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: My apologies for the horrible wait for this chapter! I had the worst case of writing block! Thanks to everyone who still has an interest in reading this story! (A big old thank you goes out to StriderX' for expressing a desire to read more of this story!)

Chapter 10

Allan was not a man to hover. He was decisive and self assured and nearly impervious to worry, or had been…until Harry died…until Sawyer came into his life. 'I'm bloody hovering,' he internally growled, as he kept pace at Sawyer's side. To the untrained eye, the spy's progress through the corridors of the Nautilus seemed effortless, Jekyll's grip on the man superfluous but Quatermain knew better. He saw the flare of pain in Sawyer's green eyes, detected a shadow of rigidity in the spy's motions and felt weariness seep from behind the agent's barriers.

Clenching his hand into a fist, Allan battled against his yearning to offer Sawyer his support, support the younger man would not welcome. The agent was barely tolerating Henry's assistance with good graces. Having eliminated that course of action, at least for the time being, Quatermain engaged in the other crucial attribute of a hunter: the ability to wait and watch, readying oneself to leap into action if and when the time came. So the hunter set to that task. Protectively he watched over Tom, calling on his keen insight to interpret every emotion that crossed the younger man's features or sparked in the green eyes, poised to aid Sawyer if the need arose.

Mere minutes later, Allan watched the resilient spy's steps slow, his lively eyes dull significantly in pain and his face begin to regress back to the pallor it sported a few nights prior. The transformation was heartbreaking to Quatermain.

Relief washed over Sawyer as he and his companions turned a corner, bringing them within paces of his room. Whether it was stamina or stubbornness that had kept him on his feet, both were deserting him, rapidly, leaving him weary to the bone and hurting from head to toe. 'I'm starting to feel like I did that time my raft was smashed into kindling ,and got knocked out and was sinking to the bottom of the Mississippi.' With a mixture of fondness and sorrow he remembered who had rescued him that time, good ole Huckleberry Finn.

Having let his concentration on maintaining his façade of wellness waiver for an instant, Tom stumbled slightly, the action barely disrupting the rhythm of his progress. Before the vain hope that his falter had not registered with Jekyll or Quatermain could fully come to life, Allan's strong hand wrapped around his arm.

Chagrined, Tom shot a look to Allan, whose eyes blazed, not with disappointment but with concern at the younger man's weakening. The spy, knowing his pretense of strength was slipping fast, knew he had two options ahead of him: fortify his next layer of defense against such displays of frailty or simply admit to his weakness. The first response was his standard course of action which he had developed as a child when the pain and vulnerability of having lost his parents almost broke his spirit until he constructed the walls to shut out those feelings. And that conditioning had proven an invaluable tool when he chose a profession of danger and intrigue. Yes, that was the choice that came most naturally to him. The second option, to willingly reveal his weakness, that required something that he had only bestowed on one person: Trust. Trust that Huck Finn had never betrayed.

Quatermain, having geared up for bravado and denials from the American, was surprised and worried when Sawyer remained silent and unresisting. Immediately, fearing that the spy was suffering more severely than he had surmised, Allan stepped closer to Tom, ready to fully support the younger man should his strength fail him completely.

Sawyer broke his silence, his admission stunning Allan. "Guess I'm not gonna set that world record after all." Tom was even surprised at the weary acceptance in his own voice.

Caught off guard by Sawyer's seeming capitulation to defeat, Allan knew what that concession had cost the proud, resilient man. As he searched Tom's eyes, he saw hope and misgiving intermingled in the younger man's unflinching gaze. Unerringly, Allan realized that there was only one explanation for the spy's lowered barriers. He trusted him…even enough to reveal his vulnerability to him. That undeserving honor scared and humbled Quatermain, crushing the breath from him.

Seeing that Quatermain wasn't going to reply to Sawyer's words, Henry lightly countered, "I would have had to box your ears if you had set that record," the threat in the words obliterated by one of his trade mark smiles that just barely curled up his lips. Sawyer responded with a matching small smile

Jekyll's reply broke Quatermain from his stupor. "Well, that's kinder than what I would have done," he blustered in a tone too warm and with eyes too alight to exude any malice or conceal the effect Sawyer's trust was having on his heart.

With Quatermain and Jekyll's replies, Tom knew with unequalled relief that his trust had not been misplaced in Allan or even in the mercurial Jekyll. The aching loneness that had been strangling him since Huck's death loosened it's chokehold on his soul. He wasn't alone. Quatermain had been right, he wasn't meant to walk this world alone. Trustingly, Tom leaned more heavily on Quatermain, letting the other man provide the support he was so generously offering to him.

