Author's Note: Sorry for the unpardonable delay in posting! I seemed to have written myself into a corner! Slowly I'm digging myself out but the chapter doesn't achieve all I had wished that it would! Thanks for still sticking with the story!

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Chapter 8

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Praying that his sense of direction was still functional enough to get him back to the Nautilus despite the pounding in his head, Tom cut through the streets of the dark unknown city. Venice, now saved from annihilation, was eerily quiet, as if the citizens were afraid to breathe a sigh of relief prematurely. As his footsteps sounded noisily on the cobbled street, one thought consumed Tom. 'What if the hunt's over?' He knew without a doubt that Quatermain had seen the Fantom. It was the only reason that explained the hunter's abrupt abandonment of both the mission to save Venice and Sawyer himself. 'Of course the Fantom wanted to witness his own handiwork, to relish in the destruction he alone could take credit for. Sorry to disappoint you but your plan failed!' Tom internally growled, pleased that he could personally take credit for the Fantom's failure.

Even as satisfaction coursed through him, doubt clenched his heart. If this was the only victory he personally achieved over the Fantom, would it be enough for his soul? If Quatermain had killed the villain, could he live with that outcome? Or would he always be bitter that the Fantom had not died by his hands, that he had not stood over Huck's murderer, watching the fear grow in his eyes even as his life ebbed away. Would he feel that Huck had been avenged? That the Fantom had paid enough of a price for cutting short the life of Huckleberry Finn? For taking away another person that Tom loved?

The answer that poured out of Tom's soul was a resounding 'NO!' He wanted the Fantom to pay in ways more brutal, more lasting than death. He wanted him to suffer, to beg, to pray for death. Tom needed the Fantom to regret with every part of his being that he had taken Huck's life. A sick longing sprang into his head. 'Don't be dead! Don't rob me of my revenge! You don't deserve to get off so easily!'

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Another lone figure traveled the debris covered streets of Venice, his bitter thoughts cold comfort on his trek. 'If I had listened to my instincts, Tom would be alive!' Allan accused silently. 'He was still weak, still in pain and I knew it! How many times did I open my mouth to ask him to stay on the Nautilus tonight! But I never said the words! Not once!'

Clenching his jaw tightly against a cry of bitter outrage, Allan, with a strangling grip on the Winchester in his hand, forced one foot in front of the other. The reason he had not made that request of Sawyer was pathetic and selfish and damning. 'I didn't order him to stay behind because I couldn't bear to see distrust in his eyes again, to have him pull away from me. I sacrificed his life for his affection!' A part of him argued that Sawyer would never have agreed to stay behind but he would not heed those words. 'If I gave a damn about him, I should have sucker punched him and handcuffed him to his bed. I thought I was doing right by him, I thought I was protecting him like I hadn't done with Harry. I didn't deserve to have Tom in my life. I should not have had the chance to fail him!'

Knowing that the next turn would take him to the Nautilus, Allan leaned against the nearest wall and hung his head. Once, he had nearly drowned in regrets and had sworn to never be that weak again. Now that feeling was assailing him again. 'The only thing you can do for Tom now is to fill the vow he asked of you. You're the leader of this bloody league! You have to keep it together and focus all your attention on bringing down the Fantom. There will be time for grieving later…in private.' Sawyer's words came back to Quatermain, "I'll risk everything, do anything to fulfill the vow I've made. Don't try and stop me and don't stand in my way." "Yes," Allan snarled aloud, his eyes dark with grim determination as he adopted Sawyer's earlier pledge as his own, "I'll see it done, Tom. I swear it."

Pushing off the wall, Allan masked his emotions. His weakness had cost him Sawyer, had allowed the Fantom to slip through his fingers. It would not cost him anything else. Striding forward, he turned the corner and came into sight of the Nautilus, instantly noting the injured crewmembers, and the presence of the two league members: Nemo and Henry. He swallowed hard. Some part of him had vainly clung to the hope of seeing a smirking Sawyer leaning against the Nautilus, teasing him with how long it had taken him to make it back to the boat.

