Well, here it is. Took a bit of tweaking to do it. Sorry, no lemon (not yet, anyways). I originally had planned a much more "fannish" chapter, with a bit of squee and humour, but I couldn't get it to flow right. I'll do my best with another chapter, but George's head isn't really a happy place, and it's hard to go through with it when I know he wouldn't be interested. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Ten - A Faded Lead
"Jesus, George," said Elliot, stroking George's forehead. "You really know how to calm a guy down."
George's quiet snickers made the couch vibrate. The two were wrapped up in each other's arms, exhausted. Elliot had never had such a physically demanding relationship. George had no recovery time, and expected the same of Elliot. A few hours later Elliot was nursing a few bruises that lined up perfectly with George's fingers. Battered and tired, Elliot relaxed in that warm, snuggly afterglow that only good sex can give you. He sighed, smelling his hair.
"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his face into George's mussed up hair.
George chuckled again, wrapping his arms around him a little harder. His skin was deceptively warm on his stomach where he was pressed into him, but his back was still cold. He stroked his neck, letting his mind wander. Where was their relationship going? Sure, this would be great for a few years. But he was 40. Whenever he imagined their relationship it was with the two of them growing older together. Now George was permanently set at 44 years old and soon he'd pass him by, and grow old, with George stuck the way he was in an ageless body.
He sighed. Not exactly a good place for his mind to go when they were lying together like they were. But it made him wonder. He shifted so he could look down at George, who was staring across the room, lost in thought. He was going to get older. Would George get bored of him? Would he stop loving him, become disgusted with him and leave?
He shook his head violently. George looked up at him, a small smile playing on his lips. He tilted his head to the side with a question dancing behind his eyes.
"You don't want to know."
George frowned a little, then reached up and stroked his cheek.
"No. Later."
"OK," he said, and snuggled back down.
Elliot frowned. "Actually, what happened last night? What were you able to tell Kris, but not me?"
George sighed. "I didn't want to alarm you last night or this morning. You were so strung out I just thought it would be better to... wait."
"But you can tell Kris." It was hard to keep the jealousy and disgust out of his voice. He hadn't been sure if he liked Kris or not, but now he knew. He hated his guts.
George laughed. "You're so cute when you're mad." He sat up and smiled at him, the warmth shining in his brown eyes. Elliot stared him down, or tried to - but he had the feeling that George didn't need to blink, and he was forced to do it first.
George's smile faded and he looked down. His lips moved, but no sound came. Elliot figured George was speaking too softly for him to hear.
"Cut it out, George, spill it. You told Cragen, and something happened. You... fought with your Sire."
George nodded, a low hiss escaping through his teeth. "Yes, I tracked Cragen down and told him what happened. Then I tried to sense my Sire telepathically, like Kris told me. And... I was barely strong enough to get away."
"What do you mean?" Elliot asked, reaching out and touching his arm. He curled his fingers around the solid muscle and started to draw him over.
George let himself be pulled and settled into Elliot's lap, curling into his body. "He... spoke to me. Put images in my head. I couldn't talk to him, at least not more than a word or two. But he could speak. And he could... influence me."
"Influence how?"
"Feelings. Desires, fear... hunger."
Elliot felt his mouth go dry. "Did you kill anyone?"
"No. But it was close. Had I been weaker by one, tiny iota... Elliot, it was so close that something smaller than a grain of sand could have tipped the scales. I wanted them."
Elliot drew in a ragged breath when he realized he'd been holding it. He was scared - no denying it. Scared of the man in his arms, scared of what could happen, what would happen, if George was pushed. And here I am, clinging to him like a rock.
George looked up at him, sorrow etched across his features. Elliot berated himself. George was in agony, and here he was fearing for himself. Something inside him broke then, and he realized that he was in love with George, not the kind which people declare for soft feelings and sex, forgetting that they were in love the next month when they'd broken up and moved on. Or when after twenty-two years of marriage your wife walks out and you move on, he thought bitterly. No, this was love that he would die for, like for his children.
He put his hand under George's jaw and turned his face and crushed his lips into his. It didn't matter then what happened in the future, where George would go. Elliot was changed, and he wasn't sure if he could change back. Something, this new creature in his arms, held some sort of magic. The pull was harder, stronger, and he didn't think he could get away from it even if he tried. He'd follow him, if he could.
"I love you," he whispered between kisses.
George's arms went around his neck and the kiss got deeper, the sweet taste of his saliva, the feel of his body, sent Elliot's head reeling. He felt heat blooming over his body.