Allan's throat constricted as Tom leaned into his support, realizing that Sawyer was putting more than his wounded body into his care. He was trusting Allan to guard and treasure his soul as well. 'I won't let you down, son,' Allan vowed, wrapping his arm around Sawyer's waist to better support the wounded man. Worry shot through him as he felt the heat and trembling emanating from Sawyer. His eyes swung across to Henry's, their brown depths demanding if the other man sensed what he could. With a small nod, was Henry's silent reply a moment before the threesome stood before Sawyer's room.

"Here we are," Henry announced as he swung open Sawyer's door. Carefully, he and Allan maneuvered Sawyer through the doorway and to his bed.

Reluctantly, Allan dropped his hold on Sawyer and hovered at Henry's side as the doctor gently pressed the American down to sit on the bed.

"I have to get some supplies. I'll be right back," Henry said, his tone half apology and half order as he stalked purposefully for the door.

"Don't rush on my account," Tom called out to the doctor's departing back, earning him a parting snort from Henry.

"Or mine," Quatermain added, gamely. However, when he set his sights upon Sawyer, none of that mirth was visible. Instead worry radiated off of him in an almost tangible wave. Unprepared and unaccustomed to such tender concern for his well being, Tom dropped his eyes to his hands in his lap.

Quatermain, seeing that Sawyer was uneasy with his show of raw emotion, forced his worry behind his own well fortified barriers. Softly the adventurer stated, "I think it's safe to disarm ourselves," reaching for the rifle the secret service agent still held in a death grip.

Tom was almost surprised to see that the rifle was still in his possession, his hand white due to his tenacious grip on the barrel. Raising his head, he met Quatermain's patient gaze. Slowly Sawyer offered up the rifle to the hunter's outstretched hand. Even certain that Allan firmly had the rifle in hand, it was a moment before Tom could force his hand to give up its prize.

Allan did not remark on Sawyer's reluctance to relinquish the rifle, instead, with measured care, he walked across the room and placed the two identical rifles on the table besides Tom's ransacked bag. The secret service badge caught the hunter's eye but he only gave it a quick glance before returning to Sawyer's side. The secret service agent, with his left hand, was trying to unsnap the holster strap that rested under his right arm, a grimace of pain on his quickly paling face.

"Let me do that," Allan insisted softly, gently pushing aside Sawyer's hand. With callused hands, the hunter gripped the leather holster and forced the snap to give way. Only Tom's slight flinch indicated that the action had reawakened pain in the secret service agent's bullet wound. With exceptional gentleness, Allan lifted the holster from Tom's right arm and slid it down the younger man's left arm. "You tolerate pain well. Too well," Allan quietly stated, admiration and sadness sparkling in his eyes. Walking away, he placed the handguns on the table with the rifles.

Wanting to lighten Allan's mood, Tom replied, laying on his backwoods charm, "You know as well as I do that trouble and pain always go hand in hand. Now I know it's hard to believe but I was a real hellion as a boy. If I didn't track down trouble, it came and found me."

Coming back to stand before Tom, Allan wore a devious smile, "I guess some things don't change." Then, without warning, Quatermain swayed on his feet.

Utilizing his lightening fast reflexes, Tom jumped from the bed and seized the older man's shoulders, reciprocating the support the other man had given him only moments prior. "You alright?" his eyes boring into Allan's with worry and inspection.

"I'm fine….just like you are…" Allan answered flippantly, fighting the dizziness that tilted his horizon. He didn't protest as Tom levered him down to sit on the bed. A moment later, when his vision restored itself, he realized that Tom was no longer seated on the bed but instead was standing there worriedly hovering over him.

"You're not supposed to be off this bed. Now take a seat," he ordered, his hand shooting out, latching onto Sawyer's wrist, pulling the younger man back to his original spot on the bed. But Quatermain couldn't help but wince as his knife wound protested the rash mobility he forced from his left arm.

Seeing the other man's pain, Tom, instead of protesting, meekly sank down onto the mattress at Allan's left side and worriedly studied the other man's pained features. Sawyer's uncharacteristic obedience earned him a wary look from the adventurer. "We make quite a pair, don't we?" Tom asked with a cocky smile, finding that he was content, even happy to be at Quatermain's side.

Allan warmly regarded the young man at his side that had come to mean so much to him. With a laugh, he patted Tom's knee. "We do, son, we do."

The word 'son' reeled in Tom's head, foreign and yet so comforting.

Bustling back into the room, Henry asked, "Now who's to be first?" as he looked back and forth between his victims.

Without missing a beat, Quatermain and Sawyer both said, "He is" and pointed to each other.

As if prepared for such nonsense from his patients, Henry nonplussed declared, "Fine, I'll choose," as he set his supplies on the nightstand, wet a cloth and approached the two stubborn wounded men.

A silent curse flew through Sawyer's mind as Jekyll came to a halt before him. He steeled for pain as the doctor pressed the cloth against his head wound. He gave a start when Henry took hold of his left hand but when the doctor began to gently guide his hand to the cloth he understood Henry's intentions.

