Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground. Beta assistance from TJ4ev and Whimsyfox enables (most of) my grammar to pass muster for Hal.
Many of my carefully woven threads come together in this chapter. Grab a cuppa and cosy up, for it's a long one. I hope you enjoy the delightful reveals…
Rosanna had been boring her gaze into the polished surface of the table, but looked up when he opened the door. Pure relief swept across her features. "Thank Christ - how did you get in here?" Her eyes darted towards the hall. "No matter. I think he'll be back soon. Do you have the key?" She extended her bound wrists.
Spike opened his jacket and retrieved a flask. He took a seat across from Rosanna, then placed the flask on the table. He slid it over.
"What are you doing? Let's go."
"I thought you'd be thirsty," was all he said.
"Of course I'm thirsty. That's why I need to get out of here. I could eat a village."
"They're not going to let you leave," Spike stated, his tone as pragmatic as he could muster. Rosanna gave him a hard stare in return. Spike didn't blink. It was crucial that he not look away. Just as intently as she was staring him down, he returned her gaze coolly. "Zanna, please. Tell them what they want to know. They've been watching. All of us."
Her stare hardened, her expression turning into a sneer of distaste. "I should have known," she tutted. "Oh, Steven," she drawled out his name. "You always aimed to please, didn't you? Just how long have you been playing their little spy?"
"Long enough to believe in what they do," he answered quickly, with conviction. Rosanna blinked - a small pause in her incensed countenance, so he pressed on. "Rosanna... They didn't have to save you."
"I don't care if they scraped me off the pavement. I'm not going to risk everything I've worked for just to slip information to a bunch of humans."
Spike held her gaze for a long time. Every second that she kept her unwavering silence only increased his sadness. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, well doll, I tried to tell them you'd feel that way." Spike pushed his chair back, the metal rasping against concrete, and stood. "You should have let the past stay past. I'm sorry it came to this, Rosanna."
"Wait," her eyes narrowed. "You're just - what? Leaving me here? Steven, darling -"
Spike looked back, and stared into her pleading eyes. Those hypnotisingly blue eyes that had tripped him up so many times before…
Her expression faltered with a hint of apprehension. Second-guessing everything she thought she knew about him, no doubt. Spike had finally stopped caring about her opinion. For once, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Spike walked away, and shut the door behind him.
Nave was nearly finished with his report from the werewolf relocation operation, when his phone chimed the announcement of yet another text from Maggie Dan. He grimaced. Just because ghosts didn't need to sleep… Nave wasn't sure what he had done to adopt her favour for haunting, but he had. Still, he tapped the screen to read.
Need lab access before you go. Two minutes?
Nave glanced over his shoulder, suddenly knowing the Department's ghost must have been watching.
"Now, huh? It can't wait?"
The resounding silence and lack of a floating mobile must have meant she already assumed he would meet her there. Nave sighed heavily, then stood. He collected his jacket and patted the pocket for his keys. Home, a good meal and a long sleep beckoned after this.
"Wait," Allison prodded with a pondering expression. "So someone broke into the Archive, absconded with files and Richard Turner? Why would they go through all that trouble to set off a bunch of bombs then? Why didn't they take Richard from his office and save all the fuss?"
"Or, your pal Dick is actually the nut job behind all this," Alex muttered, glancing at Hal, but he didn't acknowledge her suspicion. Pensive, he appeared to be awaiting Rook's response.
"Because, Miss Larkin," Rook's voice sounded slightly shocked, his normally clipped speech slow, like he was working it all out as he spoke. "They weren't after Mr. Turner as an individual. If Arthur's instinct is correct, then they were after Turner's past, and what that past once stood for. The bombings were merely to insure the distraction for us all."
"To distract you from what?" Tom asked, sounding only mildly curious. Even Alex could hear his stomach growling. His wolf hadn't gotten its usual chicken dinner.
"Ourselves, Mr. McNair."
Allison's eyes widened, "The Archive."
"Exactly," Rook nodded. "This was orchestrated by someone who knows how we work. They knew precisely what to do in order for us to capture Mr. Turner, and keep him in holding. And then they knew exactly how to give us a big enough distraction to pull every single one of our operatives out into the field."
