[Just as a warning, there will be some light swearing in this chapter as well as mentions of disordered eating (and sleeping? not sure if that's a thing but just in case, you are warned) and a scene relating to addictions and withdrawals. If you'd like to avoid the addictions and withdrawals scene, skip the section titled "Henry." Disordered eating and sleeping is mentioned in "Mina."]

Chapter 4

Demons

Mina

"Made any headway on your end?"

Mina leaned back from where she'd been poring over her notes with a sigh. She pulled her glasses off and set them on the desk, on top of one of the voluminous medical texts that littered the surface. Good thing the table was sturdy mahogany or it might have collapsed by now.

"Not since yesterday, you?"

Henry pushed off where he had been leaning against the door, hands in his pockets and dropped his thin frame heavily into a nearby chair.

"No," he sighed, his head drooped forward on his chest. "I've never seen anything like this. How are we supposed to study, let alone engineer a cure for, a virus that has a one-hundred-forty year jump on us. PLUS it has been tinkered with by people who also have a one-hundred-forty year advantage, not to mention modern-age equipment at their disposal. It's been a week and it feels like all we've done is made attempts at classifying the biological source."

"Amelia said it was mostly swine, called it H1N1," Mina peered at her notes. "But it seems to include strains of avian. Has TRACE made any headway on their end?"

"Some," Henry passed a hand over his face. "Apparently she's going back today to check in, promised to bring us back any data, asked if we had any to send," Henry chuckled, entirely without humour. "She might already be gone, should have been back by this evening."

Sitting back from her notes again, Mina glanced over at the Doctor. He looked pale and utterly exhausted. Dark purple rings settled under his eyes and his brown curls were mussed, white shirt rumpled with the sleeves pushed to the elbows and vest unbuttoned. She felt a stab of guilt when she realised he'd been keeping the same hours as her, since they mostly worked in the same room, and she rarely needed to sleep, if at all. The same went for eating.

"Henry," she said gently. "You need to get some rest. Have the kitchen bring some food to your room."

The doctor snorted quietly. "You don't see Dorian, Quartermain, Sawyer or Nemo resting," he ran a hand through his hair. "They're doing their part, I intend to do mine."

"Oh, they rest, they just do it when you should be." She suddenly rose and strode to the door and caught a servant who was passing by.

"Could you please have some supper sent to my room, for two?"

"Of course, Ma'am."

"Thank you," she smiled and returned to her seat at her desk, pointedly ignoring the amused glare she was receiving from a much too thin doctor as she begun tidying her papers and shifting them, and the books to her bookcase.

Finally, she returned his glare. "What?" she asked innocently, one eyebrow raised. "If you're not going to eat on your own then I'll guess I have to supervise. Can't have you falling asleep on my notes...again."

"That was once," he hissed, now smiling, and started helping clearing the desk. Soon their food was delivered, in typical Nemo style, looking for all the world like a four-course meal at the highest-quality restaurant in London.

"I'll never know how he does it," Henry murmured through bites. Soon he wasn't talking at all, as if his body suddenly remembered it hadn't eaten properly in days. "Mina smiled over her glass of wine. With any hope the food would make him tired. God knew he needed the sleep.

"So what do you think of her, Miss Storm I mean," he asked between sips of tea, after they'd finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away.

"Can't say I have much of an opinion yet," she replied honestly. "I haven't seen much of her, just when she comes to check in. Other than that she's with another member checking in with them or in her room. She seems intelligent, capable and willing, haven't seen her in combat yet so we'll then see if she'll be a liability or not."

"Nemo likes her," Henry pointed out.

Mina scoffed "Of course he likes her, she adores his ship and never misses an opportunity to say so." She took a sip of her tea and smiled into the fire, remembering Ishmael telling her about how 'magnificent' Miss Storm thought the ship was.

"Quartermain doesn't seem to though," Henry added.

"I'm not surprised there either, he's never held youth in high regard... or women," she added wryly. "The only reason Sawyer hangs around him like a puppy is because Quartermain lets him."

"Yes, his 'surrogate son'."

"Mmm," she murmured, finishing her tea. "How about you? What's your opinion on our new Miss Storm?"

Henry gave a small shrug. "Remains to be seen. I'll be interested to see what data she brings back from TRACE, if any."

Mina watched him rub his eyes then attempt to stifle a yawn, a lock of hair falling across his face. Almost unconsciously she reached over and gently brushed it back into place. As she did so the doctor froze, then gave a shudder and grabbed her hand by the wrist with a vice-like grip so fast she almost missed it. He quickly, yet gently, placed her hand on the desk and pulled his hands into his lap, his eyes looking anywhere but hers. She noticed his hands were shaking. The realisation shot a stab of ice-cold fear straight to her chest. Hyde...

