A/N As usual, sorry for the wait. I sat down and wrote the majority of this in one day about three weeks after I wrote the beginning so if the tone shifts, please do forgive me. I guess the ball really starts rolling in this chapter. It's nice and long (nice?XD) to make up for the wait.

The reviews I have received for this fic so far really do mean a lot to me and give me all the inspiration I need to keep going.

Thanks and teacakes to: SunilaMoon, MorbidBirdy, Angel Wings-008, Veleda, MageryDoe, Nazgurl, StillReading for another wonderful review and obviously Savvi-Sin, my beloved wifey whom is soon flying across the puddle to London where we shall meet up and terrify the city with out fangirling.

-x-

Suddenly the lights go out

Let forever drag me down

I will fight for one last breath

I will fight until the end

-x-

"A whole year," Riff mused, finger tracing idle patterns on the tabletop. "Was it really that long?"

Cassian sighed from the opposite side of the table and dropped the pencil he was holding for the fifth time in as many minutes. On the tabletop before him sat the briefcase, now opened, the files and sheets contained within having been spread out across the table. He was vaguely proud of himself for being so organised, having designated three stacks of paper; unsorted, useful and useless. On a notepad before him was a list of pencilled names. He had been halfway through writing a name starting with Z when Riff had interrupted him. Again.

"Yes," he said, giving the pale haired man a strained smile. "Although it felt like a lot longer."

"What did you do?" Riff asked, apparently having abandoned his usual decorum in the face of sheer boredom.

"Work," Cassian said with a shrug. "I gathered information and materials, I set this place up. It took a long time to build the machine too," he added, frowning a little at the memory of countless nights sat up reading through haphazard notes. "But not as long as it could have done, I suppose."

Riff frowned and sat up a little straighter, glancing at Cassian with a shrewdness that the latter wasn't keen on. His pale eyes shone in the candlelight.

"How did you build it?" he asked. "It's a complicated machine and you keep telling me you're not a scientist. So how did you work it out?"

"I have my sources," Cassian said guardedly, picking up the pencil again and lowering his eyes back to the list of names. "Now can you please let me get on with this?"

Riff mumbled an apology and gave a deep sigh, which only irritated Cassian more. The man had only been waiting a few hours yet had the cheek to act impatient. Cassian flicked through the next few sheets in the unsorted pile with a scowl.

"Go and do something useful, if you're bored," he snapped. "Just stop distracting me."

He felt Riff leave the table, refusing to look up until his work was done. A few minutes later, he was completely absorbed in his task and had forgotten about the other man's presence entirely. The unsorted pile gradually decreased and in comparison the 'useful' pile seemed pitifully small. He glanced down the list to see around a dozen names, all scientists who had been directly involved with making deadly dolls. Some names he recognised, some he had had never heard and one caused him to smile warmly. But there was still one missing. Cassian knew that writing that particular name down on his list would mean nothing as any information it could yield he had already acquired. But, somehow, it would be nice to see it written down again in a hand other than his own.

His silent prayer was answered as he turned over the final unsorted file. This one was several pages long and detailed. As Cassian scanned the list of aliases a nostalgic smile graced his full lips, one which turned a little sad as he surveyed the sections headed 'allies' and 'infringements.' One was too small, the other too long. He flipped over a page slowly and caught a breath when he was greeted by a small, faded photograph. He raised a finger and gently traced the face in the image.

"Is that better?"

The sudden voice snapped Cassian from his reverie and he flung the file onto the 'useless' pile as though it had burnt his fingers. He turned to face Riff and blinked in the sudden light. While he had been reading, Riff had drawn back the curtains in the room and apparently cleared the windows of as much grime as he was able. For the first time in a year, pale daylight filtered into the room and illuminated the worn furniture and dust. A dark stain on the tiles by his chair told Cassian that the container had been placed here before.

"Cassian?"

He turned around again to see Riff standing expectantly near one wall and nodded.

