and his words were laced with sincerity and overwhelming guilt at his past actions. He could feel Huck's gaze on him, even as the reply drifted to his ears; "Tom… I just want to know why. That's all. I don't blame you… I just want to know why."
"Why I left so quickly?" Tom looked up to Huck, seeing the burning desire for the answer in his friend's gaze.
Huck nodded.
"Because…" Tom lingered on the reason for a moment, trying to fathom it for himself for a long time before he spoke, not wishing to confuse the issue or deliver a false truth. "… Because… I was terrified. I was terrified that I had lost one of the best things in my life, and if I waited there any longer, I would fail. I couldn't bear that after losing my partner… my best friend. After losing you." He sighed heavily. "At least… I thought I had. I wish I had just checked."
"No," Huck said then, shocking Tom and causing their eyes to lock at once, the latter's in confusion. "No, I'm glad you left when you did. If you hadn't have caught up with that son of a bitch, then we would be at war right now… we might even all be dead. I'm relieved you had the sense to fulfil a duty… I don't know if I could've done that after what you must have been goin' through."
Tom shook his head swiftly, his blonde locks cast into disarray. "No… what I did was awful. I left you there, and you could have died… actually died because I didn't check. If I had found out later on that my staying and paying closer attention would have kept you alive, I wouldn't have been able to live with that."
"But you didn't have to, Tom," Huck said with his trademark sly smirk, something Tom always found disarming and oddly comforting. "You didn't have to, 'cause the Service sent some guys in there right away, and they found me… realised I was alive. And here I am today… fit as can be, and fightin' again… well, as good as. There's nothin' to be guilty about, because I don't blame you for anything, and I don't want any guilt. I just wanted to know why, that's all, and I feel better for it."
Tom felt a little of the remorseful weight lifted from his shoulders, and sighed lightly, looking Huck in the eye again, still frowning as he admitted, "I missed you, Huck… and I'm glad you're back. I really am."
"I know, Tom… I know."
The brush ran through her loose curls of soft blonde hair rhythmically as she hummed a light, musical melody to herself almost subconsciously, her eyes gazing in her mirror, shining with a kind of contentment she hadn't felt for a long time. Not since before her father's illness… but she tried not to let that bother her, though she wished he would get better soon. It was starting to hurt, knowing he was hovering somewhere uncomfortably in the middle of health and sickness, and each day brought a new risk, of infection or new bacteria or something of the like. But her father was a strong man, always had been, and she knew in her heart that he would recover.
He had known what had happened with Tom Sawyer and the others, and had told her to go and be with them for as long as she chose to. Becky loved her father dearly… with all of her heart, and would have hated to disappoint him in any way… so she had obeyed. But as she sat looking in the mirror at herself, she was almost ashamed to admit she was… happy. It was just that she felt so much more at ease now she and Tom had come to grips with the feelings that had been brewing since childhood.
She heard a noise outside of her door, and froze in the motion of brushing her hair, laying down the item slowly and reaching for a weapon she didn't have. She uttered a curse, and called out, "Tom?"
Nothing.
"Huck, is that you?"
… Nothing.
"… Joe? Stop messing around… you know I don't like your pranks."
Again… an eerie, unresponsive nothing lingered outside the door… and then she saw it. There was a flickering of shadow under the frame that made her heart almost leap into her throat with fright. In her haste to defend herself from the potential threat, she grabbed up anything at hand… a letter opener from the desk, though she had no idea why it was even there. Her heart started to race, and she slowly raised herself up from her desk, where she had been brushing her hair, stepping carefully towards the door.
"Who's there?" she called to the unresponsive shadow on the other side, someone who obviously did not have the most innocent of intentions at heart. They were being frighteningly secretive and stealthy, but she had trained herself to watch for the signs, and she could see them clearly under the doorway.
Again, no answer was given to her, and she reached foolishly for the handle, moments before it flew open at her, and she couldn't stop the shriek that erupted from her in shock, as three of the crew rushed into her room… at her, with clear, burning intent in their dark eyes. Becky almost dropped her makeshift weapon, before she gathered enough of her faculties to slash at her would-be attackers, catching one of them on the skin of their exposed arm. The small blade was jarred from her grip with the effort, but she managed to take a surprising gash out of the man's skin, and he growled in anger, lunging for her.
She tried to leap out of the way, only to practically fall into the arms of one of the others. She began kicking and thrashing wildly, screaming out for help from any of the others close by… then she remembered… the League were gone.
How could they have left?! Becky tried to scream again, but a hand went over her mouth, which didn't – however – stop her from ramming her arm backwards and into the face of the man. He gave a groan, and released her quickly. She was swiftly grabbed by the third, and largest figure, who gripped her wrist so tightly she thought it was going to break. She squeaked slightly, and gasped, moving to kick out at him, stunned when he backhanded her across the face.
Then he started to unceremoniously drag her from the room, so viciously that the air was sucked out of her in shock, and it was a while before her next cry for help.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Tom shot up from his seat instantly. "That!" The scream travelled to his ears with shocking crystal clarity, and his Colt pistols were in his hands within seconds, even as he started towards the door. Huck was right behind him, pulling his own guns from his holsters near the rear of his belt from behind him, with a flourish, cocking back the hammers in preparation.
