Disclaimer:
I own nothing. The characters and themes portrayed here are the property of D. S Goyer and New Line Cinema. I have borrowed them without permission, and I hope that neither they, nor the actors who played King, et al with such panache, will mind much if I play for a while in the Blade universe and return them (relatively) unharmed.
The only thing I do have claim to is Caitlyn Thomas, and any O.Cs I introduce later.
Summary:
In the aftermath of Daystar, the Nightstalkers are mopping up the few vampires left behind and trying to accept the fact that their friends didn't die for nothing.
When King makes a stupid mistake on a hunt, he literally drops into the life of Caitlyn Thomas, a reclusive woman with a secret. It would be ignorant to assume that vampires are the only supernaturals in the world…
A/N:
Thanks to Kismet2, Nightengale (yeah, King and broken glass, definitely), FinalSpirit and mj (yeah, that was the effect I was after, glad you liked it) for your encouraging reviews. I picked up a copy of the 'book of the movie' the other day, and had to make a few changes on discovering the 'real' ending to Blade: Trinity. Sorry it took so long guys! This is longer than I'd intended. Read and Review, please.
Chapter 2.
Sunlight streamed through a huge window, highlighting a cast-iron fireplace, an Impressionist painting, a pile of pots and bundled fabric on a table and the bandaged form of a man on a bed, loosely covered with blankets. As the light hit his face, Hannibal King stirred, eyelids flickering as if he was dreaming. He believed he was.
It was early evening, and he and Abby were tracking a couple of inexperienced vampires who'd been spotted by one of the surveillance cells a few nights back. In the aftermath of Blade's showdown with Drake and the release of Daystar, very few vampires still lived in LA – either through succumbing to the virus, or because they'd left for other cities in a mass exodus in a futile attempt to escape it.
Some remained however, and without Sommer's expertise to figure out why they hadn't caught the bug, all the remaining resistance could do was what they did best; pest control.
It seemed to be low-level bloodsuckers that stuck around, inexperienced kids who, without 'older' vampires to guide them, were running riot over the city and causing havoc. Easy prey really.
Blade had since moved on and was probably doing whatever it was he did when there weren't any vampires to hunt. Meditating in Tibet? Designing a line of all-black, all-leather, all-purpose outfits for the fashion-conscious hunters out there? Relaxing in a tropical paradise with a cocktail in one hand and a curvaceous island girl in the other?
King had no clue, but he had left the Nightstalkers behind to mop up any remaining dregs, taking off in the night without so much as a polite goodbye.
Not that they really minded, it gave them a chance to regroup after the murder of their friends and family, a chance to heal and to figure out their next big move. Now that Daystar was no longer a dream, it was just possible that at some point in the not too distant future they wouldn't need to get up with the setting of the sun, strap on an arsenal and go out hunting. And what then?
That was a while away however, and until then those two vamps still had to be dusted, and fast given how they were clearly intent on taking that unsuspecting couple kissing under a streetlamp out for dinner.
Abby notched a Sundog-tipped arrow to her bow, and signalled for him to cut around behind them, for a two-pronged attack. He winked at her and nodded before taking off at a run, crouched low, ducking down an alleyway to creep up behind vamp number one, who was wearing an eye-catching ensemble in fuchsia leather. Waiting for Abby to make the first move his mind wandered a little and he wondered; was it a prerequisite for being a vamp, having no dress sense? He couldn't remember Danica ever having much of one, but then with Danica he was more focussed on trying to survive another night of hell under her hands. Maybe when you got bitten, any dress sense you had automatically went out the window, along with your soul and your sense of humour, he thought wryly. But hey, that was no excuse really, because he'd always made sure to be extra-stylish when he'd been turned. He shook his head at that one. Shit…my humour's really getting warped. Time for some new material.
A near-blinding flash of light kicked him into gear and he burst out of the alley, electronic pistols drawn, to see vamp two disintegrate into a pile of smouldering ash, a steel arrow nestling in the middle. Vamp one turned on him with a snarl, as did the couple under the street lamp, and he realised with a little surprise that it was a trap. Not a very good one, but a trap nonetheless. Pumping silver bullets into the fuchsia-clad vamp to his left he spun to take on the couple under the lamp as Abby vaulted from the top of a dumpster nearby to land with her usual grace beside him, a cloud of drifting ash all that was left of the fashion-monstrosity. They faced the couple together. The couple that seemed to have produced a sword and some sort of axe out of thin air. Huh.
"I'll take the guy, okay? My mom told me not to hit women…" he quipped, jamming his pistols in their holsters and reaching for the bone-jack strapped to his back. No sense in messing around. Abby rolled her eyes in response, but nodded all the same and launched herself at the woman, U.V. laser arc replacing her compound bow as the weapon of choice for any discerning vampire hunter.
The female dropped into a defensive stance to prepare for Abby's onslaught, while her companion took one look at King's gun and ran in the opposite direction.
