Peace

by Cheryl W

Wracked by guilt and despair over Huck Finn's death, Tom shuts the world out and it seems only Allan can break down the young man's barriers and help him to find some peace.father son relationship only

7. Chapter 7

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Author's Note: Sorry about the horrible delay in posting this chapter! Intermingling my story with the existing movie scenes turned out to be a hard task for me.

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Chapter 7

"Can't tell morning from night on this canoe," Tom groused as he staggered from his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying hard to ignore his shoulder's protests. As he came to stand before the vanity, he winced at his appearance. His hair was in disarray, his jaw was sporting the beginnings of a beard, his face was pale, his eyes bloodshot and the dark bruises under his eyes had yet to lighten. 'Injun Joe looked better dead than I do right now.' That comparison caught him off guard, dredging up more memories than he cared to remember..like his own time trapped in that cave…not knowing when day came…when night came.

Suddenly the Nautilus began to feel like that cave, it's interior an abyss untouched by sunlight, suffocating him, trapping him, making him despair that he would ever effect an escape. Clamping his eyes shut, he leaned against the vanity. 'Keep it together, Sawyer! This is no time for one of your panic spells!' With willpower and deep breaths, he forced down his rising anxiety. Being trapped in the cave with Becky had taught him that he couldn't afford to lose hope, not when someone else's well being rested on him.

'Like now,' he rebuked himself. 'Huck's counting on you to stop the Fantom. And so is Allan, the league, your country, heck, the world. There's no more time for your self pity!' With new fortitude, Tom stood up, gave a stern glare to his reflection and began to dress for the day. He would not dwell any longer on woulda, coulda, shouldas. Having never known his father and losing his mother when he was only seven, he rebuked himself that he, of all people, should know the futility of hindsight and wishes. Forward was the only viable direction he could take. Forward to this afternoon, to the moment when Venice would be saved and the Fantom would die.

Tightly strapping on his gun holster, he relished the pain it caused his shoulder. Pain was something real, something he didn't have to think about, sort out or distrust. Pain never lied or had a hidden agenda. It simply was what it was. Crossing to the table where Gray had carelessly dumped out the contents of his travel bag, Tom picked up the boxes of ammo, placing them in his pockets.

His chest tightened as his eyes fell upon his Secret Service badge. Reverently he stroked his fingers over the silver star. For the most part Dorian had been right, he owned nothing precious….except the badge. To Sawyer the badge represented what he believed in, what he wanted to believe in and everything he wanted to be. Reluctantly he withdrew his touch from the embossed silver star. He was AWOL, an agent who had slipped from his tethers, an operative seeking his own agenda, determined to unleash his own brand of justice for his best friend's death.

Vividly, Tom remembered waking in the London hospital after his surgery, instantly knowing that something precious had been lost to him, something that could not be recaptured or replaced. Before he could fully come to terms with accepting the horrible truth that Huckleberry Finn was dead, that it hadn't been some bad dream, a senior secret service agent entered his hospital room and, without bothering on pleasantries, told him in terms too plain to be misunderstood that he was no longer on the Fantom assignment. Coldly the superior agent had given him his new orders: heal up, head home and give a detailed report about the death of Special Agent Huckleberry Finn to his immediate superior.

In direct violation to those orders, Special Agent Thomas Sawyer crawled out of the hospital that same afternoon and contacted a fellow field agent in London hoping the agent had another good tip to the Fantom's possible location. To Tom's frustration the other agent declared that the Fantom had vanished without a trace. It was only with a stroke of good luck that the field agent had offhandedly mentioned the strange happening that would occur the next day: the arrival of one Allan Quatermain, adventurer, hunter, sometimes British spy. Deducing that only a risk at the national level would entice the retired spy from Africa and back into service for her majesty's government, Sawyer had stood beside a crate of fish on the wharf and watched Quatermain disembark from the boat. Following the adventurer, Tom found himself on Tottenham Court Road watching as the British spy was greeted by a man on the steps of the Albion museum and escorted inside. Sooner than he thought possible, Sawyer's instincts had been proven to be right on the money. Quatermain's path soon crossed with the Fantom's.