"Can you hold it there without discomfort?" Henry asked, not noting any new pain flaring in the American's gaze but still worried that Sawyer's other injuries might be aggravated by the action.

"Sure, I can hold it," Tom replied, watching with smug satisfaction as the doctor moved to the man seated on his right.

The gloating smile that Allan had sported moments prior vanished from his face as he realized that he was the one 'lucky' enough to be patched up first.

"Now let's get to work stitching you up, Allan," Henry said with entirely too much pleasure for Allan's taste. Before the adventurer could offer up any protests, Henry began to remove Quatermain's vest. Instantly, Quatermain was insisting that he could remove the vest himself, making Jekyll's task all that much harder as he shoved the adventurer's hands aside so he could try and complete the task.

When Jekyll's progression was halted by a snagged button on Quatermain's shirt, Tom reached his right hand over to release the snag. His hand never completed the journey. Instead with a cry of pain, Sawyer retracted his right arm and clutched the appendage to his chest as agony from his bullet wound and ribs nearly overpowered his senses. 'Wrong move, Sawyer! Wrong move!' he rebuked himself, bowing his head and bracing his ribs with his left arm.

Sawyer's cry of pain immediately drew Quatermain and Jeykll's attention to the agent. In concern, Quatermain almost reached a hand out to touch Sawyer's right shoulder but stopped before he made contact, fearing that any touch would only cause the younger man further pain. "Are you alright?" he asked, almost immediately after the words were utter he cursed himself for the stupidity of the question. 'Of course the boy isn't alright!'

Tom, uncertain if he could manage words, simply gave a small nod in response, hoping that Quatermain and Jekyll would let his blatant lie pass. Missing the pointed look that passed between the other gentlemen in his room, the American was startled when gentle hands wrap around his arms. Unfailingly he knew the Henry stood directly in front of him.

Henry spoke quietly, like he was dealing with a skittish animal instead of a spy who knew the feel of pain only too well, "Let's lie you down."

Drawing in a shaking breath, Tom let it out slowly and raised his head to meet Henry's compassionate gaze. "I'm alright sitting," he reassured, though his voice was strained. Determinedly he maneuvered his right hand down to his lap, wincing slightly at the pull the action had on his bullet wound and ribs. "Besides, you'll make me sit up when you wrap my ribs," he rationalized.

Unable to fight that logic, Henry looked to Quatermain for another valid argumentative point. With one look at the adventurer's alarmed features, the doctor knew that rational arguments were the last thing on Quatermain's mind.

Quietly, knowing how the suggestion would be accepted, Henry offered, "I can give you something for the pain."

Sawyer's negative response was instantaneous. "No, save it for Nemo's men who are really injured."

It took Quatermain's last bit of control to not rebuke Sawyer's comment aloud. 'As if you're not really injured!' But he knew what the spy's comeback would be to such a question, 'I've had worse.' And the belief that Sawyer's reply would not be a lie made something clench in Allan's gut.

Indecisively, Jekyll looked to his two patients, uncertain, after this development, who should receive his attention first.

Calmly, Sawyer ordered, "Now patch up Quatermain," nodding toward Allan. "I'm not going anywhere."

'I'll say you're not,' Quatermain threatened internally, as Jekyll reset his sights on him.

"And you are not to make any attempt to aid me anymore either," Henry ordered sternly.

With a brash smile on his pale face, Sawyer shot back, "You're the sawbones, not me."

Henry, not sparing the energy to bristle at the derogatory nickname, completed removing Quatermain's vest and pulled the hunter's shirt off his left shoulder to have full access to the wound. With a wet cloth, Henry cleared the blood from the wound and pressed gently on the cut, causing Allan to stiffen in pain. "It doesn't seem too deep," Henry announced as he peered closely into the wound.

"You'ld feel differently if the knife had been sticking out of your shoulder," Allan groused, shooting a wink to Sawyer that elicited a smirk from the younger man.

Choosing to let the comment go unanswered, Henry stated, "I'll clean it and stitch it closed." Putting actions to words, he withdrew a vial from his bag, a vial Quatermain recognized from the night Jekyll had tended to Sawyer's gunshot wound.

A shiver coursed through Allan as sharp memories of that hellish night slammed into him, reminding him that he had nearly lost Tom before he had the joy of truly knowing him.

Sawyer, having seen Allan shiver, quietly asked, "Allan, are you alright?"

'I am as long as you are,' shot through Allan with brutal honesty. "I'm fine just worried about the steadiness of Jekyll's hands," he teased, a twinkle in his eyes.

"You are even more ungrateful than Sawyer for my expertise," Henry shot back, a smirk pulling on his lips. "Now I don't have to tell you how much this will hurt," he gently warned, his eyes holding shared memories with Alan's gaze. Quatermain merely nodded his head and clutched the mattress with his hands, bracing himself for a small portion of the agony that Sawyer had endured.