"The Department has been compromised! You have a… a double agent!" Allison concluded excitedly.
"Castle," Hal acknowledged. It was the first thing he had said in some time. Rook's mouth hardened into a line, clearly still having difficulty thinking of his operative in that way. "Yet, it still doesn't make sense. Richard wouldn't do this - it isn't his style," Hal glanced at Alex in answer to her question. "He likes his comforts far too much to have volunteered for this." Returning his eyes to Rook, Hal continued, "However, if Richard isn't involved… I fail to see how he would be connected."
"And you wouldn't. Turner himself likely doesn't know. He has, historically speaking, been a rather charmed and protected individual. Ever since he let the proverbial cat out of the bag on Parliament in 1641."
"What do you mean? Parliament never found out about vampires. We would have heard of…" Allison trailed off as she furrowed her brow and began to pace the small room. When she looked up, it was with an excited grin and a victorious laugh. "You're all here because of him? Holy molasses! That's -"
"What? That's crackers!" Tom interrupted, his eyebrows shooting skyward.
"Richard Turner broke cover under a very delicate situation. The religious fervor of the day was a tinderbox tied to the political field, in which Mr. Turner was a much bigger player than history tells, because we all but erased him. The event led to the Protestation, which unfortunately triggered the bloody Civil War."
"I thought the Protestation was an attempt to avert the Civil War?" Allison argued, quickened by her practised debate skills and and her zeal for history.
"It was a bill that required men of every Parish to swear an oath of allegiance to King Charles and the Church. From that point onwards, it was forbidden to hold a state office without signing."
Allison's eyes grew wide. "And oaths had to be sworn in the presence of a Holy cross… It was a country-wide sweep for vampires!"
"They very well couldn't have admitted that a devil was able to infiltrate the very core of moral values. Fortunately, the group who actually witnessed Richard's act was very small. The committee would eventually go on to create an army outside of the control of Parliament. They invented a cover story quickly. Richard Turner had escaped and was never seen or heard from again. But those who witnessed him manifest were forever changed. Knowing that vampires not only were real, but could be anyone, anywhere at anytime - that they weren't reduced to the folklore of night times and back-country reaches - well! Something had to be done. An alliance was formed that would be the beginning of what you see today. Defenders - the guardians of a secret so heretical that it would have shook the foundations of the earth, had it been revealed."
"But someone wishes to reveal us now," Hal stated, returning the conversation to the present.
"Not just the existence of vampires, no. If Arthur's suspicions are correct, they could have all the proof they need to blow the entire supernatural world, including its guardians, out of the water."
"What could possibly be proof? You just said it was all erased," Allison prodded.
"His Majesty's Gift, Miss Larkin. Our Formation documents, along with the very first archive. That archive contains eyewitness accounts from several reputable figures, sworn signatures of secrecy, and one small portrait as a record of the first known vampire. And now they have the man behind that portrait to prove the deed."
"So? Portraits get forged all the time. That still doesn't prove the existence of -"
"The portrait is by Rembrandt, Miss Larkin. It will be evaluated, and proven true."
Hal suddenly huffed a dark laugh, and Alex shot him a look as he shook his head. "Richard and his god-damned art collection is what finally dooms us? Jesus," he cursed, then dropped his head heavily against the gurney's mattress.
"This isn't merely revenge on vampires. This is to expose our entire mission," Rook held up his radio. "I have to go."
"We've been blind," Hal continued, shaking his head and giving Rook pause. "The Route - the Park? It wasn't merely to distract your Department, or get as many werewolves as possible in one location. Christ! It was to film you."
"No, we disabled all the cameras at the Park. That's not possible," Rook's answer was calm even though there was a hint of doubt in his voice.
"You disabled the ones that were already there. But what of ones that were set afterwards? Milo easily could have. Your own operative easily could have."
Rook's complexion paled even more so than usual. Allison theorized on another angle, however. "Where could one go with that kind of footage though? Who would believe enough to even listen?"