"I heard that all right… that sounded like Becky."
"The only other woman on this ship is Mina Harker… and she doesn't scream as a general rule… plus she's not here."
"She's not here?"
"The League went with Skinner. They didn't have a choice with him ranting about St. Petersburg."
Huck and Tom talked as they jogged, all conversation forgotten however when gunfire tore up the corridor near to them when they were about to round a corner at a T-junction of sorts. Huck threw himself forward in a roll down low at the ground, and cleared the distance without injury, coming up as a mirrored image of Tom, whose back was flat against the wall, for cover. Huck crouched down low, exchanging a silent, signalling glance in his partner's direction. A nod passed between them, and then they acted.
In unison, the two Secret Service agents emerged from their cover, six-shooters blazing in alternate shots from the barrels, the weapons aimed precisely at the treacherous crew who were up to – clearly – no good… and that 'no good' involved Becky Thatcher… something Tom would not abide. Huck was lower than Tom, to confuse their opponents, whereas the blonde American stayed up straight and tall, firing accurately into the enemy position of 'ambush'.
The enemies fell swiftly under the precise fire from the American agents, and before long, their way was clear. They leapt spryly over the still bodies of the crewmen, and Tom had the horrible feeling he would be explaining all of this to Nemo later on… not that he knew what was going on, exactly, he just knew it wasn't good.
Becky's next scream cut short, and Tom felt his heart skip a huge beat, almost stealing his awareness from him for a horrible moment. He sped up, and up ahead was a room that he thought he recognised as the Nautiloid control point. It wasn't the exact launching point for the exploration pod, but it was the room where the release was controlled.
Tom growled, and pressed on faster, Huck right behind him, but the two stopped in calculated caution before bursting into the room. But their planning was abrupt, as a shot ripped into the wall near to Huck, and the two turned, letting off simultaneous shots at the man behind them. Their distraction was their failing.
Strong hands grabbed Tom by the hair and left arm, and he was torn backwards, thrown to the floor, where he rolled, wincing and letting out a sharp cry of surprise more than pain. Huck wasn't far behind, and he nearly collided with the first American. Tom cast his eyes about swiftly, seeing the unconscious form of Becky Thatcher over one man's shoulder.
"Becky!" he cried out, and moved to rise, only to be greeted by a boot to the shoulder, slamming him back and against a table. He yelped, and Huck launched himself at the offender, guns dropped in the previous attack on him. They – along with Tom's – were on the floor in disarray, out of reach.
Tom's face twisted into a grimace with the growl he let out, and he threw himself readily at the other man in the room, knocking his legs out from under him and sending them both crashing to the ground. Tom punched the man in the face, twice, and saw his nose bleed from the blows. There was a fourth man in the room, who was using the controls to ready the Nautiloid. But with the current distraction, it was going to be difficult to stop the other man. He needed a weapon for range, and he grabbed at one; one of his own he realised, and after a third punch at the man he was pinning, twisted his upper body to take a shot at the fourth figure. He needed to be careful… the one with Becky over his shoulder was close, and he would never be able to live with himself if he so much as grazed her in any way.
Before he could let off the shot, the hand from the large man Huck had thrown himself at latched around his arm and wrenched it, causing him to drop the gun and wince with a gasp. The man released his arm, and backhanded him across the face, sending him to the floor.
Moments later, Tom was being picked up by his throat, and lifted from the ground. When he kicked out at the man, he made solid contact, but a simply nonplussed grunt was his response, even as he realised the sheer size and power in the man. He was bordering on seven feet, if Tom had to guess, and gripped tightly in his other large hand was Huck, also around the neck.
The man at the controls glanced in a bored manner over his shoulder, and nodded his head at the large gripping man, who smirked enthusiastically. Tom kicked out again, grabbing at the man's arm and having no success, even as he felt himself pulled inward slightly, the toes of his boots just scraping the ground.
Then he was thrown backwards with amazing force, Huck too he realised, moments before he felt his back collide with a blunt edge, which caused his entire body to ache and sting. The force carried him into the table itself and over it, even as it buckled, splintering, and he was sent crashing to the floor, with papers, documents, blueprints and navigation devices scattering all around, not to mention parts of the table itself. He rolled across the floor, and then stopped, laying on his front, in pain.
Huck had slammed back-first into the wall, collapsing to the floor on his side, groaning loudly and trying to move, before falling still, his breathing evident but showing his unconsciousness. Tom wasn't far off, but his eyes hovered half-open, even as the large man approached almost lazily, intrigued that the American was still conscious.
Tom tried to raise his head, finding he couldn't, the shock of the collision with the table, combined with the throbbing ache in his back throwing his coordination out of alignment. The man solved his problem for him by taking a rough hold on his hair after crouching down, and yanking up. Tom let out a hiss, and heard the raspy laugh.
"There… it's ready. Come on… they'll be back soon. Leave them."
"But-"
"Be quiet and hurry! Do you want to keep Wolf waiting?"
Though his hearing was fading as his consciousness failed him, Tom made out the words, trying to commit them to memory, even as the large man shrugged, and then rammed Tom's head down to the solid flooring, slamming the side of his skull against the hard surface, and casting him into complete and utter nothingness.