"The Phantom is M and the hunt is still on!" Quatermain announced, attempting to cover the wash of grief that welled up in him, his tone too lighthearted, too blasé even to his own ears. His statement earned him Nemo and Jekyll's attention, and the blood staining his vest had Jekyll reaching for him. Brutally Allan refused Jekyll's ministrations, skittering away from the man's reach and too perceptive gaze, determined that no one know that though his hand pressed against the knife wound high on his shoulder, his true agony lay inches below the wound, deep within his heart. 'Don't you understand Henry? I don't matter! Nothing matters except fulfilling my promise to Tom!'

With impatience, Allan clarified M's deception to Jekyll. There was no time for more questions! Action was called for now. The Fantom was here somewhere and Allan knew with the help of the league he could find him. He had meant his next words to be as gruff as his reply to Jekyll's question about M but they weren't. Instead they were choked, drowning in some desperate hope. "Where are the others?"

The voice that answered was not the one he fervently prayed to hear. "Dorian is missing in action and Mr. Skinner must have fled when he realized we knew," Mina answered as she approached the group, her appearance once again the picture of a British lady of society.

Allan's throat constricted, one final question clawing at his heart to be voiced. 'You know there is no hope! You saw the car, the theater. Don't ask! Don't make them say the truth that you can't bear to hear!' But for all his pleading, Allan knew he could not live with the doubt. The two words caught in his throat as he looked behind him, "And Sawyer?" he quietly asked, purposefully avoiding the use of Sawyer's first name, knowing that he could not utter "Tom" without breaking into a sob.

"He'll live to fight another day," Tom drawled coming upon the group from behind Mina.

Allan's heart jolted in his chest as his eyes swung around to land on the sight of a bleeding, disheveled Thomas Sawyer. Sighing in utter relief, Allan closed his eyes a moment to reign in his nearly rampant emotions. When he reopened his eyes, he greedily drank in the sight of Tom. 'God must have a soft spot for young, stubborn, reckless Americans like I do!' Though the boy looked worse for the wear and seemed to purposefully be avoiding making eye contact, Allan had never been happier to see anyone in his whole life. It even beat out his relief the time Nigel showed up just in time to rescue him from being a tribe's dinner.

As all eyes settled on him in shock and something that looked a lot like pride, Tom bowed his head. He hadn't meant to make a grand entrance but then again Huck had always accused him of having a knack for grand entrances. Unwilling to admit to such boldness, he kept his head bowed and swiped at the still flowing blood from his head wound. Sensing Mina's purposeful approach, Tom halted in his tracks, his head snapping up, his eyes filled with defiance that clearly said, 'I don't care how beautiful you are, Mina. I didn't just survive a crumbling city, a crashlanding into a building, a rocket and an explosion only to get my throat ripped out by you.'

The threat in Tom's eyes stilled Mina's hand inches from his bloody forehead. Their eyes clashed in challenge for a moment. When Mina broke the silence, she spoke gently as if she were tending to a skittish animal, "Don't worry. I've had my fill of throats for the evening." Seeing the threat die in Tom's eyes, Mina lightly touched the bleeding gash almost like a caress.

Determining that Mina was no longer a threat, Quatermain released his held breath and lowered his Winchester that moments prior had targeted the vampire. He couldn't restrain the smirk that crept onto his face. 'The good widow didn't rush to my aid! You might just have a chance with the vampire lady, Sawyer…a dangerous prospect indeed.' Before he could decide if he wished to encourage or dissuade the young man from a liaison with Mina, the unthinkable occurred. Ishmael stumbled down the plank and with his last breath unleashed another betrayal that rocked the league. Hard on the heels of that blow, before Allan could fully grasp the implications of Gray's betrayal, they all watched in bitter hatred as Gray stole away in Nemo's observation pod. "I have found the enemy and they are us," Allan bitterly quoted, as he stood a moment longer, his eyes searing into the pod that housed Dorian before he stepped back into the Nautilus.

