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.

Chapter 12

The Nautilus lay still in the water, listing to starboard, her hull ravaged, her engine, her heart as it was, devastatingly quiet. All seemed lost…until that first hammer struck metal, until that first blow torch flickered to life. Hope was still alive, in Nemo's crew, in the league. Tarnished, tested and tried hope but hope all the same.

Deep in the bowels of the ship, in the engine room where volcanic heat sought to suffocate all those who dared dwell in it's presence, hope did not likewise burn in Tom Sawyer's heart. No, it was necessity, need that shaped his certainty that the Nautilus would sail again. 'She has to!' he swore, swiping soot and a river of sweat from his forehead as he tightened another gauge, delivered another tool to a crewmember, flipped another lever. He would not accept defeat, not now, not when the Fantom had nearly been in his hands…to do with as he pleased.

'And that brings us back to that same question. What will you do when you come face to face with the Fantom, with Huck's murderer? Where does justice end and revenge begin? And do you truly care if you cross that line? What will it matter what state your soul is in after Huck's death has been avenged? You live for that moment alone. For when that task is done …where will you go, what will you do? No one will have any use for you …certainly not the Secret Service after you went rogue, the league will all go their separate ways, Quatermain will scurry back to Africa back to his solitude, leaving only his legend as the only tangible proof that he still lives. You will be alone…and you can not go home…ever…not without Huck.'

Leaning his back against a pipe, Tom tried to gulp in air to wash away the renewed grief that surged through him as his eyes took in his surrounding. Crewmembers bent over gauges, carried pipes, soldered metal sheets over damaged pipes, hammered frayed metal into place and huddled together in groups, devising plans to make the engine come to life again. Each man had his place, had a purpose to fulfill, a benefit only he could bring to the effort.

'They belong here, each and every one of them. This is where they fit, where life makes the most sense to them. I envy them that.' Suddenly the heat was too much, the hammering was too loud, the blow torches too bright, the air too thin. Tom's lungs burned for breath, breath that was elusive even as his eyes squinted and watered, unable to withstand the red hot glow of the torches. His body flinched at every hammer fall as if it were a physical blow he felt upon his own flesh.

Desperately, he stumbled for the door, needing to get out, to escape, to draw in a unsoiled breath of air. But when he reached the door, it was blocked by entering crewmembers bearing another six foot of piping. Slipping to the side of the door to let them pass, Tom braced his hand against the wall, keeping himself steady on his feet as he shut his eyes. Memories slammed into him.

This panic was not new to him. The first time it had clutched him in it's talons he had been trapped in the cave with Becky. For Becky's sake, he had quelled the raging fear, masking it behind false assurances…hope…just like he had given to the League only hours ago. Forcing away that comparison, Tom allowed the full memories of the last time he had suffered this weakness to play through his head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He hadn't balked at the assignment, never even contemplated that it would rouse such a buried fear in him to spring to life. "Hey I can do this one alone, Tom. You don't need to put yourself through this," Huckleberry Finn had gently said as he pulled him aside, his words only meant for his best friend.

"Through what? Doing a little coal mining for a day or two until we find our spy? I'm not afraid of a little hard work, a little mind you," Tom had sallied back, truly ignorant to the source of his friend's concern.

But Huck didn't back down, he never did when it came to protecting his best friend. Meeting Tom's eyes head on he softly clarified, "McDougal's Cave is like an open field in direct sunlight compared to how that coal mine is laid out, Tom. Narrow, cold, dark, stale air that's what you can expect."

Challenge rose in Tom, "You saying I can't handle it?"

A sadness stole into Huck's eyes. "No, I'm saying I don't want to see you put through that kinda hell…not again."

Tom's heart had softened at his friend's concern but his pride would not back down. Putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, he had boasted, "I'll be right as rain, Huck. You'll see."

But he wasn't. Huck had been right about the mine's accommodations…only hearing about them and surrounded by them for hours on end were not even comparable in how they ripped into Tom's very soul. When he stumbled against the mine wall, gasping for breath, Huck was instantly at his side, latching an arm around his waist, easing him down to sit on the ground. Without thought, the elder agent poured some of his invaluable water supply onto a rag and swept the cloth over at his friend's white face even as he put his canteen to Tom's lips and coaxed his friend to swallow the rest of his water. "Remember that time we tricked Mr. Hanson into paying us for a chore Peter whatshisname did," Huck jovially asked, never stopping his ministrations to his ailing friend.