"Yes, much," he said, as though he hadn't been too absorbed to have not realised the change taking place. "Thanks."

"How is it going?"

Cassian leant back and raised his arms high above his head, fingers locked together, until the bones cracked.

"Well. There's about a dozen names here we need to look into. I'll draw up a list in order of priority and we'll get started tonight. You should get some sleep."

"I can help," Riff said, starting forwards. Cassian's eyes widened a fraction. The other man had seemed different since they had returned from Lady Morgan's the night previously; he was more confident and pro-active. Cassian wondered what sort of nightmares had visited Riff while he slept to inspire such sudden motivation. Regardless, he waved the offer away.

"You can help later," he said. "We could be out all night searching so rest now. I need you to be focussed when we question these men."

Riff gave a reluctant nod and left the room without another word. Cassian watched him leave, expression unusually warm. After a moment, he shook himself and tore a new piece of paper on which to make the new list. He scanned the list for a few minutes and then put pencil to paper, hurriedly writing two names.

The first, while important, could wait for now. The second was a title rather than a name; the Nine of Swords.

-x-

The city streets were wreathed in fog when the pair left Delilah's headquarters. Night had fallen quickly under the low hanging clouds and Riff buried his hands in his jacket pockets as they walked to keep out the chill.

"Where are we going?" he asked his companion, having not been awake enough to ask before when he had been suddenly summoned from bed and instructed to dress in a pile of clothes left at the end of his bed.

"St Clements," Cassian replied, breath coming as tiny puffs of steam in the cold air. Riff's eyes widened. St Clements was a mental health facility in the East End and he had carried out part of his training there as a younger man.

"Why there?" he asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

"Because that's where our target is," Cassian replied wearily. "It's not a daytrip, you know. We have got things to do."

Riff scowled but kept his voice calm. "We're going to walk all the way?"

"Of course. We could hardly hail a hansom in outfits like these."

Although he longed for what little warmth the interior of a cab could bring, Riff had to admit that Cassian made a good point. The clothes Cassian had instructed he wear were very different from the outfit of the day before. Riff was clad in fairly average garb; an off-white shirt, a beige waistcoat and dark trousers and jacket. Cassian was dressed in a similar fashion but looked even more ragged, with a coat that had frayed at the hems, battered shoes and fingerless gloves to fight the cold. They may have been worn, but the clothes fitted him well. Riff wondered whether this was an actual outfit for him, rather than a disguise. He knew better than to ask; his companion's expression was set in a purposeful mask. Riff didn't want to think about the plans being formed behind those dark eyes.

By the time they reached Mile End, the chill was biting into Riff's nerves and had rendered his fingers useless. His cheeks were numb with the cold and he felt a little like an ice statue, waiting patiently to thaw. He eyed the hospital building almost fearfully; the large, dark windows set into the worn brick walls were dark and ominous, like the pupils of some ancient beast.

"Now what?" he asked Cassian, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. "It's long past midnight. Nothing will be open."

"Not a problem," Cassian said with an unsettling grin.

"But nobody will be here."

Cassian shook his head and raised one gloved hand to point to a window at the far end of the building. Riff followed the direction to see a flickering light moving slowly past the dark glass.

"A guard?"

Cassian shook his head and took a step towards the large double doors.

"He is now."

Riff waited for an explanation of this strange comment but was greeted with silence as Cassian produced a set of lockpicks from the bag hanging from his shoulder. Riff scanned the pavement in case someone were to see but the area was void of life other than the bobbing light inside the hospital.

"Honestly," Cassian mumbled to himself as he worked on the door. "You'd think they'd have updated the locks by now. These were already old when I was out on the streets. Just a little...wait...right."

He stood up straight again and waved Riff over. With a mock bow, Cassian smiled at his companion and pushed open one door with a gloved hand.

"After you."

The interior of St Clements was unpleasant even during the day and the darkness did little to add to the gloom and the fear in the air. Riff's footsteps sounded too loud in the quiet and he swallowed nervously, remembering his visit here as a student. Then, the wards had been filled with 'patients', more like prisoners, those deemed ill enough for confinement but not so ill as to ensure a permanent stay in an asylum.

