Title: Reunion
Author: Meridian
Rating: PG-13 (language, violent/sexual images)
Author's Notes: Another scene filler-lead in to a scene from Blade: Trinity. Danica Talos just would not stop until I wrote this all out. That said, I think she may be one of the most fun to write.
They brought him in. Them, they, whoever, whomever Asher liked enough to keep around. Mostly, they were annoying. She wasn't sorry that one was dead, the Asian one, whatever her name was. That one had been stupid, and stupid vampires deserved to die. Asher kept them around, the floozies, just to make her jealous, and she knew it, and that was okay, too, because she did the same.
And, oh and, now she had her favorite back. Or least favorite. Once you got so far beyond human definitions of love and hate, the two were pretty much inseparable. You could hate so much you loved them again, or love so much you hated them. One way or the other, they affected you like none other. Such was her little King.
Or not so little, not any more. Time had been good to him, if not as kind as it was to her. While he'd obviously made good use of his free time, there were wrinkles at the corner of his eyes he hadn't had when he was with her--laugh lines as their mother used to say before Asher killed her. She tried to imagine his happy times without her. Did he smile because he was gone from her? If he did, he'd be sorry. Sorrow lines she could sew into him easy.
"Put that sack of shit over here," Asher ordered his anonymous friends carrying her King. The men dragged him, from the shoulder, letting his shoes squeal along the floor.
"Pick him up," she hissed around her cigarette. No one was getting marks on her toys except for her. Cowed, they did as she said. Of course they did, all of Asher's little friends did what she said. They were afraid of her. She was oldest, after all. There were certain privileges that came with that. Didn't look a day over thirty, either. It made her sad, knowing she would be beautiful forever and her toys always broke after a few years. Then she remembered herself, remembered which toy she had back, and all was right in her world.
The men at the end of Asher's leashes dropped her King into the sealed room where the master had been previously, recovering from centuries of slumber by gorging himself. Clean up had been through since then, rearranging the space for interrogative purposes. In the center, a steel chain ran under two bolts in a steel plate. At either end of the chain were titanium handcuffs. In short order, the men dropped their burden on the plate and set about affixing the restraints.
"Stop." She strolled into the room, squashing her cigarette under her heel, feeling light and tall in her favorite shoes and dress. It was a party, so she'd dolled herself up. Asher nodded at his little people, and they scattered, except for Jarko. He was a friend. He could stay. And his little dog, too.
"What's the story, Dan?" Asher strolled over to her, putting his head on her shoulder, hugging her about her slim waist. "You are going to tie him down."
"Don't talk to me like one of the others, little brother." She patted the back of his head and slipped through his arms to circle her prize. On the floor, oblivious to the peril of his situation, her King slumbered or lay unconscious; he slept so deeply, sometimes she couldn't tell the difference. How many a night he'd done so at her side! Not always willingly, but that was the fun of it.
"He's injured," she pouted. That wasn't part of the deal. Asher always left her toys alone unless she explicitly invited him to one of her tea parties.
"I think the big guy did it," Asher said, circling around to face her across the body on the floor. "Probably tried to fight, dumb shit."
"Yes," she purred dropping to her knees and lifting her broken toy's head into her lap. "You did, didn't you?" He did not answer her, but she was used to this, too, from him. The cut on his cheek was new, blood flow drying up as the tissue healed itself; the blood had run over his face, into his ear, pooling there. The wound at his shoulder was also new but not fresh. "What have you been up to, pet?" Though she knew the answer to that, too. They had Vance's security tapes. Her King, too big for his britches, trying to take on the master of their race. The big silly.
"Dan," Asher whined, but she ignored him. She reached under her King's shirt, to feel the wound there. It had bled through the gauze underneath and through his shirt, but that wasn't what transfixed her. For once in her immortal life, she did not care about blood. It was the feel of his skin underneath, the hardness of it, the warmth. How it burned! She'd forgotten what his heat felt like. The shirt had to go.
Wordlessly, Asher and Jarko watched as she gently tugged it up from her King's waist. Each inch of him revealed thrilled her, made her eyebrows jump and her teeth ache. Another woman would have found it awkward, getting the thing over his head without tearing it or having it get stuck under his arms, but not her. Despite her excitement, she could be patient. You didn't live for a hundred years without learning patience. At last, the cotton gave up the game, and her King's head slid through the neck of the shirt, and he was free.
