Disclaimer: I own nothing. Incredibly thankful beyond words for the world that Toby Whithouse has created and for the character of Hal that Damien Molony has brought to life. This is just a spark that I had to write down. All mistakes are my own.
Thanks again to Saemay for the encouragement and the proofing. :)
Ch 2. How do you Court them
Hal had agreed, reluctantly, to meet her again after revealing to her his true nature. He had committed himself to a life devoid of, well, life. The knowledge from his past attempts ingrained, he had put in place structure and had been prepared to cut all ties to both humanity and the supernatural world. However, he could not disappear altogether. He had to maintain a persona, a facade, and he'd soon found himself running the risk of unraveling in the face of all the human tedium. Then she had emerged with a spark that he found... compelling, enticing. Drawn to her like a moth to flame. But in this case, it was the flame that was in peril of being quenched out.
Sylvie now classified her time into two categories: tedious days without him, fascinating hours with him. She looked forward to her private talks with Hal more than she'd anticipated. Not that he talked much. Yes - he'd told her he was a vampire, had been for 280 years. Yes - he'd told her he drank blood, he was dangerous, had done despicable things, killed hundreds of people. Yes - he'd told her he shouldn't even be near her. He had been clean since that time in the cellar but could revert at any moment. But underneath it all, Sylvie just saw a man in pain and sadness. She wanted to help him stay clean, wanted him to find some measure of peace. She couldn't deny her attraction to him. Like a lamb to the slaughter. No, she refused to believe that. So she set out as her mission to not take no for an answer.
A dreary afternoon. Sylvie had been allowed to visit Hal for a tour of his estate, but the rain confined them indoors.
"Shall we a game of cards now?" Sylvie suggests after their light supper .
"A most... welcome activity." He acquiesces with a nod.
Sylvie returns with a deck and they play a few rounds. However she is soon drumming her fingers on the table in disinterest. "Am I straining your attention?" he asks suddenly, curtly. She ignores him, plays her turn, then begins her drumming once more. He glances every two seconds at her hands, back and forth, until the irritation is unbearable and he briefly touches her hand to a stop. Sylvie goes still. It is the first time he's voluntarily touched her. They exchange a look, she with a small smile, he with an long suffering sigh.
"Hal, tell me something from your past. A happy memory."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why ever not? I've shared some of mine with you."
"Yes, but yours don't tend to end with 'and then I killed them and drank their blood.'"
"Are those really your happy memories?"
"No, of course not. It's just... they are all intertwined. If I dwell on any one, the rest want to flood in as well."
Sylvie, seeing a haunted sadness overcome him, regrets her impulsiveness. Somewhat. "Well then we need to make this game more amusing."
"Cards are not meant to be amusing. They are an exercise for the mind."
"They can be that as well. I propose we change up the rules."
"You can't change the rules, that's barbaric!"
But Sylvie does not heed his words. She goes on to list a dizzying amount of 'alternative plays' they can try. When she finally pauses for breath, Hal interrupts with a vexed look, "That is quite... inventive... however..."
But Sylvie adds, "Well, then I propose another strategy. I shall get another deck, we can mix them up, and then..."
Wincing, Hal interrupts before she can go any further, finally acquiescing. "Very well, I will tell you a 'happy memory' then. Just pleease! The wonders of your imaginative logic never cease."
She smiles at her small victory.
He pauses, looking uncertain. Then he begins, "I was born, I lived in a brothel..."
"A brothel is your happy memory?"
Hal gives her a withering look. "No, of course not. As I was saying, I lived in a brothel and had no knowledge of my father. Nor which of the six... filles de rues ... was my true mother. It was not a happy life, but there were stolen moments. I remember a summer afternoon after supper spent in a meadow with all six together, an unusual occurrence. I sat in Rachel's lap, still young enough to do so, as she combed her fingers through my hair and we listened to Gwen as she sang a sweet tune. Well, hummed really, she did that quite often." He trails off, thinking of having heard Sylvie hum to herself a few times.
"And?"
"And what?" He looks back up at her.
"Is there more to this memory?"
He stares at her a few seconds before replying, his voice hardening slightly, "That night a customer beat Gwen. She died from her injuries two days later. As I said, it was not a happy life."