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, voice a bit shakey, still not looking at her. They both sat there in silence for a few minutes. Mina finally pulled her hand off the desk into her lap, and waited. A log crackled in the fireplace and Henry looked up, a tight smile on his face.

"You're right, I should get some rest." He stood and made for the door. She felt him stop just as she got to her chair, and he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She could feel a slight tremor through his palm.

"Goodnight, Mina."

In a second the hand was gone and so was the doctor. She heard a soft click from the door closing.

She sighed, releasing the tension she'd been holding. He'd been doing so well...

Henry

As soon as the door to his room had closed and been locked he collapsed against it, sinking to the floor. His breathing hard and laboured, with shaking hands he unbuttoned his collar, trying to relieve the suffocating feeling. It didn't help. His skin was cold and clammy, every muscle tense as he tried to fight off the tremors. He drew his knees up and pressed his fingers to his eyes. To stop them from opening. To stop them from looking right to the chest of vials under the bed.

You know she saw me, Henry. It wasn't you that finally got up the nerve to touch her back after all these years.

"You could have hurt her, I stopped you."

She's not human, Henry. Or do you keep forgetting that? She wouldn't be hurt by me, probably...

The dark chuckle reverberated in his skull, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. His hands tightened on his head, fingers digging into his scalp, as if he could shut it out.

Why don't you just let go? Live a little, live life on the rough side. Or better yet, let me out and I'll do it for you...

"I can fight you off, they don't need you this time," he choked out, entire body shaking in uncontrollable shivers. He gave a violent start when he opened his eyes and realised he'd somehow, unconsciously moved so he was kneeling at the bed, his box of vials unopened in front of him. The laughter was everywhere now, mocking him. It was so assured, so confident he would break down and take the serum. So sure he would remember how the fire from the serum flushed the cold from his veins and the tremors from his limbs, the strength...

"NO," he roared, kicking the box back under the bed where it gave a thud when it hit the wall. "YOU WILL NOT CONTROL ME, I DO NOT NEED YOU, YOU WILL NOT COME UNLESS YOU ARE CALLED AND YOU. WILL. NOT. HURT. HER."

He was standing now, still breathing heavily at his outburst. The room was heavily silent. No laughter, no deep, cloying voice, no Hyde's face peering out from him from the glass. Not that he kept any mirrors in his room anyway.

He exhaled heavily, trying to loosen the tension coiled in his muscles. He looked down at his hands. They looked so pale and still trembled slightly with the shivers that remained. He exhaled again and moved to his washroom, removed his sweat-drenched clothes and sat under the piping hot water falling from the faucet attached to the wall, too exhausted to stand. When the shivers abated he toweled off, pulled on some of the loose pajamas Nemo had provided, wrapped himself in his dressing gown and fell into bed. As he lay there, waiting for sleep to claim him, he felt the slight tremors that were always there but went unnoticed unless he was completely still.

"I am in control. I am in control. I am...in...control."

He drifted into a fitful, yet deep sleep. A giant, hulking shadow watched him while he slept. A light chuckle flitted through the air.

Sweet dreams, Henry.

Sawyer

"Alright, Pillai, please tell me you've got something for me."

The head Armsmen aboard the Nautilus sneered at Tom as he came loping into his workshop for the third time that day. Tom pulled a stool up to the workbench and leaned forward, arms crossed, looking at the man expectantly.

"Back again, you little shit," growled Pillai, his accent a mix of his native Tamil and somewhere near the docks of London. "You only left me the bullets two hours ago."

Completely unfazed, Tom clapped his hands on his knees and answered with his most dazzling, and supposedly contrite, smile.

"I thought that'd be plenty of time, craftsman such as yourself, to replicate a few bullets..."

"Hey, hey! You can take your flattery and your fancy bullets and your cheeky arse right out my shop. I have a thousand other things to do without you botherin' me twenty times a day when you didn't bring enough bullets with ya."

Alright, no flattery, let's try...

"Oh calm down old man, we both know you've been dying to get your hands on one of my modified guns since '91 and that you had the bullets finished an hour after I left." Tom leaned forward, staring the man down. "Now lets see them."

The older man glared at him from under bushy eyebrows for a full ten seconds before cracking a grin and letting out a bark of laughter.

"Ha! You're getting better, Sawyer. You come into anyone else's workshop and they'd have relieved you of a finger for speakin' ta them like that."

Tom smiled as the other man turned around and fiddled around his shelf for a box. Despite their dialogue the two got on rather well. Pillai wasn't overly fond of Quartermain, who never gave him the respect as a craftsman as he came to expect, so Sawyer often got the task of bringing their weapons jobs to the armsman.