"That's a very good question. One we do not have the luxury of time to debate," Rook answered. "I have to rally those still here. Our work isn't yet done. We'll see if we can locate and track those cameras, because I fear you are correct." Rook concluded, then clicked on his radio. "Nave, do you copy?"
Static hissed, then clicked off. There was reluctance in the reply. "Copy. I'm nearly finished here with -"
"Nevermind that for now. Were there any subjects present last night that we have yet to catalogue?" Rook asked.
"Yes, a few, sir."
"Good. Send me the report on those individuals. One of them very well may be Vinicius de Rocha Batista, whom I need you to research. And Nave?"
"Yeah?"
"Put a message out for all those able-bodied and still in the area. We have need of a team to return straight away."
"Half of 'em already went east this morning."
"I am aware. It is imperative that we locate cameras that were potentially placed after our sweep. In the meantime, I will see what I can get out of our hostage. As I will be indisposed, I must request for you to transport two subjects on your way back to town."
"Is that all, sir?" Nave's displeasure wasn't disguised by the static of the radio.
"Yes. Thank you, Nave."
Rook pointedly looked back to Hal. "We may yet have need of your expertise, Mr. Yorke. Can I get you another flask, or will you be able to control yourself?"
"I'm fine," Hal growled the answer.
Rook raised an eyebrow sharply, but didn't comment further. Instead he turned to Tom. "Mr. O'Meara needs to be convinced that secrecy is of uttermost importance. And Conal Gwedore, if he has already been told. I would visit them this morning myself, except there appears to be matters of even greater urgency that I must attend to."
Tom nodded, "A'ight. We'll go first thing."
Rook kept his eyes locked on Tom momentarily, then apparently believing Tom would follow through, he added, "Nave will organize your transport home. His office is above us, one level." Rook paused, then addressed the room as a whole. "I extend my gratitude for your service to the cause. Now, if you'll please excuse me."
Rook departed, but his voice carried from the corridor. "Jim, I will need you to keep this post for awhile longer. Your replacement is being reallocated to the field. May I borrow your chair?" he asked and they heard the guard stand.
Tom cleared his throat, then glanced to Hal. "So I suppose we're heading out to go see 'bout Gwedore. You need anything at all, mate?"
"I'm fine," Hal grumbled, repeating the same terse response he had given Rook.
Tom stared at his friend for a bit, knowing he wasn't fine, but not sure what else to do about it.
Allison took his hand, clasping his fingers in hers with a gentle squeeze. "We'll be back in just a few hours, Tom."
"Yeah, alright. In a bit then." Tom turned to go but Alex stepped forward to stop them in the doorway. The guard was leaning against the wall and observing them, but he took a sudden interest in the floor when the two werewolves paused.
"Tom?" Alex asked once they were in the hall. She glanced quickly back into the room, then whispered. "There's something else wrong."
"What? No. He's healing right up - see?"
"No. Something is broken. I can't -" she stuttered off, unable to say it. Tom waited patiently for her to continue. "I can't... feel him anymore."
"What? Like he's already gone mental?" Tom asked in an alarmed whisper.
"No - well, God, I dunno. But -" she toed the concrete floor with her boot. "I can't feel this either." At his befuddlement, she caught the sleeve of Tom's shirt, pulling at the fabric. "Or this. It's like…"
"Like... you're a ghost?" Allison asked, her worry creasing her face as she tried to focus her eyes more fully on Alex.
"What?" The drawn out, single word question from Hal did little to hide his feelings. Or the fact that he could hear them perfectly well.
"I… broke it off. I had to. You were going to…" Alex started and stopped.
"That, is by far the wisest thing you've done in months."
Hal's voice came out as detached as she had felt earlier. Alex just stared into the open doorway. The barb was a defense on his part, she knew. But she also knew that her pain was written all over her face. Goddamn him!
Allison clued into what it all meant sooner than Tom, and her eyes widened, "Oh, Alex…" She stepped forward and gave Alex a swift hug, which she couldn't really feel. After a moment, she pulled away.
