Author's Note: Um… don't kill me?
Mrs. Mina Harker: Thanks, and here's the update.
angel-flame Huck is indeed lovely. Thanks.
Graymoon74: Glad you liked the last chapter, and Huck's 'sacrifice'.
BloodMoonLycan: Glad you liked and… you'll have to wait and see XD
Drakena: Don't worry; I haven't killed Henry XD He features briefly here.
funyun The pocket watch isn't from a book… it just kinda popped up in On Devil's Wings, and I kept it, because I thought it fit. Glad you liked.
Marcus Lazarus: You'll see… ;)
Capt. Cow: Heheheheh, glad to see you still like Huck, at least.
Sethoz: Attached to Huck's watch, were we? XD
Nimmo Sawyer: Thanks very much, and here's the update at last! O.O
And now, the new part of Ghosts of Old…
Becky had helped Joe to the stateroom upon hearing that the others had returned, and they entered just as Huck was pulling off his coat almost lazily. There was a quiet triumph in his eyes, and the young woman smiled. He had always known how to get his way when he wanted it badly enough. She aided Joe over to the table, though he seemed to be managing just fine on his own, and she gave him a light smile as she turned to Tom and the others.
"What did you find out?" Jekyll was asking cautiously, looking between the two spies and the thief for the information he desired, or any hints of it in their expressions.
"We found out enough to get the bastard," Tom replied almost fiercely, but he kept his temper under check enough to not startle the doctor; Becky could still read him like a book regardless of time past away from him. He may have changed, but no one changed that much. "Thanks to Huck."
Huck glanced up from placing his coat over the back of a chair, but there was no feisty grin, and there was no smugness in his expression. Becky smiled softly in his direction regardless, and he caught the favouring glance. He returned the smile, and nodded very faintly.
"So what is it you found out?" Joe looked from Tom to Huck, glancing briefly to Skinner, who took the mantle to speak.
"Well… we know where the bugger is now, so we can stop 'im."
"And we can get Mina back." Tom looked pointedly to Huck for a moment, almost as if they shared some secret from the rest of the group, and that was something that unsettled Becky somewhat. She shuffled on her feet a little, almost awkwardly, and swallowed the very small lump in her throat. She quickly remembered this wasn't about her, and moved her focus back to the main point, not on her feelings, no matter how hurt they may have been.
"So where are they?" Jekyll inquired, almost eagerly. No doubt he was concerned for the woman, as they all were in their own way. Becky had the lingering suspicion that there was more to Jekyll's concern than met the eye, but it was not her place to speculate or speak out of turn, even if in private with the doctor.
"Park Lane," Huck revealed simply. "'Royal House', of all places."
Nemo's brows raised just a fraction, as if in reaction to the name of the place where they would find Dorian Gray. Everyone else reacted in their own, subtle way, but Tom's expression was more noticeable than anyone's. He was probably having an internal battle; part of him wanted to listen to reason, and the other was no doubt ready to storm out and track down this 'Royal House' right away.
Becky shifted again, wondering if it was wise to move over to him and try to talk him out of whatever he was thinking. Then again, it wouldn't do to start a scene here, in front of everyone, so she remained firmly in place, regardless of her inner urges to do otherwise.
"So what do we do now?" Jekyll glanced once to Nemo, and then turned his light, intelligent gaze to Tom, as if for acknowledgement. Tom was staring down at his hands on the tabletop, and after a moment – whether or not it was because he felt eyes on him – lifted his gaze into Jekyll's, before turning it to everyone in the room.
"We destroy him."
Becky shuddered very slightly, looking down at Joe with concern as to Tom's tone of voice. She didn't like it when he spoke like that, which wasn't often thankfully. It was so unlike him to have so much malice and intent in his words. Never had she seen him quite like this… she didn't know quite what to make of it; she just knew she didn't like it.
"Sawyer, we can't exactly go barging in right away," Skinner voiced sensibly, angling his trilby on his head somewhat before removing it altogether. He laid it down on the table's length, and leaned on the wood carefully, arms crossing over his invisible chest.
"Why not?" Tom argued with a desperation lacing his words. His impatience was rising to the surface, and it didn't take a genius to see it was getting to him; the waiting, the pressure.
