Author's Note: Words cannot convey how truly, deeply, shamefully sorry I am… gah.
Ten Mara: Swashbuckling Tom! Heheh; swash, swash, buckle, buckle! XD Ahem… moving on…
Marcus Lazarus: Heheh, only a couple of chapters now, buddy. Don't worry; I'm getting there O.O At least Tom'll have Joe and Huck with him, right? That's gotta count for something… and what would Twain and Wilde make of it? Hmm… I'd love to know, actually XD
Wind-Sorceress-Pluto: Thanks very much, and here it is.
And now, the new part of Ghosts of Old…
"Right," Huck began pointedly, nodding to his fellow Americans, "so when do we get outta here?"
Tom was all-business at once, the sword still in one hand but pointed towards the ground. "Give me about half an hour, and we'll be on our way." After a moment of hesitation, in which he looked somewhat concerned, he looked Joe and Huck in the eyes. "Are you two sure about this? You don't have to–"
"Stop right there," Huck interrupted with a wave of his hand in Tom's direction. "We're your friends, Tom, and that's what we're here for; to help you." Smiling very slightly, he continued, "And besides, you didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?"
Tom chuckled quietly, accompanied by Joe, who seemed rather steady – impressively – on his wounded leg. It didn't appear to be bothering him too much. But still, if Jekyll saw him up and about, he would no doubt start on one of his lectures or something of the like, and so, before they left, he would probably hobble around on his crutches and act like an obedient patient.
"All right," Tom confirmed with a nod, looking to his two close friends and sighing lightly. "I'll meet you guys at the entrance in half an hour. You know what to bring."
"Oh yeah," Joe quipped. "Does it start with 'fire' and end with 'power', by any chance?" He grinned, his blue eyes bright with the prospect of excitement and mischief. It was like being ten years old all over again.
"Exactly," Tom agreed, stepping away from the two fellow southerners to sheath the sword. He balanced it in his hand, and considered it as it lay there. Turning his eyes to the wall as Huck and Joe deemed it time to leave the room, he ran his gaze over the equipment there, ranging from small and large holsters and scabbards. Finally, he saw what he had been looking for, and moved over to slowly claim it. He paused as he touched a hand to it, thinking things over.
Was this really the right course of action? He could very well die, and easily, at the hands of Dorian Gray, and for what?
And that was when he saw Mina's face in his mind.
Expression grim and determined, he took the equipment from the wall, and then left the room, sword still in his hand.
Shivering very slightly, she lifted her head, thinking she had heard a noise… something definite but subtle, like a fine scraping.
… There it was again.
And again.
Senses switching into hungry overdrive, her eyes flashed a vicious red, and she cast them eagerly and almost desperately around the room. There was something in here with her… and she would find it. She shifted from her place against the wall, hair dishevelled and somewhat wild, sniffing the air subtly without giving the action away. Whatever it was might be able to see her… but she could hear it; scraping and scratching. It was small… but she could feed. She cared not for the size of the creature so long as it could provide her with some much-needed nourishment.
The hunger was driving her into madness, but in her state, Mina could not tell. All she was aware of was that tiny, but definite heartbeat and the rushing of blood through the small veins.
The mouse was unaware of its predicament, scrabbling at the wall in the darkness, having lost its access to its hole, or perhaps crazy with hunger like the predator that stalked its tiny frame. It twitched its whiskers, flickered a large ear, and then turned, dazed, at the sound of the growl.
Dorian had finished his newspaper, and was now leisurely smoking a cigarette whilst working over his plans for the next twenty-four hours. He couldn't very well stay in London for the rest of his – their – days, could he? Even for all its charm and culture – if you could call it that – it was getting old to the immortal. For years, he had dwelled in this country, and for many months on end, in this city… years even, in London, could become tedious to even the longest-living of individuals.
On top of this characteristic boredom that was part of his everyday life, Dorian knew the insufferable League would only waste time for so long before they stumbled onto his trail. And while he was confident he could keep them at bay, he knew he couldn't keep them away forever. It was only a matter of time, and no matter how much of it he had, he didn't feel like playing cat and mouse through London for years to come.
Annoyingly persistent, he thought, as he tapped the ash from his cigarette into an expensive ashtray, sipping his brandy as he looked over his plans.
Paris was lovely this time of year…
Yes… tomorrow, they would leave.