"Yeah," Tom got out around his harsh breathing, his eyes never leaving their anchor of Huck, "Peter was none too pleased."

"None too pleased! He gave us both black eyes!" Huck shot back, claiming a seat beside his trembling friend, his shoulder touching Tom's, instilling a connection he knew his friend desperately needed.

Tom gave a weak smile to his friend in the barely visible light a hanging lantern emanated, "Yeah but he didn't get the coins Mr. Hanson gave us."

A smug smile emerged on Huck's lips, "No, no he didn't." A silence fell between the friends and Tom's panic melted away in the aura of the unbreakable friendship.

"You were right," Tom announced, hanging his head in defeat and shame. "I couldn't handle this."

A hand companionably squeezed the nape of his neck as Huck leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You just did handle it. I was wrong."

Raising his head, Tom denied, "No. I didn't handle it…you did. Without you I'ld be carried out of here on a stretcher."

"Stop doubting yourself, Tom. You're stronger than you think," Huck tapped his fingers against Tom's chest where his heart lay underneath. "And you're strongest right here. No one or nothing can beat you when you put your heart into it. Goodness knows I've tried…" a smirk coming unto Huck's face.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A section of the pipe contacted harshly with the door, jarring Tom from his memories to find that tears mingled now with the sweat on his cheeks. 'Without you, Huck, I have no heart.'

Tom shivered as if a bucket of ice had been poured over his head, as if the thought broke through some feverous delirium he had been trapped within. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dimmed and he no longer took notice of the sweat that streaked into his eyes. Turning around, he stepped back into the hellish center of the engine room to resume his duties. One didn't need a heart to seek revenge, one only needed the means to achieve that revenge and right now this boat, this crippled vessel was the only means he had to seek out that path. A gunshot wound, a sinking city, a car crash, a rocket and three bombs had not stopped his headlong pursuit of revenge…he'ld be damned if a broken ship would hamper the only thing his soul clamored for every moment he drew breath.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Against all the odds, the Nautilus was once again master of the ocean, cutting through the small swells like a honed knife. Satisfaction even pleasure should have surged through Allan Quatermain. Try as he might, he could not stir either emotion to surface.

Pouring himself yet another shot of whiskey, he quickly drained the glass, his eyes not even taking in the surroundings of his room on the Nautilus. No, what drew his every thought, what still robbed him of his very breath were the events of the day.

Betrayal. It burned the back of his throat. M's deception he had never conceived while Dorian's, though he had been leery of the immortal, he had never thought his untrustworthiness would lead to such dark deeds. 'And your blindness may very well lead to a world war! And maybe even worse, it may lead to a world where vampires, invisible men, monsters like Hyde and scientific inventions terrorize the world into submission!' he chastised himself with hatred. Ruthlessly he recalled the incidents of the day. 'Venice was almost decimated, Sawyer nearly lost his life…' his grip on the shot glass tightened as his memories resurfaced of how very close he had come to losing the young man he had come to treasure. Brushing aside his weak emotions, he continued to tally the cost of his failures. 'Ishmael has been killed. The Fantom and Gray have escaped and the Nautilus has been ripped apart by bombs. Bloody brilliant the way you've handled things, Quatermain! With more help from you, the Fantom can just sit back and take a bloody holiday while the world goes to hell!'

Allan's hand nearly shattered the glass it held. His fault! It rang through his soul. This was all his fault! If he hadn't left Africa, if he hadn't joined the league, if he hadn't captured Hyde or trusted M and Gray…and God help him, if he hadn't let Sawyer join this bloody crusade…how much better things would be right now, how many lives would be spared…how much safer Tom Sawyer would be! M had been the conductor but Allan knew he had been the orchestra…down to the very instruments that were played. He couldn't help believing that without him as the pawn, this game would be over already.

'I failed this league…hell the world…just like I did Harry.'

A knock on his door startled him, jolting him from his slumped position to sit up straight in the chair and eye the door with disdain. "It's late," he growled, not giving a damn who stood on the other side of the door or what news they brought. His soul was full up today on caring…about anything or anyone.

