The Stalking Lioness

The Stalking Lioness

By: Tazzy
Rating: G
Summary: Comfort comes from an unexpected source after Tom's shooting lesson.
Distribution: Ask and it shall be granted.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em but I really *really* wish I did.
Author's Notes: I haven't seen the movie since it came out so I've been using the novelization as a point of reference. Also, Rodney Skinner uses a bit of Thieves cant towards the end. A snakeman was often a young boy who would sneak into a building and unlock the door for the thief to get in. They were called that for the twisting and turning they had to do to enter the building. In a way, this was inspired by the following quotes:

Rodney: They'll provide an antidote. Or that's if I'm a good boy.
Allan: And are you a good boy?
Rodney: I guess you'll find out.
(and)
Mina: He worships death. Can we trust him?
Allan: It's not him I'm worried about.

Dedication/Thanks: This is to the people on the lxg_slash community who have given me a new genre to write in and more plot bunnies to herd.


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With a tired sigh, Allan Quatermain unloaded Matilda and carefully began cleaning the elephant rifle. Tom hadn't known how his naively innocent question could hurt Allan so badly, and unable to be reminded of his past failure, he had simply left Tom on the observation deck. The boy himself was only a few years younger than Allan's son had been when he had decided to follow his famous father into the heart of Africa, a decision that cost the younger Quatermain his life.

Shaking his head at the maudlin direction his thoughts had turned to, Allan placed Matilda aside and retrieved the files he had on the various members of this joke of a League. The best way to distract himself from the ghosts that tried to reach out of his memories was to work and right now, Allan had a dozy of a problem. If asked what it was that was bothering him, Allan knew he couldn't put it into words, but there was a familiar itch on the back of his neck, the one that alerted him to danger in the past. The closest he could figure out was that danger was stalking them, like a lioness stalks the gazelles on the Serengeti plains. The gazelle know that the lioness is there, but can't detect her among the brush and grass until she strikes.

"Yer ghosts weighing heavily on ya today, are they?" inquired a Cockney accent from the direction of the closed door to his room. Casually as if he had known that the invisible member of their team had been there all along, Allan closed the files and turned to face the shirt and trousers that were lounging against the door in a nonchalant pose. The shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, looking like Rodney Skinner had just pulled it on to give people an idea of where he was.

"Just what gives you the right to sneak into my quarters, Mr. Skinner?" demanded Allan, folding his arms across his chest and glowering at the self-proclaimed "gentleman thief".

There was a sigh and the shirt folded its arms across the invisible chest. "Fer one thing, there's someone else sneakin' 'round this boat," announced Rodney in a firm voice. "I've caught sight of 'em just as the door's been shut or they've slipped 'round a corner so I couldn't tell ya who they were fer sure, but I thought ya'd like ta know."

Allan frowned. "Captain Nemo just found some strange powder on the bridge and gave some to Mrs. Harker to analyze," he muttered, trying to organize his thoughts even as he felt the hidden lioness take a step towards him, all thoughts of Rodney standing only a few feet behind him slipping from his mind. Nemo had told him of the powder and controls when Allan had been on his way back to his quarters. Now this information from Rodney Skinner, who had no reason to be spreading stories when everyone knew he was sneaking around the Nautilus. "And the controls were off slightly. Ishmael caught the problem and corrected it before alerting the Captain. Now we have a second person slinking around for some unknown reason." He turned back to his files before a slight sound reminded him that Rodney was still there. "Was there something else you wanted, Mr. Skinner?"

"When's th' last time ya got a full night's sleep that wasn't influenced by th' bottle?"

The question was straightforward and filled with concern, both that caused Allan to turn and stare at Rodney with a look of surprise on his face. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ya heard me," stated Rodney, pushing off the door and silently padding over to the table to stand next to Allan. "One o' th' advantages o' bein' invisible is that it gives me a chance ta watch others an' figure out what makes 'em tick. A valuable skill learned on th' street, an' right now I'm bettin' that yer gonna bang yer head 'gainst th' table 'til ya've figured out this little puzzle or yer gonna drink yerself ta sleep tonight ta escape yer ghosts."

"My ghosts, Mr. Skinner, are none of your bloody business," growled Allan, his hands clenched into fists. "And if I choose to drink myself unconscious every bloody night I will."

"An' ya'll be no use ta anyone tryin' ta lead with a hangover th' size o' Africa an' probably end up gettin' Sawyer killed," countered Rydney, his voice soft with concern and Allan could almost imagine his face looking at him. An invisible hand reached out and picked up one of the files, holding it in the air over the table. "Lookin' at these again an' again ain't gonna get ya anywhere, not when yer as tired as ya are now."

The folder was dropped on the table, making a defeated thwack when it hit the other folders and spilling a few of the papers out of their confines. The black letters seemed to mock him from their sheets, taunting him with his inability to discover their secrets that were hidden between the lines, and Allan's head started throbbing mercilessly as he sank into a chair with his hands coming up to cradle his head.