Huck twirled his pistols once, this way and that over his hand, checking he hadn't gotten rusty, watching his movements very carefully before he quickly slotted them away in his holsters. Well… at least he could still show off if it got right down to it. He had loaded all chambers on the two six-shooters, and carried a good two handfuls of spare rounds in his rarely-worn waistcoat. At his belt was a small case of rifle rounds, which he then loaded and checked accordingly. The last thing he wanted was to go out unprepared with such a heavy weapon.
Lifting his boot up onto the chair at his desk, he lifted his pants' leg, and checked the dagger he kept in his ankle sheath. It was very rare that it got that desperate, but he wanted to be prepared. He had had some experience with knife-fights, and while he was more comfortable with a range weapon, he'd do what he had to.
Looking around, and then to his pocket watch, he chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to decide if he'd need anything else… other than courage and determination, neither of which he could conveniently carry in a pouch, sheath or holster.
Shrugging on one side, he realised he had everything, save for his coat and hat, which he promptly collected and donned, almost ominously; he had an odd feeling about the fight to come. He wasn't sure why, but he just had a feeling of dread twisting his stomach… quelling it wouldn't be easy, but he knew he needed to if he was to be in the right condition to fight at all. It wouldn't do to go in there distracted; accidents happened most often when people got distracted.
Picking up his rifle, he headed for the door, the comforting weight in his hands. He'd replaced his rifle as soon as he could, knowing Tom must have taken his old one. But he'd been so fond of the weapon, it seemed only fitting to replace it as soon as possible, and the government had acknowledged the need, and provided. Not that he was complaining… he felt better for having it, especially now.
So he blocked all doubt from his mind that he could manage, and tried to focus on getting himself to the exit of the Nautilus without too many people seeing him. He'd gone through years of his childhood sneaking past people and ensuring he wasn't noticed… so how hard could it be?
If he was going to be completely honest with himself, Joe wasn't sure his leg would be able to stand the journey to Royal House, as well as the potential – and quite possibly inevitable – fighting that would take place when they got there.
But he supposed he had to try. If not for his friends, then for duty… didn't he? But as he sat there, spinning the chamber of one of his pistols, he realised something. This wasn't his duty… this really had nothing to do with him at all. While he had nothing against Mina Harker personally, she was a vampire, and therefore mostly immortal… couldn't she take care of herself? And besides, if he understood it correctly, she had given herself over to this Gray character.
Nobody had really asked themselves in Mina had wanted to be with Gray in the first place, leading to her leaving and going to him. Narrowing his eyes, he snapped the chamber into the pistol, and stared down at the weapon, considering it carefully in study before laying it down on the desk. Was it really worth his getting injured again for a cause that may not even be justifiable?
He knew he shouldn't doubt Tom, but… sometimes, he just couldn't help it. He wanted to be of assistance any way he could, but charging into a battle where they would no doubt be outnumbered seemed… insane. And if Mina was staying there of her own will, then it really was a suicide mission. Joe wasn't too fond of the idea of dying for no real reason.
Of course, he doubted anybody was, but that was beside the point. The point was, he felt he had to talk to Tom about all of this, and see if there wasn't perhaps another way. He hadn't thought it through when he'd dumped his crutches down in that room… the thrill of a new adventure had spoken for him, but now that he got to looking at it from a new perspective… it didn't seem all that… sound.
Running one hand over and through his dark curly hair, his blue eyes scanned the room. It wasn't wise to simply dwell on uncertainty alone in a barely lit room… if he had doubts, shouldn't he voice them? Shouldn't he try and make his friend see sense? Sighing lightly, he supposed that was another thing he had to try, and so it was that he grabbed the crutches, and hobbled out of the room, keeping as much weight off his injured leg as possible, in case they did end up leaving. He needed as much strength in that leg as he could get, and it wouldn't do to waste it by going to see Tom.
It didn't take him long – surprisingly – to get to his friend's cabin, and he knocked on the door, hesitation gone now; his mind had been made up, and he had to see if this was really what Tom wanted. Joe couldn't let him risk his life – and Huck's… again – for something he may not even be certain about himself.
A call allowing him entry spurred him to open the door and slip inside.