A hinged wooden box was slid in front of him by Pillai's dark hand. When Tom opened it he saw eight beautifully made three-inch long half-inch wide bullets. Next he flinched violently when Pillai plunked down his custom rifle on the bench rougher than he would have liked.

"Easy!" he shouted, snatching the rifle up, checking for marks in the wood grain or filigree.

"She's had worse," grinned Pillai. "She's not a pet poodle, she can handle it."

Tom's glare went ignored as Pillai turned his attention back to the bullets.

"I made you eight to test. I streamlined them so you should get a much smoother recoil, the last ones were a bit jumpy. Let me know how they work and I'll make you a few boxes to get you by."

"Perfect," answered Sawyer, looking down the barrel of the rifle, checking the sight. "I'll be back with the verdict in the morning.

Pillai looked at him in panic.

"Don't go shootin' them now in the dark!" he sputtered. "It'll be a bloody waste! At least use the indoor range..."

"Yes sir, of course sir, whatever you say sir..." drawled Tom over his shoulder, almost at the door now.

"Oh get out, you smug little son of a..."

The workshop door slammed behind him, reverberating across the metal walls of the ship. Tom chuckled to himself and set off towards the living quarter area. He'd test them in the morning. Who in their right mind would go up top to test the bullets in the dark? Bloody waste...

As he rounded a corner nearing their rooms, he heard a loud crashing then a muffled "Shit!" from behind one of the doors. The closest was Amelia's. He stopped and looked down the corridor, and seeing no one and no commotion, he tentatively knocked on her door. They hadn't spoken much since they'd met and he wasn't sure how he'd be received.

"Ame...uh...Miss Storm... is everything alright?"

"ugh..." was the only reply he got, along with some more muffled bangs.

"Miss Storm?" he asked again. No reply at all this time. "Miss Storm I'm coming in."

The door was unlocked. The room was dark compared to the bright corridors but soon he was able to make out Amelia, kneeling on the floor, hunched over and not moving.

"Hey, hey are you alright?!" he asked, setting the gun and bullets down on a table near the door, dropping to the floor beside her. She suddenly moved, flinching away from him. Her eyes met his and he noticed they looked a bit... unfocused.

"Sawyer," she slurred. "What are you doing here?"

"You...I heard a noise, you didn't answer, the door was open. What's wrong, what happened?"

She shook her head and blinked, her eyes clearing a bit. He only now noticed she was kneeling on what looked like a small black mat, and on top of that was a shimmering...metal perhaps... surface. There was an array of electrical lights and screens flashing and blinking and it hummed quietly. A foot or so to her right was what looked like her bag she kept with her everywhere and a case of oddly coloured cans and boxes that looked as if they'd been dropped.

"Oh, no, I'm fine. Just a little tired." She slid off the mat, pushing a dial as she went and Tom watched in amazement as the surface and electrical equipment seemed to fold in on itself until all that was left was a compact round cylinder, which she wrapped in what seemed to be it's case and slid it into her bag. Still sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed with her head back, she looked absolutely exhausted. Tom wasn't sure what to do. He put his hands in his pockets and just as he was about to excuse himself she spoke.

"Can you pass me one of those?" inclining her head, eyes still shut, towards the case of cans.

He reached down and grabbed one of them. Testing the weight in his hands he could tell they had liquid in them, and after he handed it to her she used the tab at the top to open it and began drinking it in long gulps. In a minute it was gone and she set the empty can on the floor next to her. Deciding to do something useful he turned on a couple of lights, and she squinted her eyes shut. After a minute she was able to open them. They were completely clear and he saw her cheeks pink a bit, as if she were suddenly embarrassed.

"Um...sorry for just coming in," he said, running his hand through his hair nervously. "I did knock after I heard the noise and you didn't answer so..."

"No, it's fine," she answered quickly. "Um, thank you."

"No problem."

Neither of them said anything for a minute. She began to unlace one of her boots and he glanced around her room. Aside from some typical bedroom furnishings, he didn't recognize any of the smaller gadgets littered across her desk or bedside tables. He did recognize some the books she had stacked on a shelf. Tilting his head a bit he read their titles: Dracula, 10,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Adventures of To...

His head whipped around when he heard another small thud. This time her boot just hitting the floor. She was looking at him.

"Sorry," she said awkwardly.

They just stared at each other for another few seconds before Tom broke the silence.

"So... should I even ask what that was about earlier, or...?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess it kinda deserves an explanation." She looked at him sharply. "Did anyone else see...?"

"No, no just me," he said with a bit of a grin, one that she did not miss.

"Oh good, I was worried someone important might have seen, THEN I'd be in trouble."

