Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. That is all o.O Long one to make up for it.

Marcus Lazarus: Thanks. I'm sure Gray's got more bastard-like tricks up his sleeve yet. He's a slippery one. And Skinner certainly does have his uses, even if he does seem a bit dense at times, bless 'im. It's getting to the point in the story, also, where all the conflicting character emotions rise up. Sorry for the wait.

Sethoz: Becky's just confused… everyone is at this point, I believe. I love your use of that quote in that review! Very sneakily done! Bravo XD Hehe, you like Joe! XD Mwahahaha.

evenmalka523: Thanks very much. And here's the more you wanted.

funyun I have most definitely screamed at the characters. All the time, in fact. And more often than not, in my own stories, when they do something I hadn't planned o.O Which is often.

LotRseer3350: Thanks very much for the review, and here's the update at last.

Capt. Cow: Everyone's stuck in one gigantic love works it out:: pentagon. It's a love-pentagon. You have something against Joe? Ah well… I have made him out to be a bit of a dweeb sometimes, haven't I?

Artemis Gray: Thanks for the comment about the room. Hope you like this new chapter.

kingleby Skinner to the rescue! Kinda… XD Gotta love Huck… and I suppose it is a matter of 'poor Becky'.

Tatsu: Hehe, be frustrated no more – here's a new chapter at last. And remember, in the immortal words of Evie: "Patience is a virtue!"

Drakena: I don't mind that you're not logged in. XD It's all one big 'let's-hate-Dorian-and-kill-him' party! And 'fraid I do have something against slash… only when the characters in the film/show don't show signs of it. Dorian, for example, fits in slash because of his character, but I can't see it with Jekyll and Skinner, personally. Sowwy! XD

BloodMoonLycan: Poor boy's just confused, is all. He'll figure it out in the end. I knew I shouldn't have previewed that showdown o.O Everyone's getting impatient for it now. Eeep.

With my apologies, here's the update of Ghosts of Old…

By the time the three were ready to depart into London's grimier streets, a light drizzle had come down upon the rooftops and cobbles, and they trudged with dampened spirits on their way. Skinner was slightly in front, with the two Americans behind him. Huck and Tom both wore similar wide peaked low black hats, with cloth dusters swaying around their boots, with the thief in front clad in his normal leather trench coat and tall trilby. His face was covered in greasepaint, and the pince-nez were perched perfectly on his nose. On his feet were heavy boots, to keep him from getting pneumonia or something of the like. Even for Skinner, walking barefoot in the rain was not appealing, and so he had sought out his only pair of footwear from his cabin, digging them out of storage.

They were silent for a long time, the three of them heading along some unannounced and preordained path that Skinner deemed the best. The two agents hunched their shoulders against the weather, collars of their jackets pulled up high to try and keep the wet chill from their faces. Huck chewed a wad of gum to keep himself distracted, and as Tom watched him, he was oddly reminded of the time when he had first watched the League come out of the Albion. He had been doing the exact same thing, to keep himself from going stir crazy.

We're more alike than either of us realise, I guess, he thought to himself, sighing lightly with a subtle shiver. Huck either saw it or instinctively knew his friend's behaviour, and said, "Is the weather always this bad? It's gotta be bad to make you shiver."

Tom smiled lightly for a moment with a dry chuckle. "Pretty much," he replied, glancing to the alleys where Skinner was headed. "Hope this doesn't turn out to be a waste of time."

"Now when has anythin' we've ever done turned out to be a waste o' time, huh?" Huck teased lightly, nudging his partner with his elbow. Tom grinned, remembering times past. The two really had had some insane adventures as children. From witnessing a murder, to travelling to far off places in an air balloon, they really had done some crazy things. But Tom wouldn't change any of them for the world.

"Skinner sure seems to know where he's headed, anyhow," Huck imparted in a quieter voice, glancing around guardedly as they began to enter the gloomier and less-desirable part of London. Down here were all the dregs of society, as one could call it. Tom didn't care, so long as something came of it.

"Well, this is his home," Tom sighed. "I'd be surprised it he didn't."