Sylvie looks down, tears in her eyes. She wants to take back her words. Not a happy life. Not a happy death.
She looks up, whispering powerless words, "I'm sorry."
He shows no emotion, just gives a curt nod.
Then she braves, "We shall endeavor to create more happy memories for you."
"Sylvie, stop your...boisterous... laughter." Hal says, looking at her from under furrowed brows, disapprovingly, as he's wont to do often in her presence.
Between giggles Sylvie manages out, "I know what you really want to say. 'Sylvie, stop your cackling, you mental fruitcake!'"
Hal maintains his impassive face, but she's rewarded with a small twitch of his lips.
"It's just the image of you falling on your arse in the muck, squeeling piglets climbing all over you, outsmarted, all because you were scared and running away from a girl."
"I am a ruthless killer!" He says indignantly. "Really, I was protecting her."
"Sounds like you were protecting yourself." She raises an eyebrow. "You'd been clean for thrice longer than you've been this time. Could you not have given her a chance? Is it really that hard to let yourself feel, to get close to someone? "
He turns very somber, she can see the pain he carefully masks, can see it eating away at his insides.
"It's bad enough to live, while others die. Worst, to be the cause of their death. I have been the angel of death to so many Sylvie. Too innumerable to count, and yet I remember every. single. one. Allowing myself to feel - in the end it's those I feel for that get hurt. It is better to shut myself away from the temptation."
"But if you can't feel then what's the point? "
Hal doesn't answer. How many times had he asked himself just the same question. What was the point? His belief in an almighty, good being, in fate, in himself, had been erased long before that lance had brought him to his choice. But he turns to her, sees her freshness, her vibrancy, her life, and thinks perhaps there was a reason for him to have existed this long. But he doesn't give in to hope.
Hal had seemed extra nervous when she told him she would be coming to Sir Morgan's soirée at the stately Newport home, but had reluctantly shared prior plans to attend as well. She'd arrived and immediately begun searching for him. She finally spots him in the back garden, the party had moved inside from the drizzle that had begun. She brightens as she thinks he's simply waiting for her but then she observes that he is talking. To no one. Not just absentmindedly, he's holding a conversation with... nothing.
Then she sees him offer his arm to this nothing and walk indoors. She remains there until sometime later he appears, having been searching for her after learning her family had arrived.
"Sylvie, there you are. Would you like to come inside, you are getting positively soaked."
"Hal, can vampires go mad?"
He gives her a puzzled look.
"I saw you out here, talking to nothing."
He looks at her stoically.
"Who were you talking to Hal? What were you talking to?" She opens her eyes wide. "Are there invisible vampires out there as well?!"
He lets out a small shaky laugh. "No, not invisible. Though our reflections cannot be captured." She waits patiently for him to continue. "I was talking to a ghost. They exist as well."
"A ghost? Can you actually see ghosts? Does everyone become a ghost? Are they roaming around everywhere? Who was the one you were talking to? Did you know her when she was alive? How did she die? Is she pretty?"
Hal gets a panicked look but smoothes his face. "Sylvie," He huffs, "slow down. Yes I can see ghosts. Their curse comes from the same place as mine does. Only people with unfinished business become ghosts, their door to the afterlife doesn't appear, and they tend to stay rooted in the place or near the people they knew in life." He pauses, conceding, "I knew her... briefly."
She narrows her eyes. "When you say 'knew her'?"
"Jesus Sylvie, no. We were... are...just... friends."
Sylvie takes in his discomfort, but decides to push in a hushed tone, "How did she die?"
He closes his eyes, exhaling, then opens them and looks directly at her. His eyes are suddenly red rimmed, with unshed tears. He says simply, "I killed her."
Sylvie doesn't look away but she doesn't know what to say. What do you say to a murderer about the person he murdered? I'm sorry you killed her? I'm sorry she's still haunting you? And then the thought comes unbidden Will I haunt him after...? She looks away at that, shuddering. But then she steels her resolve and after several moments she nods and tells him the most significant thing, "I'm sorry."
"No it's just as well. You need to hear this. She was a young girl, quite similar to you. She thought she could be my... friend... as well and I toyed with her for a little while before killing her. Mercilessly."