Tom's chin hardened, concern evident on his face. His eyebrows met as he glanced through the doorway, towards Hal, but then he looked down at his bare feet. Awkwardly, Tom's hands sought pockets that his hospital trousers didn't possess. Eventually he just hooked his thumbs on the bottom of his shirt. "So... you're gonna stay here then?"
Alex hesitated, but then nodded. Their impromptu meeting with Rook had interrupted things between her and Hal. She had wanted Tom's advice on what to do, but realised how foolish that was. Tom could help chain his friend down, and would determinedly detox the monster that was sure to come, but she couldn't expect him to know what to do beyond that.
"Alex…" Tom began with discomfort, then raised an arm to run his hand over his head. "We don't know how long it'll be this time."
"Doesn't matter," she replied, with another quick glance into the room.
"Last time, it was just barely a pint, you know? This was… a lot more."
"I know," Alex answered simply, then bit her lip.
Tom squared his jaw with an exhale, then nodded. "Call us, okay? If'n you need?" he insisted. "We'll be back later."
Allison nodded. "If there's anything at all that will help, just say it. Maybe there's an artifact, or potion or something? Maybe it's not irreversible?"
"Maybe," was all Alex could muster in reply to Allison's hopeful ideas. She watched Tom and Allison leave, their hands automatically reaching for each other as they went to seek the stairwell that would lead them out.
The guard, Jim, straightened his posture and came towards the doorway. With a start, Alex realised that he meant to shut it. She slipped inside before he did.
Hal was stoically silent as the lock clicked home.
"Hal?" she said softly. She had wanted to continue their conversation before telling him that she had lost the thread. She had wanted to make sure he was okay first. Even without their connection, she could sense that he wasn't. Whether his silence stemmed from anger or sadness though, she wasn't certain. "I tried. To put it back? But… I haven't found the way yet."
Instead of answering, Hal took a deep breath, then closed his eyes wearily. Alex watched him for a moment, but when it seemed he really wasn't going to answer her, she bit her lip and leaned against the wall. Maybe she should have gone with Tom & Allison, after all.
Rook entered the cell, his mobile activated to record in his pocket. The subject was chained and sitting cross-legged with his back to the concrete wall. Thankfully, he was wearing the grey trousers they had provided.
"I trust you know where you are." Rook stated as he placed the chair, then sat down. Milo's eyes followed as Rook brought out his pen and notepad. "I trust you also know why."
Rook met the dark man's eyes and held them. Milo kept his silence, studying him with an impassive expression. "And," Rook continued. "You know who I am. Let us cut to the chase, shall we? You have certain intel that we need."
"Castle's dead, ain't he?"
Just as Milo had schooled his expression, so did Rook. Without acknowledging the question at all, he continued as if Milo hadn't spoken. "Jonathan Castle familiarized you with our ways, I presume? You will tell me what I wish to know, one way or the other."
"I worked for Snow you nit. There's little you could do that hasn't already been done."
"Oh, that I don't doubt. But rather than going through the messy process to find out, I have a proposition for you."
Milo's hard stare did not change. "Milo Jenkins, if you can cooperate and prove your usefulness, I am prepared to offer you an opportunity. Or, we can bring out our little specialties. Your fate is your choice."
Reluctantly, and without enthusiasm, Milo asked, "What kind of opportunity are we talking?"
"One of further and continued intel. One that you could retire into, if you wished. We know of the events that led you to seek out employment with the Old Ones. All of that can be erased. Files can go missing, charges dropped. We can make your transgressions disappear far more thoroughly than the vampires." There was a long silence while Milo studied him. Rook was prepared to wait.
"How much do you need to know?" Milo finally asked.
"Tell me everything you can about your dealings with the Lobisomem."
Milo smiled, flashing his teeth. "Well that's easy. I don't have any."
Rook failed to hide his startlement. "The plans to expose supernaturals and this very Department -"
"Have little to do with the Lobisomem," Milo laughed. "If you can't figure that out Mr. Rook, then you don't deserve my cooperation."
"This ghost then," Rook said and Milo raised his chin with the barest flicker of recognition. "The one who has possessed and kidnapped the Brazilian anthropologist," Rook stated as he leaned forward. "The Lobisomem Alpha had been possessed as well."
