Chapter 44: Things Just Aren't The Same
Mediterranean Sea: October 16th

It had been a very long two weeks and two days for Lupin. Another two days and he hoped he would be released as Nemo promised. Once the Albatross had moved out of range, Nemo allowed him to wander the ship, but now he always needed an escort. It may have been incredibly generous of Nemo to grant him that freedom all things considered, but it was frustrating. His extra time to wander around the Nautilus hadn't been too unpleasant, save for the occasional scowl and the whispers that followed him everywhere. The crew were tolerable enough at least, though Lupin suspected Nemo had given them the order to be so. The League was another matter and he did his best to avoid them.

He knew he was a prisoner and far from welcome aboard the ship. It got easier and easier for him to just stay in his room and avoid trouble altogether. Nemo's library, or what was left of it, still held good books for him to pass the time with. His bed was comfortable and his meals were brought to him, which he had to sometimes force himself to eat as he had next to no appetite. He had everything he needed, but frustration and restlessness built up quickly.

It was deserved perhaps after he'd managed to talk to Robur, but before that point, he felt he had been treated unfairly. He was not ignorant as to why he was so disliked, far from it, but he was not fully responsible for everything that had happened either. Lupin tried to sleep most of his anger off but with little result. With every day that passed, every look of displeasure he received, every comment from Skinner aimed at getting under his skin made his method of staying calm work less and less. He was coming to the end of his tether, though he hoped he could hold out for a few days more. He was becoming more and more reluctant to leave his room. None of them understood why he had agreed to help capture Nemo. No one asked and no one cared.

Lupin had been resting when he felt the ship was no longer moving, though he didn't really know where or why they had stopped. He hoped they were going to drop him off. Even Italy would have been wonderful for him at the moment. The easiest way he knew he could find out was to head to the library and look out the observation window. Had they made it to France early? Despite his reluctance, his curiosity got the better of him and he dragged himself up to see. Besides, he needed a few new books. He knocked on his door and waited for it to open. One of the crewmen stationed outside opened it and he told them where he wished to go.

Lupin was a little surprised to see the small gathering in the library. Ishmael was sitting on a seat near the window and seemed to be watching something sullenly. Mina was sitting beside him. Neither of them spoke. They just stared outside in silence. Looking to his right, Lupin saw a fully dressed Skinner and Quatermain sat at a table with a half bottle of alcohol with them. From here he could not tell which golden liquid it was but he expected it was strong. Lupin tensed his jaw. He knew at once he'd put his foot in it again.

"Well look who crawled out of his burrow. What do you want now, Lupin?" Skinner asked though he seemed to be a little drunk. He sounded upset, so much so Lupin could hardly bring himself to speak.
"Excuse me. I'll come back later," he answered.
"No, no, you should have a look. You should see why we're here and what your oh so magnificent Mysterious Men did," Skinner said, a little louder than normal.
"Give it a rest, man. He hasn't done anything wrong. Now isn't the place nor the time." Quatermain grumbled to the invisible thief.

Lupin retained his grim expression. He looked at Mina, who didn't return so much as a glance. She was still looking outside, clearly not wanting to be involved. The thief gave up and could only walk slowly to the observation window, bracing himself for whatever he would see.

As he walked closer, he noticed Nemo's organ. It had been repaired after the League's first confrontation with the Mysterious Men, but Lupin had a feeling Nemo wouldn't have been happy with it. The wooden elements had all been replaced, which, judging by the new carvings on it, hadn't been an easy task. Lupin was sure it was a different type of wood, not too different in colour, but enough. It made Lupin feel guiltier than he expected an organ to. It had been Nemo's and like everything else he and his group had come across, they'd destroyed it.

The air was a bit cooler near the glass, so he crossed his arms over the jacket given to him by Jekyll to hopefully keep his chest warm. He found himself feeling the cold a lot easier as he was still recovering. The thief was luckily roughly the same size as the doctor which meant he was able to lend some of his clothes. Jekyll didn't seem to mind that part much at least.

At first, all that was visible to him as he looked was a translucent shade of royal blue. His gaze went to the sea bed and he saw a small party of silhouettes of people- divers from the Nautilus. They looked to be returning to the ship. Lupin couldn't see who was in the suits, though he had a feeling that Nemo was one of them.

"They have just buried Pavan," Ishmael explained soberly. "He was one of my closest friends."
Lupin gritted his teeth as he tried to push back his anger. So Skinner was still trying to get him to take the blame.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise the funeral was to be today," Lupin answered quietly.