She tossed the thing aside; he wouldn't be needing it. "Better," she appraised him and beckoned Jarko over. Jarko put Pac-Man down and bent to open the restraints. "Tightly," she instructed him.
"Not to worry, Danica," Jarko never called her by nicknames--those were Asher's property. "He won't be going anywhere."
She gave him her best non-toothy smile, the 'good girl one.' "I know." Coolly, she watched Jarko slam the cuffs on, tightening them around her King's limp wrists then jerking hard on the chain just to be sure. Or to dislocate her pet's arms, one or the other. Irrelevant, really.
"Come on, Dan, come away from there," Asher held out a hand to her. Jealous. "Let's just have a nice sit while we wait for him to wake his ass up, hmm?"
"Suck silver, Asher," she cursed him. This was okay. She didn't need to touch her King, didn't need to stroke his exposed body, just needed to absorb it, like osmosis, every inch of him seeping in through her senses. His body invading her eyes, the smell of his blood tickling her nose and tingling her teeth, the weight of his head, still resting on the soft linen of her skirt, pillowed on her svelte thighs. All was right with the world while this was the way of it.
"Dan," Asher repeated. "That's not very becoming."
"Let me have this, Asher, I deserve it." She basked, eyes fluttering closed. She had earned this, oh yes, she had. So many plans over the years, so many failures on the parts of others. But she hadn't failed. True, Blade still lived, and her former pet and his little friends had torn a hole in their operations, but she hadn't failed. She brought back the one who would save them, she had her King back again, had Asher, had Jarko, had a way to find out what the human and the hunter would do. Yes, she deserved this.
However, even rewards grew boring after a while. Unceremoniously, she scooted out from under her King; his head fell to the steel, smacking it loudly enough to make her laugh. Asher held out his hand again, helping her up.
"All better there, tyke?" He kissed her forehead.
"Mm," she hummed, hugging him. "It will be."
"We really just going to wait around for this asshole?" Jarko grumbled. Pac-Man yipped at his feet, darting over to her unconscious pet. It began to lick at King's ear, where the blood had not yet quite dried.
"Aww, they're friends," she cooed. Her pet and Jarko's, how sweet, and she cuddled closer to Asher. She had him, she had her King, she had everything. She leaned up and kissed Asher's cheek. "We're going to live forever, babe."
"We already are. Now, we're going to live in daylight forever." She giggled at this. Her baby brother. Such plans he had. She could see him in Rio, basking in the sun, getting burnt because his skin had not seen the sun in a century. All of them, sipping blood on the beach. She'd wear a goofy straw hat that was too big and an old bathing suit, one of the strapless ones with polka dots and a bow under her breasts. Her King would bring her fresh pints. On his knees. Preferably naked. They went for that kind of thing in Rio. It wouldn't be out of place in that scenery, but she would enjoy it.
"Isn't there something we can do? Like hurt him?" Jarko frowned, Pac-Man having abandoned him for blood. So petulant without his puppy. It's why they got along or didn't. Jarko didn't understand that there was no difference in a Pomeranian and a Human other than the taste. You could put a collar on either one. Ooh, now, there was an idea. It would have to be a high one, though, so she could still taste him when she needed to. She'd pick a silver bone for the shape. It would read "My King." How precious.
"Relax, already," Asher snapped at him, sparing her from doing it. He was so good to her. "You're making Dan upset, isn't he, cherub?" She sniffled for effect, smiling enough to show the tips of her teeth.
"I don't like waiting. Something could happen."
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. He was in trouble if she raised that eyebrow, and she had, and he knew it, saw it. "What's going to happen?" She pouted out her lower lip. "Are you afwaid of the big bad Bwade?" She babbled, the baby talk sounding funny around her teeth. Jarko stiffened. Maybe he needed a new pet. He got the same reaction when she mentioned Blade as she did when Asher picked on her about her King. Maybe Blade could be Jarko's pet. Then her King would have a friend to play with. It made her blush to think of it.
Asher laughed. "There, there, half-pint," he brushed the side of her head. "There's no call to be rude." Angrily, she slapped Asher's hand away, immediately checking that he had not ruined her do. It had taken hours, nervous hours while she waited for Drake to return. For her King and for the information, they'd sacrificed one of Asher's friends and a blood bank. It would be worth it, but not if he ruined her hair.
