ALPHA/OMEGA

Book One

THREE

In the middle of the night, two weeks later, Carl stood over the crumpled body of the warlock, his pistol smoking as the man's blood trickled between the paving stones. About two yards away, Van Helsing knelt and just panted, holding the wound in his side gingerly. Carl whispered a prayer over the dead body, making the sign of the cross. Then he moved to Van Helsing's side, holstering the pistol.

"Can you stand?" The friar asked, his voice thick with worry.

"Yes, yes. Just a moment." Van Helsing gathered his strength and rose. He groaned, and Carl immediately slipped under his arm to provide support. With Carl's assistance, Van Helsing managed to stagger out of the plaza. They made their way back to the middling inn where they'd purchased a room and slipped in the back without too much notice.

Carl did get a maid's attention and request pitchers of water, clean cloths, and food and wine, pressing a pair of gold coins into her hand to purchase discretion as well as service. She brought the water and cloths right away, assuring them that a hot meal would be delivered in a short while.

Van Helsing winced as Carl helped him peel off his leather great coat, revealing the bloody wound. "Sweet Mary Immaculata!" Carl gasped. "Sorry! Sorry."

"It's not deep," Van Helsing hissed, shrugging out of his shirt, "but it hurts like a bastard."

"I should think so!" Carl began carefully cleaning the senior hunter's side. The wound looked like a small explosion had seared him, leaving raw and bloody flesh that looked and felt crisped around the edges. Carl bathed the area as gently and carefully as possible, a tense frown on his face. From his kit, he produced a jar and smeared the contents over the damage. Van Helsing immediately sighed as the pain was lessened somewhat. "That should help for a while," Carl said, pressing a pad of linen bandages against the wound. "It dulls the pain and prevents infection. It's new. Brother Giovanni invented it." He let Van Helsing hold the pad while he dug out long strip bandages to wrap around the man's stomach to hold the pad in place. "You'll probably want Giovanni or one of his people to look at this when we get back to Rome, just to be sure."

"You take good enough care of me, it should be fine." Van Helsing said.

Carl froze.

"Carl? What did I say?"

The friar shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing." He cleaned up their supplies and tossed the bloody water out the window. He pulled a spare shirt out of Van Helsing's bag and tossed it to the seated hunter. "Here. Put that on, or you'll give the poor girl a shock when she brings dinner." Carl rinsed his own face and hands in a fresh basin, drying off just as a knock came on the door.

The maid carried a tray piled high with food and drink. Carl swiftly relieved her of it and thanked her, getting her out as quickly as possible.

"Eat!" he ordered Van Helsing.

"Yes Mother." Van Helsing agreed amiably. Carl gave him 'the look'. "I hate it when you do that!" Van Helsing exclaimed, exasperated.

"Do what?"

"Give me that look. The one that says you're thinking something, but you're not going to tell me."

"Did I give you a look? I didn't notice."

"Carl!" He set down his fork and stared at his partner. The other man blithely continued eating. "I want to know why you're out here, why you're my partner. I never had a partner before you, not that I remember."

"Well, then how do you know? "

"Don't. This is about you. Why are you risking life and limb with me, instead of staying safe in the Vatican, creating more brilliant inventions?"

"It's not important."

"Yes, it is."

"Van Helsing, don't start this. It's only been five years already, you're just complaining now?" Carl growled, abandoning his façade of indifference to show how upset he was by this questioning.

"See! I'm supposed to be the cranky one in this team." When Carl rose as if to leave the room, Van Helsing stood as quickly as he could, reaching out to grab the friar. "You're not leaving this time. I want to know what's going on. You're changing, and I don't like it. I want to know why." This last was delivered with the same growl that Carl used. He had to know, and it had to be now. He could see the man he knew slipping away behind the cold front of the hunter, and it scared him to think that in keeping Carl by his side, where he so much wanted him, he was changing Carl into something Carl should never be.

The two men glared at each other, one demanding, the other defiant. For a moment, Van Helsing feared that Carl would tear himself away, and that would be the end of their friendship, their partnership, brothers in arms no longer. But something in Carl's eyes broke, and he sagged suddenly, looking away.

"All right," he sighed, sitting. "If you're that annoyed, I'll ask Cardinal Jinette to reassign me." He kept his eyes on the table, fidgeting with his plate.

"No!" Van Helsing insisted. "I just want to understand. You've become someone different lately. I – I miss the old Carl." He took his seat across the table.

Carl looked up at him, looking more vulnerable than he had in years. "I'm still me. I thought- I mean, I was annoying you by fussing. So I tried to stop."

"You didn't annoy me. I actually liked it when you fussed." Van Helsing paused, breathing deep. He took a chance and admitted something he normally wouldn't. "I thought it meant you cared. I liked that. That you might care."

Carl looked shocked. "I DO care! I care – I mean, I – I want to say something to you," he said in a rushed way, "And I'll probably mess it up. Please don't get upset with me. I care about you. Quite a bit. Maybe more than I should. And I wanted to work with you because I couldn't bear the thought of you going through something like Transylvania alone. I know now that Transylvania was a unique situation, but I couldn't let you do this alone. I hoped – I hoped that if I helped, it might not hurt you so much. And I hate seeing you hurt." He trailed off.

They sat in silence for a moment. Van Helsing began to smile, realizing that Carl really hadn't changed, that underneath, the man who was his best friend, his partner, his brother, was the same sweet soul who badgered a morose amnesiac with cheerfulness, who greeted new weaponry mayhem with glee, and could still scold like a nursemaid. On the heels of that revelation came a leap in his physical desire for the friar, that desire he'd held in check for ages. Just looking now at the fine roman profile, the fair reddish hair falling around those blue eyes, Van Helsing felt his groin tighten. He wondered if Carl's assertion that he cared more than he should meant what Van Helsing thought it did. He hoped and prayed that it did, because Van Helsing knew that he loved the crazy friar.

Quietly, he said, "I hope you're saying what I think you're saying."

"What?" Carl became flushed. "I mean, we're good friends. Best of friends! And I couldn't go on, I mean I wouldn't want to see you really hurt or k-killed—" He apparently lost track of what he was saying when he looked up at Van Helsing, who by this time was grinning wolfishly at him.

Certain Carl could see what he intended in his eyes, Van Helsing rose and moved around the table. As he got close, Carl stood too, looking startled, and Van Helsing delighted in the fact that he wouldn't have to bend his head much to capture the friar's lips. Which he did, emphatically.

Friends.

Partners.

Brothers.

Lovers?

For one blissful moment, they stood frozen in the sweetest of kisses. But then, with a shudder, Carl suddenly lurched away. "No! I mean, this isn't real. I don't – well I do, actually, but YOU don't, I mean–"

"Who kissed whom here?" Van Helsing demanded.

"You. Um, that is, you – you really want this? Want me?"

Van Helsing nodded, grinning again.

"Well. Well." Carl seemed to need a minute to process this change in their relationship. Then he gave Van Helsing an impish smile. "I suppose there is a God, indeed." With that pronouncement, revealing his own feelings about the hunter, Carl stepped back into Van Helsing's arms, running his hands up into the taller man's dark locks, and kissing him wholeheartedly.

[Note: I don't write sex scenes. I'm terrible at them. Really. Please don't ask me for one, I won't do it. I'm just not any good at writing sex. Slight format change on the paragraphs thanks to changes in this site's formatting. You'll see this format from now on. Please review! Big cyber-hugs to Peekaboo42, but I feel like I'm writing in a vacuum sometimes.]