"Then why aren't you sleeping?" came Tom Sawyer's serious voice through the wood of the door.

Instantly Allan knew he had been wrong. He still cared about someone, cared why that someone had come to his door in the middle of the night when exhaustion and weakness should have ensured he would be asleep in his own room hours ago when the last of the repairs had been made. Allan wanted to curse himself, to rage against caring, to reprimand himself for nurturing that vulnerability…he knew how it would end…how it would hurt him, destroy him. 'But I won't shut him out, I won't hurt him, I won't see him destroyed…not for me…not for anyone. Not even for his friend Huck's soul.'

Standing stiffly from the chair, Quatermain crossed to the door, yanked it open and inspected the young American. "If you had the sense of a bug you'd be in bed," he greeted with a reprimand, hating to see the pallor of the spy's face, which was in sharp contrast to the dark bruises under Tom's eyes and the stitches on his forehead.

Sawyer gave no reply but side stepped Quatermain and slipped into the room. Spying Quatermain's glass of whiskey on the nightstand, he took a healthy swallow. "Good stuff." Faster than Sawyer would have imagined, the hunter gained his side and snatched the glass from his hand.

Glaring at the younger man, Allan chided, "Pain medication and alcohol don't mix."

Sawyer smiled in challenge, "So how do you know I took any medication?"

Noting that the smile never reached Tom's eyes, Allan gentled the tone he used with his reply, "Because I told Jekyll to shove some down your throat even if he had to turn into Hyde to get it accomplished."

"Well, you're wrong…." Tom began, but at seeing the gathering storm in Quatermain's eyes he relented, really not having the heart to fight with Quatermain tonight. "Pain medication and alcohol do mix…its just that my head and stomach may tend to pay the consequences." In direct contract to his words, he availed himself of the unused glass on the nightstand, poured himself half a glass of the whisky and walked out of Allan's grasp.

Allan, with every intention of snatching the second glass from Tom's hand, took a step forward only to come up short when he saw the look in the younger man's eyes. Yes, a defiance lurked in the depths of Sawyer's eyes but so did wariness, despair, and guilt. Fear struck in Allan's heart. Sawyer had worn that same look when he refused to let Jekyll tend to his wound, knowing the consequences, maybe even welcoming the consequences.

Desperate to not let Tom sink back into that level of despair, Allan closed the distance between he and Sawyer, meeting the younger man's gaze. "I don't know what's going on in that head of yours but none of this debacle is your fault." His look pierced into Tom, seemingly latching onto Sawyer's very soul and swearing to not relinquish it's grasp until Allan was reassured the storm had passed.

"You sure about that?" Tom quietly snarled, his long checked self hatred brimming to the surface, as he swallowed the rest of the contents of his glass, circumvented Allan's reaching hands and made his way back to the bottle of whiskey. Allan met him at the table, his hand wrapped around the base of the bottle while Tom gripped the neck of the bottle, their intentions for the bottle in contrast.

The defiance flared to new heights in Tom's eyes as he lanced his glare into Allan.

"I'm the leader of this bloody group," Allan declared, his tone allowing no denials as he stood toe to toe with Sawyer, "any fault begins and ends with me. I'm the one who played right into M's…the Fantom's hands."

"But I'm the one who let him get away in the first damn place!" Tom shouted back, instantly seeing Allan's shock. Abandoning his conquest for the bottle, Tom took three steps backward. Allan made no move to halt his retreat, in fact Tom envisioned relief in the other's man's eyes at the growing distance between them. 'Did you really think he wouldn't blame you, wouldn't see the mistake you made, wouldn't realize that it was your failure that brought us to this point? And did you, for one second, think he wouldn't hold you accountable for it? You deserve to be accountable for it. The guilt is yours and yours alone. And even you can't deny that. Anymore than you can deny that Huck's dead because of you.'

Allan jumped at the sound of Sawyer's glass breaking into a thousand shards as it impacted with the wall. But his heart thudded more at the shattered look on Tom's face.