It seemed impossible that so much had occurred in so few days. Now Special Agent Thomas Sawyer of the Secret Service found himself cutting through the ocean, heading for Venice, praying to save the city and bring death to the Fantom. His rebellion, however, had its repercussions. It would be a miracle if he still was among the numbers of the secret service agency after his blatant disregard for orders. Even if he achieved his goal, if the Fantom was killed and world peace safeguarded yet again, there was no reassurances that a medal would await him at home instead of a pink slip. The Bureau took a hard edge to rules…just ask Director Hazen, who had been fired because he assigned men to protect Presidents Cleveland and McKinley without orders. A duty that, a few months after Hazen's departure, became the Secret Service's prime objective.

'I wouldn't change what I did,' Tom knew in his heart. 'This chance to catch the Fantom, to stop his schemes is worth any consequences.' With that conviction running through his soul, Tom headed out of the room, intent on joining the league for breakfast. Last night he had been a no show for dinner, preferring to take his meal in his room and crawl into bed as soon as possible, without anybody marking his weakness. Starting today, he swore that he wasn't going to hide anymore.

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Allan's obsession with the door of the dining room could have been humorous had it not the markings of worry and regret. Though Nemo, Dorian, Henry and Mina took notice of the hunter's distraction, none mentioned it as they silently consumed their breakfast, the two empty chairs at the table speaking loudly enough in the void. When Nemo's servants opened the door and Tom Sawyer strode into the room like it was simply another mess time in the barracks, Quatermain quickly averted his eyes, taking up a fascination with the now cold eggs on his plate, hoping that no one saw the relief flickering in his eyes.

Exuding brash confidence that typified the American façade, Sawyer claimed the chair to Quatermain's right. It never occurred to him to choose the chair to Dorian's left. Before he could reach for any of the food dishes on the table, Nemo's servants brought each and every dish to him, spooning generous portions onto his plate. With his polite country upbringing, he took the time to thank every servant as they performed their duty.

Then, setting to the task of eating, Tom was surprised to find the league members quiet, their attention fully fixed upon him. Suddenly he wished for Skinner's presence. The invisible thief had a wry wit, scathing tongue and rarely shut up. 'Now I'm wishing for the company of a traitor!' Quickly he corrected himself, 'Accused traitor, Sawyer. Nothing's clear cut with this caper.'

It was Mina's cultured voice that broke the silence. "Are you feeling better, Agent Sawyer?" her concerned eyes met his across the table.

"Call me Tom. And yes, I am. Thank you," Tom replied simply, without displaying the boisterous charm he usually unleashed for the beautiful widow.

Mina smiled slightly. "We are all relieved," but something in her reply seemed lackluster, hinting at a spike of disappointment at the absence of the young man's usual flirtations.

Focusing again upon the food on his plate, Tom almost sighed when the unwelcome voice of Dorian interrupted his meal.

"Can we assume your improving health and your presence here indicates that you intend to attempt to help us foil the Fantom's plans for Venice?" the immortal's true question and insinuation very clear to the American spy.

Draining his coffee cup, Sawyer gave a cocky smile to Dorian. "Sorry, I'm gonna have to ignore your earlier advice Dorian. But your concern for my health is very touching."

Scowling for an instant before his mask of boredom righted itself, Dorain concurred sarcastically, "Oh to be sure, I am very concerned."

When the immortal leaned forward in his chair and pierced the American with his dark gaze, Sawyer knew an act of retaliation was in the works.

With his most falsely sincere tone, Dorian drawled, "Strangely enough one question kept me awake last night, Special Agent Sawyer."

Since his verbal sparing match with the immortal had earned the rapt attention of the other league members, Sawyer felt unable to ignore Gray's question or even give the frank reply as he so desperately wanted to. Accepting his fate, Tom pasted on a benevolent smile, leaned back in his chair, and replied, "And what's your question?"