Lupin found he wasn't angry at Ishmael. The first mate had been decent enough and he had a very fair reason to dislike the thief, though even then he wasn't as harsh as what Skinner had been and he'd been taken. He understood that what Ishmael did was through grief and even then he was not blaming Lupin directly every single time he saw him. Skinner seemed to be a different story. For one reason or another, his presence repulsed him.

"I'll leave you in peace." The Frenchman turned and walked away briskly, he did not have time to leave. When he was at the doorway he heard Skinner speak.
"And off he goes to bury his head in the sand, just like the rest of them, little rats."

With little regard for the time and place, Lupin cracked. He wasn't going to take these insults for any longer, not something like that. He was not going to let Skinner deface the one thing that had given Lupin and so many others something to depend on. Without the Mysterious Men, he would have died a long time ago. That was all he had lived for.

"The rest of them?" he growled. Everyone present seemed bewildered at the fact he had spoken. "You have no right to slander those men. No right!"
"After everything you've done, I've got every right, you idiot," Skinner retorted.
"Non! Your trouble lies with me and Robur-"
"You're all responsible," Skinner shot back. "You're a bunch of thieves and killers doing more stealing and more killing. In no way, shape, or form is your group the victim here."

"I have made no attempt to say that we are the victims. I take responsibility for my actions and I have fixed what I can. I have cared for Nemo's welfare to the best of my ability and I am well aware of the blood on my hands. Do not speak as though I don't care-"
"If you cared that much you'd have let him speak to us so we knew he was alright! You hadn't been gone a week and had to send a message- how do you think he felt trapped like that for weeks- with him?!" Skinner retorted.

Lupin struggled to keep steady. His two weeks of anger had finally found a way to escape. There was no backing down now but he tried to remember this wasn't the time or the place. Lupin's eyes seemed capable of cutting through stone and he clenched his fist. All of his anger found its way into his voice, that sharp heated voice. Quatermain sat up in his chair but didn't say anything, he knew Lupin needed to get this out of his system. It was a conflict that just had to happen. The others seemed to brace too.

"I know how much you have worried about Nemo and Ishmael. I did not even know of Nemo's history with Robur at first until Nemo himself told me. The only thing I was concerned about was saving as many lives as I could by borrowing a month or two of Nemo's time for him to give France the upper hand when she is surrounded by threats. Perhaps if you had asked why he was taken instead of constantly trying to unsettle me, you would understand that."

"What lives was there to save?" Skinner scoffed.

"Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions: soldiers and civilians, allies and enemies! The same lives you fought to protect months ago from Moriarty. I have been in a war, Monsieur. I know what it is like and what it does to you and I will do everything I can to stop others from being involved with such. I was responsible for taking Nemo, yes. I planned it, and although it did not go as I expected the blame still lies on my shoulders. So you may say what you will and do what you like to me, but you will not speak of the others. You know nothing about Les Hommes Mystérieux."

"If you were that bothered, you wouldn't have left clues for us to be able to find you." Skinner shot back.
"What clues? We left nothing!" Lupin retorted.

"Hm, liars as well as thieves and killers."
"Yes," Lupin ground out. "Thieves, killers, and a rumoured murderous captain with a unique ship. Much like your own League, what?"
"Hey, you don't get to compare us-"
"Yes, I do, Monsieur, because we are exactly the same! And yet you know nothing about us. So nothing gives you the right to insult and slander the only reason I'm still alive!"

"That's enough," Quatermain finally warned.

Lupin stopped himself. He swallowed hard and backed away, lowering his head. "My apologies." Then he immediately exited the library, not giving anyone the chance to speak. His escort could only follow after him. Three pairs of silent eyes fell upon Skinner, he grumbled in frustration before he too left to go to his room.

(*A Little While Later*)

Nemo knew when Quatermain came up to the bridge. He knew when he saw Sawyer following behind him with an expression of confusion clear on his face.
"Nemo," Quatermain began.
Nemo turned to fully face him, "Has something occurred?"

Quatermain nodded, "Lupin and Skinner," he said.
"What?" Sawyer asked. "They didn't start fighting, did they?"
"Not physically," he replied. "I didn't let it come to that."

Quatermain explained with as much detail as he could. Nemo could only sigh. He'd been expecting this for a while. It was bound to happen. Skinner had pushed hard, and Lupin had snapped.