"He dies by my hand!" Tom shouted, jabbing his finger into his chest. "Mine! Not yours!" he threatened, his finger now stabbing toward Quatermain. "Not anyone else's but mine!" Turning on his heel, Tom stalked for the door, knowing that he had been wrong to come here, to think he deserved Allan's friendship, or forgiveness or understanding, that he deserved anyone's forgiveness. He had helplessly watched the light die in Huck's eyes for that he deserved to be swallowed up by the darkness that remained! Knowing this to be true, he couldn't fathom why he continued to rage against that darkness…as if he had the right to something better, to a kinder fate!

Breaking from his stupor, Allan lurched forward, his hand wrapping around Tom's forearm to swing the American around to face him.

Instantly, the spy shoved Quatermain backward, breaking the hunter's hold on his arm. Turning around again, Sawyer headed for the open door, shooting down his recriminations at his rough treatment of a man he considered his friend. He never reached the door.

Having always known when kid gloves needed to be discarded, Allan surged forward, wrapped one hand around Sawyer's right bicep, clenched the other hand around the American's throat and drove the younger man backward to slam into the wall. Before the spy could struggle in the hold, Allan pressed against him, pinning him to the wall, his restrictive hold on Sawyer's throat ensuring that the spy's head could not rise from the wall.

Ignoring both the reawakened pain and the betrayal that burned in Tom's eyes, Allan leaned his head down closer to Tom's, his eyes boring into the other man's. "Your friend Huck is dead," his words firm even regretful but their meaning harsh and seemingly without compassion, "and there's not a damn thing you can do to change that! Huck is beyond your help now."

The hunter's words were the cruelest weapon that had ever been welded against Tom, severing that slim thread that had kept his roiling emotions at bay. "No!" he roared, sending the heel of his left hand into Quatermain's chin.

Unprepared for that maneuver, Allan's head snapped back and he staggered under the blow, losing his grip on Sawyer's arm and throat and stumbling to the floor. Raising his hand to his nose, Allan swiped away the blood but never took his eyes off the trembling man that stood over him. The ball was in the kid's court now.

Freed, Tom clenched his hands into fist, wanting to strike Allan, to make him rescind his words and yet also not wanting to hurt the man who had come to mean so much to him. Leaving the field of battle seemed the only viable solution that he could live with. Again he headed for the door, until a hand latched around his ankle and sent him crashing to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of him, choking off the cry of pain that would have filled the room as more abuse was heaped upon his wounds.

Allan's heart nearly broke at Tom's choked cry of pain, and his coiled body but he knew he had to take what measures he had to in order to save Sawyer's soul. Coming to crouch beside Sawyer, who now lay on his side, his breath forced and his sad eyes warily watching the hunter's approach, Quatermain forced himself to say the words that would break through the spy's barriers. "Huck's gone. He's not demanding that you avenge his death…he can't…he wouldn't. You're the one who's seeking this revenge. So, don't lie to me or yourself and say it's for Huck. It's for you and you alone. Huck doesn't need anything from you anymore, Tom."

Seeing the well of despair in Tom's eyes, Allan gently laid his hand on Tom's cheek, "All that remains of your friend is you, your memories of the time you shared together and his love for you. If you destroy yourself, you destroy Huck in ways death never could. Don't let the Fantom destroy what is good in you, what Huck loved about you."

Pulling his look from Allan's intense gaze, Tom struggled to sit up, instantly Allan wrapped his arm around the wounded man, and aided him to gain a seated position, his back braced against the wall.

Closing the door to the room so no interlopers would intrude on the scene, Allan then sank down the wall to sit beside Tom, his eyes worriedly watching as Tom drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his knees and hung his head down.

Quietly, gently, sincerely, Allan confessed, "Huck doesn't need your help anymore, Tom, but I do. The league does. The world does." Sawyer did not raise his head but stilled at the words as if merely breathing was too much of a reaction. Allan knew he had to say the rest, had to admit the truth, vulnerabilities be damned, "But I want more than your help…I want your friendship." Getting no response from Sawyer, Allan wrapped his arm around the spy's trembling shoulders and leaned his head against the bowed blond head. "Don't you understand?" his voice cracking with emotion, "I need you at my side, Tom. Not to fill Harry's place…you can't and I don't want you to. No I need you because ….ah bloody hell this is hard."