"Do they still keep patients here overnight?" he asked absently. Cassian took a deep breath before laughing a little.

"Yeah, yeah they do. Only for one or two nights at a time though. Any longer is a drain on their precious resources, thankfully." Riff's pale eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak but was swiftly cut off. "Let's not read too much into that, okay?"

He nodded mutely and continued following Cassian through the dark corridors. For what felt like an age they walked in procession through the grey identical corridors, occasionally hearing whimpers or murmurs from locked rooms. As Riff's patience reached breaking point, Cassian flung out a hand to stop him from rounding a corner.

"Found him," the shorter man murmured with an unsettling smile. "Follow my lead."

With this, Cassian rounded the corner and stood in the centre of the corridor, arms outstretched. A greasy yellow light reflected on his pale skin. Riff remained hiding around the corner, unsure of what to do.

"Who are you?" the guard called, his mildly educated accent unusual in one of his profession. "What are you doing here?"

"Good evening!" Cassian called, grin still in place and tone unusually cheerful. "Just bear with me for a moment."

He fished in the pocket of his worn jacket and produced a small photograph which he then held out in front of him, presumably to align it with the guards face. He slowly began walking forwards, Riff taking this as his queue to slip into the shadows behind him. He could now see that the guard was a middle aged man with thinning brown hair and deep lines around his eyes. Although the uniform caused Riff's mind to insist the man was respectable, something about the way in which the man's blue eyes darted into the shadows was unsettling.

"Ah, that's wonderful," Cassian said, dropping the photo back into his pocket and advancing on the man who now stood stock still. "You haven't aged well, that's for sure, but it is you. How fortunate that you haven't changed profession in all these years."

The guard advanced forwards until the yellow light from the gas lamp fully illuminated Cassian's face, leaving Riff and everything else in the shadows. The man's eyes widened and his free hand dove into his pocket. Without blinking, Cassian grabbed this arm and held it firmly before letting his fixed smile almost entirely fade.

"We were lucky to find you," he said in a low and dangerous voice, "Nine of Swords."

"Head Priest Cassandra," the man murmured, eyes wide in fear. "Why have you-"

"Idiot," Cassian hissed. "Have you really forgotten so much in a year? Do I sound like that bastard?"

Riff stood a little behind Cassian, fingers clutching the strap of the bag he had been asked to carry. It was clear that this man was the one they were looking for, although he was now confused. Why did that name sound so familiar? He knew he recognised Cassian from somewhere other than the tower but couldn't pin it down, as though there was a vital piece of the puzzle he was missing.

"An operation," Cassian stated, prising the pistol out of the man's hand and tossing it over his shoulder towards Riff. "A few months before the collapse of the Tower of Babel. You were on the cleanup team, I know you were. I don't know how you could forget. I doubt any of the other operations you were allowed to witness were screaming when they woke up."

The man finally nodded and seemed a little relieved, if haunted by the memory of something he would have rather left forgotten.

"Yes. I do remember. You're the trump card that worked with-"

"I don't need to hear my own history," Cassian interjected. "I need some information from you. About the machines you created to make the deadly dolls."

Riff was surprised as the man's face split into a smile, an expression which didn't seem to suit him.

"Do they need me?" he asked, the fear in his voice now coloured with a hint of hope. "Is there a new cardmaster?"

The air rang as Cassian struck the man backhanded.

"You really are an idiot, Nine of Swords," he hissed. "In here."

Riff watched as the man was hustled into a nearby room which turned out to be an office. He slowly approached the doorway and entered in time to see Cassian pull a chair away from the desk and force the man to sit in it. He pulled a knife from inside his jacket and held it against the jumping pulse in the man's throat.

"I might have lost my enhanced reflexes after the operation," Cassian breathed, mouth close to the man's ear. "But I'm still faster than you. Any sudden movements, and I'll slit your throat. Understand?"