"Because it would be stupid, and he'd have men everywhere," Skinner responded quickly. He turned to the spy fully, saying, "We have to think this through; you know that better than anyone."
Tom gave a harsh laugh, and pushed off from the table, standing straight and tall. "If you think I'm just going to sit around here on my ass while we come up with some plan, you're wrong. I'm not leaving her there; who knows what he's doing to her?"
"She can handle herself," Skinner retorted gently, or at least as gently as his own patience would seemingly allow.
"But what if she can't? We're her friends, Skinner; we're supposed to be there for her, no matter what." Tom stared the thief right in the face, sternly and plainly, but there was a fire in his bright eyes that Becky had seen once or twice before, when he was arguing for something he truly believed in, or loved.
"Yes, but she wouldn't want us to charge in there like idiots, only to get ourselves shot, stabbed or what have you, would she?" Skinner sighed lightly. "We need to think with our heads, not our hearts."
Tom stared for a long time, looked to everyone else in the room, ending on Huck, and when his friend didn't offer him any backing in his argument, he left the room briskly and without another word. He left the door swinging behind him, and they heard his swift footsteps as he made his retreat from the area.
Skinner was looking in the direction of the spy's exit when he said, "Okay… that ended quicker than I thought." He glanced to Becky, Joe and then Huck. "Did I say somethin' wrong?"
Huck shook his head, looking briefly at Becky, before he replied, "No, Skinner. Don't worry about it. He's just worried, that's all."
Becky lowered her gaze, knowing full well what the problem was. The way Huck had looked to her had spoken volumes; more than any words could. Skinner's comment had been more accurate than he thought, and Becky realised that now, as painful as that realisation was.
With a sigh, she sat down in the chair next to Joe, and pretended to pay attention.
Tom slammed the door to his cabin, knowing he should get a hold of his temper, but also aware of just how useless that attempt would be if he tried. He just couldn't understand how the others were willing to simply sit around and plot out every move and consequence when Gray could comprehend moving position any minute. They could plan to their heart's content, get there, and then realise they were too late. What if their patience and caution caused them to lose him… to lose her?
Sitting heavily on his bed, he dragged his fingers roughly through his tangle of hair, wincing at the sore point in the back of his neck. He knew he should have asked Jekyll to take a look at it, but that would only mean wasting more time. Of course, if it started to give him much more noticeable aggravation, he wouldn't have a choice but to head to the infirmary, so long as Jekyll didn't try to keep him there for too long. After all, Tom had had worse in his life; he'd live.
Frustrated, he pulled one of the Colts from his waist, and proceeded to spin it effortlessly and perhaps without realising around his right hand, staring at the door as if offended by its presence. He could marginally understand where it was Skinner was coming from, and where it was he'd gotten his logic, but that didn't mean Tom had to be happy about it, or agree with it. It just meant it irritated him even more, because there was a plausible and sound argument against what he wanted to do.
He wanted to get out there. He wanted to take all the firepower he could carry, and march right down to 'Royal House', and destroy Gray himself. He'd taken Becky, and now he had Mina… he'd gone too far.
Tom needed to work out some stress, he knew… before he ended up blasting a hole in that door. His finger was itchy to pull the trigger as he twirled the six-shooter around his hand and wrist, and he snapped it to a stationary position in his hand… and then lay it down on the mattress. He removed its twin, and then took off his entire harness altogether. It would only weigh him down, after all.
Roughing up his hair even more than it already was, Huck let out a low and rather weary sigh, not to mention a loud one at that. It was pretty much the only sound in the corridor, save for the tap-tap of his heels as he walked. He was restless, and yet tired… and that was beyond annoying. He wanted to sleep, and he'd tried, only to have his eyes constantly opening on him. Needless to say, he'd taken to strolling aimlessly around the Nautilus, trying to tire himself out if nothing else.
Which was when he heard what had to be a frustrated yell from a room he'd visited not a day before, and furrowed his brow. He had a feeling – as before – he knew who was inside, and wandered in the direction of the door, pushing it carefully and quietly open to peek around it.