A wolf smile turned up Dorian's lips, "I was wondering how you came to have a bullet in your shoulder, Tom."

Without missing a beat, Sawyer replied, "Unexpectedly." Pleasure surged through Tom at the flicker of annoyance that slipped past Gray's façade. "Since we're satisfying curiosities, I was wondering how you came to be immortal?

"Unexpectedly," Dorian coldly answered, his eyes meeting Sawyer's heatedly across the table.

Before Sawyer or Gray could say another word, Henry inquired politely of the Captain, "So how long will it be until we reach Venice?" turning the rest of the breakfast talk to the pros and cons of travel of any kind.

Three persons did not engage in the new conversation, Sawyer, Gray and Quatermain.

Allan's thoughts remained focused upon the man at his side and the verbal confrontation he had witnessed. When the sparring between Sawyer and Gray began, he had immediately felt stronger undercurrents to each man's words, undercurrents that were not just generated solely from Dorian's initial rejection of Sawyer. Knowing from personal experience how easily confrontations sprang up when two men liked the same woman, Allan looked to Mina Harker, who seemed baffled by the animosity at the table. As he set his gaze once again to the two combatants, Quatermain, ruling out Mina as the culprit for the exchange, focused on each man's exact words. Sawyer's words alluded to a private conversation between him and Dorian, a conversation where Allan was certain the immortal had distinctly NOT expressed a concern for the younger man's health. Allan could not help but wonder what exactly had been said in the tête-à-tête. Nothing pleasant he would bet.

Dorian's question about Tom's wound had snared Quatermain's undivided attention. Though frustrated and disappointed by Sawyer's flippant answer to Dorian's pointed inquiry, Allan couldn't help the small smile that sprang to his lips at the boy's audacity. Now as the others droned on about how tedious travel was these days, Allan's mind replayed Tom's conversation with Dorian, knowing there were more clues there then he initial uncovered. Tom's expression was of no assistance, the spy having pulled on his innocent backwoods boy smile and meek 'ah shucks' persona.

Feeling Quatermain's gaze upon him, Tom faced the adventurer's, gave a confused shrug and an innocent look that said, 'I don't know why Dorian's a jerk'.

Allan quirked an accusatory eyebrow at Sawyer's unspoken claim of innocence in the exchange. Instead of repentance, the wattage of Sawyer's smile turned up, causing Quatermain to smile and shake his head in defeat at the notion of changing the younger man's ways. A much missed sparkle returned to Sawyer's eyes.

"You do look better," Allan admitted, relief and pride almost slipping into his tone.

"I feel better," Tom replied, a little leery that he was setting himself up for another lecture from the older man. To his surprise, Quatermain accepted his words as truth, nodded in reply and turned back to his food. 'That was way too easy.'

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Within the hour they would be in Venice. For some that thought brought satisfaction, the wait was almost over. For others it brought determination, I will do all I can do. For others it brought uncertainty, why am I here, what can I contribute to this cause.

Mina Harker found herself bombarded with all three responses. She had faced dangers and utilized her own unique powers only enough to come to the conclusion that she might be able to supply some assistance to the real experts of this type of adventure. As she walked down the hallway of the Nautilus she thought of those experts. Allan Quatermain's exploits into danger were legendary and Thomas Sawyer had proven his worth at Dorian's house.

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Mina let her eyes dart into Quatermain's room as she walked by. Somehow she was reassured by the peacefulness that the man emanated as he loaded his guns like it was second nature to him. 'It probably is,' she concluded, as she proceeded down the hallway. It was not Quatermain that she felt drawn to in this calm before the storm.

When she stood in the doorframe of her quarry, a smile turned up her lips. Thomas Sawyer's preparations were identical to Allan Quatermain's. Sensing her presence, Sawyer looked up from the task of loading the Winchester. His surprise at the identity of his guest unhidden.

"This is second nature to you, isn't it?" Mina began, stepping into the spy's room, her sharp gaze taking in the tidiness of all his possessions except for the clutter covering the table.