Jekyll's last statement baffled Tom, what did he mean that Quatermain knew how much the doused cloth would hurt? Had Henry tended to a wound to Quatermain before! Then, Tom remembered being torn from a comforting void by unquenchable agony, awaking to find Henry pressing a cloth to his gunshot wound. Unerringly he knew that whatever was in that vial had been on that cloth. Suddenly, Tom knew the men were talking about what his reaction to the contents of the vial had been. 'And Henry's telling Quatermain it'll hurt! Hurt is an understatement!'

A moment later as Henry pressed the cloth to the hunter's knife wound, Allan belligerently concurred with Tom's thoughts as he jerked back from Jekyll's ministrations and thundered, "Ow! That bloody well hurts!" shooting a scathing look to Jekyll.

"Yes, but it cleans the wound and prevents infection from setting in," Henry replied, ruthlessly pressing the cloth again to Allan's shoulder, trying to ignore Allan's grunt of pain.

Clutching tighter to the mattress edge, Allan fought the urge to reaction as Sawyer had to this same process, namely grabbing Henry's hand and wrenching the cloth from his wound. 'And my wound's shallow, minor and not infected,' he thought as he imaged the level of agony Tom must have felt at this same treatment. 'Bloody unbearable!' he concluded, drawing in a ragged breath as Henry finally removed the merciless cloth, and shooting Tom a look of ever-increasing respect.

Reading the respect in Allan's look, Tom felt a blush color his cheeks. Whatever prompted that look, he knew he didn't deserve it.

Amused by the brash spy's blush, Allan stoically bore the stitches Henry carefully used to pull together his cut skin. 'You are one of kind, Sawyer, one of kind.'

"There," Henry said, cutting the thread and eying up his handiwork. "All done. Now I think we should put your arm in a sling to minimize.."

"No," came Quatermain's retort, his eyes swinging from Sawyer's to Henry's, ensuring that the doctor saw the resolve in his eyes.

For an instant, Henry contemplated arguing his point but then the insanity of that action overcame him. "Alright then. Then it's unto Mr. Sawyer," he announced, washing and drying his hands before pulling a roll of bandage from his bag.

Seeing Henry's preparations for his next victim, dread entered Tom's gaze. With no offense meant to his present company, sawbones had never been numbered as his favorite sort of fellows to spent time with. Now after having found himself, with surprising regularity, at a doctor's mercy that dislike had blossomed into full aversion to their kind of help. He tightened his hold onto the bed under his hands to guarantee he didn't once again latch onto Jekyll's wrist to fend off the doctor's well meaning ministrations.

Having seen more than his share of cornered animals, Allan immediately recognized the flight or fight gleam in Tom's eyes. "So how did you end up as a secret service agent, Sawyer?" Quatermain questioned, attempting to provide a soothing distraction to the younger man. But when Tom looked to him with a raised eyebrow, Allan knew the spy saw through his manipulations as if he had just attempted to pull off a child's prank.

Without conscious thought, Tom's grip on the bed loosened at Quatermain's words, a welcome smirk bringing his pale features alive once again. "Is this your sad attempt to sooth my ruffled nerves while the good doctor does his thing?" he questioned with laughter in his tone, appreciating the other man's efforts even as he rebuked them.

Not one to back down, Quatermain countered, "Maybe or maybe I just thought we could pass the time with a meaningful conversation…"

"Right, right," Tom laughed back sarcastically before sobering as Henry stood before him, waiting for his permission to begin his ministrations. With a nod of his head, Tom gave his approval. Watching as Henry began to undid the bottoms of his shirt, Tom answered Quatermain's question, "I was recruited from the Pinkerton agency to work for the secret service."

"Pinkerton? As in the famous detective agency?" Henry interjected, endeavoring to remove Tom's shirt without hurting the young man.

Raising his right arm to aid the doctor's actions, Tom, with a flinch of pain, replied ruefully, "Famous? Infamous, maybe." The next moment, his motions were halted as Quatermain latched onto his right wrist and gently but determinedly straightened his arm down to his side. Then Allan gently freed Sawyer's arm from the shirt even as Jekyll performed the same task for his left arm. Divested of his shirt, Tom couldn't help but sneak a look at his right shoulder. To his relief no blood tinted the bandage but he feared that Henry would object to the bandage's now gray appearance. 'What did the man expect after a crash landing and barely escaping a rocket!'

Quatermain's anguished whisper of "Ah, bloody hell, Sawyer," brought Tom's eyes to Allan's, blazing with denials.