Rodney Skinner was right. It had been too long since he had found a restful sleep without a bottle of alcohol or a dose of laudanum to chase away the ghosts and memories. With Tom hanging around, wanting to learn everything he could from Allan, the memories of Allan's son whom he had lead to his death, were shaking off the haze alcohol and time had cast over them, revealing that their edges could still cut deep.

Had he taken on too much when he had accepted the task of leading this mismatched group? Allan wasn't sure if he could survive loosing another friend or even Tom who was slowly worming his way in to Allan's heart as a surrogate son. He had lost so many friend and family over the years on various crazy adventures, and yet here he was on another, racing to stop a madman. The potential to loose someone close to him was too great, but the walls he had built around his heart to keep others out were not as sturdy as he had originally thought.

Strong arms encircled his shoulders and urged him over to the bed where Allan was encouraged to lay down even as Rodney removed his shoes, making him more comfortable. A cold compress was placed on his forehead, easing the throbbing as most of the lamps in the room were turned down, and a soft hand stroked his hair, easing him into a dreamless sleep.

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Pulling a light blanket over Allan, Rodney allowed a small smile to cross his unseen face as he regarded the older man. The lines carved into his face by sorrow and worry had eased some and Allan was looking somewhat better already. A few hours of uninterrupted sleep would definitely help the older adventurer...

Shaking his head in disgust, Rodney moved over to the table and began to gather up the files, neatly replacing the pages in each proper file. Once, he had taken care of his younger siblings and the instincts to help sooth another's pain was still strong in him, no matter how many times he tried to smother it. He had stolen from others, but somehow a portion of his profits always ended up in the church poor box before he could stop himself.

'It's also why yer goin' on this little journey, mate' he thought, his hands straightening papers automatically. 'Really has nothin' ta do with playin' th' Holy Spirit at th' girl's school. Even if that was a bit o' a lark at th' time.'

As Rodney moved to put the files back on the table, a name on one of them caught his eye. His name. A frown crossed his face as he sat down at the table and flipped open the folder bearing his name to discover that printed on the very sheets he had been straightening was a rough report on him, Rodney Skinner, Gentleman Thief. 'Interestin' readin', Mr. Quatermain. Who else do ya have files on?'

A quick browse revealed that the other folders were files on Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde, Mrs. Mina Harker, Captain Nemo, and Mr. Dorian Gray. Rodney frowned as he studied the pictures from each file. 'A medical doctor an' his brutish alter ego, a lady chemist, a scientific pirate, a government agent, a hunter, a thief, an' th' immoral rich,' he mused, something nagging at the back of his mind. 'Th' rest o' us I can see bein' made inta a team but why was Gray included? Yeah, he can walk inta a gun battle an' not blink but he doesn't offer anythin' ta th' team.'

Reaching over, Rodney snagged a sheet of clean paper along with the ink well and pen. Carefully reading over the file on Dorian Gray, he began making notes on the paper about Mr. Gray's behavior as he tried to puzzle out why such a character would be included.

'Not interested in joining until after the gun battle that revealed his little talent. Even went as far as to try and keep Sawyer off the team.'

'Has yet to contribute anything to the mission other than an acidic wit.'

'Has no profession to speak of.'

'What is his experience?'

A memory surfaced in Rodney's mind and he frowned, as the memory grew clearer. It had been after the gun battle at Dorian Gray's residence when he had been gathering his clothes to redress when a page from a destroyed book had caught his attention. It had been an illustration by the Marquis du Sade to accompany his tales of sexual depravity and degradation. It was hardly the book that a proper gentleman would have out in the open on his bookshelves where polite company might see it, and Mr. Gray seemed to do his best to appear a proper gentleman.

'Why did Gray have the works of the Marquis du Sade in his library for anyone to see?'

Staring down at his list of question, Rodney could not see *any* reason for Dorian Gray to be part of this group. If what Mr. Quatermain said was true, then Mr. Gray was older than the hunter, but the invisible thief seriously doubted that Mr. Gray had the same experiences that the rest of them had. Mr. Quatermain had spent most of his adult life in Africa, Captain Nemo had sailed all seven seas and even duked it out with a giant squid and won if the gossip among the ship hands was anything to go by, Mrs. Harker had helped defeat a dangerous creature nearly paying with her own life in the process, Dr. Jekyll had experience just through having Mr. Hyde as his alter ego, Mr. Sawyer had grown up in the wilds of America, and he himself had grown up in the shadow of White Chapel. From what Rodney could gather from the files, Mr. Gray was nothing more than a spoiled and pampered ponce.

'I think I'd better keep an eye on Mr. Gray,' Rodney decided, capping the ink well and cleaning off the pen. 'He's wrong fer this job unless he's playin' snakeman fer someone else, like that Fantom chap. Could make off with lots o' information 'fore anyone could stop 'em, th' way he's got 'em charmed.'

Nodding decisively, Rodney slipped out of his shirt and slacks, folding them neatly next to the door, and slipped out of the room once more becoming the silent observer. Dorian Gray may be the king in the deck, but Rodney Skinner was always the wild card.

-THE END-