"Allan it's Ok," came Sawyer's muffled voice and then the American lifted his head and his dull eyes met Allan's gaze. "I…I understand."

But Allan knew the young man didn't understand, didn't know the depths of his regard, would never believe he was worthy of such regard. Before he could say what he had been struggling to say, Tom spoke.

Looking to his hands that linked around his knees, Tom professed, his voice quiet and fragile as if it would break with every syllable, "Huck was more than my best friend, he was closer to me than any other soul, he was my family, my brother." A tear slipped down Tom's face but he paid it no mind, knowing it wouldn't be the only one. Taking in a breath, Tom closed his eyes and then leaned his head back against the wall, causing Allan to withdraw his arm from the young man's shoulders.

When Tom's eyes opened again and boldly sighted on Allan, the hunter knew the hurting man was ready to bear his soul. 'Don't fail him this time!' Allan chastised himself, remembering how he had let his other chances to be Sawyer's confidante slip through his fingers. 'Be the man he needs, the father he needs, the father you never were to Harry.' "Take it slow, I'm not going anywhere," he assured, his hand squeezing Tom's knee.
Some of the tension bleed out of Tom and he felt the wall he had constructed come down of it' s own accord. It was time to stop running, to stop hiding, to put his trust in someone again, like he had Huck so many years before. His voice was low as he began, "Huck and I got a tip that the Fantom was going to have a meeting on the Hawthorn street docks. It turned out to be a great tip," his voice as bitter as it was sad.

Letting Sawyer reign in his emotions, Allan sat silently at his side, watching the young man's face contort in anguish, wishing that he could ease Tom's pain even as he knew he could not. Life was not that merciful. No, the pain, the guilt, the memories, they were the spy's albatross to bear. All Allan could offer Tom was his support, his understanding and his warm regard and pray to God that those things offered some relief to the young man's misery.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Tom pressed on, knowing it needed to be said, he needed to face the horror again in order to defeat it's grip on his soul. "When Huck and I tried to arrest the Fantom and his lackey, the lackey pulled a gun. I shot him in the chest," Tom's trembling hand pointed to a spot on his own chest, "here."

Like a strike of lightening, Quatermain knew what had transpired and closed his eyes in despair. 'The bloody armor! Like the blokes that came for me in Africa! That bastard wore armor.'

Unaware of Quatermain's thoughts, Tom stammered, "I…I thought he was dead." Balling his right hand into a fist, Tom slammed it into his right leg, "I sensed more danger but I didn't react to it! Instead I walked right into the trap!"

"It wasn't your fault, Tom," Allan soothed.

"Wasn't it?" Tom countered, his red ripped eyes lancing into Allan's. "I'm the fool who didn't finish the job! Who let down his guard! I walked up to the downed man and let him shoot me."

"You didn't let him!" Allan contested, seizing Tom's arms and jerking the spy's torso to the right to face him. "He was wearing bloody body armor! There was no way you could have known that!"

"I sensed…"

"Sensing danger isn't the same as knowing where it's going to come from! If it was, us adventuresome sorts would be bored to tears. Life is unpredictable, Sawyer. You and I know that best of all."

Tears slipped down Tom's face, "But we're trained…I'm trained to plan for the unpredictable, to be prepared for anything."

"You're asking the impossible of yourself! Your government is asking the impossible of you! No man is prepared for everything! Most of the time we're not prepared for anything that happens to us! Thinking that a man you shot in the chest isn't getting back up wasn't wrong. What is wrong is someone hell bent enough on murder to need armor to protect himself. Getting shot wasn't your fault."

Quietly, like a whisper of something too foul to utter aloud, Tom said, "It's the reason Huck is dead. I got shot, fell in the water..." taking in a shaky breath, he continued, "leaving Huck distracted and alone facing the Fantom and his very much alive lackey. By the time I crawled onto the dock…" Tom pulled back and Allan let his hands slips from their grip on the spy. Leaning back against the wall, his eyes ahead, unfocused, Tom finished his tale. "The Fantom was running away and Huck was falling." Unchecked tears ran down Tom's pain creased face, "I held Huck in my arms….willing him to live, begging him to live. But that stubborn fool," Tom's voice broke apart into a sob and he drew his knees tight against his chest and drew his arms around his bowed head, "he…he wouldn't listen, said it was his time. Made me promise to take care of myself and then he died…and left me alone with this gaping hole in my soul." Sobs wracked Tom and he didn't protest when strong arms wrapped around him and a bearded chin rested on his head.

