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: This is a short chapter but I thought you'ld like proof that this story and it's author weren't dead. Hope this is enough to keep you hanging on. Thanks!

Chapter 9

The crewmember was dead. Sawyer did not need to feel for a pulse to know that blood no longer flowed in the man's veins nor did he have to put his ear to the man's chest to know the man's heart no longer beat. No, he had come to know death's presence too well to be deceived.

Tom's shoulders slumped as he stood beside the man, looking down into the Indian's hollow gaze. He could not help but wonder who would mourn this man's passing. Did he have a wife, children, siblings, parents? Would they want revenge for the cruel loss of this life so precious to them like he sought for Huck? Would they rally his own efforts or try and sway him with words as Quatermain had done, hinting that revenge would not bring peace…to the deceased or to him.

Raising his eyes, Sawyer took in the scope of devastation around him, not only the wounded but the air choked with dust, the rubble that littered the ground and the unmistakable stench of despair, disbelief and death. 'It's a battlefield,' he realized in shock, remembering the ravages of battle in Cuba, the bodies littering the ground like forgotten toys, the perverse dance of combat. The Fantom wanted a war and he had waged one, right here in Venice, against the innocent, the unsuspecting, the undeserving.

'We didn't win today, I didn't win today. I just stole some bills from the pot the Fantom won,' bitter realization coming over him like a winter rain. 'The next hand I play with him will be for all or nothing, victory or defeat, life or death.' He was confident that there would be no amateurs in the next poker game he played with the Fantom, no innocent lives needing to be saved, no obstacles to hinder their confrontation. 'Well, maybe one obstacle,' Tom amended, certain that Allan would try his darnedest to prevent the inevitable. But just as surely he knew the older man would fail in the endeavor. This face-off between he and the Fantom was well overdue.

Allan, whose eyes had never forsaken their despairing watch over Sawyer, tensed when the secret service agent did not bend down beside the wounded man's side but instead remained standing, his eyes fixed on the man. Visibly Quatermain saw defeat weigh down the spy's stance. Sighing, Allan knowingly added another mortality to the tally. 'And Sawyer takes each death personally, as if the fault is his,' came to him like a blow to the chest. Guilt, it was drowning the younger man. And it was not just the guilt Sawyer felt over his friend's death, no the young spy was holding himself personally responsible for every evil deed the Fantom unleashed. Muttering a curse at his own stupidity for not realizing this sooner, Allan headed toward Tom. If he let the spy continue heaping misplaced guilt onto his soul, Sawyer would break under the burden…into a thousand pieces that could never be put back together.

Tom, sensing Quatermain's approach more than hearing it, didn't turn to face the hunter. Instead he kept his eyes on the carnage. "He doesn't value human life," he announced quietly when he knew Allan was close enough to hear his words.

Halting at Sawyer's back, Allan, hearing the young man's defeatist tone and feeling his overwhelming shock that anyone could be so utterly heartless, clenched his jaw until he feared his teeth would crumble under the pressure. Tom was too young, too pure, he should have been spared from the perverse machination of a man who bore a true heart of darkness. Allan knew only too well that now that Sawyer had come to know the fathomless depths of evil, there was no going back, no reclaiming his innocence, no way to wholeheartedly wipe the stain from his soul.

When Quatermain made no reply, Tom turned around to face the older man. "The Fantom knows no mercy, he can't be bargained with or rationalized with," he stated as if Allan would argue the points. "He takes lives as carelessly as he breathes. Only death will stop him…" he quietly ended, "and you want me to let him live", his disdain for Allan's advice like a shout.

"No!" Desperate that the essence of his words reach the younger man, Allan seized unto Tom's arms. Unflinchingly he met the American's blazing eyes. "What I want is for you to live! And wish to continue to live once this is all over."

Taking Quatermain's words as a reprimand for his earlier weakness of soul, Tom tried to yank from Allan's grip but the old hunter had the strength of an elephant and the determined heart of a lion. As Quatermain drew him closer, Tom abandoned his struggles and settled for a white hot glare into the adventurer's brown eyes.

"I've walked the path you're walking, Sawyer. I sought revenge for my son's death and neither heaven nor earth could stop me till I had my son's murderer's blood upon my hands." Seeing vindication in Tom's eyes, Allan continued, his tone turning quiet and forlorn. "But I also have that blood on my heart, in my soul and I can't get it out. Ever. By killing a murderer, I became a murderer. And now I have to bear that shame, knowing that should I meet my son again he would be ashamed of me, of my tainted soul. I did what I wanted to do, not what he would have wished me to do. I know that now."