Having finished loading the Winchester, Tom let his full attention rest upon the beautiful but deadly widow. "What is?"

"This danger. These high stakes. Having innocent lives in your hands." Mina came to stand directly in front of Tom.

Nonchalantly, Tom gave as an answer, "Comes with the job."

"And so you just calmly accept whatever fate throws into your path to hinder your success?" her earnestness apparent.

Sawyer gave one of his trade mark smirks. "I don't know about calmly but I've come to expect roadblocks."

Quietly Mina said, "Like getting shot."

Tom stroked his fingers over his neck, right where Mina's bite marks would be on him, "Guess we've both got souvenirs from past road blocks."

Unconsciously Mina pulled her collar up tighter to her neck. Disdain coated her words, "Your 'souvenir" didn't change your whole life."

Tom's eyes darkened as his thoughts immediately went to Huck. Lowly he countered, "Don't be so sure." Grabbing his Winchester, he made to brush by Mina on his way out the door, her thin delicate hand on his arm stopped his motion. Their eyes met.

"I'm sorry." When confusion stood out on his features, she clarified, "for my rudeness earlier…on the tower. I was wrong about you."

To Mina's relief, Sawyer bestowed another smirk to her. "You're right…I'm not that sweet."

Mina laughed, realizing for the first time how long it had been since she had felt like laughing. "I bet you have all the ladies back home chasing you."

"You mean even though I'm young and somewhat sweet?" Tom teased, enjoying the light banter and the glimmer of happiness in Mina's eyes.

Mina nodded in reply, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Sighing loudly, Tom confessed, "You'd be wrong. Huck always got there first…" he broke off his often spoken joke with his friend.

Not seeing the hurt in the other's eyes, Mina asked, "Who's Huck?" Having sensed a deep affection in his tone, she guessed, "Is he your brother?"

The question was like a knife in Tom's heart. 'In all respects that mattered Huck was my brother.' He swallows hard, not trusting his voice, he shook his head. Then lowly, his voice rough, he denied, "No he isn't…wasn't my brother."

Taking notice to the glittering pain in the other's eyes, Mina stammered, "I'm sorry…I let my curiosity get the best of me."

Instead of replying to Mina's apology, Tom pressed, "Can I ask you a question…a personal one?"

Mina put on a small smile, "You can ask...but I will decide if I shall answer it."
"You and your husband fought Dracula together and your husband was killed…and you lived." Tom's eyes seared into Mina's, needing the truth from her. "Do you ever…have you ever felt…. Did it ever feel wrong to be alive when your husband is dead?"

It was a question none had ever asked her before, a question that cut too close to the bone. A sharp refusal was to be her answer, until she saw the depths of despair in the young man's eyes. A despair that mirrored a pain buried in her own heart. "At first, I felt guilty for surviving..and then, when the effects of Dracula's bite started to emerge…" For a moment she broke off, and looked away from Tom's piercing gaze. Resolutely she forced herself to meet the spy's inquiring look head on. "I wished my husband had lived…and I had died. I thought everything in the world had become bitter and dark, that my survival was not a gift but a curse."

With quiet desperation Tom probed, "How did you stop feeling that way?"

A sad small smile emerged on Mina's lips, "Who says I don't feel that way any more." With that she began to walk away but before she crossed through the threshold of the door she turned back to Sawyer. "But the feeling fades a little each day, with each good thing I make out of my abilities and my life." A thoughtful look of insight sprang to her eyes. "I guess that's why you do the job you do…because it matters and it's the right thing to do and protecting others from harm helps to heal your own hurts."

Too stunned at Mina's insight, Tom stood silent, unable to think of what to say in reply.

Without another word, Mina walked away.

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Stepping determinedly from his room, Allan Quatermain found his path intersecting with Tom Sawyer's. Both men were equally surprised by their chance meeting. They had not sought out each other's presence since the previous day. The silence that fell heavily upon them was proof that their brief polite conversation at breakfast had done nothing to dismantle the uneasiness between them.