"You're not alone, Tom. Not anymore. And neither am I. You're stuck with me, son. If the African witch doctor knows his spells, you'll be stuck with me forever. Now isn't that a terrifying thought," Allan lightly teased, tightening his hold on the son of his heart.

A small laugh broke up Tom's sobs, "I've heard worse news," he joked back, even though his voice was rough and wavering.

"I bet ya have, I bet ya have," Allan murmured, feeling the uncoiling of the body he held, he let out a pent up breath. "You're in a league of your own, Thomas Sawyer. No one can match you for heart and soul."

"Except you. Made outta the same coin, right?" came Sawyer's muffled reply.

Allan's breath caught at Sawyer's words, at the younger man's belief that he could equal his goodness. "Thought you knew how to spot a counterfeit, secret service agent Sawyer. You're the real thing, son. Not me."

Allan's self loathing roused Tom from his own misery. Raising his head, he looked to Quatermain and was stunned to see tears visible in the hunter's eyes. "I can spot a counterfeit from a wallet in a man's back pocket just by looking in his eyes. I know what's real, what has value and what doesn't. You best try this humble routine on someone else cause I know better. You musta forgotten that I'm not one of your easy to con countrymen," he teased with a watered down version of his cocky grin that Allan had come to love.

"Sure, your country's better at the confidence game..you buggers invented it," Allan shot back, relief flooding him at Tom's attempt at levity.

"We perfected it," the American contradicted and boasted in the same breath.
"And you're proud of that," Allan exclaimed, shaking his head in wonder and disbelief. "Let's get off this bloody floor! My back's killing me!" he said, beginning to put action to words.

"Your back!" Tom scoffed with exaggerated ire, watching the hunter struggle to his feet but giving no indication he would attempt to do the same. "What about my ribs? My shoulder? My head?" he asked, tilting his head up to meet the man's eyes as he now towered over him.

Guilt shot through Quatermain, knowing that, though Sawyer was only naming his woes as a joke, the pain in the other man was no joke, and Allan knew he had only added to it with his rough treatment of Tom. But now was not the time to show concern, not when Tom's eyes fairly pleaded with him to continue the charade, to make light of pain, to not let his perceived weakness dominate his every reaction. Giving the younger man what he wanted, Allan cocked an eyebrow and mockingly chastised, "Oh, now you want to admit you're in pain?"

Gratitude sparked in Tom's eyes. Forcing his lips into a smirk, he sallied back, "I'll admit it if that's what it takes to get some help getting off of this hard floor," reaching his hand up to the already standing Quatermain. Without delay, Allan, bypassing Sawyer's outstretched hand, bent down, looped his arm around Tom's waist and eased the spy to his feet.

Now on his feet, Tom turned to face Allan. Guilt hit him at the stain of blood on Allan's nose. "Sorry about…" and he touched his own nose.

"I like to think I gave as good as I got," Allan smirked back, masking his anguish at costing Sawyer pain behind bold talk.

"Oh, you did," Tom concurred, a quirky smile on his lips, while his arm absently braced his aggravated ribs. Seeing a dark look cross Allan's features, Tom quickly dropped his arm to his side and stood up straighter. "So I guess it's good that we're back to fighting the bad guys instead of each other," a hint of a question in his tone.

"I definitely prefer that to this," Allan's tone quiet, full of regret.

Tom simply nodded his head and dropped his eyes from Allan, feeling so foolish for having allowed the verbal sparring to escalate into something physical. His head snapped up when Allan's hand came to rest on his cheek.

"Everything's alright between us," Allan gently reassured, his eyes holding Tom's gaze. "This..this didn't change anything." He couldn't help but smile as he explained, "It just means we're equally stubborn."

A tentative smile broke out on Tom's face.

"It also means that what I said is true. I'm not going anywhere. Not even if we disagree on matters…because we will."