"You're getting warmer," Milo gave Rook a sly grin. "But you should be talking to Jonathan, not me."
"I'm talking to you. What is your end goal? What was in this for you?"
"The same thing you just offered, Mr. Rook. When it came down to it though, Castle couldn't keep his vengeance in his pants. Your bloke's hatred of vampires was impressive."
"The things I were unaware of about Jonathan are proving to be most unfortunate," Rook said after a brief silence. "Exposure really was the end game here. But why would you want that?"
"Have you ever done something terrible that you didn't intend, Mr. Rook?"
Rook was silent, so Milo continued. "I imagine in your line of work, yes, you can understand. You see, if the whole world suddenly knew about werewolves, then I'd be free. Those I had killed would become yet more casualties of an extensive and fallible coverup. So either way this went down, I would have my redemption. I never set out to be a murderer, Mr. Rook."
"You want forgiveness for what happened."
"No," Milo shook his head. "Forgiveness is something I'll never have. I just want for those grieving to understand - that I didn't know. I didn't believe it. Not until the next morning, surrounded by the carnage." Milo paused; the large man was still shaken by the memory. "Before I met Castle, all I wanted was to be free of it. Now though? I want the world to know of the lies, same as he."
"Yes," Rook agreed, eventually. "We are fallible, and for that I am truly sorry. However," Rook tapped his pen against his knee and righted his posture. "I see it as all the more reason for you to help us. You can take action to keep it from happening again, to someone else's family." At his statement, Milo took a deep breath, shifting his gaze to the concrete. "The cameras that you set last night," Rook continued his questioning. "Where do the feeds go?"
Milo huffed. "Maybe we can work together afterall. Sadly, you're too late, mate. That footage was sent to Channel 4 in real time. The broadcast station in Cardiff should be receiving a very interesting parcel to their newsroom this morning to corroborate that strange footage."
Rook paled and stood quickly, retrieving his radio. "Nave, do you copy?"
Milo laughed. "So, do I get breakfast before you all go dashing off, or what?"
But Rook was already out the door.
By the time Allison and Tom made it to the car park after changing and picking up breakfast, the Gwedores were clearly packing up. Maude was pulling down their clothesline while Conal was loading camp wood into the bin at the back of the campervan.
"And now ye show up," Conal grumbled.
Tom passed the box of scones he was carrying to Allison, then put his hands in his pockets. "So, Irving told you then?"
"Course he told me. The lad's perplexed. As he's the right to be. Why didn't you just tell us from the start you had no interest in any of it?"
"Cuz it's not like that."
Conal turned to face them both, clearly angry. "Then what is it like, McNair?"
"We didn't want anyone to get hurt. Including people people. And I really did want to help werewolves, is all. But the world can't know bout us. Not yet. Normal folk won't welcome us."
"There'd be mobs. And lynchings," Allison added, then opened the lid of the pastry box.
Conal glanced towards their offering of breakfast, then shook his head. "I wasn't expecting to be welcomed," he huffed.
"Then what did you expect, exactly? To get your family killed? Or caught?" Silence stretched after Allison's argument until abruptly, Maude brushed her hands off on her apron then stepped inside. Conal watched her go.
"Gods, no. I just…" Conal shook his head. "It was a chance to take back some control. To not be so slotted into our fates."
"But you already got that, Mr. Gwedore," Tom said, then took a scone from Allison. "You can make your own choices. Do anything, be anyone. We're more than our wolves." Almost as if to make his point, Tom took a huge bite from his scone.
"Aye, but the wolf be more than us sometimes," Conal said, watching Tom.
Tom agreed, chewing thoughtfully while Conal resumed his packing. Tom cleared his throat, wishing they had thought to pick up tea with their scones. Maybe that was why Allison was sensibly waiting to have hers. "So where are you going to go?"
"Wherever we damn well please!" Conal answered gruffly. "Because apparently, we're all protected. Turns out we don't have to try so hard not to be discovered. Turns out we could be living in a nice house just like yourself and not always be on the move like this."
