Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground.
Reviews are welcome, loved and encourage prompter updates.
The glow of dawn came over them too soon. Alex's hand was resting on Hal's navel, one finger lighting over the indentation. She would never tire of this. These moments when he didn't seem so far away; when he would let himself relax with her. Sex was dangerous, and perhaps always would remain so... But it was a small release as well. And since he still hadn't recovered from his injury enough to get much use out of running... Alex hadn't minded the increased need one bit.
She didn't want to let him go, even though she knew the hour was approaching; time to start the day. "You should call in sick," she suggested, circling his navel. "You haven't slept," she added to appeal to his logical side. But he merely sat up, running fingers through his errant hair.
Their morning activities had them leaving late enough that Hal had to drive to work. Alex offered to teleport them, but he declined. They weren't that late, he rebutted. Weaving through the side streets, avoiding other motorists already out to enjoy a sunny Sunday, Hal stole a glance to his left. Alex lounged in the passenger seat, window down and the breeze ruffling her hair. She caught his eye and smiled, her sad regrets from the prior day having been put behind. The contentment emanating from her was contagious on this sunny morning. Focusing on the road, Hal edged into the blind spot behind a delivery truck. The air through Alex's open window had a lingering hint of summer to it. He had always appreciated the turning of seasons. From the extroverted bright days to the insular protection of winter's onslaught, fall was especially a time of transition. It really was only a few brief days every year - a week or two at most - that felt like they could stretch summer into forever, even if change was inevitable. For at least this brief moment, Hal could acknowledge his happiness, even if change were inevitable. Alex had completed closure with her family, and yet she was still here. She had elected to move forward, not remain rooted in her past. He hadn't been entirely certain she would come back.
At the hotel they parted ways. Hal hadn't sensed any other vampires lingering in the vicinity, and Alex had work to do too. But as the morning wore on, Hal's mood faded with his growing fatigue. The lack of sleep the past two nights was catching up to him.
"A friend came by lookin for ya," Megan's voice rang out like squeaky brakes, piercing through the stockroom inventory he was trying to get through.
"I heard," Hal managed with all the civility he could muster. He should have taken Alex's advice. Calling in sick was far preferable to ripping out a co-worker's throat.
"Are you alright?" The girl paused after retrieving the notepad she was after for reception, "Cuz you seem a bit peaky."
"Did he leave a name?" Hal ignored her pass.
"How'd you know he was a fella?" Still, she slipped the card out of her pocket and waved it in the air, "You naught be expecting on a lady caller?" At his scowl she handed the little card over.
Hal clenched his jaw and focused on his breath. R. Turner. In perfect letterpress. Richard always did appreciate the art. "I hardly see why that would be relevant," Hal muttered, realizing from the girl's lack of departure that he should say something. He placed the card on the clipboard in his hand like just another piece of work to attend to. His coworker was twirling her hair with the tip of a finger. A girl twirling her hair like that was always a bad sign... Or a good one, depending on the hunt...
"It's just me an' Sophie be having a wonder. And I just thought it was a nice spot of conversation to ask..." she crossed the threshold into the stockroom with him and flashed a smile.
"Sophie and I," Hal started, mirroring her step forward with a step back.
"What?!" Megan's voice raised a pitch in betrayal, her round and open face flashing to complete shock.
"Your grammar," Hal elaborated, letting his eyes drop irritably to the card on the clipboard.
"Oh! So you're not seeing anyone then?"
Jesus, not again. Alex had gotten the last one fired. She swore she hadn't, but Hal was beginning to recognize her zeal for mischief. Any excuse to ghost about. Hal couldn't help but sigh at the thought. Megan may be annoying, but she didn't deserve to have her bookings messed with. No, he would have to nip this in the bud.
With an expression that dropped the coy smile off Megan's face, Hal let his irritation show. "I am, as a matter of fact 'seeing someone'. Which coincidentally Miss Lloyd, is no business of yours. Or Sophie's."