Tom gave a small chuckle at that, knowing how true a statement it was.
Loping an arm over Tom's shoulders, Allan steered the man to the door. "Now it's way past someone's bedtime…"

"Yeah, I have to say I'm shocked you're still awake," Tom countered, a returning light in his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow in mock disapproval, Quatermain teased, "If I looked up the word incorrigible in an American dictionary it probably has your picture."

"Hey and it's a great likeness too," Tom quirked back, a wide smile on his face as he slipped out of Allan's hold and scampered out the door.

With a sigh containing mirth and worry, Allan closed his room door but remained still, his palm pressed upon the closed door and his head bowed. Suddenly, tomorrow loomed like a specter, clutching his heart in it's cold grip. Tomorrow they would reach Mongolia, would rendezvous with Skinner and would begin the end of this bloody adventure. On a hunt, the prospect of cornering his prey would give him exhilaration like few things could. Not so this particular "hunt". Dread ate into him. The stakes were too high, their chances for success too tremulous, the odds that he could lose something..someone he treasured to the very depths of his soul too great to even contemplate.

Fervently Allan sent up a prayer, 'Let it be me, God. Not him. Let me be the one to deal with M, not him. Don't force him to make that decision! And please, God, I'm begging you, don't let him fall, not him. Not him! Let it be me, please God, let it be me instead.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TBC

Replies to Reviews:

Shakai: Thanks for your wonderful review! I was very pleased that I had you laughing! As for why Tom doesn't trust himself, he's torn between seeking justice and seeking revenge. Sorry I didn't convey that clearly! Sometimes I think through the plot in my head but forget to clarify them on paper! Thanks for sticking with this story..even when you're suppose to being doing an essay!

Someone Reading: I've told you already but I wanted to stress how wonderful it was to get a review from you! Your words, as always, hit me right in the heart! Thank you so much for enjoying my story within the movie! It's one of the hardest things I've tried…trying to stay true to the movie and yet give depth to what we "didn't see". But with encouragement like yours, I'm able to gather my courage and pen another chapter! Thank you for being such a great friend!

Laura B: Thank you for your support review! I'm always worried that I'm tainting what made the movie great. So glad you don't think so!

Claudette: As always, you're review was very insightful! As for recounting the scenes in the movie…well I have to admit I cheat and rewatch the part of the movie I'm about to write my scene about. It takes time but I think details are wonderful things to build on. I'm pleased that you appreciate the way the father/son relationship is growing. Thank you for your wonderful support!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your fantastic review! Glad you sided with me on that whole Mina Quatermain scene…I know others won't be so accepting of that scene! I appreciate that you like how I'm incorporating the movie scenes with the story…it's rough going sometimes and makes me very uncertain of each chapter's reception! Hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

LXGFanGirl: Thanks for the great review! And procrastinating with a fanfiction story…that's my favorite pastime! I appreciate your encouragement!

Julia: The fact that you took the time to really read my story…sometimes reading sentences twice is an absolutely wonderful compliment! Thank you! Hope your internet behaves from here on out! Life without the internet! That makes me cringe just hearing your tale of woe! Looking forward to your next review!

Q1120790: Your review had me "ah shucks"ing! What wonderful things you say! It's definitely going to my head! Thank you so much for your support and belief in me and my writing because that really helps to quiet the jitters I get whenever I post another chapter. Anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

Kingleby: I was overwhelmed by your loyalty! Thank you so much for taking the time to review the last four chapters! That was very kind of you! So glad you enjoyed my reference to painting the fence…guess you're a Mark Twain fan..like me! Thank you for enjoying the emotions I've tried to convey with each chapter! That tells me I'm doing my job as a writer of angst!

Amanda Hope: Thank you for your wonderful compliments! And it's a relief to me that you "loved" last chapter and that you think the emotions expressed feel real! Can't wait to hear from you about this chapter!

Ten Mara: You're always so understanding! Thank you for forgiving me for omitting some of the movie scenes! And because of your review, I felt safe to do more of that "good bonding time on the way to Mongolia" between Tom and Allan. With a story like this which seems to not have any meat to it, it's really hard to keep going for the emotional scenes when you think you're boring your audience to tears! Thank you for encouraging me to still keep to the emotional plotline. You're a wonderful friend whose opinion I value!

Well, that's it for now. Next stop…Mongolia!