"Yes, but that was the other you."
"He is always there, waiting. It will be only a matter of time." He seems extra introspective, extra morose. Being confronted by someone you killed would do that.
But Sylvie doesn't want him to dwell - she seeks to have him live beyond his past, to have hope for the future. To have hope in himself. And in her. She hazards a quick light touch on his shoulder. "Not if you keep fighting. Not if I help you keep fighting."
For once the indignant look that accompanies someone touching him is absent.
"Hal I've decided. We shall have the play after all!"
Sylvie suddenly leaps up from her chair on the other side of the hearth of her living room, upsetting her dog from her lap. They had been sitting companionably reading, though he idly glanced her way a few times. She alternated with petting her dog - curiously named Duck, he hadn't inquired why - and playing with the cross at her throat. He told himself he was looking at the cross, admiring the craftsmanship, nothing more.
Hal raises his eyebrows. "It's practically a typhoon out there at the moment. We can hardly travel in these conditions all the way to the playhouse."
"No, we shall put on the play ourselves! It would amuse me greatly."
"I don't do plays."
"Oh Hal, pleease? You have to learn to let your hair down!"
Hal gives her an uncertain expression.
Sylvie laughs at his look. "It means to relax, to enjoy yourself. It's my birthday! The bloody rain has once again foiled our plans. It will be just a little fun." And before he can object further she runs out, rushing somewhere upstairs. Hal begins tapping his fingers in consternation.
She comes down, clothing in her hands, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet of course! However we must do it properly. You know, in his time, the men had to play the part of the ladies. Well, I suppose you do know." She smiles and approaches him with the clothes. Hal is so caught by surprise she manages to place a lace cap on his head before he can fend her off.
He crosses his arms, looking highly offended. "I most certainly will not wear women's clothing. Besides, that doesn't even make any sense! The principal characters are a man and woman. Why wouldn't you play the woman?"
"Because, " Sylvie answers, "it is more interesting this way."
Hal looks up to the heavens in a pleading motion.
He huffs, "Sylvie, this is ludicrous."
"No, what's ludicrous is that we've known each other for a while now, I count you as a dear friend, and it is customary for friends to impart gifts on birthdays. As you forgot that today is my birthday, despite the fact that I told you three times at least, this can be your gift to me. I shall have my Shakespeare!"
"I never forget anything. It's just that... I was unsure what would be... appropriate."
"Romeo and Juliet, Hal. Did I not mention that it's my favorite and that is why we were to attend the play? "
He licks his lips nervously. "Perhaps a less... controversial... play then?"
"I promise we don't have to act out any of the kiss scenes. You won't even have to touch me."
Hal says nothing.
Sylvie gives a sad sigh. "Was it too much to ask for a little romance today? I spurned all my suitors waiting for the right man. One who would woo me with lovely words." She puts on a hurt look, "Oh, how silly of me to entertain such childish fantasies. I shall die an old maid, unloved. Am I really so unlovable?"
Hal gives her a long measured look. He removes the cap, takes the clothing in her hands and places them on the side table beside him. Then he steps close to her, closer than he has ever let her be. Close enough that she sees the sun filtering through his long lashes, she drowns in his eyes. "Sylvie," He begins, his voice seems to caress her name.
"Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear,
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
He continues to stare into her eyes. "Happy Birthday Sylvie." He says quietly.
It takes her a few moments to remember to breathe.
"Hal." She barely whispers, "Would you excuse me for a moment?"
"Hmm." He acquiesces with a nod, lips pursed. Five seconds later he hears a squeal from the next room. His mouth twitches with a small smile.
"... and I had a shield, a red one." Hal had actually been opening up during their walk in town this morning. It felt odd, he was very protective of his memories. But somehow when he was with Sylvie, he felt the urge at odd moments to indulge in her requests. He did however leave out the bit about flaying peasants for looking at him funny.
"I've often wondered what must it have been like, living in those days. I've sometimes fantasized about it." Sylvie takes on a far-away look. "Knights in shining armor, jousts, feasts. You know my family comes from a long line of Earls dating back from the 1100's."