Megan, her instincts ahead of her face, stepped back, her hair forgotten. "Oh. Oh well, that's... great," she stuttered, backing away. The girl momentarily looked as if she would say something else, but at Hal's hard stare thought better of it. Without another word, she turned and left.
Hal breathed a sigh of relief. Returning to his count of hand soaps, he wondered just how the hell Richard had found them. And he still had absolutely no idea what he was going to do about it. He couldn't kill Richard. His partner's death would be far too problematic. And yet, so far, there was no ambush in wait. Richard had departed, leaving only his card. A truce, it would seem.
When Alex appeared in the storeroom the dryer was whirring, soft and soothing. The room always struck her as stark. White walls, white shelves with row upon row of plush white towels and stacks of toilet tissue wrapped in white paper. A contrast in darks, Hal was standing with his back to her, holding a clipboard. Alex watched him for a moment, appreciating the strong line of his shoulders and the sensuous way his neck moved while he wrote.
"You really shouldn't do that when the door's open. Megan was just here," he spoke without looking at her. Since Alex had used her powers to save him, he had gotten superbly good at knowing exactly where she was.
Pulling a stack of shrink-wrapped plastic cups off the shelf, Alex made a face, "What'd she want? And no one can see me ninny. I always check before loading up."
Hal's eyes flicked to the card on his clipboard. Part of him wanted to tuck the card close to his chest. To hide it from her. Even after facing down Hetty and the imminent return to blood, Hal still had to fight that undermining side of himself every day. With reluctance he lowered the board, showing the card to Alex. Her brow furrowed and then her wide eyes grew wider.
"Turner as in Richard? As in your poison-happy partner Richard? Steer clear of the tea! Shit. I thought you said -"
"I was foolish to think that he wouldn't find me,"
"Shit," Alex set down her stack of cups. The open door behind them shut with the barest flick of her wrist, ensuring their privacy. "Do you think he'll come back?"
"That, I'm not foolish enough to doubt."
"You should tell Tom."
"What can Tom do about it?" Hal snapped irritably before admitting, "and he already knows."
"Tom already knows that Richard was here and he's not freaking out? Either Tom is more confident in his staking abilities than we give him credit for, or he doesn't really know."
"Tom is aware a vampire came by looking for me. And we don't need to go 'freaking' him out. He's busy enough as it is."
"Oh! Like Lit 101 is more important than his best friend's bloody life? Hal - your monkey-suited comrade tried to kill us - or have you forgotten?"
"No, I haven't forgotten. Just - look, I've known Richard for a disturbingly long time. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn't have left his business card. He wants to talk."
"Talk. Huh," Alex leveled Hal with an incredulous look. "The last time you two talked, I ended up busting you out of a gaffer tape beauty wrap. Come on!"
"He's gone. He's not here now. What would you have me do? Run? Go after him? He'll either get in touch or come back but either way, I don't believe he wishes harm. At least not for the first move."
Alex gave a frustrated sigh. "What do you think he wants?"
Hal had that awkward way about him as he looked away, like he wished he hadn't spoken. "I gave him an opportunity when we last met. He has had time to think about it."
"An opportunity for what?"
Hal suddenly desperately needed a cup of tea. Alex had been right this morning. He should have called in sick. He set the clipboard down. He could come back to this later. He started to turn for the door.
"Hal," Alex wasn't going to let him evade her question this time.
Hand on the latch, he turned back to her. "To buy me out."
Hal didn't wait for her to ask anything else before he left the room and shut the door behind him.
Inside the housekeeping office, the telephone was ringing. Hal gave a nod to Tom, who was dicing tomatoes, as he passed through the kitchen. Hal didn't even bother speeding up; he knew the weakness in his stride would cause him to miss the call. He unlocked the door and stepped inside as the phone ended its trill. The tiny office which had at first felt so cloistered, was now a quiet retreat. Even Tom's tomatoes were abrading his senses. Red, wet and acidic... No. He pushed such thoughts away and set his tea down.