"What the fuck? Oh come on!" he groused, shouldering the gun and taking off after his quarry, shouting, "I'll be right back!" to Abby, who was in the thick of a fight, and slowly gaining the upper hand.
It took him a few minutes to catch up with the male vamp, his shoulder not fully healed from Danica's high-heeled sadism, and by the time he did they were on the fringes of the suburbs, where the sky-scrapers of the city gave way to stone townhouses and gardens. He caught sight of his bizarrely wimpy prey scrambling up the drainpipe of one such house, and resolutely clambered after him, determined not to lose him in this kind of neighbourhood, a bloodsucker's paradise filled with sleepy, unsuspecting humans.
Meanwhile, Abby was beginning to notice a few odd things about her opponent – namely that she didn't have any fangs, and didn't seem to be tiring, even though they'd been sparring for a good twenty minutes. Both of these facts were weird, but explainable, Abby reasoned. She could be a familiar – explaining her hanging with the vamps – and high on amphetamines or some other kind of drug.
Either way it didn't matter, she was going down, Abby knew that as certainly as she knew that the sky was blue, and was proven right when a swift downswing with the laser arc caught the woman under her ear and neatly severed her head. She'd have a body to deal with afterwards, but too bad. They could find somewhere to dump it. Familiars didn't get any quarter, they'd made their bed with vampires, now they could lie in it.
Dumbfounded she stood and watched as a wailing column of flame engulfed her opponent soon after, leaving no trace of a body, not even ash. Familiars, in her experience, did not spontaneously combust.
Well that was weird, she thought, folding up the laser arc and calling for their ride to come pick her up. Weird, but she could live with it. After all, the familiar or whatever it was was gone, and that was all that really mattered.
Merrick – a transfer from another cell – screeched to a stop beside her in a battered SUV, and together they set off in pursuit of King knowing that, even if he didn't need any help, he'd need a ride back to the Honeycomb. It was a good thing they all wore beacons, she decided, having absolutely no clue where her acerbic partner had got to, and she switched on the hand-held locator Merrick handed her as he navigated the deserted backstreets of the city with familiar ease. A tiny blip put King somewhere on the outskirts, and the SUV swung around in a U-turn on the highway as Merrick corrected his course in response. Abby frowned, what the hell was King doing there?
This is weird, King thought, exchanging punches with the vamp on the roof of the house, why did he run all the way out here? It's not as if there's any kind of vampire underground in the suburbs of LA, so there's no one here to help him.
It wasn't until the vamp started to bob and weave, while balancing like a pro on the knife-edge of the roof gable that he realised; he wanted to get King on unfamiliar ground. The city was King's playground, he'd fought for so long against its backdrop that he practically breathed car fumes and neon gas. There he had the upper hand, and the vamp knew it.
It, however, seemed a little more experienced in a residential environment, and in split seconds between punches and axe-swipesKing wondered if it was from out of town. If so, why come here? Surely the word had spread by now that the resistance had a new and extremely efficient weapon against the night-walking bloodsuckers. And why hadn't he succumbed already? If Daystar was working as Sommers intended it to, he should be a grey, shrivelled corpse by now – wherever he was from. Nightstalker cells were reporting that the virus was spreading all over the northern hemisphere, carried by humans and fleeing vamps alike, leaving no-one with an unusual dietary requirement untouched. How had he escaped it?
He didn't have time to think on it more, as the vampire ducked what King had thought to be a sure right-hook and tackled him round the middle. As he slid down the tiling, and over the edge to the ground below, the only things on his mind were some choice swear words and the knowledge that however he landed, it was going to hurt.
With a start his eyes flew open, the pain that flooded his body as he impacted the ground in his 'dream' replaced by an all-pervading sense of wellbeing. Looking around the room, he registered cream drapes and some god-awful painting on the wall opposite, and the crisp cotton sheets and soft blanket covering him as he lay on possibly the most comfortable bed ever. Where the hell was he?
The surroundings were unfamiliar, somewhat expensive and luxurious, and for a split second he thought somehow Danica had got hold of him, and he was back in her penthouse. Then he remembered, with a sweet satisfaction, her death as Daystar did its work at the Phoenix Tower, and he relaxed imperceptibly. Still, those horrid memories aside, that did nothing to explain where he was. Either the Nightstalkers had had an unexpected windfall, and refurbished the Honeycomb or relocated, or he was somewhere else entirely.
One thing was for certain, it was deathly quiet. That unsettled him, used as he was to the constant noise of the city, and the background creaking and groaning of the Honeycomb.
Suddenly, somewhere distant, a door opened and shut and quiet footsteps padded their way upstairs and in his direction. Spurred into action, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, frowning as he did so at the multitude of bandages on his torso and limbs. When did he get hurt? He hadn't been injured since the takedown with Drake, and…
Forget that, right now he had to get up, find his guns – or any kind of weapon - and some clothes too, he added, noticing his state of undress with a little amusement. Not that he cared much either way – communal showers on the barge had obliterated any shame or anxiety about his body – but it certainly made for an easier fight if you didn't have to worry about certain parts of your anatomy being obvious targets for your opponent.
