Title: Circling the Drain
Fandom: Being Human
Spoilers: 4x01 "Eve of the War".
Warnings: Character death. A funeral.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters (I wish!), or make any money writing this stuff.
Summary: AU. A vampire, a werewolf and a ghost share a flat above a barber's shop. You know how this one goes, right? But what if that angel never spoke to Leo over the radio?
Sunday lunch: a well-rehearsed routine. Pearl fusses with the Yorkshire pudding. Leo carves the joint – roast beef, well-cooked so there's not the slightest hint of blood. Determined normalcy, and it's setting Hal's teeth on edge. He wants to shout, to shake them both, but there's a silent plea in Leo's eyes.
So he places the mats on the table and arranges the cutlery. He adjusts the cruet set so that it's parallel to the edges of the table, and he straightens the chairs, just so. And all three of them studiously ignore the calendar where today is circled in red.
The moon runs on its own timetable, inexorable and without pity.
That evening, when Hal has finished tightening the straps that make his friend a voluntary prisoner, he drags Pearl into the room. This could be the last time – they all know it, even if they won't all admit it – and he won't let Leo go without the proper goodbyes.
Hal has lived for centuries. He's seen it all, done it all, endured everything that the world has thrown at him. But that night is one of the longest of his life.
When he walks out of Leo's room in the morning, Pearl is waiting. He chokes on the words, but she sees his face and the light goes out of her eyes.
She cries. Huge sobs that rack her body as she totters to Leo's bedside; muffled, exhausted weeping as they clean the body and lay it out. And when Hal pulls the sheet up over his friend's face he feels the tears well up inside him too, but something in him just won't yield and the tears remain unshed.
Pearl is still crying as she cooks the dinner. Shepherd's pie: one of Leo's favourites, a special treat for the day after a full moon. Hal lays the table – two settings, because Leo was his best friend and he's not yet ready to say goodbye. To brave a future without him.
When Pearl takes the pie out of the oven, he sees that she's cooked for two. He's not the only one who isn't ready to let go. Pearl's eyes glisten when she hands him his plate, and the food tastes like salt.
Of course, it falls to Hal to take care of the arrangements, to stand as the chief mourner. Prayers, crosses: he's come a long way since he was trapped in that monastery in Budapest. He swallows thickly, and tries to pretend that the remembered blood isn't bright and rusty on his tongue.
He stares at the box of mahogany and brass. Leo had a good life. He's at peace now – what's inside the coffin is nothing more than a shell. Hal should be glad, but all he feels is abandoned. Even with the extra sting of self-pity, the tears still won't come.
Hal marks the days as they drag by, but he's not counting down to a full moon now. It's the first of the month he's dreading: the day the lease expires.
In the end, they don't wait to be evicted. Neither of them can stomach the idea of seeing strangers take possession of their home. And Hal is frightened by what he might do if they sent a bailiff to shout and threaten and force his way inside.
He has a little money set aside for emergencies, and he supposes that this qualifies. But he's turned away, time after time – you can't hand over a deposit cheque when you don't have a bank account, and how can he provide a reference when the only one who'll vouch for him is a ghost?
He ends up in a squalid flat backing onto the railway line. He spends the first day cleaning, but, no matter what he tries, he can't get rid of the taint of damp.
He still sits down at seven every evening and eats the meal that Pearl has cooked. The table is tiny, and there's only room for one; Leo's place mat remains unpacked in the back of the cupboard. After dinner he washes the dishes and dries his hands, then takes out his origami paper.
Pearl's still with him, and they cling to each other and pretend that there's some way this can have a happy ending. And all the time his inescapable future tightens like a noose around his throat.
When things begin to unravel, it's only what he's been expecting. Pearl starts to claim that she'd rather walk than teleport, that there's nothing wrong with her powers, thank you very much. But it's a small flat and there's nowhere to hide, and he sees the times she tries to pick something up only for her hand to pass right through it.
The first time she disappears, Hal searches for a frantic hour before he finds her. There's a new owner, and the barber's shop is being transformed into a beauty salon. It's all very bright and very modern. Pearl watches the decorators work with tears running down her face.
Take away their root, and a ghost will fade.
Later, when he bids her goodnight, she takes his hand and tells him that she was in love with Leo. He wants to laugh at the thought of being anyone's confessor, but he knows this is something she needs to do. As she talks, he thinks of his friend – not the fragile old man, but the defiant young fighter who'd caught his eye – and all the missed opportunities prick like thorns in his flesh.
He puts his arm around Pearl, and pulls her close. They sit like that, and they mourn for what was and what might have been.
They spend most of their days inside the flat, listening to the windows rattle as the trains thunder by. The walls are thin; the neighbours argue.
Hal would like to drown it out, to lose himself in the complexities of Bach and Mozart, but the rota tells him that it's time to read, not to listen. For the first time in years, he chafes against the restrictions Leo imposed on him.
He knows what's coming next, what always comes next. He's been through this before. He recognises the itch of a skin about to be shed, the shadow of the man waiting in the wings.
The second time Pearl disappears, Hal can't find her anywhere, no matter how hard he looks. He thinks, perhaps, she's already somewhere he can't follow. But then she's back in time for dinner, and they don't talk about it because they're both too busy holding their masks in place.
He's never realised that a ghost could look tired. She's fading, but neither of them knows what to do.
Predictably, they argue. Hal needs to take charge of his life, to do something, to find a job. He knows it's pointless, but he nods and he forces his mouth into a smile, until finally it's more than he can bear.
The shocked silence, the hurt on her face, are even worse. She calls after him as he walks away, but there's a burn deep in his bones that drives him on.
The flat is empty when he returns; Pearl is entitled to a little drama of her own. He unfolds the ironing board, and works his way through the laundry with Countdown blaring through the wall and jangling his nerves.
When he seats himself in the armchair, next door's television falls mercifully silent. He picks up his crossword. His pencil hovers above the empty squares, but it's suddenly too quiet in the flat, too still, and he can't seem to concentrate. He lays the paper aside.
At five minutes to seven Hal straightens his clothes and goes to wash his hands. The kitchen is empty, but he takes his place mat and his cutlery, and he tries to create order in the face of looming chaos. He seats himself and waits.
Seven o'clock comes and goes. Pearl doesn't appear.
Hal was her anchor in this world, and he pushed her away. His first victim in fifty-five years.
He knows that she isn't coming back, but still he waits. He doesn't know what else to do. If he was her last link to humanity, then she was his. The shadows lengthen around him, but he's used to the dark.
That night there is no dinner, there are no dishes to wash. No origami. No Only Connect on Radio 4.
Hal waits, although he's no longer certain what he's waiting for, and when a new day dawns it brings no relief from his circling thoughts.
The doorbell jolts him to his feet. He tells himself it's Pearl – needing to be let in, her powers failing her again – because there's only one other person who could have found him here.
He stumbles into the hall, the cold weight of the inevitable settling in the place where his heart used to beat. His hand only trembles a little when he releases the latch.
Hal opens the door; Mr Snow smiles blackly at him.