But when Tom saw Allan's eyes did not rest on his right shoulder but instead upon his chest, Tom turned his inspection in that same direction. "Oh, great," he murmured at the sight of the horribly bruised skin that blanketed his chest and wrapped around his ribs, knowing that neither Jekyll nor Quatermain would let him downplay this blatant injury. Yet Sawyer couldn't prevent himself from still trying to brush aside the other men's concern with the injury. Sharing his look between Jekyll and Quatermain, he quirked, "I'm going to suggest Nemo install a strap in his next automobile to keep you in your seat." By Quatermain's angry, reprimanding comeback, Tom knew his efforts to lessen the worry in the hunter had failed miserably.

"A bloody strap isn't going to help when you drive the bloody car through a wall, send it hurling over a river, plow it into a building and have it flip upside down," Allan growled, unleashing his bottled up terror at Tom's ill fated ride.

Accustomed to reprimands, Sawyer offered an unrepentant smile to Quatermain. "You forgot about the rocket I called down upon the automobile…while I was still in it." Seeing that his words threatened to trigger Quatermain's infamous temper into erupting like a volcano, Tom soothed, "Don't worry, Quatermain. If I get to drive another automobile I promise…" here his smile lit up his whole face, "I won't let it get hit by a rocket."

"Bloody cocky American!" Allan sputtered, "Do you have any idea how close you came…"

Soberly, Tom cut in, "I know," his eyes meeting Allan's, the truth unspoken but acknowledged. "I'll be more careful, Allan," Tom softly promised, watching the tension drain from Quatermain at his words. Quietly he tacked on with a smirk, "'Sides, you keep forgetting, I'm not your responsibility."

It was Henry that responded to that statement, "Well, you're my responsibility right now, so let me exam you," he insisted as he pressed on Sawyer's brutalized skin.

Stiffening, Tom clenched his jaw to forestall a moan of pain at Jekyll's probing touch across his painfully aching chest and ribs. His eyes shot to Quatermain's as the adventurer's arm slid behind his back, effectively bracing him as he endured Henry's examination.

Quietly, Allan spoke, "When I care about someone, I take it to heart when they almost get themselves killed. And I try my damnest to keep them safe from harm. If you don't like that.." the older man gave Sawyer a cocky smile, "you shouldn't have been so bloody likeable."

Tom gave a snort of laughter but an instant later a cry of pain tore from him and he recoiled from Jekyll's touch as far as Allan's arm allowed.

"That rib is cracked," Jekyll supplied almost as an apology as he looked up and met Tom's pained expression. The doctor's deft hands ran across the next rib down, only to discover that he had another rib to add to the tally as Sawyer hissed in pain. "That one too."

With a voice breathless with pain, Tom groused, "They feel broken."

"They are cracked in a few places," Henry clarified, explaining the level of pain the spy had to be enduring.

Having moved closer to Tom to better support him, Allan unconsciously gripped tighter to the younger man at the ill news, heaping blame on himself for Sawyer's pain.

"That explains it," Sawyer replied calmly to Henry's news, as if he were familiar with such injuries. His next words confirmed it. "Wrap them tightly, cuts down on the pain."

Instead of rebuffing the spy for telling him how to do his job, Henry gave a nod, picked up the roll of bandage and began to wrap the cloth around Sawyer's torso, tightly as Sawyer had requested.

A grunt of pain escaped Tom as the doctor pulled the cloth snuggly against his cracked ribs, earning him Jekyll's questioning look. "It's alright, keep it tight."

Allan clenched his jaw as if it were him enduring the agony. In truth, he would rather endure pain himself than see it's effects on Tom. When he spoke, he wasn't sure if he meant to distract Sawyer or himself, "So how does one become a Pinkerton agent?"

"Normally, you have some experience keeping the law," Sawyer said as he watched Henry wrap the bandage around his torso. Looking up to Allan he gave his most roguish grin, "But me, I had experience breaking the law."

"Is this where I'm supposed to be shocked?" Allan shot back saucily with a raised eyebrow.

"I would have liked at least a little disbelief," Tom quirked back before continuing his answer. "Well, we stumbled onto a murder again but this time we caught the murderer before he could escape. Guess we impressed someone in Pinkerton 'cause they offered us jobs."

Quietly, Allan asked, already certain of the answer, "We?"

"Huck and I," Tom steadily replied, a spark of sadness gleaming in his eyes.

Finishing the task of wrapping Sawyer's ribs, Jekyll met Tom's eyes. "Now, let's have a look at your shoulder." Putting action to words, Henry tenderly unwound the gray bandage around Sawyer's right shoulder to reveal the stitched bullet wound. The sight drew the attention of Jekyll, Allan and Sawyer. Some stitches were torn, as evidenced by the sprinkling of blood that stained Tom's skin. With a wet cloth, Henry gently wiped away the blood, exposing three broken stitches and the pink tinge of the skin around the wound that exposed the resilient nature of the infection.