"I doubt Lupin will be leaving his room again," Quatermain said.
Quatermain wasn't the only one. "I will leave it for today. Tomorrow, I will see what can be done," Nemo said. "Thank you, for not allowing it to get out of hand. I'll check on Lupin in a while to make sure he doesn't do anything foolish, although I doubt it."
Quatermain nodded. "It was bound to happen, we'll leave you to get on."
Sawyer followed Quatermain out of the bridge with a sad smile in Nemo's direction. Nemo took it as some sort of apology.

Nemo wasn't angry at the commotion, he wasn't sad or stunned or anything that he could really put a name to. In truth, he didn't really care. He was too wrapped up in his grief, trying to hide his devastation. He needed to go, he knew where to go to channel out his emotion, to try and ease the pain in his chest.

He went to the library, tight-lipped and taking deep breaths. He opened the door, taking in the sight of the room and his heart sank. The broken bookshelves were yet to have been repaired, the Nautilus didn't have the materials for them yet. Nemo intended to fix that when he got to France. The observation window worked again, but it had a different handle. His paintings were still all missing, although Sawyer had mentioned to him that there was a detective searching on his behalf.

But now it was bare, cold, and damaged. He couldn't help but see it as a metaphor for his heart. Battered, broken and in need of mending, healing. Things were never going to be the same. He did not want that change.

Ishmael was sat by the observation window, alone. He covered his eyes with his hand, looking upset and sore. He tried looking out the window, out into the graveyard, but he couldn't keep his gaze. He turned away. It was only then he noticed Nemo had entered.

"Ishmael," he said softly. "Are you alright?"
Ishmael looked up with tired eyes. "I'm fine, Captain. Thank you."

Nemo walked over to him gently, letting his mask slip just a little. "You grieve?"
Ishmael nodded, "It shouldn't have been like that. He deserved better."
"He was amongst friends, that would have been enough." Nemo swallowed back a lump in his throat.
Ishmael nodded slightly. "I hope so… Please, excuse me, Captain. I. I need rest."

Nemo helped him out of his chair, but he seemed strong enough to walk back. "Take care of yourself," Nemo murmured.

Nemo watched Ishmael leave, to make sure he was steady enough on his feet. He was satisfied, but now he just wanted to play. He didn't know what else to do. He approached it with caution, running his hands over it.

He'd spent his free time mending the organ as best he could with the surviving parts. It had been a helpful project in helping him distract himself, but he was still devastated to see it broken, one of the last few pieces of his past life. It's sentimental value was uncountable to him.

He ran his fingers down the ivory and ebony keys. He'd saved all of them, thankfully, but one had a small chip in it, and he kept running his finger over it, like it would wipe it away. He remembered Janni, so young and innocent, sitting on his knee, watching him play, and occasionally poking the keys down herself. The keys were the same, but the wood was entirely different. He was lucky he'd even been able to find the wood to fix it, to replace all the wooden components. The pieces of wood were smaller than those needed for the bookshelves, so he'd been able to make-do.

He'd kept the occasional chunk of carved wood from the organ. It was locked away in the chest in his room. That box of painful memories.

He sat down at his organ, a mix of new and old that Nemo feared he'd never get used to, but he was willing to try. The chair felt wrong, ever so slightly different, but he tried to ignore that. The keys didn't look right, sat against wood they just didn't belong in, but they would have to learn.

It hadn't been easy repairing it because of his injuries limiting his movements, especially his hand, and his ankle had affected how long he could stay in one position, but he'd powered through. He'd gotten the cut on his hand dirty more times than he'd wanted to admit and had to clean it every night, not caring much for the pain. It was something physical, and it made more sense than the swirling in his head that constantly plagued him.

But he'd done it. He'd remade it, and it had helped.

He pressed down on the chipped key, and it sounded almost the same. Perhaps he was imagining the difference, wanting it to be different because he didn't want to replace it. He pressed another key, then another. He let himself sink into the melody, to drown in it. He felt the music, let his emotion pour out of him as he lost himself to the song, pressing down harder on the keys. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was enough. He felt tears pricking at his eyes as he lost himself deep in thought, in agonising memories.

He barely managed to finish the song before he finally broke down in tears, weeks of pressure finally made its way out and he could not stop it. He covered his face and tried to muffle his pain. If he was to suffer, he wanted it to be alone.

He was home, but things just weren't the same.