"Joe… is something wrong?" Tom was seated on the end of his bed, checking and rechecking the rounds in his pistols, opening and turning the chambers before spinning the weapons when they were closed; he quickly slotted them into the holsters at his waist, and stood, moving to check his Winchester. Joe realised his presence had barely stirred a ripple, and he furrowed his brows.
"… Are you sure about this, Tom?" he said finally, and with a questioning edge to his tone as he watched his oldest friend.
Tom's light eyes turned towards Joe for a moment, narrowing briefly before he answered firmly and confidently, "Yes."
Joe sighed; he'd been afraid of that. "I mean… have you thought this over? Because if you haven't… maybe it's time you did, before someone gets hurt."
There was a flash of something unsavoury in Tom's eyes for a brief moment before he turned his gaze down to his rifle, taking it in his hand and moving back to the bed. He laid the weapon on the mattress, but did not sit. Crossing his arms, he looked to Joe, and he nodded. "I know the risks."
"Does Huck?" Joe countered. "I sure as hell don't… is Gray really an immortal? If he is, how are you gonna defeat him, Tom? Huh?"
"I'll find a way." Tom's tone was hard and meant to be final, but it didn't dissuade the other American.
"I'm sure you'll try; you always do." Joe nodded, trusting to that assessment. Tom was never the one to give up easily, without a fight, but that didn't mean he wouldn't get killed. "Tom… this is bigger than us; you know that. I know it. It's ridiculous! Dorian Gray cannot die!"
"I know that," Tom snapped. "I've fought alongside him before; I've seen him in action."
"So you think that makes you worthy of fighting against him?" Joe challenged fiercely.
"I don't know!"
Tom and Joe stared at each other for a long time before the darker of the two sighed. "Tom… I'm only trying to look out for you." Pausing to consider his next comment, he cautiously added, "And Huck." Seeing the way Tom's eyes fixed on him, he – perhaps unwisely – supplemented, "And he's been hurt before. He nearly died."
Tom clearly took that the wrong way, and his eyes closed tightly as he growled out, "I won't let that happen again, dammit. That was a mistake, and I'll be damned if that bastard hurts Huck…" His eyes opened, blazing with determination and anger, but as to whether that powerful emotion was aimed at their enemy or Joe, he wasn't sure. "And you know that, Joe." In little more than a snarl, he added, "So don't you dare suggest otherwise, or you can get the hell out…"
Joe frowned slightly, knowing he had offended his friend… it hadn't exactly been his intention, but it was out in the open now, and he nodded. "That's not what I meant, Tom. Calm down… I know you care about Huck, but…" Sighing lightly, he shifted his weight slightly, and then persisted, "Just how much do you care about him? Is it more or less than for Mrs. Harker?"
Tom's face registered disgust and disbelief for a moment as he looked to Joe once more. "How can you ask me that?" he queried. "I don't measure them against one another, Joe… I don't do things that way. I love them both, in their own ways. Huck's like a brother to me; more than Sid ever was, that's for sure. And Mina… I don't know, but I know I care about her a lot, Joe, and I thought you'd understand that."
Joe's nod was slow and exaggerated. "I'm not sure I do…" he said at last. "But the fact that you're willing to race out there, with less firepower, strength and resources is, I suppose, a testament to how much you care about her. I'm just not sure I understand why… does she care for you?"
"What does that matter, Joe?" Tom looked pointedly at him. "You, of all people, should know it's not defined by shared love; if you love someone, you do everything you can for them, regardless of their feelings for you. It's just the right thing to do."
Joe's temper flared at the – perhaps unintentional – barb towards him, and he averted his gaze for a moment. He knew how it would affect Becky if he and Huck had to come back here and tell her Tom had been killed… it would tear her apart.
"This is madness," he said at last, in a low, impatient voice, "you're blinded by love."
Tom smiled very faintly, looking down to the weaponry on the bed. "Not by love…" The answer was confusing to Joe; one who had just heard the blonde spy speak of affection and caring. "… By duty."
His patience and temper fraying, Joe closed his eyes and screwed up his face for a moment before blurting, "Don't you see? Becky loves you!" He opened his eyes and stared Tom straight in the face, firmly. "Don't break her heart again, Tom."
Tom looked almost sadly back at Joe, before that ghost of a smile flittered across his features for a brief time. It had faded completely before he said in little more than a whisper, "Her heart was never mine to break, Joe…"