"True. You could. But you still can't let the wolf run loose. It aint right."
"Aye. Agreed. Not much point making more of us now is there?" Conal grumbled, then he sighed. With an air of inevitability, he ambled towards them and took an offered scone. Before he took a bite, he asked, "Why didn't you tell us, lad?"
Tom shrugged. "I didn't think I'd need to. No one knew 'bout them before. Seemed it would keep on going that way. You tell any of the others?"
Conal paused, scone mid-air, and met Tom's gaze. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Nae. What's the use in that? We're all leaving. Dispersed. They all may come together yet again - I heard word of one o'them starting an online chat group! But we've all got lives - jobs, families and what-have-you's - to get back to."
Tom nodded thoughtfully, then continued eating, relieved that Conal seemed to be telling the truth. "So, where's Irving and Begley?"
"Irving and the lass went to fetch his brother. We're never gonna hear the end of it for locking him in last night. But then, they be doing their usual brunch feast. Young ones like that have to eat a lion's share to recuperate. As you know."
"Yeah," Tom smiled. "Know where they were going?"
"Eh, yeah. Corner place not far from here - down on Alexandra Road."
"Cafe on the Corner?" Allison asked with recognition.
"Yeah, that's the one."
Tom's grin widened. "Thanks Conal. Say - if you're ever back in town, you'd be welcome to-"
"What? Stay with you lot?" Conal shook his head. "Your vampire friend has changed my views somewhat, but still. I'll keep to mine own, thanks."
Tom stood, brushed his hands off on his trousers, then extended a handshake to Gwedore. "Sorry I had to lie to ya and that."
Conal raised an eyebrow, then reached to accept Tom's hand. "You're a good man, Tom McNair. You take care of yourself."
It was with perfect control and politeness that Hal finally broke his silence. "Alex, could you please untie me?"
She shook her head, still staring at the door. "Not really a good idea, right? Rook -"
"Rook has much more important things to worry about," Hal stated. "Besides, there isn't anyone left in here for me to hurt." She turned her head quickly at that. "Right," he confirmed.
"Look, Hal, I -"
"I'd like to assess things before I'm strapped down for a month, if you don't mind. And remove this damnable damp coat." When still she hesitated, he added, "You saw it happen before. We freed Tom and battled the Old Ones before it hit. There's time."
"Which you just slept through most of! The withdrawals... You were shaking before you woke up, Hal."
"As I did the morning of your death. It is a normal reaction, prior to a relapse."
She seemed to consider his answer, then bit her lip. After a moment's deliberation, she stepped towards him. She searched his gaze until finally, she reached for the strap at his chest. "I guess we probably should get the chair to do this properly anyhow." She freed his chest, then his legs. She met his eyes again, then paused with her hand on the clasp at his wrist. "You swear you're alright for the moment?"
"For the moment," he answered simply. And it was the truth. Even if he knew the moment wouldn't last. Seemingly satisfied, she freed his wrist. Grimacing, he sat up stiffly. The movement awakened a residue of pain. His heart had healed, but the cartilage and bone surrounding was still tender. Seeing Alex's concern, he hid it, focusing instead on undoing the clasp at his other wrist.
"You're still hurt," she said, worriedly as he stood.
"It will pass," he replied as he winced his way out of his coat. He laid it at the foot of the trolley, then tested further movement. He couldn't hide the wave of pain. The ecstasy of fresh blood had all but worn off. He would need more, or a day of sleep to fully heal.
Hal paced to the door and back, testing his facilities further as Alex kept a leery watch. He still couldn't believe it. He almost didn't want to believe it - that he had survived being staked. Because Alex Millar loved him. Because she refused to let him go. Until the moment that he had finally done exactly what he feared. Which was exactly what he always knew he would do.
Hal sank slowly to the floor, back against the wall. The concrete was cool, soothing. Tactile. Alex stepped towards him, then stopped. He found himself focusing on the inner plaid of her boots while she just stood there, staring at him in turn.
Hal knew that he was still spattered with blood. The mark of his truth.
