Author's Note: Woohoo! It didn't take me months to update! Yay! Okay, I feel stupidly good about that, but I'm drawing this one to a close soon, so it's all getting rather tense xD Hope you're feeling that too… mwahahah.

And now, the new part of Ghosts of Old…

Skinner took care to close the door to his cabin behind him, letting out a deep, uneasy sigh as he did so, eyes raking around the room and landing on his decanter. He crossed to it, feeling a surge of varying emotions inside of him, like the waters of a raging river about to burst its banks. He was confused, and concerned and even angry, and he didn't like it one bit. And the only way Rodney Skinner knew how to destroy all of them was with alcohol… the stronger the better.

He wasn't sure whether this was scotch or whiskey, but right at that moment, he didn't care, pouring himself a sizeable measure into the glass at hand, downing more than half of it in one greedy gulp, feeling it burn its way down his throat and leave behind that familiar aftertaste.

Sawyer was a bloody idiot… a passionate, well-meaning idiot, but a bloody idiot all the same. He was going to get himself killed, and if they didn't rush out and save him, then… well, he wouldn't stand a chance. He knew Gray wasn't alone; he had all his men. Past contacts, no doubt, from other sordid escapades that the thief didn't even care to think about, and that was saying quite a bit. Skinner had had a hand in his fair share of distasteful endeavours, but he didn't doubt that Gray could easily take the prize. The immortal was twisted, and cunning, and more than willing to do anything to get his way. Skinner would only ever go so far.

But to think that Sawyer had gone out to rescue Mina when it was clear she had gone of her own 'free will'… it just about made Skinner want to break a good few things in sight and range. And not only that, but Sawyer had taken Harper and Finn with him, endangering their lives as well. Either that, or they'd refused to be left behind; at this point, Skinner would believe either. He knew Americans could be rash, but this really was the icing on the cake.

Standing there for a while with only a little of the strong alcohol still in his glass, Skinner stared vacantly at the wall, before feeling it all bubble up powerfully inside of him again.

He knew that it wasn't so much Sawyer's actions that angered him — because if he had had half the chance, he would probably have gone with them — but the fact that Gray had come back… Gray had come back and wrecked everything. Again.

With a yell, he threw the glass at the wall, vicious and with all the strength he could put behind it, watching it smash violently against the wall loudly, sending glass everywhere.

It was only after he had let out his frustration in the one action that he realised he didn't wear shoes.

"Bugger it all."

Sighing, more than a little stressed, Skinner threw on his hat and trilby, not bothering with his greasepaint since he would have to rid himself of it as soon as they got to Gray's hiding place anyway. Throwing down some cushions from his bed and chairs, he trod over them to the door, pulled it open a little more vigorously than necessary, and trotted out.

He'd clean up later.

Tom and Huck glanced up at once as they heard a muffled shot, watching the sniper in sight jerk back, and then drop to the floor completely, taking his weapon with him. A discreet, high-pitched whistle, not entirely unlike the call of a bird, attracted their attention to the rooftop of the building they hid against, and angling their attention upwards, they saw Joe leaning over with a smirk. He nodded at them, and then disappeared, signalling that the snipers were taken care of; the way was clear.

The blonde agent looked to his friend, smiling wanly but convincingly all the same; the same ten-year old boy shone through in his eyes if nowhere else. If there weren't such a real, impending threat, this would have been just like one of their childhood adventures, filled with mystery and action; nothing but a game.

But Tom knew, better than anyone, that this was not a game. The danger was very real, and more than great. Even as Joe came up just behind them, silently victorious, Tom took in a deep, readying breath. This was it. No turning back now.

Bringing an image of Mina Harker's face into his mind, he gave a nod of his own, and jogged quietly across the street, leading his two close friends behind him, their guns held in their hands readily. Pistols hung at their waists or hips, and Tom had his extra assurance, feeling the weight of it as he moved. Coming up to the door, he tried it, finding it unlocked, and swung it silently inward, ducking back, even as he heard a confused mutter from a man inside, and the subsequent footsteps of their approach.

When he emerged, Tom grabbed his lapels, slammed him against the outside wall, and then rammed the stock of his rifle into the man's face, downing him immediately. Listening for any other sounds, Tom soon gave the signal, and the three Americans carefully entered Royal House. Their senses were in overdrive, keeping an eye or ear out for any approach from the shadows or nooks the house presented. There were doorways dotted throughout the hallway that led down to what the tallest of the three assumed was a sitting room of some kind, or a reception hall, perhaps. It was hardly a low-class building, even if it did look like it had seen better days… and better tenants, certainly.

They had already overpowered at least four men by the time they got to the reception hall, having caught them as they tried to ambush from doorways or alcoves; with the three of them working together, there were no complications… at least until they entered the hall.

"Oh…" Tom mumbled, hearing the sound of several firearms cocking readily from various places. "Shit."

"I'll second that," Huck muttered, before the three dove behind the nearest cover, provided by a rather large sofa, which soon began to jerk slightly with the impacts of several bullets. The sound was deafening, overtaking everything else, and Joe winced with the resonance of it.