Sure enough, there was Tom, standing in the middle of the floor, looking almost like a raging warrior from a storybook Huck had been quite fond of in his youth, with imaginative illustrations of knights and dragons and maidens. Tom had the sword at such an angle as to stab outward, his arms raised up to one side of his body, holding the grip of the long weapon tightly. His chest heaved slightly, and it was plain to see he'd been working himself ragged, for the perspiration that made his shirt cling to his back. His waistcoat was at the side of the room, discarded.
Huck did not speak or make a sound of any kind, nor did he even move from his place of observation, as Tom whirled madly, slashing out dangerously with the sword, almost as if there truly were an invisible opponent in the room with him.
For several minutes, this continued, with Tom fighting this imaginary foe, and Huck simply watching in curious fascination. His friend was a gunfighter… not a swordsman. There was only one thought that came to mind as he watched this display.
Dorian Gray fought with a sword…
Tom meant to take on the immortal in combat.
It explained why he had been training vigorously with the blade. He could brush it off as trying to expand his weapon knowledge and his skills, but there was one sole and solid purpose behind this routine.
Huck sighed lightly, amazed when Tom whirled on him, sword held ready as if to fend off an attack. Huck quirked a brow, and cocked his head in confusion at the behaviour, relieved when his friend lowered the sword, albeit slowly.
"Tom," Huck began quietly, "what're you doin'?"
"What does it look like?" Tom replied, all too casually. He twirled the sword once around his wrist, passed it to his other hand, did so again, and then touched the point of the blade lightly to the floor.
"It looks like you're running yourself ragged," Huck pointed out, stepping into the room so he could lean back against the wall. "And I know why."
Tom met his gaze firmly. "And why is that, Huck?"
Huck stared right back, never wavering as he replied, "Because you want to do it yourself."
"Do what myself?"
"Don't play stupid with me, Tom, I know you better than that, remember?" Huck kept the irritation from his voice as much as he could. "I know you want to kill him yourself, if such a thing is possible, that is. You want to kill Gray… which is why you're holding that right now." He pointed in the general direction of the gleaming sword, noticing Tom looked down at it.
Before he could protest, Huck carried on, "And I know it means a lot to you… to be the one to do that. Because you feel he's hurt you. And maybe he has… but think it through, Tom, dammit. You can't fight Gray and all his men alone!"
Tom looked to him immediately, lifting the point of the sword from the floor so briskly that it rang momentarily. "I don't care about his men, Huck!" he argued. "I just want to see the bastard destroyed, and I don't care what I have to do to make that come to pass."
"Even if it kills you?"
Tom fell quiet for a moment at that, and Huck saw him draw in a deep, almost readying breath, before he came out with a quiet but resolute, "Yes." He nodded once. "Even if it kills me."
Huck frowned very slightly, but admired Tom for his dedication to his friends and his feelings. He knew the fellow American would do this for everyone he loved, and that comforted him. But it was the knowledge that Tom was ready to die at the hands of that cocky immortal – and alone – that hurt the most.
"I have to stop him, Huck. He won't expect me to come after him alone, and… maybe, with the element of surprise…" He sighed heavily. "Oh I don't know. I don't know if I can do it, Huck, I just know I have to try."
Huck strode away from the wall, over to face his friend. "I know you do."
"And even if I have to do it alone, I will." Tom looked Huck in the eye firmly, and he could see the blazing intent there.
"You won't be alone, Tom."
Huck and Tom turned as one, to the door, where they could see Joe, balanced on the crutches. Apparently, he had been listening behind the barricade during the whole exchange.
"Joe… don't even think about it," Tom debated with the faintest of smiles. "You can barely hold yourself up."
Joe lifted one brow, and then gave a resolute sigh, before he practically threw the crutches to the ground. With that, he walked forward without their aide, limping noticeably, but balancing nevertheless, and managing without the assistance. "You were saying?"
"Cocky," Tom quipped, at which Joe grinned.
"So," Huck began, looking between the two taller spies with a slight smile, "it's decided then?"
Tom patted Huck on the shoulder gratefully with a smile, glancing to Joe who did not waver, and in that moment, the shorter American felt more at home than he ever had.