Starting towards what he thought was a cupboard King came up short against a shimmering energy barrier that said 'hello' by way of a short electric buzz, before fading away to give the appearance of nothing being there at all.
Sucking the burnt finger, he tentatively touched another space of air to his left and swore when the palm of his hand received another short jolt. What the…
Just then the door swung open, and in one fluid movement King turned toward it and grabbed a sheet from the bed to wrap around himself. Better to receive company in a sheet than none at all!
A tray entered, bobbing lightly in the air, carrying a bowl of what looked like vegetable soup, along with fresh bandages and a jug of water.
King stared at it quizzically, a feeling of surrealism starting to play at the edges of his mind. He was either hallucinating, dreaming, or Abby was starting to put something stronger than sugar in his coffee.
Following it was a woman, her petite form clothed in jeans and a t-shirt with a faded Lakers emblem, a huge book in one hand and the other presumably directing the passage of the tray with flicks and waves. She stopped abruptly when she saw him, and as her eyes went wide with shock the tray crashed to the floor, soup and water flooding the plush cream carpet. Silence reigned for about ten seconds before they both began to speak; King angrily demanding to know where he was, what the fuck was around his bed and who the hell she was in one long run on sentence, and the woman muttering something about knowing that would happen, and stupid 'personal gain' clauses. Abruptly they both shut up and, knowing she pretty much held all the cards, he gestured that she should talk first.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, bending to pick up the bandages and the jug without taking her eyes off him. It was patently obvious that she didn't trust him, but that feeling was mutual.
"Peachy keen, thanks for asking, now would you mind explaining to me what the hell kind of device you have around this bed?" He tried his best to keep bad language down to a minimum, she didn't look like the kind of girl who'd appreciate it, especially since she did freaky things with kitchen trays, but it was hard considering how cranky he was.
"Something to make sure you didn't decide, halfway through the night, to get out of bed and shoot or stab me in my sleep with one of the many guns and knives you carry about your person. What's with that anyway? You've enough of an arsenal there to take out a small country…compensating for something are we?" she smiled a little at that, and wrung water out of the bandages into the jug, before using them to mop up the soup. She knew he wasn't. Most of his clothes had been ruined last night and the rest had had to come off so she could bandage all the cuts and nicks the glass had left on his really great physique. Sigh. All the great-looking guys these days were either gay or nutso military obsessives.
King scowled, although a small part of him wanted to laugh, and poked the air again. Maybe it wasn't…Zzap
"Ow! Bitch…" another finger joined the first in his mouth as he grumbled at her and the stupid barrier she'd somehow erected around the bed. He respected the fact that she'd done it, could see the sense in it, but he hated being caged like an animal.
"Whmmerroo?" he asked around the fingers, repeating it without them when she quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Caitlyn, my name is Caitlyn," she replied, moving a little closer and peering at the bloodstained bandages on his chest, "How do they feel?"
He prodded at them gingerly, and looked a little surprised when they didn't hurt. Peeling one back, expecting blood and an open wound, he was met with a pale pink scar and relatively clean skin. Huh. Quickly he stripped the rest of them off, including the one on the shoulder where Danica's stiletto had gouged him. Pale pink, healthy skin stared back at him. Okay, that was weird. How long had he been here?
"Overnight, don't you remember?" his puzzled expression said not.
"You fell through my ceiling?" Nope.
"Destroyed my solarium?" No joy.
"Pointed a gun at me and nearly gave me a heart attack?" Now that did get a reaction, although not quite the one she'd hoped for.
"Where's my stuff?" Damn, she'd been hoping he wouldn't notice she'd confiscated his armoury.
"Somewhere safe," she evaded the question.
"I want...no, I need it. Now," he was insistent. She shook her head.
"I don't think so…not until you tell me why you fell through my roof, and why you have what look to be stakes made out of silver in your backpack. Explain mister, and it'd better be good, or I'm not letting you out of there, and you can stay wrapped in that sheet for eternity. Clothes are out of the equation too until you give me a reason my solarium is in a million pieces!" The irritation and anger from last night came back in full force, and she drew herself up to her full height of five foot four and even went so far as to point accusingly. Wow. She wasn't usually this assertive, not even with Sam when he dug up her tulips, but something about this guy ticked her off. The fact that he'd made her drop her lunch perhaps? His crankiness with her when all she'd done was help him, and against her better judgement? His standing there in nothing more than a bed-sheet, with that sculpted chest of his on casual display?
Ugh. Something about him just got under her skin and made her twitchy. She preferred him unconscious.
His eventual reply didn't help her mood any.
"Well, I would sweetcheeks, if I could remember what happened, and where the hell I was when it did…"