Allan's words seared into Tom like a knife. Allan had felt what he feels now, had sought revenge as he does now, had paid death for death as he planned to do. And yet Tom could see the sorrow in the older man's eyes, could read his shame and regret like a book. Was that to be his future? Would avenging Huck's death cost him his soul? Could he take the chance that it wouldn't? "I can't let the Fantom live," he breathed in anguish, "He killed Huck."

"What if the roles were reversed, if you died and Huck lived. Would you want Huck to destroy his soul to get revenge for your death? Could you bear to know the cost he paid for that revenge? What he sacrificed for you?"

Allan was treating the thought of a reversal of the two secret service agent's fates like a scenario while it had been Tom's prayer, a prayer he fervently begged God to grant. Quatermain's lucid conclusion of the consequences of such a reversal of fates singed Tom's soul. Always when he wanted to "do over" what had transpired on that London dock, he had sought life for Huck and accepted death for himself. Only now did he put Huck in his position right here, right now, where every good memory was now a bitter reminder of who he had lost, where guilt made his every breath a gift he didn't deserve, where sorrow kept eating away at his soul like an acid. 'Is this torment what I want to inflict on Huck? To feel dead inside and yet be in so much agony that you contemplate any means to make it stop?' The answer was so sharp it seemed to sever his heart.

"I wouldn't want any harm to come to Huck… for all the world," his voice breaking, a tear sliding down his cheek unchecked as he realized the futility of his pledge. Huck was dead, all the harm in the world had come upon him…while he helpless held him in his arms. And the damnable truth was, Tom finally understood he would not have spared his best friend pain if things had turned out differently, if death had claimed him instead of Huck.

Seeing the broken look in Tom's eyes, watching the tear slip down the younger man's dirty cheek, Allan was overwhelmed with empathy for Tom's torment. Without thought, without misgivings, Allan pulled Tom against his chest, the spy's bowed head coming to rest on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around the despairing man. Gently he responded, "And Huck wouldn't wish any harm to come to you. He wouldn't want you to taint your soul with the Fantom's blood. There are others way to get justice for your friend and we'll see it done, together."

Allan's compassionate pledge broke down the last of Tom's barriers. Instantly he wrapped his arms around Allan, knowing that he did not need to hide his vulnerabilities from this man. "I…I let Huck down, I can't fail him again. Not in this," Tom breathed, the trembling in his voice causing Allan to tighten his embrace on the young man.

"You won't lad, you won't," Allan gently reassured, his hand slipping to the base of Tom's head. He felt the blond head nod against his shoulder in mute agreement. When Sawyer pulled back from him, it took all of Allan's will to let him go. With the young man in his arms, he had the foolish belief that he could protect Tom from all the cruelties of the world. As he released Tom, he felt like he was willingly allowing hurt to come to the young man he had begun to think of as a son. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists at the panic that washed over him at the thought of harm coming to Sawyer. 'More harm,' he amended, as he took notice of the physical and mental inflictions that had made their mark on Sawyer.

Roughly, Sawyer swiped away the traces of tears and took a steadying breath. To his surprise, shame did not cling to him at being so emotional in front of Quatermain but instead the painful grip that had been squeezing his heart lessened. It wasn't peace but it was a step in the right direction. His words were heartfelt and sincere as he met Allan's probing gaze, "Thank you Allan. I…I wasn't thinking rationally."

Instead of censure, a deeper level of affection entered the hunter's eyes. "You're hurting and grieving, that always muddies the waters." Seeing the way the American was about to misinterpret his words, he clarified, "I'm not listing that as a weakness, I'm stating it as a fact, for every single soul on this earth."

Accepting Quatermain's excuse for his own corrupted plan for justice, Tom, sighing, let down his defenses. They had proved useless against Quatermain anyway. "So justice is the way to go from here on out. Any ideas how we achieve it?" he strained for a lightness he was only starting to feel.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Allan replied with the same effort at lightheartedness, "Well like a Zulu hunter always told me," he interrupted his tale to press his handkerchief against Sawyer's still bleeding head wound, earning a flinch from the young spy. A twinkle returned to Quatermain's eyes as he met Sawyer's green gaze, "Every great hunt begins the same way, with one single step forward."