She's joking with me. His thoughts were confirmed by a light in her eyes and the hint of a smile that had not been there before. He feigned an affronted expression and decided to play along.

"Hey now! I'll have you know I think I'm a very important person." She was grinning widely now.

"Oh is that right, you and who else?

"Well Quartermain tells me I'm his sole reason for continuing to live at least twice a day, when he thinks no one is listening."

At this she threw her head back and laughed and he joined her. She inclined her head to the spot next to her and ignoring the little jolt of electricity that seemed to shoot through his torso to his palms, he lowered himself onto the floor next to her, leaning back against the bed.

When they both stopped laughing, she crossed her legs under her and sighed.

"That thing I was kneeling on when you came in, that is my time portal. I just got back from TRACE."

"Wait," he said doubtfully. "THAT is your portable time machine? It's so small!"

She laughed lightly. "Modern technology is pretty compact. You should see what we can do with data storage."

"Huh," he said, leaning back against the bed, processing. "So does...that...happened every time you travel through time?"

"So far, yes. We're not entirely sure what causes it yet. One theory is it causes a huge spike in adrenaline, and a near-immediate crash right after. Sometimes I can fight it off, at least for a little while but it always catches up to me later," she nodded to the cans by the door. "Those are energy drinks, kind of like coffee but a little more potent and faster. They help in the short term, not really good for you in the long term though."

"Can I try one?" he asked, intrigued.

"...Sure," she said, an amused grin reaching her dark eyes. She grabbed one of the cans, cracked it open and handed it to him.

Having learned a few things in his younger days, he sniffed it first. It smelled like chemicals, sharp, bitter but sweet at the same time...maybe too sweet, and wrinkled his nose. Normally he might have turned it down but she was watching him and he wasn't about to have her laughing at him, although he thoroughly enjoyed her laughing with him earlier...

As soon as he had taken a gulp he knew it was a mistake. It was fizzy, it burned his mouth and his throat and if it smelled like chemicals it tasted at least eight times worse. He promptly spit it out into the wastebasket next to her bed and started coughing. Over his hacking and sputtering he heard Amelia laughing, at him of course. He should have known it was a trap but soon he was laughing too, if a bit roughly and in between coughs. She had stood and gotten him a glass of water from her washroom and sat back down next to him, still giggling.

Is she sitting closer this time? She definitely is, god, I must look like an idiot.

But she was smiling, at this close range he could see the dark circles under her eyes had faded a bit and her wide eyes didn't look so glazed over. He sipped his water and gave a shudder at the aftertaste in his mouth.

"You LIKE that poison?"

"Not really," she laughed again. "It's more of an acquired taste."

"I think I prefer coffee."

"To each their own."

They were quiet again for another minute, but this time the silence wasn't so awkward. Their shoulders were nearly touching, he swore he could feel the exact point where their shoulders would touch if he just moved a half an inch to the left, but he didn't.

"So, does that...frankly awful stuff...really help?"

"It helps take the edge off, as I said before, for a little bit anyway. Normally it's best to eat something after or else I'll just crash again later."

"Well, if you were hungry now, perhaps Nemo's kitchen is still open."

She looked at him, eyes meeting his, then past him at the clock behind them. "Normally I'd say yes but I should actually be going to bed anyway. It's almost midnight."

"So it is."

Good one, Sawyer. Next time check the time first so you don't look like a total idiot.

He'd stood and was picking up his rifle and new ammunition at the door when Amelia spoke again.

"But, I'll be at breakfast tomorrow morning, around ten. Are you a breakfast type of person?"

He shot her his 'lady-killer' smile. "Why Miss Storm, it's the most important meal of the day."

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smirk.

Damn, she's onto me, should have known that wouldn't work.

"Good to hear, well I'll be there, and I'll leave the 'poison' here," she said, nodding to the cans.

"Thank god, because I'm not sure I can survive another drink. Good night, Miss Storm"

"Oh, it's 'Amelia,' please. Any more of this 'Miss Storm' and I'm going to feel even more ridiculous than I already do sometimes."

"Alright," he extended a hand, this time just a real, soft smile. "I'm Tom, nice to meet you." She took it, her palms and fingers were calloused but the back of her hand was smooth, he absently rubbed his thumb over it.

Amelia's face reddened around the temples, but she smiled. "Good night, Tom."

He let go of her hand and turned for the door. "Good night, Miss Amelia."

He caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes and heard a muffled "Oh for the love of..." as she shut the door.

He smiled to himself, before remembering he was not alone in the hallway, with other crewman walking about on their nightly duties. He nearly managed to suppress the smile as he hoisted the rifle up on to his shoulder and continued down the hall to his own room.