"Well life then was actually much as it is now. People live. People die. Wars & sickness happen. Everything goes round and round and comes back again. Except it was quite a bit filthier then." Hal pauses, squinting in memory. "I did meet an Earl of Arundel once. Erm... Thomas Howard I believe. Quite a nasty business that I'm sorry to say I was tangentially involved in. In my defense, I wasn't... myself at the time..."
Hal suddenly turns to look back with a frown as he notices that Sylvie has paused behind him.
"Sylvie, is everything all right?"
Sylvie knows the story of her great, great, great, great uncle, confined to an asylum. Or at least she thought she knew. Hal had something to do with that?! She can't help but suddenly feel apprehensive as the thought sinks in. Hal has been alive for 300 years. 300 years! The history he's experienced, the progress he's seen. The thousands of people he's hurt, he's killed. She pauses with her eyes closed tight, tampering down the edges of fear and disgust at that thought. Those are thoughts for the evening, when they've bid their adieus. Thoughts to keep her up awake at night, wondering what she's doing, why she's doing it. Wondering if she'll be next. No... don't think about it now. He's a different man now. With a heavy sigh she swallows down the bile, bites back the tears. Then she opens her eyes to look at his concerned ones, puts on an apologetic smile and says. "Yes, thank you. Just bit overwhelmed. You are a walking encyclopedia. Sometimes it catches me off guard, that's all."
She broadens her smile to ease his concern. "Shall we visit the tea shop now? "
He sees she's hiding something but doesn't push her. Instead, he considers, then awkwardly extends his arm to her. Her doe eyes widen in surprise. He steels himself to feel her arm in his, to have her warm pulse so near him, her neck mere inches away, the rush of the blood through her veins in physical contact with him. You can do this, you can do this. It's only a short minute to the shop.
Sylvie's heart threatens to leap out of her chest as she sees his offering. The significance is not lost to her. As lightly as she can manage she threads her hand through the crook of his elbow and keeps from pressing herself into him as she would like, leaving a foot wide gap between their bodies, trying not to breathe.
It is an awkward, tense step forward, but it is progress.
"Good God, Sylvie, you're not actually crying are you?" Hal has entered the sitting room of her home, coming to get her for their planned ride.
Despite her thoughts and feelings, Sylvie can't help but smile at the way Hal's voice cracks on the last word. He really is rubbish with emotions isn't he. She thinks of her Nan, wonders what she would have thought of Hal, (without knowing the vampire stuff of course.) He is still reserved, but she's seen cracks emerge, has had glimpses of the man he could be. He seems calmer than before, more gentle and kind. Nan would have liked this Hal. At that her smile falters, tears can't be squelched this time.
"We just received word that my grandmother died. When I was young I lived with her for a time. I have not seen her some months and now she's gone."
"I'm sorry." He says in a calm manner. "Would you like to cancel our ride?"
Wiping her tears Sylvie shakes her head. "No, no, I have been looking forward to it for days. It will be good to go have fresh air. That's one of the things Nan loved to do with me. We would roam for hours picking wildflowers or berries. I would very much like to go pick some wildflowers in her memory."
They set out on their horses, both quiet in their thoughts for a very long time. He occasionally sees tears flow down her face but remains silent. The winds bring sudden rain clouds to cover the fitful sun, drizzle begins to fall. Hal is about to suggest they turn back but Sylvie supersedes him.
"Hal, what happens when people die?"
"I'm not sure..."
"You've seen hundreds, thousands of people die, have you not? And you say you see ghosts, that people with unfinished business are left behind. What about the others? Surely you've seen something?"
"No. I mean, I'm not sure that I should tell you. The more of the supernatural world you encounter, the more liable you are to be brought into its madness."
"Hal, I need to know. Please."
Hal pauses. I don't want her to know more. But perhaps it would be best. It would be best for her to realize that the supernatural world was filled with horrors, not wonders. He explains the things he knows, and the things he suspects. Doors. Corridors. Purgatory. The men with sticks and ropes. The Devil.
More tears. She looks off in a daze as the rain falls harder now.
Hal says sympathetically, "I know this is all difficult to process. It's become commonplace for me, but to hear it for the first time... " He trails off, not certain how to comfort her.