Sawyer reacted with a smirk and a snort as he let the other man dab at his forehead without protest. "That's the wisdom of all your great long experience!" he sallied, trying to get back the camaraderie he so valued with the older man. Allan did not disappoint him.

Raising an eyebrow in protest and reprimand, Allan shot back, "Long experience, is it? Well, compared to a wet behind the ears pup like you, everyone's experience is lengthy," his eyes swinging down to Sawyer's eyes before returning back to the spy's wound, but not before Sawyer saw the mirth leaking from the brown depths.

Having finally cleared away the blood sufficiently enough to see the true dimensions of the wound, Allan announced, "This is going to need stitches."

"It doesn't even need a bandage," Tom refuted, however his tone was carefree, gone was the head strong essence the spy had long been projecting. Sawyer's hands snaked out and pulled back Quatermain's vest to reveal the blood stained shirt underneath, "Unlike your wound." With gentle fingers he felt the wound, causing Quatermain to grunt in pain and snatch the young spy's wrist in his grip. The spy's eyes clashed with the adventurer's, "Which, let me tell you in my professional opinion, requires quite a few stitches."

"Your professional opinion?" Allan scoffed, though there was no malice in his demeanor. Dropping his grip on the younger man's wrist, he stated as if the spy didn't know his own shortcoming, "You're no doctor."

"Doctor? No. Very familiar with various wounds? Absolutely. I learn from my experiences. I'm not just a pretty face you know?"

Allan barely concealed his smile and choked back his laughter. It was so wonderful to see Sawyer's lively spirit break through the wall it had been imprisoned behind for far too long. "Pretty face, eh? Well it won't be so pretty if you don't get that wound stitched up. Then what will you have to rely on to get you out of your scrapes, your very limited experiences in life?"

"Well I think I could survive without being handsome but would you survive if you couldn't shoot Matilda anymore? That's what'll happen if you don't get your wound stitched up," Tom reprimanded back, jerking his chin toward Allan's wound as he spoke.

A voice broke into their banter. "You both need stitches. Now get on board," Henry briskly said, surprising the two notoriously unflappable men as he came to stand beside them.

"Jekyll, don't sneak up on me!" Quatermain groused, his heart still pounding at the unexpected trespasser upon their tête-à-tête.

Henry didn't bother to point out that he hadn't snuck up on the two men, in fact he had ambled toward them, trying to ensure Sawyer and Quatermain saw the likelihood of his impending presence at their side. As it turned out, it was all in vain. The two men had been so engrossed in lecturing one another they never suspected a thing.

Having learned a thing or two about the stubborn streaks in Sawyer and Quatermain, Henry, deciding that a firm hand was the only tool that would work, seized Quatermain's arm in one hand and Sawyer's in the other and began to usher them toward the ramp of the Nautilus. "You two come on. I'd like to stitch you up before the Nautilus sets sail…or whatever you say when a submarine leaves port."

It was almost comical, the sight of the wiry Jekyll dragging Quatermain and Sawyer toward the ship like two naughty boys headed for an unforgettable encounter with a switch.

"I can walk, Jekyll," Quatermain growled, shooting a disgruntle look to the doctor.

"Fine, then do so," Henry ordered, dropping his grip on Allan.

When he was not likewise freed, Tom complained, "I can walk too. See, one foot in front of the other," he said as he took large over-exaggerated steps at Henry's side.

"You were barely on your feet when this whole Venice fiasco started. Now with a head wound and who knows what other hurts, I really don't know what's keeping you on your feet."

"Stamina," Tom boasted even as Allan retorted, "Stubborness" at the same time.

"Whatever it is, it will not last much longer," Henry warned, his concern visible in his expression.

"Wanna bet?" Sawyer challenged, a cocky smile on his lips.

"No!" came the answer simultaneously from Jekyll and Quatermain, each giving him a look so similar to his Aunt Polly's scowl that he couldn't help giving a chuckle.

"This is not some wager or contest," Jekyll began but Tom cut in with a patronizing tone.

"Hey, calm down. I'm not trying to go for a world record here."

"You could have fooled me," Allan grumbled, shooting a gentle admonishing look across Jekyll to the young wounded man.

"Two against one, that doesn't sound like fair play gentlemen," Sawyer chastised the two men at his side, changing his tactics to defensive maneuvers.

"Fair? Gentlemen? Who said I was either?" Quatermain countered a gleam in his eyes.

Tom opened his mouth to reply but the trio had reached the base of the ramp and the sight of stretchers baring corpses being loaded into the ship halted his joviality. Solemnly the three men began to follow the progression up the ramp.