"I love you too, Elliot," murmured George. "It seems you've cast a spell on me. I'm yours."
Elliot smiled. "I think it's you that cast a spell."
George stiffened. "Uh oh."
"What?" Elliot asked, frowning.
George was out of his arms in a whoosh, throwing clothes at him. "Get dressed."
"What?" he said, starting to pull his pants on.
George finished buttoning up his shirt when someone knocked on the door. Elliot hiked up his pants, glanced at the clock, and finished putting them on. He opened the door. "Lo?"
Kris walked in without waiting for an invitation. He paused a moment in the foyer, looking at Elliot's bruises. He turned and stared at George with a mixture of disgust and acceptance. "I always thought it was disgusting when vamp's diddled their food source. You don't see me having sex with a cow," he said.
Elliot didn't say anything, which George found odd. After a moment he realized it was supposed to be a quiet, mumbled aside, and ignored it.
"What're you doin' here," Elliot snapped.
Ah, back to the accent.
"I have a lead," said Kris, turning back to him.
George held back from leaping at him. "You do? Who?"
"Easy, now. It's a lead, not a suspect. I noticed that they found two sets of fingerprints, other than yours in that apartment - Gregory Wilkes the doorman, and another not in IAFIS. Now, they've been on a crusade for the other set, believing it to be the perp, but... I don't think so."
George frowned. "Right. They also found different blood from mine, a few drops. They also figure that it belongs to the perp."
"I don't. Gregory Wilkes went down as an accomplice, right? Well, he was unable to be interviewed, in fact he's unable to do anything without care now, and he resides in Bellevue Psyche."
Elliot scratched his head. "How is this good?"
"When a strong ancient uses his ability to mesmerise someone, they can bend them to their will. This is what I think our vampire's power is. And when they break, they can never heal. They will only take commands from their master, and will never live for themselves again. Gregory Wilkes is broken. Only his master can bring him out of his stupor."
Elliot glanced between the two of them. "Again... how is this good?"
"George has some of his Sire's blood in him - it's why they have the bond that they do. It's possible that George's voice will compel him to respond, if only for a few questions."
Realization broke out on Elliot's face. "Enough for a description. Damn. I'll get dressed."
Elliot bolted up the stairs.
George looked back at Kris. "You know, Elliot's going to ask later about the drops of blood you mentioned, and the fingerprints. What are you going to tell him? It'll hurt him to know the truth about what happened to the boy."
"Does it hurt you?" asked Kris, his blue eyes turned into X-rays as the bored into George's.
"Yes. You have no idea," said George, biting his lip. "But I can hide my feelings well. Elliot..."
"He'll ask me how siring works sooner or later," said Kris. "It will be a topic he'll be keen on."
George frowned. "Why?"
"He loves you, you love him, you want a happy life together, and he's going to die in another forty years or so. Do the math, George."
George's face contorted. He snarled, bristling, feeling his muscles tense. He knew he'd changed from mild-mannered Huang, to the new thing that he was, with the Hungry Shadow behind his eyes. "NO!"
Kris shrugged, his face unsympathetic. "Sorry, George. But it's true."
Growl still rumbling continuously in his chest, Elliot came down to see the two of them locked in a stare. "What?" he asked, his eyes flickering back and forth.
"Nothing," said Kris, turning for the door.
George relaxed, there was a wave of emotion like agony over his features, and his face became masklike once more.
TTTTTT
Getting into Bellevue to find Gregory Wilkes was easy - George was well known, a quick flash of a badge alongside to flashed NYPD shields and the three of them were winding their way through Bellevue Psyche. They were led to a ward that housed people who were catatonic. A quick talk with the attendant let them know that Wilkes was in a private room at the moment.
"He's being transferred at the request of his family in a few days, but he's available right now. It won't do much good, he won't speak or eat or do anything really. Sometimes his hands turn blue because he won't breathe. He's turned himself into a vegetable. But it's not that his mind is destroyed - he has brain activity. He's just... given up. There is little we can do."
George smiled pleasantly at her. The yellow lights gave his once-dark skin an odd cast, and the woman retreated a step in response. She smiled nervously, showed them the door, and left as fast as decorum would allow.
Gregory Wilkes lay on a bed in a crisp, white hospital gown. He'd gained weight in the week, had put on almost twenty pounds by George's reckoning. His arms were flaccid by his sides, his feet and legs were covered in a thin cotton blanket. He gave no notice anyone had even entered the room, he just lay there. The only testament to his living was the low pulse of blood beyond the thin membrane of wrinkled skin, and his slow breathing.
