A/N I finally got around to starting the sequel to 'Possessions'. If you haven't read that story, I think this one makes sense by itself, but 'Possessions' does set up the events for the current work. There are four more chapters written, but since I wrote them in a converted 17th century barn in rural Ireland, they need to be typed up before I can add them! Hopefully this won't take too long, but since my life has been complicated by the start of a new MSc, I can't guarantee regular posting of new chapters.

To everyone who read and reviewed 'Possessions', many thanks – I hope you enjoy this story. Please review with comments, suggestions, etc.

Special note about slash: this is not a slash story, and at no point will it become one. Readers of 'Possessions' might also have read the slash version, which was written first. In the case of 'Strange Gifts', the non-slash version, this one, is being written first, so hopefully it will flow better than 'Possessions'. There may be a slash version of this story only if I feel slash would add something to it, or change it in a way sufficiently interesting to be worth editing the original, unless readers tell me a slash version would be a good idea. So if anyone would particular like a slash version, please say so...I'm happy to write it just for fun, if anyone would enjoy reading it!

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Gabriel van Helsing rode through the night on a stallion that melded with the darkness, his long dark coat flying out behind him as he galloped, his wide-brimmed hat pressed firmly down on his head to prevent it being torn away by the wind.

Van Helsing was heading home after the successful completion of a long, solitary mission in the East; he had been gone for almost three months. For three months, he had not slept in a proper bed, or eaten proper food; for three months h had gone without luxuries like soap and clean clothes. More importantly, however, for three months he had not seen Carl.

Van Helsing had left the friar in his laboratory, looking pale, vulnerable and harried, but assuring the hunter that he would be all right. With the threat of a hideous monster attacking hundreds of innocent people in a far-off Indian village, Van Helsing had had no choice but to believe his friend, and depart.

In his heart, however, Van Helsing had not really been convinced that Carl was all right. It had been barely a fortnight since Tallander, the dark priest who had so nearly destroyed both their lives, has spoken directly to Jinette and the other Cardinals, pledging his vengeance, and claiming to leave Carl with a 'gift'. Whether or not this last had been idle scare-tactics Van Helsing did not know; he only knew that Carl had been distracted and quiet since the Tallander incident, sleeping little, suffering nightmares when he did, and attempting to avoid both Van Helsing and his fellow weaponsmiths.

The hunter had not allowed himself to be avoided. Granted special dispensation to remain for as long as was feasible at the Vatican, attempting to aid Carl in his time of need, Gabriel had sought the friar out, cajoling, demanding, even getting him drunk – but Carl had refused to talk to him. The inventor had withdrawn into himself, throwing himself more and more into solitary work and prayer, missing more meals than usual; he was barely recognisable as the brisk, eccentric, zealous genius he had been before Tallander usurped his body and fractured his soul.

Van Helsing told himself that Carl would recover; that this would be a mere hiatus in the natural order of things, but in truth, he was becoming – afraid. In a chaotic life with a barely-remembered past, Carl was the one unchanging fixture, the rock Van Helsing had come to depend upon. He could count on Carl to be clever, comical, egotistical; a bemused child or a wise advisor, depending on the situation; both brilliant and bewildered, shy and confident, crazy and devilishly, dangerously sharp-witted. Was that man, that friend Van Helsing had come to rely on, truly gone? The hunter would not believe it; Carl was hurt, damaged, and broken, but he was still Carl. Gabriel knew the day would come when his friend would once more tick him off for something in that prissy schoolmaster voice he adopted, would return to his work with the zeal with which he had previously approached it, rather than the air of a man desperately trying to distract himself from some horrible fate – but when this would happen, and how Van Helsing could help to bring it about, was beyond the hunter to know.

Nonetheless, he was filled with hope as he rode, hope that three long months would have wrought some positive change in the friar. Van Helsing had asked (as a demand must be called when made of a superior) Cardinal Jinette to keep an eye on Carl, and since the old man had a certain affection for the quirky inventor, Van Helsing was reasonably sure his request would not be ignored.