"It looks pretty good, right?" Tom stated more than asked, hopefulness in his tone as he moved his look from the wound to Henry's face.

Henry, shooting a look to Quatermain and seeing understanding in his eyes, turned his focus to Sawyer. "I'm sorry, Tom. I have to open the wound up again to try to eradicate the infection, " Henry's voice gentle with apology.

"Doc, don't you ever give out good news," Tom lightly teased, giving Jekyll's arm a companionable pat to let the doctor know that he did not hold him accountable for the ill news.

"I'll work on that, Tom," Henry weakly smiled back, sorry already for the pain the young man would endure again at his hands. Turning to his bag, he hurriedly searched it's contents before retrieving another vial, pulled the cork and handed it to Sawyer. "Take a swallow. It'll help with the pain."

Before Henry's was done talking, Sawyer was shaking his head. "No, I won't take medicine away from men who need it more. Even Nemo is not stocked up enough on medical supplies to treat all the crewmembers that were injured today. You want to help me, then help them. Give it to them."

Seeing the resolve and generosity of Sawyer's heart, Jekyll knew objecting would be a waste of breath or worse, it could dishearten the spy, who seemed already weighed down by some unholy burden. With sharp insight, Henry sensed that Tom's generosity, his sacrifice in this matter, could, by some means, lessen the young man's affliction. The revelation made Henry's choice crystal clear.

As Henry re-corked the vial and placed it back into his bag, Allan almost objected, he even drew in breath to do so. The noticeable relief in Tom's stance stalled his words. Instantly he came to the same conclusion as Henry had. Penance, it was all about penance with the young man. Penance he didn't need to pay for a sin he never committed.

"Alright then, let's get this task over with, shall we?" Jekyll gently said and with a nod of his head, enlisted Allan's help to ease Tom down upon the bed.

"Yeah, I would like that," Tom agreed with a self depreciating smile, readying himself to stalwartly face the coming pain. Watching Jekyll begin to pull back the covers of the bed, Tom knew he would once again find himself flat on his bed. Accepting that fate, he slowly made to stand up to allow Jekyll to pull back the covers fully. As if his intentions were known to Quatermain before he moved a muscle, Allan stood at the same time as Tom, tightening his arm around Sawyer and latching his other arm unto the man's arm to provide further support to the secret service agent.

Quickly, Jekyll pulled the covers down. Seeing that task was complete, Tom sank back onto the bed. Discovering that Allan had repositioned his hold so his weathered yet undeniably steady hands wrapped around his arms, Tom held Allan's sympathetic eyes. "Remind me to pass on the next assignment that involves saving the world. It's hell on my health," Tom joked, attempting to ease the darkness he saw glittering in the older man's eyes.

It worked, for Allan couldn't hold back a bark of laughter at the spy's words. "Saving the world is always a terrible pain in the backside," he agreed with wry wit.

"Now you tell me," Tom accused, light breaking through the pain reflected in his eyes. Accepting his fate, Tom moved to lie down.

Quatermain did not relinquish his hold on Sawyer but guided the man gently down to lie on the bed. Then, turning around, Allan lifted Tom's legs onto the bed. Quickly he removed the spy's shoes.

Ashamed at having Quatermain perform that task, Tom grumbled, "I haven't been tucked in since I was a kid, Quatermain."

Allan's eyes flew to Henry's before meeting Tom's. "Wrong, Jekyll and I tucked you in a few nights ago…course you were unconscious at the time."

Tom scoffed without malice, "You just love holding that weakness over my head. I sorely regret that you found out about the gunshot wound. And I have a feeling I'm going to regret it even more in a few seconds," he said, watching as Henry crossed over to the other side of the bed and seemed to tower over him, a scalpel in hand.

'If we didn't find out about the wound, you wouldn't be alive right now,' ran through Allan's mind but he didn't say the words aloud. He and Tom had already crossed swords at that issue, there was no advantage to going over it again. Deciding that the best thing he could do for Tom was to give him his support, Allan drew the chair he had occupied a few nights prior up to the bed, took a seat, and picked up Sawyer's hand in his. "So, now you are going to promise me that you'll do better taking care of yourself in the future, right?"

Tom, having turned his head to watch Allan's actions, had initially tensed as Allan grasped his hand, unaccustomed to such contact or support. But then the comfort of the gesture washed over him, giving him an anchor against the storm to come. "You're like a dog with a bone, aren't you?"

"I don't give up on what I want. So are you going to give me that promise now?" Allan pressed, nodding to Jekyll to begin his ministrations.

Hating the pain he was about to unleash, Henry gritted his teeth before slicing the stitches with the scalpel.

To Tom if felt like Henry had ripped the wound apart with his bare hands. Nearly crushing the hunter's callused hand that held his, Tom stiffened in agony, clamped his jaw tightly shut and drew in a sharp breath.