George sniffed the room. No vampire had come or gone. He stepped up to Wilkes and looked down at his passive face. It wasn't restful. If anything it was just slack and forgotten - he couldn't be bothered to do anything but close his eyes and let his jaw hang open. His tongue had acquired a swollen, fuzzy look and spittle ran out the side of his mouth.
"Can't even be bothered to wet his mouth," said Elliot.
George picked up a pitcher of water. He poured a little of the stale water into a cup and tilted Wilkes's head up. Wilkes did not open his eyes or give any signal he'd been touched or moved. He wet his tongue, forcing his jaw shut with one finger. Wilkes's coughed involuntarily when the water tickled his throat, and swallowed. George fed him a little more water and lay his head back down. His tongue was returning to normal, so he stood back.
Kris stepped up and looked down at him. "Hmm. Talk to him George," he said. "He might respond to you because of the link."
Feeling very silly George bit his lip, deciding on what to say. "Gregory Wilkes."
There was a long pause. Then Wilkes's eyes opened and his mouth shut. He smacked for a moment and sat up slowly. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. "Yes Master?"
There was a prickling in George's mind. The link. He felt the eyes of his Sire on him, curious, amused. He offered no tendrils of feeling, however, and George was able to ignore him.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
Gregory blinked. "Child of the Master," he replied. "What do you need of me?"
"What does the Master look like? My Sire?"
Wilkes blinked again a few times. He smacked again, licking his lips with a dry tongue. George offered him water again and he stared at it, not sure what to do with it. "Drink," George ordered.
Wilkes drank. He set the cup aside and sighed. "The Master is very beautiful. He has white skin and golden, burning eyes. His hair is golden, too. He is as tall as the one behind you with the cold eyes, and slim like him as well. He is very strong, with a wonderful voice."
"Any other features?" George asked, trying to be gentle with him.
Wilkes gazed off. "He is very beautiful. A straight nose and pointed chin. His hair is wavy, and not long."
George frowned. It didn't really remind him of anyone off-hand. "Did he say a name?"
"The Master."
"Of course." He turned to face the other two. "Anything else?" he mouthed.
Both of them shook their heads. George turned back to Wilkes and offered him the water again. Wilkes drank it obediently.
George looked at him, remembering all the good times and friendly smiles from him. How much of a good man he was, and how much of that was lost somewhere in his mind, unable to be released. The thought made anger roil within him. His Sire chuckled in the back of his mind and the link was broken after a second.
"Gregory," said George, "I want you to live. I want you to eat and drink and support yourself. As close to the way you used to be. Do you remember?"
"Yes," said Wilkes, his pale eyes unfocused again.
"I want you to get better. I want you to do things without having to be told - just like everyone else in the world. To live. Do you understand?"
Wilkes shuffled, his eyes focused slightly. "You wish for me to be like I was before I met the Master?"
George nodded. "Yes."
"I... can't."
"Can you pretend?"
Wilkes was reaching the end of his ability to speak with him. He started to rock back and forth, groaning. George felt the link starting to weaken, like a chain it had begun to get fatigued. He could feel it warping in the middle, stretching.
"Gregory Wilkes, can you pretend?"
Wilkes swallowed hard, his body jerked back and the links began to stretch.
"Nnnnnn..."
George stepped back, frowning. "Gregory?"
After a moment the shaking subsided. "Yes Master, I can pretend."
"Good. You're released from me," said George.
After a long moment Wilkes relaxed and his eyes regained a small amount of their focus. He did not acknowledge anyone in the room. He got up, shuffled for a moment, and went to the washroom. It wasn't returning to himself, but at least he wouldn't need a feeding tube.
"Let's go," he said.
They informed the nurse, and the recovery was nothing short of a 'miracle.' They left as a doctor and several nurses appeared.
Twilight was setting over the city. The sun disappeared behind sky scrapers, pooling inky blue shadows among the streets. Streaks of orange and gold broke through the gaps in buildings, lighting up windows and windshields, gleaming off of dusty hoods and lamp posts, and crowned with a deep, hazy blue sky. George was dazzled for a moment on the colors, so much more vibrant in this body.
Kris nudged him and he nodded absently, letting himself be led towards the car.
He sat in the back, letting Elliot take shotgun. The tinted windows gave the world behind them a sepia look.