"My rifle," Sawyer said as he halted, intending to skirt around Jekyll and retrieve the Winchester from the floor of the ramp where he had left it. Jekyll's right arm suddenly barred his path.

"I'll get it for you," the doctor offered but as he turned to do just that he saw Quatermain scoop the rifle from the ground.

"You shouldn't put further strain on your arm," Henry scolded, reaching for the rifle.

Deftly Allan pulled the Winchester from Henry's reach, objecting at the thought of someone else bearing Sawyer's rifle, a rifle whose twin he held in his other hand. Allan's eyes found Tom's and he could sense the other man's emotional connection to the Winchester. Side stepping Jekyll, Allan came to stand before Sawyer. Reverently he offered the rifle to the American spy. Relief sparkled in Sawyer's eyes as the rifle was returned to his care.

'I should have known Quatermain would realize that the rifle was important to me. Maybe even in the way that Matilda is important to him.' Suddenly the other man's kindness made Tom unable to speak. So it was he could only offer Allan a nod of thanks and a grateful look, hoping the small gestures conveyed to the other man his sincerest thanks.

Whatever protests Henry was going to make over the exchange died as he saw the look pass between the two men. He didn't understand the symbolism but he understood the sentiment. "Well, yes, then let's make our way to your room, Tom." With gentle pressure he propelled Tom into motion and Quatermain fell into step beside the American.

"My room? Why my room? Quatermain's the one that needs stitches," Tom protested, his tone reminding Quatermain of a little boy.

"Because.." Jekyll began the start of another lecture.

"It's closer," Quatermain finished smoothly, shooting Jekyll a warning glare across Sawyer.

Seeing the wisdom in the deception, Jekyll did not protest.

"Liar," Sawyer accused, his eyes twinkling as they met Quatermain's.

"If you don't believe me we can pace it out," Allan replied, saying aloud as he took one then two steps forward, "One…Two…"

Tom gave Allan a playful shove, "You think you're so smart."

"Oh I know I'm smart," Allan replied with a cocky smile.

Henry almost sighed at their antics. It was going to be a long journey to Sawyer's room.

TBC

Well that's all I've got so far. Thanks for "tuning" in!

Replies to review:

Sorry but these will have to be shorter today but please know I love and value each and every review!

Ten Mara: Well Tom's barrier's are crumbling and the bonding is starting to happen! I hope to cover more of that next chapter so I hope you hang in here. Thanks so much for your wonderful support!

Sabrina: I'm so pleased that you like and see the complexity of Tom! It does my heart good to hear that! Thanks for your awesome review! And I should have sent my muse to you 'cause it she was definitely misbehaving!

Amanda Hope: Hope this short chapter didn't disappoint you. Thank you so much for giving me such wonderful compliments.

Silverkitcat: Thanks for taking the time to read AND review my story! As for Huck's death, it was mentioned in the book and also in the "missing scenes" on the DVD. It kinda devastated me. I wanted to believe Tom and Huck would live forever, be rafting somewhere on the Mississippi River till the world ended. Guess that's why I had to try to write a fitting death scene/goodbye scene for the best friends. Hope you keep reading!

Julia: Well we had "some" of the big talk about Huck. I have to admit I'm a little nervous about your opinion on that scene. But I promise tom will open up more to Allan soon. Thanks for your wonderful review!

Sawyer Fan: I was so glad you liked my integration of movie scenes with my scenes. It wasn't easy and I've made it a point to NOT try to write another story within a movie's scenes. Thank you for your continued support!

Shakai: Thanketh you for the wonderfulth review! I loved that you liked my dialog and Tom's southern drawl! Glad you like the emotional and physical torture of our dear Tom! Thanks again for your kind words!

StriderX: Thanks for another wonderful review! So glad the emotions last chapter didn't come off as over the top. I hope the same can be said of this chapter!

Laura B: Thanks for your wonderful support! And eventually Tom and Allan's friendship will give both men some well earned peace. So I hope you hang in there as this story muddles it's way along.

Claudette: Your review really encouraged me when I needed it most! Sorry that I didn't get far on tending to Tom or Allan's injuries this chapter. I had high hopes for covering that this time but my muse had other ideas…or rather had no ideas at all. Well, next chapter will cover those scenes and I look forward to writing Tom's weakness. Thanks for your wonderful support.

Thanks so much for honoring me by reading my story! See ya next time!

Cheryl W.