With his assessing look, Allan was relieved to see that Sawyer's coloring was improving, the bruises under his eyes were fading and only a splinter of pain still shadowed the young man's intense eyes. 'He's healing up nicely…just in time to risk getting himself killed again. Along with the rest of us.' But there was no fear or doubt in the American spy's, gaze, his two handguns snugly in their holsters and the Winchester in his right hand. 'Like I keep telling you Quatermain. You are two of a kind.' With a jerk of his head, he welcomed Sawyer to head down the hallway as he too began that same trek. Walking down the hall in silence, matching each other's strides both determined to thwart the Fantom's schemes, a rightness settled in Allan's heart. 'This is where I belong…where he belongs. No matter how we fight against it,fate's in control and for once she knows what's she's doing.'

Tom was touched to see his gifted Winchester in Allan's hand instead of the hunter's treasured Matilda. The gesture said more than words and Sawyer felt something akin to joy spring to life in his chest. Regardless of all his stubborn, stupid actions, Quatermain still found worth in him…or at least in his gift. And Sawyer knew in his heart that to Quatermain the two were mingled together. Desperately he wanted to take back his harsh words from the prior night and undo the tension that lay between him and Allan. Now, before it was too late.

Knowing that they were both heading into certain danger, Allan own words to Sawyer returned to him with sharp clarity, "Promise me you'll take care of yourself, that you won't recklessly risk your life to keep some promise." Wanting desperately to garner that promise from Tom, Allan opened his mouth but, remembering Tom's resolve last night, he abandoned that thought. Instead his voice held uncertainty as he began, "About Yesterday..

Even as Tom Sawyer began his own entreaty of "About Yesterday…"

Stunned to silence at their identical words, both men eyed one another warily before smiles sprang to their lips and they fell into laughter.

Wrapping an arm around Sawyer's shoulders, Allan suggested, "Let's stick to fighting with the bad guys, alright?"

Readily Tom agreed with relief. "Yeah. With the bad guys, I don't have to figure out how to apologize."

Laughing harder, Allan ruffled Sawyer's hair like had done to Harry. Startled by his actions, Allan tensed, contemplating withdrawing his touch from Sawyer. But he found he didn't want to, his actions feeling too natural to condemn. Instead his arm remained fatherly around Sawyer's shoulders as they made their way down the hallway.

At Quatermain's gesture of affection and antics, Sawyer's smile brightened and warmth flowed into his heart. Try as he might, he, however, couldn't shut out his cynical thoughts that were so much a part of his protective barriers. 'Don't get carried away, Sawyer. Ruffling you hair, slinging an arm around your shoulders, it doesn't mean as much to him as it means to you. Yeah, maybe he's looking for someone to take away the pain of the void his son left, but you're not his son, you can't fill that void. And he can't be your father. You can't cling desperately to him, looking for that kind of connection just because you never knew your father, never knew a fatherly touch of affection.'

Swallowing hard, Tom pushed down his weak emotions. As cynical as his thoughts were he also knew them to be true. He and Quatermain were not kin, even Quatermain had said that. No, they were partners preparing to face dangers that may lead to their deaths. He refused to go into such dangers with words unspoken between them…not like it had ended between him and Huck. He could bear no more regrets.

"Allan," Tom's quiet sincere tone earning him Allan's full eye contact, "I really appreciate all you've done for me. Letting me come along, teaching me things, helping me when I was ill. Thank you."

A lump caught in Allan's throat. It sounded like the boy was saying goodbye. Looking away, he composed himself before he replied, "Your welcome, Saw…Tom." Shooting a quick glance to Tom he bent his arm to loop around Sawyer's neck, playfully putting the younger man into a head lock and pulling Sawyer against him. "You can thank me by taking care of yourself," he lightly bartered.

Feeling like he had been manipulated by the best, Sawyer flippantly replied, "I'll give it my best shot."

"See that you do," Allan breathed releasing the headlock he had on Sawyer but leaving his arm still resting on the American's shoulder as they continued down the hallway in companionable silence.