Voices could be heard up ahead, and Tom and Huck tensed slightly, even as Skinner's pace became more cautious. Even if this was his old neighbourhood, and indeed, his old gang, it obviously didn't stop him from being wary.

Somehow, that comforted Tom.

Joe's cabin wasn't an altogether homely place, but considering it was a temporary living quarters, he was perfectly content to let it be just what it was. A room, with a bed, desk and adjoined bathroom. The showers – convenient devices that they were – were situated in the lower decks of the ship. Joe had used them twice during his stay, and if nothing else, he thought they were one of the better inventions on the vessel.

He was skimming through an old novel he had been trying to read, one that he had read before and was trying to remember small details about… when there was the gentlest of knocks on the door. Joe's narrowed eyes glanced up from the crinkled pages, and he eyed the door for a moment as if it would tell him itself who was outside.

"Who is it?" he called quietly.

"It's Becky."

Instantly, Joe flung the book aside, hearing it land just beside the desk he sat near, and said, "Come in." Having given the room a once over with his eyes, there was nothing offensive on display, and he had deemed it worthy of her presence.

Worthy of her presence? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Joe's brow furrowed, even as she opened and closed the door around her frame. He studied her as she stood there for a few moments; her slightly dejected expression, the slack in her posture, the slight creases in her skirts from lying on a bed, or so he assumed. Her hair was lacking its usual immaculacy, and her sparkling eyes weren't so… sparkling.

At once, Joe's defences shot up, and his heart tightened. "Becky, what's wrong?" He had a feeling he already knew, but he hoped he was wrong. He didn't need a reason to be angry with Tom right now. After all, he was here to support Tom, wasn't he?

Becky sighed, the gesture lifting her chest for a moment, before it fell again, slowly and almost sadly. "I just realised sitting on my own wasn't the best idea right now," was all she said as she moved forward, and claimed a perch on the foot of his bed. His chair faced her, his crutches rested near the desk behind him, and he let a slight frown touch his features as he watched her. She seemed almost flat… and he didn't like that. He had become somewhat adept at reading her after their relationship, and he cocked his head. "You didn't want Tom to go, did you?"

Becky smiled faintly for a moment. "Of course not," she revealed softly, as if a whisper of wind through leaves, and her eyes met his.

She still loves him… after everything he's done. Joe refrained from sighing in a rejected and deflated manner. This wasn't about him. Becky was feeling down, and she had come to him. He would be there for her. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Well that was glib…

Becky shrugged lightly, her lean shoulders rising and falling sharply. "I guess that's why I came, after all. Just sort of followed my feet after I figured out lying on my bed staring at the ceiling wasn't getting me anywhere." She attempted a laugh, and a light singsong chuckle parted the silence that came after she finished talking. Joe sighed nostalgically at the sound.

"Funny that it brought me here," she mumbled after a few moments, and her gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds. Joe looked right back, swallowing the dryness he suddenly felt in his mouth. Here, sitting on his bed, was the woman he had been in love with for some time… confessing to him that she had come here without thinking about it, her feet and brain acting independently from one another. But then he pushed it down. It was quite possible that she had come here for lack of anywhere else to go. After all, Tom and Huck were both gone.

He nodded in confirmation to what she had said, and leaned back in his chair a little. He would have leant forward if not for the wound in his leg that kept him from doing so. He had taken a little hobble around his cabin about half an hour beforehand, and found that applying pressure wasn't as hard as he had thought. But he would pay heed to Jekyll's medical advice for now, until he needed to use the leg at least.

"I tried to tell him why I didn't want him to go," she began with an awkward sigh. "But he just seemed…"

"What?" Joe urged after she fell silent, brow furrowed.

"When I came on the Nautilus, he just seemed so glad that we were together again, as I was." She tilted her head to one side, blonde tresses tumbling gracefully with the movement. "But after Mrs. Harker got taken, he's been acting different. Even blunt."

Though Joe didn't believe it to be so simple himself, he offered, "Maybe he's just worried about her. They're friends, after all."

Becky shook her head. "It sounds stupid and childish, but there's a part of me that's worried about his feelings for her." There was a slight insecurity in her voice that made Joe's heart ache powerfully. He wanted to reach out and hold her then, to comfort her in her uncertainty, but… he just couldn't bring himself to do that. Something held him back.