The man nodded carefully, trying to move his head without pushing his neck any closer to the cold blade.

"Good man. Now, tell me about the machine."

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, words brave despite the fear in his eyes. "That sort of thing shouldn't be told to just anyone."

"You mean 'to a trump card like you', right?" Cassian said, crouching next to the chair and holding the knife steady. "Forget about the cards for now. Delilah is dead. None of it matters anymore."

"Then...I won't tell you. What you'd want with the information is beyond me."

Riff winced as Cassian hit the man, this time slamming a fist into his stomach. He felt a little nervous about approaching; Cassian was acting as he had yesterday with the woman and Riff had yet to work out what triggered the cold, unpredictable rage.

"Riffael."

The butler jumped as his name was spoken but stepped forwards automatically.

"Bring me the file."

"Of course."

Riff stepped forwards again, rummaging in the bag he was carrying as he did so. By the time he had managed to retrieve the document, he had reached the chair and raised his eyes from the bag to find he was being watched. The man's blue eyes were fixed on Riff's face and his lips fell slack in fear. Riff was taken aback and wondered how he could in any way appear more threatening than Cassian.

"The Tower," the man gasped. "But...he was meant to have died...how did you..."

So that was it. The man was mistaking him for his former self, which would explain Cassian using his full name. Although he felt a little used, Riff had to admit that the idea was clever, especially as the man now turned his eyes towards Cassian as if begging for a chance to redeem himself.

"Read me the details," Cassian commanded, watching Riff with a slight smile. Riff cleared his throat and began speaking in a voice that trembled slightly. In his fear the man appeared to not realise that he lacked the authoritative tones of the Tower.

"Nine of Swords. Real name, Edward Brown. Part of the science and research department. Was head of the engineering team for the deadly doll project. Attained his position in the organisation by stealing supplies from St Clements hospital, where he works under his real name."

He stopped reading as Cassian waved a hand vaguely in his direction and looked up to see the man slumping defeated in his chair, while Cassian smirked triumphantly.

"Time to prove you're a smart man, Ed," Cassian said in a low voice. "Now, what can you tell me about the machine?"

There was a long, silent moment in which Riff held his breath. If the man refused now, he wondered if Cassian really would kill him. There was something about Cassian's smile that set him on edge. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to threaten anyone like this. True, this man had been responsible for a lot of terrible things but his heart told him that this wasn't the way to make things right. Although, if it was the way to bring Cain back then...

"Nothing," the man said bitterly. "My memory isn't perfect. I have files though. Plans. Notes. That sort of thing."

"Good," Cassian said and started to stand up. "Now, if you'll just take us to those-"

"No need." The man reached into his jacket, ignoring the sudden suspicious narrowing of Cassian's eyes, and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He held this out towards Riff who stepped forward and took it with a frown. After reading the first page, a list of figures, amounts and directions, it was clear that these were exactly the sort of things Cassian had been looking for.

"You carry this around with you?" Cassian asked incredulously. "You're even more stupid than I'd thought."

"I didn't want them falling into the wrong hands," the man protested.

"Didn't want anyone taking credit for your work, more like," Cassian said scornfully. "I know how it goes for people like you."

He didn't refute this claim and watched Riff stow the documents safely in his bag with wistful eyes.

"Can you let me go now?" he asked wearily.

"One more thing," Cassian said and fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket. Riff recognised it as the list of names he had compiled that day. "Do you know if any of these men died during the fall?"

Riff watched as the man pointed to a couple of the names and Cassian crossed them off carefully.

"What about the Hermit?" he asked, standing up and lowering the knife. The man breathed a sigh of relief.

"I don't know," he said. "The old fool vanished just after the fall. Maybe not such a fool after all."

Cassian smiled to himself and turned as if he was going to leave. Riff followed suit and went to stand near the door but turned back as the man spoke again.

"There's a name missing."