He ran his gaze up her body, to her face. The perfection of her lips. The line of her jaw and rise of her cheekbone. Her face that he could no longer feel. Lips he could no longer kiss.
Because Alex was dead.
She had always been dead.
What they had felt was a shattered illusion. All he could feel now was the concrete behind the ache in his back, and the barest shred of control he still held. He tried to tune out the slowed heartbeat of the sleeping operative in the corridor as Alex sank to her knees opposite him. She started to reach out, but then stopped. Abruptly, he seized her wrist - facing head-on what she had hesitated to address. Her wrist of tingling, cold nothing. A ghost's wrist. He let go. Urgently, she brought her hand to his face.
"No," he shook his head and pulled away. Hurt and confused, she dropped her hands to her lap. He looked down, focus dropping to the edge of his sleeve, where it was steeped in blood. Blood that he wanted to rend from the fibers. He wanted to suck the dried bits from his fingertips.
"This man. This version of me that you know?" Hal started reluctantly, then shook his head. "He isn't as strong as I'd have you think. He's so new, Alex. The last fifty five years…" Hal could tell from her eyes that she didn't understand. Not really.
It started in the throat. It always started in the throat.
A thirst, an ache of a persistent itch that only one thing would balm.
But that, he could ignore. That, he was used to. That was fine.
No, what always made him succumb were the flashes of vision; imprints of blood. Thousands upon unfathomable quantities of throats slashed, eyes dulled and lifeless; a million ways to kill. Every new encounter was yet one more spotlight of temptation. Humanity was so fragile, and nearly effortless to kill. Calculations of countless scenarios came to him instinctually, habitually. One after the next after the next until he was left shaking with the strain of resistance. His body would seize and insist. The iron band of hunger would ratchet down until his mind was washed of nothing but the terrible need. Such a need that was far too easy to relieve. To take. To taste. One small sip, and the pain all goes away.
One small taste, and he could prolong the inevitable. One small mouthful, and he could keep his control for a while longer. Pulling his attention back from the steady lull of that resting heartbeat, he's aware that she's leaned in close. That she's stroking his hair. He can feel the movement, but not her touch. Her touch is an echo. The capacity for so much more. The loss of what was. He had to protect her from this.
"Alex…" he tried again, then licked his lips. It was already happening. He knew exactly what he must do, down to the very detail. It sickened him, but he could already feel the resolution slotting into place. Idly, he stroked the top of the room's metal base, as if he were looking for dust. He kept his voice soft, even though the words were harsh. "I didn't get as far as I did by being nice. I've done things. Terrible things, unspeakable things. There's so much more than you've seen. So much more than can ever be forgiven. There's no salvation for me. You cannot save me."
His words didn't seem to phase her in the slightest. She ran her fingers through his hair once more. "I already did, Hal. It's gonna be okay. I'm not going anywhere."
He shook his head and wrenched free from her ghostly touch. "It doesn't matter." He met her perplexed gaze as he took her hand. "Don't you see? I'm not allowed to be happy. Can you understand? Just how selfish I've been? If I really cared for you at all, I would have never let you close. I shouldn't have let it get this far."
Alex crinkled up her face. "But, did you really have all that much choice?"
"Yes, of course I did," he answered sharply. Her eyes narrowed and he cut off her retort. "I could have never courted you to begin with. Or refused to indulge your advances. Or not agreed to have tried anything with you. Or failed to return after Glasgow. Or left anytime I had the opportunity to. Alex, there were literally hundreds of times that I could have saved you."
"And what makes you think that I'm the one who needs saving?"
"Because I know what I'm capable of. You need saving from me."
"Oh, for Christsakes Hal! This wasn't your fault! If I hadn't given you that flask then you wouldn't have -"
"Survived," he concluded for her. "I wouldn't have survived, and the switch wouldn't have been thrown. I can't do this again. I can't," he repeated.
"And why the bloody hell not?" Alex demanded. Her hurt was riling her anger. Just as he wished. "I know it's going to suck - spectacularly! Trust me, I of all people know what a glorious fucktwat you're gonna be." She said crassly, but then softened. "But, we'll get you through it, Hal. Same as last time. No difference. Shite - it's even more secure here than at home. But I'm still not gonna leave you."