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Though there was a burning urgency to take up pursuit of Dorian, preparations for departure had to be performed, injuries needed tending to and Ishmael had to be brought aboard. At Dorian's departure, Nemo had strode inside the Nautilus, issuing orders, his steps heading once again for the port side of the boat. Sawyer trailed him, planning on assisting the wounded. But when Nemo stood on the top of the ramp, pointedly not looking to the lifeless body of his first mate as he gave instructions for loading the wounded, Sawyer found he could not tear his gaze from Ishmael.

'Another casualty to this mission,' he angrily tallied, as his heart constricted in empathy to Nemo's pain. He knew what it was like to lose a friend that you valued more than your own life. Slowly, Tom walked down the ramp to Ishmael. Taking off his coat, he knelt down beside the Nautilus's first mate, laid his Winchester aside and tenderly covered the man with his coat. Sensing Nemo's approach, Tom looked up at the captain, his eyes full of compassion and sorrow. "I'm sorry, Nemo. I know what it's like to lose a friend."

Crouching down beside Ishmael, Nemo's eyes did not stray from the covered form of his friend. "He was family…the only family I had left," his voice shaky and filled with grief.

The words seared into Tom's heart, making it hard for him to draw in breath. 'Huck was that for me too. Aunt Polly ..Sid..we've grown too distant to be family anymore. Huck was the only one I had left, the only one who I could bear my soul to.' Unbidden he remembered as an officer steered him from the docks, seeing Huck's lifeless body lying on the docks. Painfully, he had watched as a mortician carelessly threw a sheet over the body as if it was something abhorrent, something worthless and vile.

"I can carry him inside," Tom offered, his voice thick as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Shaking his head Nemo quietly replied, "No. That honor I will do myself." Tom watched as Nemo tenderly slid his hands under Ishmael's body, drew the man into his arms, stood up and walked into the Nautilus as if he held something infinitely fragile in his arms.

'I didn't do that for Huck. I let them treat him like ….like a corpse.'

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Believing that grief was something private, something that no one had the right to witness, Allan had intended to allow Nemo to handle Ishmael's body alone. And had he guessed Sawyer's intentions he would have dissuaded the man from his course of action. 'You would have been wrong to stop him,' he realized as he watched the heart rendering interchange between the spy and the captain. Tom's compassion did not surprise Allan, he had come to know the young spy's kind heart very well. Instead it was the level of anguish that clung to Tom's soul that truly baffled the hunter. With sorrow he knew the younger man's anguish did not solely emerge on Ishmael's behalf.

As Nemo passed him on the ramp bearing Ishmael's covered body, Allan looked away almost in shame. He had not given the captain the privacy like he had planned; instead he had stood there like a rude interloper, taking in every word and gesture between Nemo and Sawyer. After Nemo entered the Nautilus, Allan was once again drawn to the sight of the still kneeling Sawyer who wore an expression that caused a lump to form in Allan's throat. He could not bear to see the anguish on the young man's face. His feet were in motion before he even realized the intentions of his heart. 'There must be something I can do! Someway I can reach him, to ease the obvious pain he's in.'

When a gentle hand settled on Tom's shoulder and his name tenderly was called, Tom forced his eyes from the sight of the blood on the ramp up to rest on Quatermain's worried gaze. "He shouldna died," Tom disputed, his voice far away and drowning in despair.

Instantly Allan knew Sawyer wasn't only raging against Ishmael's death. No the depth of the American's pain went to deep, glittered too brightly from the hazel eyes, poured too painfully from the quiet strained voice. Desperate to ease Sawyer's agony, Allan crouched down to be eye level with Tom, needing to reach the younger man before he teetered off the emotional precipice he balanced upon. "You're right, he should not have died but things happen that are out of our control, for reasons we can't grasp, leaving us to pick up the pieces, to make them into something we understand, that we can accept."

Tom's soul searching gaze almost caused Allan to shrink away, to abstain from such an intimate connection. But he found he couldn't withdraw from Tom now…in fact, he admitted that he didn't want to withdraw from the young man.

Tom's words were quiet, anguished as his eyes pierced into Allan's brown eyes, "What if we can't turn bad into good? What if there is no silver lining waiting to be revealed?"