Before Hal could gather himself, the phone started ringing again. In a growl of frustration he reached for it across the desk, composing himself before answering, "Barry Grand, Housekeeping."
"Mr. Yorke," the voice was prim and clipped. Hal recognized the caller immediately even though they had never tried to reach them here. Until now, all contact with the Regulatory Office of Constructivism had been through the house.
"Mr. Rook," he acknowledged.
"I trust the arrangements for Miss Millar were satisfactory?"
"Yes. We returned this morning," Hal answered courteously despite the suspicion that this was more than a courtesy call. "Thank you."
"Are you aware that Richard Turner was tracked to your area yesterday?"
Rook's knowledge that Richard had been here only mildly surprised Hal. "It has been brought to my attention, yes."
"You have spoken with him then?"
"No, not since London. Why?"
"There has been... an incident. It would be best if you could visit the Archive at your earliest convenience."
"What kind of an incident?"
"I do not wish to disclose that here. We will see you soon, Mr. Yorke. Tonight, if you are able."
Hal set the phone back in it's electric cradle. Not the night prior, or even moments ago when speaking with Alex had it occurred to him the oddity of Richard's visit. His partner was not one to easily be deterred, which was one of the many reasons for his success in a cutthroat business. Only with Rook's phone call did it strike Hal as strange that Richard had come and gone so quickly. Even being a silent partner in the firm, Hal still knew that there couldn't have been that much urgent business to attend to on a Saturday.
Hal picked up the receiver and dialed the front desk, "Megan?"
"Hal," she answered brusquely.
Remembering the tone of their recent exchange, he started gently, "I apologize for earlier. I haven't slept."
"Because of your friend's funeral? You poor dear," Megan's tone brightened.
"I need to ask you about my friend who was here yesterday."
"Mr. Turner?"
Hal rolled his eyes. Who else? "Did he happen to mention where he was staying?"
"Actually, funny that. He was going to stay here."
"He's here? Why didn't you say!"
"Well he was. But it was not an hour 'fore he checked out again on account of some business emergency," Megan stated, answering what Hal needed to know. "I asked if it was the room cuz he had really wanted the suite but -"
"Thank you Megan," and Hal hung up the phone. Richard had been here looking for him, was prepared to stay and wait for his return, except urgent business required his sudden but voluntary departure. An incident, Rook had said. One that required Hal's return to the underground institutional warren they called the Archive. A place which he was loathe to expose himself to again.
He had only ventured the once with Alex. It had been just days after her "Men in Grey" had helped them to leave London. Alex had felt strongly that he accede to Mr. Rook's request to speak to him. Admittedly, Hal had been curious. For a shadow organization to have existed this long with the sworn purpose of keeping the supernatural world a secret? And none of his people had known about it? It was baffling, but had made a certain sense.
Upon meeting their rescuer, Hal remembered how the tinney overhead lights had exacerbated Rook's exceedingly pale colouring. It was a sign of a man who worked indoors more often than not despite his blonde complexion. Hal did not like to feel interviewed, but that wasn't why he had taken an inherent distrust of the fellow.
Rook had folded his hands upon his broad industrial desk in a deliberate attempt to set him at ease. "Are you aware of why I asked you to come?" he had asked, bluntly cutting in without small talk.
Hal twitched an eyebrow, "I gathered as much from Alex."
"Is she here?"
"Yes," Hal tilted his head to his left to where Alex was leaning against a filing cabinet. Rook's eyes followed and looked blankly for a moment before turning back to him. Alex had stuck her tongue out at him, Hal recalled. It appeared that she was right. Once again, she was invisible.
"I see," he stated, even though he clearly could not. "Mr. Yorke, your friends have already elaborated on your situation. That is not why I wished to speak with you." Hal regarded Rook, dropping into an impassive expression reflexively. Rook continued, "Your condition is quite rare."