"Maybe I'm just jealous," she mumbled. "After all, he did come to rescue me from Gray."

Joe nodded, and felt a pang of jealousy all of his own.

"But listen to me," she said suddenly, tucking her hair from her face. "Talking about that as if it were just Tom Sawyer. I know that would make his day; to make him think it were all because of him that I was rescued." She looked Joe in the eyes again, and smiled sweetly. "It wasn't just him. Why, he wasn't even the one to come looking for me in that horrible house."

Their eyes locked across that short distance again, and Joe felt the sweatiness in his palms. He laid them flat down on his knees to keep from fiddling nervously, and he cursed such a reaction to a simple gaze. She had always been able to do that to him. If he had been capable of such an emotion towards Becky, he would have hated her for that alone.

"I never did thank you," she said softly, and leaned forward off the bed, moving closer to Joe… before she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. Joe closed his eyes, and felt his breath catch in his throat. So simple a gesture could have such an effect on him; he almost felt foolish, if not for her light perfume clouding his senses, covering all traces of such an emotion.

"You don't need to thank me, Becky."

"Of course I do!" Becky looked taken aback by his unnecessary chivalry.

"No you don't," he offered with a crooked smile. "It wasn't something that I had to think about doing. It just happened. Always has, with you." He almost wished he hadn't said that last part, but before he could read her reaction, he continued, "Always been natural with you, Becky, and leaving you with that… that thing, would have been too much for me to take."

After that, the two descended into a kind of silence. Oddly enough, it was one that Joe found comfortable.

The rain had not eased up, and if anything, it was getting heavier. Huck shuddered lightly, chewing the flavourless wad of gum in his mouth simply for distraction. Skinner had been permitted entry to a guarded doorway, after a few tense moments of silence wherein someone had been peering through a slot in the top of the doorway. Then they had granted him entrance, and a few surprised mutterings had been offered, before Skinner had slipped inside, and the door had closed, leaving the Americans out in the rain.

It was starting to grate on Huck's nerves, at least. Looking to Tom, the only thing he could see was concern. Mina Harker was quite possibly somewhere in the city, and they were being forced to sit out on the information that could provide them a means to go rescue her. It was obvious that was what the older and taller spy was running over and over in his mind. Huck sighed sympathetically. For someone who had never been in love, it was difficult for him to comprehend truly what was going through Tom's mind, but his best friend was someone Huck had come to know just by stance and the light in his eyes. So deep was their friendship, that they were more akin to brothers than anything. Which was why, he supposed, Tom had gone after the Phantom instead of staying behind with what he had thought to be Huck's dead body.

Huckleberry Finn shivered. Not from the cold, but from the dark memory of his near-dying. Shrugging his jacket tighter onto his lean shoulders a little more, he cast the memory aside, even as the door creaked again, calling the attention of the two agents to the opening. A gruff head poked out, and his cockney voice grumbled, "C'mon in."

Tom and Huck were wary at first, both feeling the reassuring weight of pistols at their sides, before succumbing to the request, and heading in the doorway. Their hats and the tails of their dusters dripped water impressively for a while, before they reached up with cold hands, and pulled the formers off. Tom shook his bangs from his eyes, and the two of them followed the gruff individual down a corridor, devoid of furnishings or decorations of any kind, and into a room at the end of it. A shabby rug lay across a wide stretch of the floor, covering the boards, and Huck had a feeling that most of this thieving circle's assets were hidden under there, no doubt. He had seen it before. It was quite a common habit.

There was little else worthy of notice in the room… unless, of course, you counted the shady characters that lined the walls and filled the chairs. Skinner was sitting opposite one such individual, leaned forward in his chair slightly with a lit cigarette in his hand. Tom and Huck warily came up behind Skinner's chair, the former mumbling, "I didn't know you smoked."

"Only rarely, kid," Skinner muttered in response before inhaling from the cigarette, holding the smoke in for a few seconds, before letting it out again, saying as he did so, "And in times o' stress, if you catch my meanin'."