It was almost as if Sawyer's words had come from Allan's own soul. Hadn't he asked himself those same questions after Harry's death! It was strange to reveal his private revelation to this young man that he had met only days prior, "Sometimes we can't make something good come from something bad." Reaching out a hand, Allan tenderly clasped the right side of Sawyer's neck. "But what I'm starting to learn is that if we hang in there, if we keep fighting the good fight, we'll be blessed with something good again. It won't be the same as what we lost but it'll ease that pain little by little until we can look back not with bitterness for what we've lost but with gratitude for the gift we had if only for a short time."

'Is that how you feel about Harry?' Instantly sprang into Tom's head but he dared not ask. He would not utter Harry's name again. He did not have the right. 'And if Allan does feel that way, is it possible that I can know that kind of peace about losing Huck?'

Seeing uncertainty in Sawyer's eyes, Allan feared that, in his desperation to ease the spy's pain, he had pushed his own philosophy too forcefully upon the young man. "Let's get you inside and have that cut on your head seen to," he said lightly, moving his hand from Sawyer's neck and hooking it under the spy's arm. Gently he aided Tom to his feet, grimacing against the fiery pain his own shoulder emanated.

As he came to his feet, Tom clenched his teeth against the piercing pain in his head while bracing his right arm against his ribs. Through his own haze of pain he noted Quatermain's own flinch of discomfort, taking notice for the first time that blood stained the vest the older man wore. Not one to miss a chance to deflect attention from himself, Tom challenged, "Oh I think my little cut will get tended to 'after' Henry stitches your wound."

"What? This?" Allan gruffly replied, pointedly looked at his shoulder as if he were the best judge of his own wellbeing. His gaze returned to Sawyer's. "Just a scratch."

"And who gave you that 'scratch'?" Tom demanded, standing toe to toe with Quatermain, the look in his eye telling Allan that he wouldn't budge unless his question was answered.

"The Fantom," Allan sneered, his hatred and frustration overflowing from his words. "His weapon of choice seems to be knives. Guess he likes his kills to be up close and personal."

Stilling as if every nerve he possessed was in jeopardy of snapping, Tom couldn't shut out Allan's words or deny the truth of them. "Yeah, he does," he lowly agreed, once again seeing Huck's wound in his mind's eye. Involuntarily Tom's hand clenched. He could almost feel Huck's blood welling between his fingers all over again. With deadly calmness the secret service agent asked, "The Fantom, is he dead?" as if his heart was not pounding in his chest and his breath wasn't catching in his throat waiting for the reply.

"No," Allan growled, his own embroiled emotions too raw to allow him to interpret Sawyer's reactions. "And his true identity is M, the man who put this bloody league together," he announced as he began to stalk up the ramp.

'The Fantom is alive.' At the news, Tom felt satisfaction and bitter disappointment vie for control of his soul.

Allan had taken four steps up the ramp before he realized that his companion was not accompanying him. Stopping his headlong pace, he looked back to Sawyer with a raised eyebrow. The troubled look upon the young spy's face deflated any impatience in the hunter. "We'll get the bugger, I promise you that," he vowed with fervor, wanting to ease the unhappiness in the younger man.

A small nod of his head was Sawyer's reply.

With perceptiveness, Allan knew his words had not lent much comfort to Sawyer, who appeared to be lost and alone in the world. Softly he invited, "I think it's time to have that talk we've been postponing."

Rebellion sprang from Tom's every nerve. He knew what Quatermain wanted him to talk about, was practically demanding he talk about: Huck. Without preamble he stated, "I'm going to help load the wounded."

"Sporting a bullet wound, a bleeding head and who knows what other injuries after today's antics!" Allan countered, his tone turning rough at Tom's defensive tactics and oblivious disregard for his own well being. "I don't think so," he said with finality as if the matter was his to decide.

"We'll talk after I'm through," Tom firmly stated turning his back on Quatermain, his own stubborn will not to be denied. Sawyer wasn't surprised when an iron like grip clenched onto his left arm, halting his motion.

Coming to stand in front of Tom, Allan demanded, "We'll talk now."

Sawyer's easy going mantle dropped from his façade as his eyes pierced Quatermain's. Lowly he warned, "Don't overstep your boundaries. I work for the American government, not you."