Tom laid his Winchester on the ground, along with his hat, which had somehow stayed in place until that point. He needed a better defence against this, and the other two blatantly agreed, laying down their own rifles and caps without hesitation, tucking them out of the way. As one, the three Americans withdrew twin pistols, the hammers drawn back, unheard by the gunmen of Dorian Gray.

"On three," Tom began after a time, having been estimating the shots fired and everything else; reloads, angles, amount of gunmen.

Three voices counted.

"One…"

Tom looked to Huck, seeing the flash of anticipation in the brown eyes.

"Two…"

Joe tensed, mimicking Tom and Huck to his side.

"Three!"

Together, the three burst from behind the sofa, letting off alternate shots from their guns, at spaced intervals and angles. All around the room, men were knocked back by the bullets, and their guns started to drop.

But it was far from over. Tom was confident, but he wasn't naïve. This wasn't all Gray had to throw at them…

Lifting his head gracefully from the book he had been reading, Dorian listened. Even without enhanced senses, he could hear those deafening cracks and bangs; gunfire. And a lot of it. But it was dwindling; thinning out and lessening, as if his men were being… overpowered.

The League…

Dorian could come to no other conclusion, and really, he was far from surprised. After all, he had taken their lady; the only lady of the League in fact, smiling at the thought. He had had no doubt that they would try and come for her. But if they thought that the gunmen in the hall were the only defences he had, then they were in for a big surprise…

With his second automobile still under construction, Captain Nemo had had to settle for hailing a 'cab' from near the docks, the remains of the League scrambling into it, along with Miss Thatcher, before they were off for Royal House, and as fast as the horse could go, or so the Indian hoped. The driver had certainly been paid enough to drive the carriage as fast as it could possibly be transported, so Nemo hoped there was no delay.

Who knew what state of distress their American friend — or rather, friends — had gotten himself into by now? For all they knew, he was lying near death, or already dead.

Or perhaps, Nemo thought to himself, we are giving him entirely too little credit.

It was possible that Tom Sawyer had more chance than they thought, and he was far from needing their help as desperately as they assumed. For all they knew, he had defeated the immortal villain.

But then, Nemo had come to understand, in his many years, that things were never that easy.

Even when it seemed the gunmen had been defeated, and that the three Americans were in the clear, Huck heard a sound from the shadows… a sound he recognised.

"Get down!" he yelled at Tom and Joe, even as a weapon lifted from out of the darkness, aimed towards the three intruders, who all immediately dove for respective cover. Joe jumped and rolled to land behind another of the grand, dusty sofas, and Tom leapt behind one of the pillars the gunmen had used to hide from them initially. Huck had barely a second to react, and did the only thing he could think of; he dove for a large table, hooking a hand at its edge as he rolled across its surface, unbalancing it as he went over, taking it with him. It was at that moment that rapid streams of gunfire exploded across the roof, tearing into any surface in sight, just as Huck landed, the table rocking slightly, but remaining in place as a makeshift shelter for the shorter agent. He let out a sigh of relief, and looked wildly to his companions, who seemed safe — for the time being — behind their respective furnishings.

But now they were stuck. The rapid gunfire from the other side of the room made it impossible to spring up as before, and Huck found his eyes scanning the surroundings… before he realised his proximity to the original hiding place they had used upon entry. The rifles!

Glancing hurriedly to Tom as a signal, he holstered his pistols, and held in a breath. He barely gave himself time to rethink it before lunging across the distance, rolling behind the sofa with amazement at the fact that he hadn't even been grazed. Eyes slightly wide in relieved shock, he took up his rifle, and began to scoot for the edge of the large chair, keeping himself stealthy and low to the ground. Reaching his position, he lay on his front, cocking back the hammer on his rifle and peering around the edge. Either the gunmen had missed his lunge, or thought him not enough of a threat.

Their mistake.

Smirking just slightly at one corner of his mouth, he readied his weapon, levelling it along his arms as he lay against the dusty floor, one eye closing as he aimed. Concentrating to the full, he lined up his shot just right… and then pulled the trigger.

A loud scream of pain came from the darkness, and the gunman fell forward, dropping his weapon and clutching at his shattered kneecap, which oozed blood freely. Huck waited for any other gunfire to take up its place, before rising cautiously, mimicked soon after by Joe and Tom.

Tom and Huck met each other's gaze, and the latter grinned, shrugging.

"How about you go save your lady, huh?" he prompted, keeping an eye out for any other threats, even as Joe tensed slightly. They wouldn't be alone for long, and this was Tom's only window of opportunity. The blonde agent came over in a jog, taking his rifle up from the floor quickly, before stopping at Huck's side. Laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, he gazed briefly but gratefully to Joe, before saying, "Thank you. Both of you." Patting Huck's shoulder supportively, he added, "Be careful."

"You too." Nodding his head off to the side, he said, "Go get 'im."

With that, Huck and Joe watched Tom Sawyer run out of the room, taking a door — the only door — to the side of the hall, and disappearing through it. It was up to them to keep the way clear, and to hold back any aide from getting to Dorian Gray.

Footsteps echoed from upper corridors, and the two remaining agents took up their positions again. Huck squared his shoulders, suddenly feeling taller than he really was.

"Here they come…"

To Be Continued…