"Oh really?" Cassian asked, voice dripping with disbelief. "And that name is?"

"You should know that better than anyone." The man smirked, arrogance rearing its ugly head as he assumed the danger had passed. "The person that knew more about the dolls than anyone was Death."

"Cassian!"

Riff stood helplessly by the door as his companion launched himself at their captive, knocking the man to the floor and then pinning him to the ground using his knees and hands. Cassian's dark eyes were narrowed in anger and the knife had reappeared in his hand. He didn't look back as Riff called out.

"He had a name," Cassian breathed. "What do you know about death?"

The man fell silent but turned his eyes upon Riff who took a step back as if stricken.

"Cassian," he said quietly, remembering the day before. His words had been enough to persuade him then. "Let him up."

"No."

"He didn't mean any harm."

"I don't give a damn. He's done enough harm already. You're one of his victims, don't you see that?"

It was then that Riff realised that Cassian had never been intending to let the man go. The rage was passing, but the cold purpose in his eyes was frightening. Nothing he could say would deter the man.

"But..."

"Either shut up or leave the room. I guess I can't make you understand but I'm not going to let you stop me."

Riff bit his lip as he watched the fear in the man's eyes turn into abject terror.

"I'm sorry," he murmured and then opened the door in a rush of cool air, slamming it behind him once he was in the corridor. He couldn't save the man. If he tried to stop Cassian, he suspected the man would cut all ties with him and Cain would be left to decay. Riff closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the flood of mental images. By letting Cassian have his will, he was saving Cain's life. If he told himself that, this was bearable. He leant against the wall and tried to ignore the sounds of scuffling and muffles shouts from inside the room.

A few minutes later, Cassian swung open the door and stepped into the corridor, breathing heavily. Without looking at Riff, he shrugged off his worn jacket and held his arm out before him. A neat line had been sliced into the flesh just below his elbow and blood was flowing freely from the wound.

"Sneaky bastard," he murmured, finally catching Riff's eye. The butler looked shocked at the wound. "Who would have thought he had a knife up his sleeve?"

He quickly undid the shirt he was wearing and wrapped the thin material around his arm to staunch the bleeding before slipping the jacket back on.

"Let's go," he said, turning and beginning to walk towards the exit. Riff followed and quickly spoke up, just as Cassian had been expecting.

"You didn't have to kill him."

"He was a pathetic excuse for a human being," Cassian said simply. "I remember him. He would throw his weight around while never really helping out. When he stole supplies from this place, countless patients suffered from lack of provisions. Back in HQ, he'd be the first to take on any research that involved torture. Is this painting you a picture or am I wasting my time?"

Riff remained silent. For a few moments, the only sound was the echo of their footsteps off of the grey walls. As they pushed open the doors and were enveloped in the chill air of a city night, Cassian spoke again.

"We have to kill, Riff. There's a price to pay for taking a life but bringing a life back that has already been lost is something much more sinful. You're going to have to accept that."

Without waiting for a response, he set off into the darkness. Riff shoved his hands back in his pockets and followed. It was a long walk back to Delilah's headquarters. He needed the time to clear his head.

-x-

Shut in the room he had commandeered as his own, Cassian lay sprawled on his bed with a sheaf of paper clutched in one hand and a photograph in the other. He shouldn't have taken the file away from the others, he knew that. He also knew that reading it wasn't going to do him any good. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

A soft smile graced his handsome features as he read the words he could almost recite and he seemed younger somehow, the man he always should have been. The flickering light cast by the candle made it easy to imagine that this room wasn't as worn as it really was and that it was the same as it had been two years previously. Cassian had laid on this bed then, awake, eyes staring at the ceiling. He had been wondering why, why he was acting so obediently and where his once passionate hatred had disappeared to. In its place, had had felt anxiety and desperation, an aching that had never faded and grown stronger with time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness. "I was too late."