"Last time I checked your government wasn't keen on rogue agents," Allan countered just as quietly.

Tom stilled, his eyes narrowed. "What's that suppose to mean?"
"We'll talk inside," Allan insisted attempting to propel Sawyer up the ramp and into the Nautilus. But Sawyer proved to be an unmovable rock.

"Spit it out, Quatermain," Sawyer ordered, a challenge in his eyes.

Allan stiffened at the unfriendly way the younger man said his name. 'Great. Now we're back to formalities. And what I'm about to say is only going to make matters worse between us.'

Misinterpreting Quatermain's hesitation in replying, Tom took a menacing step toward the hunter, his glare scathing, "You think I'm a traitor too? Like Gray?"

"No!" Allan exploded, garnering the attention of the people nearest the duo. Dropping his voice to ensure his next words only reached the American, he theorized, taking care to avoid a tone of accusation, "Your government would never have kept you in the field after you were wounded. I think you've gone rogue to catch the Fantom. You're looking for revenge,"

If Quatermain hoped for a confession, Sawyer disappointed him. Instead the spy turned the tables on the adventurer. "Really? I'm not the one who said to hell with saving Venice, jumped out of the automobile and went after the Fantom with every intention of killing him."

The words cut through Allan's barriers more effectively than the Fantom's knife had his flesh. He almost sighed as his thoughts returned to the peaceful days in Africa. 'I'm starting to sorely wish I was on a hunt in Africa! There I could be assured that none of the bloody animals would walk into my camp and bloody analyze me!' Acceptingthat Sawyer was right, that he deserved the spy's anger for abandoning not only him but the mission, Allan confessed, releasing Sawyer's arm from his grip, "You're right. I was wrong to abandon you."

"This isn't about me! This is about you putting your need for some kind of revenge above Venice's survival!" Tom snarled back even as his own soul cried out, 'like I wanted to! I deserved the chance to take out the Fantom! Quatermain shoulda saved Venice! Not me!' Before his thoughts could burst out of him, he swung on his heel and stalked down the ramp. He walked right past the injured crewmembers through the archway Allan had used to return to the Nautilus, turned the corner and took a few steps onto the street before halting, knowing he was now hidden from view of the Nautilus.

Tom wanted to rage against the world, to unleash a roar of frustration, to punch something without holding back or kick something hard enough to send it into orbit. The Fantom had been here, had been within his grasp and he had slipped away! 'Just like he had at Gray's house! You blew that chance too! You had a clear shot, hell you had a thousand clear shots but you never took them!' Another part of his soul argued again the same points, 'If you would have taken your clear shot at Gray's house when he was taking to Quatermain, it would have ended in a blood bath! And the casualties would have all been the league members!' The less noble part of his nature wanted to scream back, 'Who cares! They were strangers to you! Huck was family!'

"I lied to you," came Allan Quatermain's voice from behind him.

Without turning around, Tom growled cynically, "Everybody lies."

'He isn't going to make this confession easy on me,' Allan groused, determining by Sawyer's stance that the American was barely capable of restraining his raging emotions. "I didn't join this mission because the British government called."

"Then why did you? Or are you going to confess to being a traitor, out for some personal gain?" Tom scoffed, too low in spirits to play nice.

Ignoring the sarcastic accusation, Allan took a steadying breath and softly revealed the anguish in his soul. "Some of the Fantom's henchman came after me in Africa, they killed my closest friends."

Tom swung around, shock in his eyes as Allan continued with self recrimination, "Now I know that was to ensure I played M's little game, that I join his blasted league."

"But why? Did he want worthy adversaries so badly that he formed this league to get it?" Tom incredulously offered. "That doesn't seem right."

"No, no it doesn't," Allan agreed, defeat turning his words soft.

The two men's eyes met and some of the tension melted. Sawyer broke the silence. "Allan, I'm sorry about your friends."

Having Tom call him 'Allan', eased some of Quatermain's pain as surely as the younger man's sentiment. Gently he replied, "And I'm sorry about Huck. The Fantom killed him didn't he?"