The man Skinner had seated himself across from was one immediately assumed to be the head of such a circle, and Huck was no exception. He instantly deemed that individual worthy of most of his attention, sparing some for the others in the room, obviously. It wouldn't do to become completely distracted.

The man was slouched in an almost gentlemanly fashion in his chair, one leg draped casually over the other knee. One arm was propped up on the armchair with his elbow, a cigarette held lazily between his index and middle fingers. He reminded Huck very much of what he had imagined Skinner would look like if not invisible and/or covered in greasepaint. His clothing was far from immaculate, but decent enough for one of a thieving lifestyle. His shirt was buttoned nonchalantly up to the top of his chest, his collar wide and tall. He wore a jacket over the top of that, matching his pants, set over scuffed shoes. The shoes themselves looked like an odd cross between dinner attire and boots, causing Huck to cock his head. There was, of course, no tie about the collar of this man, but his face spoke of experience in dealings of a delicate nature. He may not have been a man of wealth, but he had dabbled in it, and this was evident in his dark eyes, set below a shaded brow. Subtly tangled black hair topped off the head, falling around his brow, ears and neck in a controlled fashion that Huck imagined Tom was trying to fathom. The hand holding the cigarette flicked slightly sending ash tumbling lightly to the floor.

"So these are the kind of company you choose nowadays, Skinner?" the man asked, before taking a drag off his cigarette, eyeing Tom and Huck almost sceptically. Huck felt a sudden dislike for the man.

Skinner nodded, flicking his own butt and sighed. "Yup."

"Well… like I said, we've missed you around here, Skinner," the man continued, taking his eyes from the Americans. "Circle 'asn't been the same without you." He grinned. "Certainly been quieter, if nothin' else." Skinner and the man chuckled, before the former nodded in good humour.

"Well, first meeting's an' all," he mumbled, and twisted in his chair. "Blonde on my right is Tom Sawyer, and the other one's Huck Finn. Americans… but they're not too bad." He chuckled lightly, and Huck cocked a brow before smiling. "This is Jack Northwood; he runs The Hammersmith Circle."

"Charmed," Northwood drawled, and Tom pulled a face. If he hadn't been intending to do an impression of Gray, he had certainly done so subconsciously at the very least. Huck too cocked his head. He had only 'met' Dorian Gray briefly, but that had been enough to cast a strong dislike into the young man.

Tom shifted, impatient, and Huck sympathised. Here they were, with these men who supposedly knew all about London and its goings-on, and they were being forced to wait. "Well?" Tom asked bluntly of Skinner. "Did you find anything out yet?"

"Take it easy," Skinner objected, holding up a hand as he extinguished the butt he had been holding in his other gloved one. "I was gettin' reacquainted, if you don't mind."

"We don't have time for that, Skinner," Tom mumbled irritably, and Huck touched a hand to his friend's arm. It wouldn't do to get heated in this room. They were outnumbered if things turned sour.

"Tom, calm down," Huck whispered, eyeing the restless men around the room. They seemed to be on guard, watching the Americans for any signs of trouble.

"Skinner 'ere told me about your… predicament, as it were," Northwood began as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He stubbed out his cigarette, and picked up a glass of an amber liquid. Scotch or whiskey, Huck guessed, watching the man take a swig. "And I've been wracking my brains tryin' to remember if there's anythin' I know that might be of help to you gentlemen." He chuckled. "D'you know that Skinner is the first one around 'ere to call himself a gentleman thief?" He seemed rather amused by this fact, and eyed his measure of liquor, before downing it. "But you didn't come here to be all nostalgic, I'm sure." With a shrug, Northwood continued, "I've 'eard of this Dorian Gray that Skinner told me about, and recently too."

Tom perked up at this, and all attention aimed irritably toward Skinner dissipated.

"He's hidin' away in the city somewhere, from what we've 'eard," Northwood sighed, looking to his fellow thieves. "Don't know much more than that though, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint you."

"No, no, it's all right, Jack," Skinner said swiftly, as though offending Northwood was an unwise decision… which Huck understood. Looking around, they wouldn't stand a chance, he knew. "Any ideas where we might be able to get more information?" This question was asked almost cautiously, as if Skinner did not wish to offend the old acquaintance.