Allan held tightly to Tom's hand, not wincing as the man's grip threatened to crush the bones in his hand. Sparing a glance to see Henry's work, he saw the doctor begin to painstakingly pull the cut stitches from the wound. Allan focused back on the white, pain ridden face of Tom Sawyer. "You said you stumbled onto a murder "again"? This a regular occurrence for you…like getting shot?" he softly conversed, willing to do what measures he could to distract the man from his agony.

With a voice choked with pain, Tom replied, his pain pulled eyes focusing on Allan's face, "Guess so…if two times is a regular occurrence."

"Regular enough," Allan returned, drawing closer to Tom as the man gripped his hand even tighter.

Having extracted the last stitch, the doctor again washed over the reopened wound with a wet cloth, his patient stiffening under his hand but not pulling away. "Stitches are out…" he began as Tom rolled his head to face him.

"That was the easy part, wasn't it?" Tom guessed, a sad smile of acceptance on his pale face as his hand loosened its crushing grip on Quatermain's hand, soaking up the reprieve from the sharpest of the pain while it lasted. Henry's nod was hardly necessary, he vividly remembered the agony that had ripped him from that comforting void mere days ago. What he had experience so far today was just the preliminary round. "Go on, do what needs doing," he said, his words and trusting look granting free license to Jekyll.

Touched and yet troubled by the young man's trust in him, Henry hesitated a moment before letting the doctor in him take over in a fashion not so unlike Hyde. Dousing a clean cloth with the contents of the vial that he had used to clean Quatermain's wound, Henry couldn't help but let his gaze flicker to Quatermain's. Dread filled the hunter's usually calm eyes and pain seemed to be etched in his features. With a pang of melancholy, Henry knew that Allan was experiencing the heartbreak of a father who was cruelly shown that he could not protect his child from pain. With memories he thought long since forgotten, Henry remembered his own loving father's regard, his encouragement, his protection, his faith that his son would become the greatest doctor…the greatest healer. 'I thought I could save my father with my potion…instead I condemned my own soul by unleashing Hyde.'

Breaking free of that familiar condemnation, Henry looked down to the pale young man that had risked his very life to save Venice. 'This is a poor reward for his heroics today.' With a brave nod of his head, Sawyer gave Jekyll the consent to start on the next procedure.

When Jekyll pressed the medicated cloth into the wound, Tom gave a sharp cry of pain and tried to force his struggling body to remain still under the doctor's hand. When Allan's free hand pressed his right shoulder down to the bed, he welcomed the strong unyielding hold. Clamping his eyes shut and clenching his jaw, Tom tried to channel the agony, his hand gripping Allan's hand so fiercely that it trembled, as Henry seemingly unmercifully delved deeper into the wound.

To say Sawyer's grip didn't hurt Quatermain would have been a terrible lie but it was a hurt Allan bore gladly to lessen Tom's agony, a hurt he even deemed that he deserved. 'How could I let Tom endure this! Twice! I should have forced him to stay on the bloody ship! I knew he was still warm to the touch, still fighting the infection! How did I bloody think he'd fair after being in the horrific crash with Nemo's damn contraption!' With anguish he studied Tom's agony ridden face. 'He doesn't deserve this!'

Without warning, a choked yell erupted from Sawyer, the agony causing him to jerk away from Henry's ministrations, bringing him to the very edge of the bed. Alarmed, Allan sprang from his chair and stood by the edge of the bed the young wounded man teetered on, his hands never relinquishing their positions in Sawyer's hand or upon his shoulder. "Easy, son, Easy," Allan soothed, his own heart pounding in his chest at Tom's tangible agony. He was nearly undone as Sawyer's green eyes opened, stealing his breath away with the depths of their unhidden pain. Instinctively his hand abandoned Sawyer's shoulder and tenderly brushed back the sweat soaked bangs that hung in the young man's eyes before his palm came to rest on the spy's cheek.

Henry hated to interrupt the tender scene between the would be father and son, "I..I've cleansed it as well as I could. I'll stitch it up again."

"Alright," Tom breathlessly replied, swallowing hard he struggled to regain the normal measure of his intake of air. When the needle sank into his already raw flesh, Tom felt his air leave him in a whoosh, which was barely concealed as a grunt. Locking his jaw, he ground his teeth together for the duration of the torture.

Sliding his hand from Sawyer's face down to his shoulder, Allan gave a reassuring squeeze to the taut muscles under his touch. Whatever boyish naivety Sawyer's looks emitted, Allan had come to see the hardened resolve and steely strength that was beneath the veneer. It made him proud as much as it made him sad for he knew only too well the source of that kind of strength: a hellish gauntlet of bitter suffering and despair.