"I know. Exactly," he leveled her with a dark gaze.
Finally, Alex seemed taken aback. "I don't understand. I thought... I mean, I saved your life."
"Again. You saved my life, again. That's thrice now. Three times you have spared me from certain death. Why?"
"How can you even ask me that?" Her lip trembled and her voice broke. Somehow, he kept it from breaking his resolve. He kept his voice at a whisper to answer her.
"Because you'll always save me. And it needs to end."
He stood suddenly and within one stride he was pounding on the door.
"Hal, no - what are you doing?" Alex started after him and he only knocked again, urgently, and without words. The heartbeat outside leapt awake. Alex caught his elbow and tried to pull him away from the door. Just as he knew it would be, she no longer possessed her former strength.
"Hal, please!" she pleaded, but Hal only knocked again.
Groggily, a voice came through the heavy door, "Miss Millar?"
Miss Millar was throwing everything she had at him in fist and boot and tingling attempts of ghostly tugs, without affect. "Hal, no! You don't want to do this!"
Hal rapped politely, three times.
The lock clicked open.
It happened so blindingly fast. At the click of the lock, Hal tore open the door and the guard's crossbow went skidding across the floor. Jim gurgled as Hal caught him by the throat and slammed him sideways into the doorframe. Alex, stunned, barely registered as Hal's foot caught the edge of door as he passed into the corridor. With one hand pinning the guard to the wall, he yanked the door shut before Alex could follow. The brief look she caught of his eyes flashing black nearly stopped her heart.
"Hal!" she screamed. Through the door she heard their struggle, then a heavy thud against it. "Hal please don't do this - Hal!"
A strangled cry, abruptly cut short, then thick silence.
"No!" She screamed and pulled at the handle, but the heavy metal door wouldn't budge. She tried to rent-a-ghost to the other side of it, but she may as well have been a human trying to teleport for all the good it did. She kicked the door in frustration.
"Goodbye, Alex," Hal's voice was muffled, but far too soft. Apologetic, almost.
"No! Don't you dare go. Don't DO this! It's not who you are - Hal!" She shouted, pleaded, but was only met with silence. "Aargh!"
She hadn't tried to leave the room until it was too late. She realised what Hal must have known all along. The way he had tested the metal base with his finger… That the room wasn't just for vampires. No wonder Rook had left her with -
The whiteboard! She picked it up from where she had left it leaning, and flung the marker cap off.
"HELP" she scrawled, then stood back from the door. She raised the board high and waved it frantically back and forth. "Damn it - c'mon!"
The silence stretched forward. Rook was gone. Surely, most of his team went with him. Was there anyone left in the Archive to even answer her? Were they being killed by Hal this very moment? All she could hear was silence. "NO!" she screamed and pounded on the door until her angry tears obscured her sight.
Hal was gone. The blood of the guard coursed through him, sharpening his edges and clearing his mind. Alex shouted after him, her voice carrying through the concrete corridors all the way to follow him out.
Up one level, and her voice faded. He was thankful the corridor above was as empty as the one below had been. He knew what he would do if he ran into someone.
His Majesty's Gift, Hal thought with irony as he stalked the vacant corridors. Rook's scent was leading him through the rabbit warren of concrete. King Charles had been a fool. Keeping the secret had doomed them all. It should have all ended then, with Richard. Vampires shouldn't have been allowed to get away with being vampires. And soon, they wouldn't. The thought was oddly soothing.
Dominic's office door was shut. Hal kicked it in. His assumption was correct. Rook was out with his team. There, in a porcelain tray to the left of Rook's computer, Hal found exactly what he was looking for. He sat in Rook's chair and lifted the keys. Then, rummaging through the desk drawers, Hal found the second thing he would need.
One last stop, and then he'd be really gone. Utterly gone.
The Protestation, July 1641 required those over 18 to sign an oath of allegiance to King Charles I and the Church of England. "No one could hold a State Office without signing." Was an attempt to avert the English Civil War, attacking the 'wicked counsels' of Charles's government.