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Tom Sawyer felt the fate of the world rest heavily upon his shoulders as he raced Nemo's automobile down the streets of Venice. One minute he was bearing the burden with the rest of the members of the league and the next his compatriots had deserted him, seeking personal confrontations over the insurmountable task that was now Sawyer's alone to complete. Never had the stakes been higher. "No pressure, Sawyer," Tom spoke aloud, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, "You fail and the world will go to war…that's all."

A lesser man would be formulating excuses for his possible failure, not Tom Sawyer. He had failed Huck, he would not fail the world. No matter the odds, no matter the risks, no matter the measures he had to take, the Fantom would not win this round. Ignoring the crumbling foundations that rained around him, he strained the car to it's maximum endurance, eating up the cobbled streets under the tires like a snack.

There shouldn't have been time for contemplation but there was, there always was. That was what astonished him. How time seemed to slow down when every second counted, how his brain kicked in, thinking thoughts he had sworn he had buried too deep to be unearthed. Here and now, when his life may be ticking down to it's last seconds, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about Allan Quatermain and the connection that had sprung up between them. Allan's parting words before he bailed from the car weren't the kind that strengthened one's soul, "Remember the flare. I'm off. Don't forget, you're the target."

Others would have seen the words as callous and offhanded, Sawyer knew better. He, like Quatermain, was a man of action not words. Quatermain's departure told Tom in ways no words could convey that the adventurer had complete faith in Tom to save Venice without his assistance. It was the kind of gesture Huckleberry Finn had made to Tom countless times, a gesture of absolute trust. 'And I let him down, Huck trusted me and I let him down. But I won't let Quatermain down, not this time,' he vowed, negotiating the streets as the rubble began to crash around him like a tidal wave, attempting to smash him in it's curl.

Then, with a burst of speed, he shot ahead of the domino of destruction. Reaching across the car, he grabbed the flare gun. It was time. Keeping the racing car on the rough road with one hand, he cocked the flare gun. It was then that he realized his path was about to dead end. 'Literally and figuratively,' he sallied as he saw the wall that loomed in front of him and the large canal that was stretched behind the barrier. 'Huck I might be seeing ya soon,' he thought without fear, a defiant smile breaking onto his face as the car barreled through the wall, arching over the water, seemingly flying through the air. At the height of the arch, Tom shot the flare into the sky, mesmerized by the night sky, accepting that this was possibly the last time he would be looking "up" to the heavens. Then the car began it's downward arch. 'I didn't let you down Allan,' he proudly acknowledged before everything went black.

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Revenge drove Allan Quatermain's actions, causing him to abandon Sawyer, ignore the crumbling city around him, and pursue the Fantom with single-mindedness. To his surprise, something startled him from his hunt: a flare streaking high over head.

To his shock, he found himself stopping, his eyes tracking the flare as it climbed higher in the night sky. Pride surged through him. "Bravo, boy." 'The boy's done it! He's saved Venice!' Then, like some unforeseen attack, the possible cost of the victory slammed into his soul. 'But did he save himself! I told him to take care of himself and then I send him on a suicide mission!' His last words to Tom ran through his head and he felt physically ill. He had been given the incredible chance to get to know Tom, to care for him and yet, he had made the same mistake as he had with Harry. He had thought of the mission over the man…over his son…over a young man he cared about like a son. "Don't let him get away. I'll go right, you go left" that's what his parting words to Harry had been. When next he saw his son, it was only sobs that he could utter as he drew the motionless body into his arms and kissed the top of his son's head as he had done when the his boy was very young.

Now if Tom was dead, if he had failed that young honorable man too…He shut down his emotions. Sawyer wasn't the only one who had vows to uphold. He had sworn to avenge the deaths of his friends in Africa. 'And now Tom may have died because of this bloody bastard's schemes,' his grip upon the Winchester tightened, turning his hand white with it's intensity. 'Easy. Don't let your emotions control you. You can't win by being weak,' he instructed himself, his grip on the Winchester loosening up and his stance changing into the relaxed poise of a cheetah.