Tom's throat nearly closed around the one word he forced himself to utter, "Yes."

Allan flinched at Tom's oblivious anguish, "It might help to talk about it," he suggested quietly but knew Sawyer's reply by the dark emotions in his eyes.

"Talking about it won't bring Huck back, it won't change a thing," Tom coldly retorted, walking by Quatermain heading for the Nautilus.

Allan called out after Tom, "It might bring you some peace."

At the word 'peace', Tom stumbled to a stop. Peace. It was what he longed for, what he vowed to bestow on Huck's soul. But Quatermain was wrong, talking about Huck's murder wouldn't lead to peace, only one thing would. Turning around, Tom said in a tone cold enough to freeze Africa, "Watching the Fantom breathe his last breath, seeing the life fade in his eyes, that will give me peace."

"What if it doesn't?" Allan asked not in challenge but worry, having walked the ruinous path of revenge a time or two himself.

"It has to. Revenge is all I have left," Tom proclaimed, a glare of resolution in his eyes. When Allan only stood there, silent and seemingly too stunned to move, Sawyer turned away and made his way to the closest injured men on the ground.

Allan felt like he couldn't breathe, like Hyde had his hand in his chest and was squeezing his heart in his crushing grip. Tom was only a few feet away from him but it felt as if he was already lost to him. If the young man got his wish, if he fulfilled his desires of revenge, Allan feared Sawyer's honorable soul would never know peace again.

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TBC

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Well, that's what I got so far! Hopefully it won't take me as long to get the next chapter up!

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Replies to Reviews:

Ten Mara: I truly appreciate your interest in this story and your encouragement! Glad I could give you a taste of a Tom/Mina relationship that you enjoyed! And no, I wasn't surprised that you enjoyed the two men making up…though it's back to being a little rocky between them again. Sorry! I'll deal with Tom's injuries and reaction to the bombs in the next chapter so I hope you'll stay tuned. Love all your reviews!

StriderX: Your sneakiness in reviewing twice was so touching! Thanks for the encouragement! I was totally caught off guard that you considered last chapter "one of my best chaps yet"! I loved hearing that! As for the word "tête-à-tête" it means private conversation…(I love using that word! It makes it sound like I'm actually having a top secret conversation!) So pleased you enjoyed the Tom/Mina scenes! Always love hearing from you!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your wonderful review! Glad you liked the elements of last chapter …digs, hair ruffling and "apologies"! I guess I couldn't stand all those happy feelings because I could resist putting some tension between Allan and Tom. Aren't I terrible! Love reading your reviews!

Scruffy-Duck: Thanks so much for reading and leaving me two wonderful reviews! As for it being sad…I guess I'm a sucker for angst! I was so touched by your 2nd review and your appreciation for this story! Thank you! (And I'm not a fan of Mary Sues either so my sympathies go to you!) Hope to hear from you again!

Laura B: Thanks so much for dropping that wonderful review!

Claudette: Thank you for your wonderful review and support! Glad I didn't misinterpret the movie scenes..I would hate to think I missed a perfect opportunity for Allan to dig out Tom at the wreck! And you know Tom so well! Love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

Issa: Thanks for the encouraging review! And yes, my intentions are to continue the story after the movie…as long as my "muse" continues to play nice!

Julia: You had me smiling when you said you missed my "famous dialogs"! That was an awesome compliment that you gave me! Hope I got some fair dialog in here! That's been my struggle lately, knowing what the character would say to each other! Looking forward to reading your review!

Amanda Hope: I loved reading your review! I'm so glad I didn't disappoint you with last chapter! This story is turning out to be like one of those games were they get harder the longer you play! I really appreciate your support of this story!

Kingleby: You got me blushing with your glowing review! And thanks for enjoying the relationship between Tom and Allan and the distrust for Dorian. Hope you drop me a review for this chapter!

Shakai: I loved your review! Thank you! And yes, Tom is the best and hot to boot! (go Shane West!) Glad you like my sick obsession with hurting the one I love. Hope to hear from you again!

Thanks for everyone who's still reading this story! I promise I will finish this tale!

Cheryl W.