He had written to Carl when the opportunity arose – between slaying the monster and heading home – telling the friar of his adventure and his imminent arrival; a light-hearted letter saying none of the things he really wanted to say. The hunter hoped he would be able to say them in person, when it came to it.

He would be home in less than a day.

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Cardinal Jinette was in his office, reading brother Marcus' report on a new type of treble-bladed longsword his team was working on, when a tap at the door distracted him.

"Enter," he called, in his rich, carrying voice, putting aside the papers. He recognised the timid knock of a lay-brother, not the authoritative thump Van Helsing gave. The cardinal was disappointed; it was the hunter he had been hoping to see.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Eminence," lay-brother Stephen murmured respectfully, as he cringed his way into the room, "but there has been a communication from Van Helsing."

Jinette took interest at once, and the expression of slight irritation he had been wearing smoothed from his face. Often the monks, friars, and especially lay-brothers, of the Order exasperated him with their simpering deference. Jinette, like many strong, authoritative men, respected initiative, confidence, even a little insubordination. That was why the cardinal was so fond of Carl – who was overzealous rather than intentionally rude, but tended to leave the stamp of his personality on any discussion nonetheless; it was the also the reason why he like Van Helsing, though Jinette took pains to see that the hunter never knew it.

Stephen was timidly holding out a battered letter for Jinette to see.

"Why was this communication not with my morning post?" the cardinal asked sharply.

"Please, Your Eminence – because it is addressed to Friar Carl. But it is in Van Helsing's handwriting, Your Eminence."

An expression of regretful concern passed over the cardinal's face, and lay-brother Stephen mirrored it, adding a touch of sycophantic sympathy.

"Of course, we're all very upset about Friar Carl," he said, wringing his hands for good measure. Jinette looked up sharply.

"None of you liked him."

"Oh – well, er...not at all, Your Eminence. Which means to say, we did like him very much...such a good-natured young man...very popular..."

The cardinal snorted with something that might have been disgust or grim amusement, and turned back to the letter. It read:

"Carl,

You needn't have worried about that Indian monster – as soon as I'd chopped one of its heads off, the other three lost the heart to fight. The villagers were grateful, which made a nice change, though I had to refuse one of the elder's invitation to marry his daughter, fine though her attributes were.

By the way, that device you built for freezing the enemy in its tracks came in very useful for keeping my beer cold. It didn't have much effect on the monster, unfortunately, since the beast was wreathed in fire, as well as breathing it.

I'm afraid I didn't get the opportunity to make copious notes on the creature while it was trying to tear me limb from limb – but I did bring back one of the heads for you: the one that chewed my hat. Do with it as you will. I'm also bringing a bottle of some very potent liquor another of the elders – this one had no daughters – gave to me. Keep it hidden from Jinette.

Anyway, I'll be back in about a fortnight, so keep the home fires burning, and see if you can get my crossbow fixed by then, since I expect the old man will be sending me out on another mission within five minutes of my return.

Yours,

V.H."

Jinette sighed, and put the letter down. The jocular tone of it convinced him that Carl had not written to the hunter previously, and if he had, the letter had contained no indication of the friar's intentions. Another lead, perhaps their best one, had come to an end.

"Lay-brother Stephen," the cardinal said, "take this letter to Father James and ask him to test it for sympathetic ink. Then, give it to Brother Ambrose for decoding. Report any findings back to me immediately."

"Yes, Your Eminence." Stephen scurried off, leaving Jinette to his thoughts. The cardinal picked up the sword report, frowned, and dropped it again. He didn't really believe that Van Helsing had concealed any hidden message in the innocuous note. The fact that the hunter had written to Carl at all indicated that Van Helsing knew nothing of what had happened...and Van Helsing was the person Carl wad closest to in all the world. If he had told anyone of the action he had intended to take, if would have been Gabriel Van Helsing.

"Why have you done this, Carl?" the cardinal wondered aloud, to his empty office. "Could you not trust us? Did you think we would not help you?" But Jinette knew that Carl did not fully trust him, or the others in command of the Order – and, he had to admit, the inventor had good reason.

A/N End of chapter one...in the second chapter, Van Helsing returns to the Vatican. Please review!