Calmly, he followed the Fantom into the graveyard and shut the door. 'How bloody appropriate a place for this to end.'

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Someone was calling his name with that urgent you-better-mind-me-right-now tone that his Aunt Polly had perfected. Apparently she had taught that tone to someone else because it was a male voice that seemed to be screaming his name through his pounding head. "TOM!"

Instinctively he responded to the tone and fought against the unconsciousness that held him fast. With a moan he came to, his breath catching in his throat as pain came at him from seemingly every body part he owned. Squinting against the harsh light, he tried to grasp what had happened as his eyes took in his surroundings. It took but an instant before he remembered it all. Allan's last words came back to him 'remember you're the target'.

With a curse, Sawyer began the struggle to get out from under the car and escape the bulls eye that a rocket even now was honed into. Pulling himself forward with his hands, he shut down his reactions to pain as debris embedded into his hands, his right shoulder screamed in protest, his legs spiked with pain and his head felt like it would topple from his shoulders. Seconds ticked by like eternity as he maneuvered himself free of the car. Climbing to his feet turned into a feat in itself. Achieving that goal, he took two steps forward before he swung around, returned to the car and dropped to his knees. Reaching a probing hand into the car, he searched for something too precious to be left behind: his Winchester, one of two Winchesters that Huckleberry Finn had given to him on his last birthday. His hands snagged onto the silver barrel at last. Pulling the gun free of the car, Tom staggered to his feet and ran toward the light peeking through a doorway to the left. He had barely passed through the door and began to descend the stairs when the rocket hit the building. The fiery explosion plowed into Sawyer with unrelenting force, flinging him into the air.

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He had been wrong. It had not ended in the graveyard. Armed with the knowledge of the Fantom's identity, shocked by the revelation of M's betrayal and sporting a knife wound, Allan walked from the graveyard. Bitterly, he conceded that, though Venice had been saved, victory had yet to be claimed in this battle. 'A bloody turning point,' he groused internally but as he stepped out into the street where he had bailed out of the automobile, his heart stopped.

Stunned he took five steps forward on the cobblestone road before stumbling to a disbelieving halt. The road had been obliterated, it's existence completely buried under the rubble of buildings that simply crumbled under the strain. Yet that was not the worst of it. The plume of smoke and the flickering flames that decorated the night sky told a more brutal story of Sawyer's mission. Valiantly Allan had reassured himself that the flare meant Sawyer lived but now, seeing this, knowing that Sawyer had sped Nemo's automobile down this very path, that he had sat "in" the target…Grief tore though Allan. The Fantom's words swirled around in his head, "You might as well have put the gun to your son's head and pulled the trigger yourself." Suddenly it seemed the same could be said for his protection of Sawyer. He had abandoned the young man for a mission of revenge!

In a daze, Quatermain made his way through the ruins, thinking that maybe Sawyer needed him, maybe there was still time to help the young man, unlike there had been for Harry. "No," he choked out as he stood at the broken wall before the large canal, his eyes fixed on the sight of the burning infernal that had once been a theater, the gleaming white metal from Nemo's automobile buried in it's midst. Clamping his eyes shut, Allan fought down a sob. Fearlessly Tom had driven the car right over the canal, ahead of the crumbling row of buildings, fired the flare and saved Venice. Pride and sorrow tore through Quatermain as a tear slid down his face. Opening his eyes, he drew in a shaky breath, watching the theater burn. Against all common sense, he found that a part of him rebelled against the thought of Sawyer being dead. The boy had too much spirit, too much fight. 'Everyone dies, Quatermain. Even the brave ones.'

Desperately, Allan clutched onto the Winchester in his hands, his link to Tom. He had the Fantom to stop, M as it were. That was what Sawyer had sacrificed his life to accomplish, to thwart M's plans, to bring the villain to his knees. Unbidden, Allan remembered the promise Tom had exacted from him, "Promise me you'll get the Fantom."