Henry, with a skill that told Quatermain that Jekyll had been hard at work mending the Parisians while Hyde had done his worst to wipe them from the earth, quickly restitched the wound as if he could do it blindfolded and not slant a row of the stitches. "All done," Jekyll breathed in relief as if he himself were enduring the agony of each stitch, noting that Sawyer's taut body relaxed and his hand relinquished it's death grip on Allan's hand when he uttered those words. "Can you sit up so I can properly wrap a bandage around it?" his inquiry tentative and gentle, wary that the young man's pride would answer too boldly for the spy's body's wellbeing. He need not have worried.

Meeting Henry's assessing gaze, the spy gave his reply quietly and lacking in it's usual pride and spirit. "I'll need some help."

Immediately, Allan retorted, a smile weakening the worry in his expression, "Oh, getting help wasn't an option, my boy. Now let's get you up for a spell." Putting words to action, Allan, taking a seat on the bed beside Sawyer, securely gripped Sawyer's left arm with one hand and gently slid his other hand under Sawyer's shoulders as Tom's made an effort to sit up. Slowly and with infinite gentleness, Allan eased Sawyer into a sitting position, striving hard to not aggravate the spy's numerous injuries with his bracing arm.

When Sawyer was fully upright, Allan took one look at the bone whiteness of the spy's features and, fearing that Sawyer would pass out, he instantly drew the young man against his chest. To Allan's surprise, Tom didn't protest the action. Instead, with a relieved sigh, the young man dropped his head forward to lean against Allan's neck.

"Wake me up when we leave port," Tom murmured, unconsciousness already pulling him under its spell.

Suddenly the young man went boneless in Allan's grasp, forcing the adventurer to quickly wrap his other arm around Sawyer's already abused waist so the young man would not topple forward right out of his protective embrace. For the second time in his short acquaintance with the American, Allan found himself fully entrusted with Sawyer's weakened body and ravaged soul. No matter how acutely that first experience had affected Allan, it paled in comparison with the overwhelming emotions that assaulted him now, though Sawyer's condition was not dire as it had previously been. For this time, Tom didn't just remind him of his son…now he felt like he was his son.

TBC

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Replies to Reviews:

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StriderX: Where would I be without your wonderful, caring support! Thank you so much for the encouraging 2nd email! It really touched my heart that you wanted to read more of my story and you were worried that I was either stumped or quitting! (I was definitely stumped…like into the ground and quitting didn't seem like such a bad idea a week ago!) Thank you for accepting my faults and giving me that much appreciated encouragement to continue! And you know I love that I almost had you crying last chapter. (I know, I'm mean …but you already know that!) Your compliments mean the world to me! Thank you again for being a wonderful friend!

Shakai: It's so awesome that you enjoy my characterization of Tom and the banter that I so love to write! And the fact that you love Tom emotional torture…I think that cements us as friends! Thank you so much for your wonderful compliments!

Laura B: Hope you're still hanging in there! Thanks for your support!

Julia: Thank you for your wonderful review! It's so rewarding to know you enjoy the "playfulness and sarcasm" that I tried to write with some credibility. As for Henry's part in the story, I'm amazed how many times I've put him into the story and how much I've come to like his character. Glad you like to see him as well. Thanks again for your support!

Claudette: Ah…as for your confusion on a turn of phrase last chapter…the confusion is my fault. I knew what I wanted to express but did a poor job of conveying it. What I wanted to express was that Tom realized that if he had been killed, Huck would now be experiencing pain and guilt and loneliness and the desire for revenge…just like Tom was now. A heavy burden to wish on anyone. Sorry about mishandling that section. Thank you so much for your friendship! I always enjoy your insight and guidance. And yes, I have to admit it did seem like three characters from LOTR have been influencing our heroes in this story…I'll have to banish those elves and ranger back to Middle earth where they belong. After all, they have their own world to save from a world war…Thanks again for your wonderful review!

Sawyer Fan: Thank you for your patience and wonderful support! Glad you liked Tom's crumbling defenses…I'm a sap for that kind of stuff too! Thanks again for your review!
Ten Mara: I loved getting your review! I'm so happy that you enjoy reading about the intricate details of Tom and Allan's relationship! And your words made me realize that Tom was truly in need of Henry's support which helped me get this chapter together. As for the 'leader of men' speech…that'll hit next chapter. Thank you so much for your wonderful support!

Amanda Hope: Your compliments and faith in my writing had me smiling! I'm so glad I didn't disappoint you last chapter! Thanks so much for taking the time to read and review this story with such generosity.

BlueJelloFan: Thank you so very much for your wonderful review! It rocked! One of the best compliments I can get is when someone reads something longwinded that I wrote in one sitting! Thank you for taking the time to write me that encouraging review!

Well…that's all folks until next time. I 'think' my writer's block is gone but you never can tell! Thanks for everyone who took the time to read this chapter!

Cheryl W.