"With Alex?" Hal hazarded. Even to the Old Ones, the Hangori were legendarily rare ghosts.
"We were fortunate enough to speak with her directly in that regard. It is most intriguing, but that is not quite what I meant," Rook smiled toothily and leaned forward. "You realize the only reason we crossed paths is because we expected to be dampening a fiasco in London? But you took us by surprise, Mr. Yorke."
Hal didn't respond, so Rook continued, "To have refused your nature for so long? How did you do it? And now? A shining example of control. And with your past no less," Rook had smiled almost like a co-conspirator. Hal had wondered just what this man thought he knew about him. As it turned out, a lot. "In all our histories and records, we haven't come across one quite like you."
"I'm not the only vampire to form a conscience. At our very abode was another, John Mitchell."
"Yes and look what happened with that one! The Box Tunnel massacre made the press only because we let our guard down about him. It will not happen again," Rook's smile hardened. "I'm familiar with your file. You were truly an atrocious specimen. Cruelest to your own kind and merciless to prey... What changed? Was it boredom?"
Hal balked, stealing a glance at Alex. She had crossed her arms defensively over her chest and was looking at Rook open-mouthed. She caught the movement of his eyes and with surprising sympathy, tilted her head questioningly.
"In a manner of speaking... yes," Hal conceded reluctantly. Rook arched his sharp eyebrows, having not expected Hal to agree with him. He waited a moment for Hal to elaborate. When he did not, Rook shrugged with a casual smile.
"This department has a long history of studying the psychology of monsters, Type Twos in particular. We were hoping to arm ourselves with knowledge, but it was all poppycock," Rook paused, calculating Hal's expression before continuing. "There is no psychology. The very cellular nature changes, as I'm certain you know. It does not matter if the affected person was a priest, a potter, a mercenary... or a bastard son of a whore. The result is all the same."
Alex must have seen or sensed some bodily response in him at that point, for she came to stand next to him, placing a slender hand on his shoulder.
Rook had leaned forward again, taking Hal in with a piercing assessment. "You fascinate us though. Most accept their natures and maintain a fairly even keel. Yet, you oscillate from good, to bad, to worse. You know it makes the fall all the more catastrophic, yet you pursue it over and over again, to the detriment of humanity and even your very own household. Why is that, Mr. Yorke?"
"You forget that we are not alone," Hal clenched his jaw and felt Alex tense beside him.
"I have not forgotten, but you must forgive me. I merely assumed you would have told Miss Millar. You two seemed close," Rook smiled.
"Told me what Hal?" Alex's wide eyes were reluctantly curious. She pulled away and finally sat in the chair next to him, looking between him and Mr. Rook.
"She knew of the risk," Hal's voice had gone very quiet. He was more shocked than anything at what Rook seemed to be alluding to.
"And yet tragically, knowing was not enough. She met her end along with everyone else," Rook concluded with haughtiness.
Hal's breath hitched. How dare this smug little man know about that. How the hell could he have known about that? This man's great-great-grandparents hadn't even been born yet. There hadn't been a trace, he had made sure of it.
In lieu of leaping across the table and strangling the smile right off the man's face, Hal asked with only mild restraint, "What do you want, Rook?" They needed to get to the point before this man unearthed any more of his skeletons.
"Two centuries gone and still strikes a nerve I see. That's encouraging I suppose," Rook's blue eyes narrowed as he seemed to consider Hal across the desk from him. Then he opened a drawer and brought out a simple flask. "We would like to prevent it from happening again. No one has to die, Hal."
Without Rook telling him Hal knew the flask contained blood, so fresh it was still warm. Even with the cap on, he could smell it.
Rook placed the flask between them on the desk. "We have programs in place. Limited, of course. But for a time now we have supplied certain informants with the means to blood. Legally."