He sat up suddenly, dropping the items on the bed. The shadows seemed suddenly menacing and he could feel blood on his hands. It had been a mistake, allowing himself to think about the past. The present was terrifying, the future uncertain, but the past could swallow him whole. With a sigh and a rueful shake of his head, Cassian bent to retrieve the files.

Riff sat at the table in the main room, holding candelabra nervously in one hand. He scanned the file before him again, still hesitant to believe what he was reading. He hadn't been able to sleep as curiosity had been eating at him so the butler had given in to his urges and crept out to find Cassian's file. He'd been met by a photograph of a young boy clad in black. He remembered the boy, had encountered him in Maria Stanford's garden. Next he had unfolded a number of medical diagrams. If he hadn't been taught that such a thing was impossible, he would have thought the diagrams showed a brain transplant.

Now, he flicked over the sheet of paper and read the basic information.

"Real name, Cassian," he read aloud. "Surname unknown. Suffers from a growth defect. Attached to the science and research department as assistant to Major Arcana: Death. Attained this position by showing promise when recruited but this attitude has faded with time. Allies, Death, The Hermit. Infringements, aiding Death with infringements, see file...abandoning the organisation after undergoing an operation, therefore depriving the organisation of vital research data. Top priority to be recovered."

Riff stopped speaking, eyes wide. Cassian had left Delilah and had been on the run? So why had he been there in the tower?

"Are you finished?"

Riff spun around to see Cassian approaching, holding another file in one hand. The butler quickly slipped Cassian's file back into the pile he had taken it from, for all the good it would do.

"What are you doing?"

"I just..." Riff sighed and shrugged. "I wanted to know if you..."

"What?" Cassian snapped, slamming the file he had been carrying down on the table and levelling angry eyes at Riff. "What the hell is it that you think you have a right to know?"

"I wanted to know if you had any..." Riff stopped, biting his lip before continuing. "Any instabilities. After what you said earlier about St Clements, I was wondering if maybe I could..."

"Help? Don't make me laugh, Riff." Cassian sat heavily at the desk. "You're a butler and an average doctor. You didn't find an answer in there?"

"It didn't say anything about mental illnesses."

"No, it wouldn't have. That'd because I was sent to that place after the fall of Delilah. Don't even think of asking why, you're not that stupid. You were there. You were there when my whole fucking world turned against me."

Riff blinked, unsure what to say. It was true, he had heard the pain in Cassian's voice then. He wondered what it must have been like, leaving the tower clutching a corpse. Hell had been on earth outside. While Riff had watched his own world end, the outside world had been swallowed in flames. For an instant, Riff felt sorrier for Cassian than he had ever felt for himself. It was simply unimaginable.

"Anything else?"

The question was sharp. Riff knew better than to express his pity but realised he was required to say something.

"You were the boy in the garden."

Cassian laughed softly. "Well done. Yes, I was. Well, you're two thirds correct. I was in the garden. I haven't been a boy for a long time."

"It said you had a growth defect."

"That'd be correct. I'm older than you."

"But how did you end up like this? You don't look anything like you did then."

Cassian laughed again and shot Riff an amused glance.

"Yeah, well, you look like a dim-witted oaf and turned out to be a walking corpse with a heart of stone. Don't go lecturing me on appearances. The past doesn't mean a damn thing. Don't think about it anymore. I don't."

He stood and clapped Riff on the shoulder before walking back towards the door, anger having been replaced with weariness.

"Get some rest," he called. "We're leaving early tomorrow. I'll have clothes ready for you by six."

"Where are we going?"

Cassian smiled into the darkness before him and waved goodnight over his shoulder.

"To see an old friend."

-x-

Still it don't matter
If you won't listen
If you won't let them follow you

You just need to heal
Make good all your lies
Move on and don't look behind

-x-

A/N: Lyrics this time from Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin and Sleep by Poets of the Fall. St Clements was an active mental hospital in Mile End during the Victorian era although any details I provided were improvised. I did look it up on google images. xD

Thanks for your time, please hit the green review button! I'll love you eternally.