Northwood shifted a little in his armchair, and looked contemplative. "Hmm," he mumbled to himself in consideration. "Might be one fella. I think you know who I'm talkin' about."

"You're kidding," Skinner uttered with a sigh. "You know what he's like, Jack."

"Yes I do, but when I 'aven't got anythin' for you, Skinner, he's the guy you need." Northwood shrugged. "You know 'ow it goes." He smiled, and pulled another cigarette from its case, sighing. "Again, sorry I couldn't 'elp you more, Skinner."

Skinner stood from his chair, nodding. "You were more than helpful, Jack. Thanks." He moved around to stand with Huck and Tom, even as Northwood persisted.

"Oh, and remember, Skinner… there's always a place for you here." His face was serious; there was no teasing in his words. The Americans eyed the Londoner, who seemed a little stuck for what to say.

"Thanks, Jack," he mumbled with a stiff nod, before he led the way from the room. Huck hovered there for a moment, watching the thieves around the room, before he took off at a brisk walk after Tom and Skinner.

The night air was cooling and refreshing, helping her to clear her thoughts. The jacket she had borrowed from Nemo's storage helped to keep out the chill, and she had taken the opportunity to come up to take a look at the city properly. She had accepted Mina's umbrella when Jekyll had offered it to her, politely, and looked out over the rooftops, wondering where everyone not aboard the ship was right now; what they were doing; how they were faring.

Her mind strayed to Tom. He was starting to behave so differently around her from what she remembered fondly. He had always been boyishly sweet and affectionate, even lovesick, some had said. But now it seemed as if he was losing that for some reason.

And the only reason Becky could comprehend was that he was falling.

Out of love with her.

The thought saddened her, but as she bowed her head, her mind wandered in a different direction. She recalled the kiss she had planted on Joe's cheek, and smiled softly. Images of their past together faded in and out of memory like turning pages of a story book, and some of their times hung in her mind for a few seconds longer. Their first kiss; their hikes along the Mississippi; their picnic out on the hill… they truly had had a wonderful time… some of the time. There were other times she did not wish to remember.

Such as the arguments. They had never amounted to much, thankfully, but she had hated them. Once or twice, she had very nearly been reduced to tears, and that had saddened her. But as she stood there, pulling the neck of the jacket tighter around her, she narrowed her eyes pensively.

Everything takes time and work, she thought to herself. There is no success without struggle, and relationships are no exception. What made you think that it was all going to be easy? Naivety, that's what. Nothing's ever that easy. You have to fight for it.

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she chewed lightly on her bottom lip as she mused things over in her bustling mind.

Had she made the right choice?

Skinner was the first to emerge onto the street, and he let out a heavy breath, the words, "Damn, damn, damn!" flowing out in accompaniment. Sawyer and Finn planted their hats firmly on their heads as they watched him, and he looked to them slowly. "I know what you're thinkin'," he said to them, pocketing his gloved hands. "You're thinkin', 'what's he so worried about? Just another informant, right'."

He let the words sink in, and watched the Americans exchange glances before he parted with his next word.

"Wrong."

"Skinner," Sawyer began, closing his eyes, and holding up his hands slightly, sighing lightly. "What is so bad about this guy Northwood said about?"

"What's so bad?" Skinner laughed loudly, drawing irritated glances from the guarding pair at the door, their shaded eyes narrowed, and their arms crossed dangerously over broad chests. The agents made a point of shifting him away from the door, as the thief continued, "What's so bad, he says… pfft."

"Skinner…" Sawyer warned, and Skinner grumbled.

"All right." He shrugged their arms off him, and turned to face them. "The guy Jack was referring to is known as The Serpent – on account of his being able to slip here and there and take what he wants so quickly that no one really notices."

"Kinda like you," Finn offered, but Skinner shook his head.

"There's a difference," Skinner said gravely. "A big one, at that."

He stared them both in the eyes for a while, though neither of them truly knew that, other than the way he way he was positioning his head. "What kind of difference?" Finn asked hesitantly, brow creased somewhat in concern.

"I'm not willing to kill whoever gets in the way of what I want, when I want it."