Sylvie tries to take in his words. Is that where Nan is? And her brother Elliot, her sweet Elliot? Or are they in a better place, passed on through a peaceful door into the arms of previous loved ones. Where will I go when...?
She's not paying attention and her horse rears suddenly, depositing her to the muddy ground, hitting her head and twisting her ankle in a wrenching angle.
"Sylvie!" she groggily hears him. She blinks the water out of her eyes, sits and looks as he's running toward her. But suddenly he pulls up short, several feet away from her.
Hal frowns, the questioning words he'd intended stuck in the back of his throat as he's suddenly preoccupied with a realization. Then his frown morphs, his eyes widen with alarm. He whispers, "Sylvie, you're bleeding."
She touches her head and looks down all about herself but doesn't find anything. She pulls up her skirt and then she sees it: a scrape above her riding boots, where a rock must have jabbed through her leggings.
She looks back up to see Hal's hands balled tightly, his body tense. He says haltingly, "I must. Go."
Her first reaction is to berate him, but she sees he is struggling. He has told her about the temptation blood poses him, had seen him strapped down like one would tie a dangerous animal, but this is the first time for her to see first-hand the actual effect it has on him. She tries to get up as she says, "Hal, no don't leave me please. It hurts and I'm getting drenched."
"I'm so sorry." He backs away.
"Hal! Don't." The ankle feels like it's on fire and the slick mud is making it impossibe for her to lift herself up. She locks her eyes with his and pleads with him. "Hal, fight it. Please, for me. Fight the urge. Your mind is the key. You have been in control for six years now, you can do this." She tries to stand again but can't manage it.
Hal is visibly trembling, his lower lip quivering with his shaky breath, his eyes gone wide. "I. Can't." He scrambles backwards and turns to get on his horse.
Desperately she calls, "Hal, you arse, don't you bloody leave me here alone!" But he does not stop. She watches as he turns the horse and urges it instantly into a gallop. She screams his name in frustration, in pain, not caring if he hears it or not, hoping he does. And that he'll turn back. But she watches as his form disappears, through her streaming tears.
Why is she surprised at all? Why is she reacting this way. She knows what he is, he's told her many times that it's not just a craving, more a physically altering need. Still, a part of her had been in denial. "But it's just a scratch," she whispers to no one.
Is this really what she wants? Someone who will run away when she's hurt or worse will likely kill her? They had been getting on, she'd felt happy. Oh Nan, I wish you were here right now to help me decide. Why did God - he hadn't mention God, but surely? - why did God put him in my path that night, why did he put him in my dreams every night after? "Why couldn't I have just forgotten him?" Sylvie gives into the tears, into her grief...
Hal steels himself for what he'll see as the returning party approaches her. He'd ridden as fast as the horse could go, whipping it mercilessly, taking out his frustration on the poor beast. Once at her house he'd jumped off the horse and run to find help. Her father and a groom had accompanied him back to the place she'd fallen, Lord Arundel repeatedly asking why Hal hadn't just brought her back. His jaw hurts from clenching it. How could he explain? Because I would have brought you a corpse.
He berates himself, hates himself for his weakness. It was just a scratch. But Jesus, just remembering the smell...
He sees her sitting where he'd left her, drenched and muddy but sitting calmly and surprisingly dried eyed. Hard to believe it is the same Sylvie he'd left not more than an hour ago. He'd heard her scream as he'd fled. She brushes away her father's concerns, smiles at his chiding. She doesn't look at Hal the entire ride back, she sitting sideways in front of her father's saddle, he a fair distance back leading her lame horse. He wouldn't let the groom take it, he needed an excuse to stay behind, upwind.
As they finally come in sight of the house she raises her eyes to his. They are unreadable.
Her father says nothing to his excuses, simply carries her in while Hal remains outside, looking after them. Sylvie keeps her gaze locked with his as the door slams shut.
* There really were Earls of Arundel, the one Hal mentions lived from 1628-1677. He was institutionalized for most of his life.
* Sir Morgan's home in Newport is Tredegar house, where Lady Mary's scenes were filmed in S5. Sir Charles Morgan, 2nd Baronet, lived there during the setting of this story.