Allan's own words back to Sawyer threatened to unleash his emotional floodgates. "We'll get the bugger, together." "I'll get the Fantom, Tom, you have my promise on it. No matter what, he'll pay…the ultimate price," Allan vowed, mesmerized by the flames of the fire for a moment before he turned away. He had a promise to keep.

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One thing Tom Sawyer hated was being awakened by his own moans of pain. It seemed to happen too darn often. Cursing his deplorable habit of moaning, he forced his eyes open to find himself sprawled out on the cobblestone street of Venice, debris scattered around him. 'And on me', he complained, pushing off the pulverized remnants of stones and shards of wood that littered his back. Maneuvering to his hands and knees, he hung his head as the piercing pain in his skull intensified.

When the agony softened to a manageable level, he forced his legs under him and stood up. Swaying, he knew he could not lay the blame on the foundation under his feet this time. Putting a hand to his head, he wasn't surprised to feel blood on his fingers. His head hurt badly enough that it 'had' to look dastardly. 'Shake it off. It's time to rejoin the troops and find out if the hunt's over or just moved to another jungle.' A moment later he chastised himself, 'Great, now I'm talking like Quatermain.' But as he began the round about trek to the Nautilus, he couldn't for the life of him find fault with his new trait, deciding that there was nothing wrong with the phrases the adventurer coined.

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TBC

Replies to Reviews:

DF: Thanks for taking the time to review! My intentions were to make Sawyer appear as a human with faults, one of which is a temper. Since 'to error is human' I hope you'll forgive Sawyer (and me.)

Laura B: Thank you for your continued encouragement! And since I'm writing this story as I go, sometimes I don't know what will happen next. Thanks for your patience.

StriderX: 'Craptacular'! I love that word..I think I'm gonna use it on my friends! Thanks for the wonderful compliments and appreciating the deeper level I'm trying to reveal of Tom. Also, I'm pleased that you're not disappointed that things aren't just flowing easily together for Allan and Tom. I find life is never that simple.

Julia: I was blushing over your exclamation. It's such an honor to know that you liked the dialog because it's my favorite thing to write. And to say the chapters keep getting better…well I loved hearing that!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your wonderful review! I loved your description of the bonding as being 'on the rocky side.'

Ten Mara: Thank you for your insightful review! You are so right about relationships having their ups and downs! I hope you liked my version of the happenings in Venice. It was a lot tougher writing this segment than I realized because I wanted to stay true to the movie.

Alone Dreaming: As always, your review was a real treat! I wasn't at all certain I had Nemo down but I thought I'ld give it a shot..so glad you liked him! As for Tom, yes he needs a good tongue lashing from Aunt Polly about now! Thank you so much for liking my Quatermain portrayal and thinking his dialog fits in with what Sean Connery would say! Though I wanted to be more Tom centric, Allan is the character you get to know the best in the movie so he's the character I know best. And Mina made her appearance this chapter..how did you liked the portrayal. I am totally flattered that you have broken your own pattern and reviewed so often! I can't say how much it means to me to have a loyal reviewer such as yourself! And I really appreciated your words about not needing a college degree to do something marvelous!

Kingleby: Thanks so much for your wonderful review! And it's fun to get the relationship between Tom and Allan together piece by piece with lots of effort and risk. I believe that sometimes the greatest things in life don't come easy.

Amanda Hope: Thank you for your awesome review! When I read your review, I too was wondering where I was taking the plot. Guess that's why it took me so long to get this chapter written and posted. But I think I've got things straight in my head now. Hope you like where things are going.

Sabrina: Thanks so much for your encouraging and insightful review! You are so right that movies so often don't 'portray strong three dimensional characters'. I think I've always felt cheated by that and started to write to fill in that void. And yes, Tom is not just some lackey, he's a secret service agent! The movie and especially the novelization belittle that fact. He's used to saving the United States if not the world. He deserves more respect and again that's another reason this story came into being. Thanks so much for seeing my point of view and encouraging me to continue this story!

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Well, I've bored you all enough! Thanks so much for reading!

Cheryl W.