She disengaged from Asher with one last quick glower, seating herself primly in the sole chair in the room. Her back against the wall, she watched the other two circle and pace. Asher looked at her, grinning; Jarko stalked around King, growling. From her seat, so lady-like, like Momma would have wanted, she beamed at them both, saving her secret smile for her King. Her boys, together again. What times they'd had. Would have. Would always have.
Her King groaned. His head probably ached something fierce from where she'd dropped him, but it was the dog that was waking him, doing its master's will, as Jarko seemed incredibly impatient. Oh well, he had never liked King much. Too mouthy. Jarko had a limited sense of humor.
"Here we go," Asher whispered, excited.
"About time," Jarko rumbled. No matter what Asher thought of her behavior, his and Jarko's were worse. Men, no patience whatsoever. You had to wait for the reward, sometimes. Like those old ketchup commercials. She'd liked those--good things come to those who wait. Two years, she waited, two years from loss to sudden reunion in the police interrogation room. How strange life was!
Pac-Man, he had the right idea. Keep needling, keep working, keep pestering, and ah, voila! Her King shifted, his head rocking on the hard ground, his breath changing up from the soothing rhythms of the deeply under to the quicker pulses of those struggling with consciousness. His hand came up to his face, semi-consciously fending off poor little Pac-Man.
"Back off, pooch." Pac-Man, being only a dog, didn't understand the words, but understood he was being denied what he wanted. Around Jarko, she saw her King open his eyes and lift his head. Pac-Man, though, he had had enough. He bared his fangs, the pretty sucking organ all their tinkering and care had given him. That woke her King right up. Pac-Man was a good dog. He understood. Come on slowly, finish up strong.
"Jesus Christ!" Up her King got, tripping in his haste to get away and falling, finally, when he ran out of leash. Just like a puppy. "What the fuck!" Pac-Man grinned at him with his doggie smile, as Asher bent to pick him up, laughing. He hated her King so much he loved him, too, or loved so much he hated. Either way, Asher was jealous and happy her toy was scared of a miniature mutt. "What the fuck!" Her King shouted again, just to make himself heard.
"His name's Pac-Man," Asher patted the puppy. "We've been importing the vampire gene into other species. Experimenting." Like it was nothing. As though it had been his idea. They would have to chat about that.
"You made a goddamned vampire...Pomeranian?" Her King had such a filthy mouth. She missed those times, when she put it to good use.
"Yeah," Asher giggled, handing off Pac-Man to its master. Jarko bared his fangs at the dog, who reciprocated. And Asher thought her kissy-faces were disgusting? At least human tongues could be used more inventively.
"Precious, innit he?" Jarko cooed. So strange, such a large, generally unpleasant character, brought low by such a, albeit deceptively, cute thing.
"Well, that depends on who you ask because, clearly, this dog has a bigger dick than you."
Oh dear, Jarko wouldn't like that. Men. "And when the fuck did you see my dick, fuckface?" She didn't approve of striking her King in the face, unless she was doing it, of course. Still, such memories, seeing him recoil from Jarko's kick, the way his eyes squeezed up tight like a child afraid of due punishment. So brave, her little King. Never knew when to quit, she probably love-hated that most about him.
"Ow," King cursed, and she pursed her lips against the thrill of seeing blood in his mouth. He glared at Jarko, but she could feel him moving onto her before he did. "I was talking to her."
That was her cue. Smoothing down her skirt, ready to make that lasting second first impression, Danica rose on her spiky heels, tottering happily, strongly, towards her pet. What fun they were going to have, now that they had all the time in the world. First things would be first, information, for one, but what mattered most would last forever. Or until she was bored. Poor King, she smiled, limbs tensed and twitchy. "Poor King," she said again, or maybe for the first time. "You look so..." Her leg moved on its own, striking him down as she shrieked, "distraught!" And down he went, unprepared. Patience and the surprise attack, how effective. He struggled to get up, to be bold, daring, whatever else he'd thought he'd learned to be apart from her.
But that was his problem. He'd never learned that he was nothing without her. Fortunately, there would be plenty of time to correct his thinking.