Under the table, Alex had reached for his hand, "Hal let's go. You don't need it. You've proven that. Come on," she tugged. He resisted, remained rooted in the hard chair. Just half the amount of that flask would be all it would take to heal him... Hal hadn't moved, hadn't made a motion towards the temptation in the slightest, but Alex shook him. "Hal!"
"Thank you, but I must decline," Hal stated and let Alex pull him up. Rook stood as well, seemingly to rebut him, but Hal continued, "We are in your debt, so I will help your department if I am able to do so. But I cannot accept what you are offering."
The two men held locked gazes for a moment, each seemingly trying to exert his will over the other, until Rook renewed a warm smile and extended his hand. Hal hesitated before reaching across the table. The man's hand was dry and cool. "Fair enough," Rook conceded. "We will have to keep our surveillance then. You understand."
Hal nodded grimly, releasing the handshake, "Fair enough."
Afterwards, on the drive home Hal had told Alex about Sylvie. He wasn't going to. Or at least, not yet. But Alex had asked in that open way of hers, "Who was she?" Hal felt the reluctant need to answer. Still, it took him several miles before he could say it.
"Sylvie... was my wife. And... mortal. Very few knew, even then."
Alex, for once had been shocked into uncharacteristic silence. The moment stretched and Hal had started to regret telling her. This was too much of his past, too soon. But when she finally broke it, she wasn't angry. "You know, I never would have pegged you as the marrying type."
"It was customary, at the time. If one were to court a lady of her standing, eventually -"
"No, I get it. How long did it last?"
"The courtship? Or her life?"
"Both, it sounds like."
"Not long enough." But that wasn't what Alex wanted to know. After another silent mile, he admitted, "They were the longest, and simultaneously the shortest years of my life."
Alex didn't respond or needle him any further and for that he was glad. But he felt guilt. She shouldn't have had to find out this way. They had become close so quickly that it hadn't even entered his mind that he should have told her, until it was too late.
"Alex..." he felt her gaze shift from the window back to him. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."
She just shook her head. "Hal, you've been around for a long-assed time. I'd be an idiot to think I was the only one to have gotten close to you." Alex never failed to surprise him. Unlike many of her generation, she was wise beyond her limited years.
Hal could count on one hand the people who knew he had killed Sylvie in the end. Alex and Mr. Rook now included. Maybe in time he could tell her more. Perhaps she had sensed that. When they returned home and Allison had asked jovially how it went, Alex spoke on his behalf. Told her and Tom it went fine. That Rook just wanted to know how Hal managed to stay clean. It wasn't long afterward that Rook's department had kept true to their word. Alex's family had been informed of her untimely passing and plans for the recently attended memorial had been set in place.
Yes, it had been a difficult couple of weeks.
It wasn't just Rook's offer he was reluctant to expose himself to again. Dominic Rook had a way about him that had lodged under Hal's skin. Using knowledge as a weapon reminded him too much of Snow, and... of himself. He was loathe to find out just what else Rook had unearthed in the Archive of vampire history.
Hal once more lifted the telephone receiver. He didn't need to refer to the card to know Richard Turner's private number. It was the same number the vampire had kept for decades, only now it was forwarded to various mobile devices. Perhaps if he just got it over with and talked with Richard, then maybe he could avoid Rook's request altogether.
Or, perhaps not.
For the first time since the invention of caller identification, Richard Turner failed to answer when Hal called.
*For purposes of this story, the character of Sylvie is one of the few bits of canon adopted from Series 5. I laid the groundwork for someone like her from Hal's past halfway through WwaG, Ch. 25-26. And then Whimsyfox started writing her story Set You Free and I 100% FELL for her Sylvie. If you wish to know my now-in-existence headcanon about Hal & Sylvie, I strongly recommend reading Set You Free. A delightfully beautiful and heartbreaking story that is so well done you'll thank me for the recommendation. Promise.