Chapter 51

Tick-Tock

Author's note: I know this is a tense part of the story. I'm trying to edit & post as quickly as possible but I have to write the story as it played out for me. I hope you'll bear with me! I love the songs I recommended in this chapter - hope you'll give them a listen!

Intro song: Not Ready To Say Goodbye, Leah Nobel

Beth rubbed her hands together, her fingers still chilled despite the thick mittens encasing them. Truthfully, she ached. Even breathing hurt in the arctic chill that enveloped the chamber. She knew that Spector, Gabby, Josef – hell, all of those involved in the herculean task of trying to save Mick's life – thought that she was being foolish to insist on spending all this time in here when they could easily substitute for her. It wasn't rational, she could admit that. But she felt like leaving Mick's side would leave him vulnerable and unprotected.

Beth knew all too well how death could stealthily arrive if you turned your back, even for a moment. Would she ever get over the fact that her mom had died when she stepped out of her bedroom for a few minutes just to get a cup of coffee? No, she wouldn't. So she paced in the cold cage, alone again, both Simone and Gabby having come and gone.

Gabrielle had relieved the two women after sharing nourishment with Josef, promising to let Beth know immediately if there was any change. Exhausted, Simone had excused herself and gone to bed to catch a few hours of sleep. Knowing that the New York City vampire was watching over Mick, Beth had been able to relax and warm up in the study where Logan and Ryder still hovered, waiting for news. Somehow, she trusted this woman, even though they had just met. It was obvious that Gabby cared about Mick a great deal; instead of it bothering her, that thought was oddly comforting. Nevertheless, toward the end of her mandatory break, Beth began to feel anxious and restless. Her hour of exile finished, she took a thermos of coffee offered up by Logan and hurried back to the cold room.

"No change, Beth. He had another hallucination, I think, but he hasn't moved since then. John - Dr. Spector - just checked him and hung more blood. He went to get some sleep and said he'll be back in a couple of hours to check him again and bring another bag." Gabrielle studied Beth's worried face and felt like she needed to say more. "He's not worse though. And I know it seems like this has been going on forever, but it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet. He's a tough guy and he loves you so much – I just know he'll come back to you."

"Thank you, Gabby." Beth hugged the Asian woman, then watched as she left the room, Beth couldn't help but think about the insane direction her life had taken - she trusted these vampires more than most humans. Certainly more than Ben Talbot!

Now, she continued her lonely vigil, well into her hour allotment of time, holding Mick's hand, stroking his hair, talking to him…anything she could think of to let him know he wasn't alone here. She remembered the directions of her mother's hospice nurses when she had become unresponsive. They had told Beth that hearing and touch are the last senses to leave; even completely unresponsive, comatose patients would, when recovered, report that they heard and followed conversations around them, or were comforted by the touch that they could feel, even when they couldn't react to it. Might it not be even more so for vampires with their extraordinary hearing and senses? She didn't know but resolved to bring it up with John Spector at the next opportunity.

In the meantime, she talked to the unconscious vampire, reassuring him that Detective Davis was all right, that his actions had saved Carl - and probably several others. "I thought you told me you would just be watching - no heroics. I should have known." Beth thought back to their conversations over the past several days and the disagreements they had had about Mick's planned trip to the desert. In the cold reality of his fight for life, the arguments seemed stupid and pointless.

"I was just afraid of you getting hurt... Afraid of losing you..." Carefully, Beth stroked his hair, stiff from the freezing temperatures. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the paralyzing fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "I don't care if I was right. I would have rather been wrong. Come on, Mick, get better, wake up, so we can go home," she coaxed.

Hell, she'd scream at him if she thought it would wake him up. As it was, the intake of frigid air needed for her to speak, seared her lungs, so she kept talking to a minimum - save for when the anxiety and heartache of seeing him this way became overwhelming, and she needed to counter the weighty silence.

But really, in the end, all she could do was watch, wait... and... pray? She scoffed at that notion. Prayer hadn't saved her mother. Or Josh. She had lost all belief in a higher Being or the power of prayer. Instead, she chose to put her faith in… What, Beth? Vampires!? "Yes," she said to the quiet room. The idea was preposterous, even comical, yet here she was.

Gazing down at Mick's battered body, her heart literally ached with pain to see him so injured, so broken. She brought her hand up to touch his cheek. "You have to live, Mick. You have to come back to me."

"Hey, Blondie, tick tock..."

Josef's interruption signaled it was time for her to leave. He was accompanied by Logan, a tentative smile on that vampire's face as he said, "Beth, I'll watch Mick for you – and I promise I won't mess it up!" Now that the surgery itself was over, Logan's squeamishness had subsided, leaving only shame in its wake. His distress had been fed by Josef's jabs. Now Logan was trying desperately to make up for his perceived weakness - and what he felt was his disloyalty toward Beth - by being as helpful as possible.

Beth nodded and tried for a smile for Logan's benefit. She had hit her limit for now anyway - physically and emotionally. She needed to defrost and reset for the start of her next shift. She turned back to the injured man. "Hey, I gotta go now, I'll be back soon... I love you."

Another kiss, and then Beth rose, heeding the older vampire's call. "I'm on my way, Josef."

The two moved slowly out of the cold room as Logan watched them leave. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to his unresponsive friend, sipping a quickly-frosting glass of blood while he settled in to enjoy the cold, if not the company.

Ben Talbot hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh after another fruitless attempt to reach Beth. There had been no answer to his repeated knocks on her apartment door. He had even roused the live-in maintenance man for the apartment complex to get into her apartment.

While there was admitted curiosity in the action, the night's events had rattled him sufficiently that he had envisioned Beth lying helpless in her apartment, the victim of some vicious attack. He had actually been relieved to find the apartment empty. The only sign that she had been there recently had been her neat stack of mail.

After leaving a written note for her to call him immediately, he'd apologized to the maintenance worker for getting him out of bed and headed back to his place for a few hours of sleep. Now, he was back in his office, bracing for the backlash that was sure to hit over this debacle.

"Keep trying her number," he instructed one of the office workers he'd commandeered until his assistant showed up. Jamie sure picked a hell of a day to be late. The coward in him hoped that Beth had already heard the news through some other avenue and was at Mick's side now - wherever the hell the man was.

"How do you handle it, Josef?"

"What are you talking about?" Kostan was puzzled; had he missed part of a conversation with Beth, lost as he was in his own morose thoughts? He looked over at the young woman shivering under the heavy blanket his housekeeper had brought in before he dismissed her. His employee had been only too happy to go to her quarters, the sights and sounds of the night just passed having thoroughly rattled her.

Marguerite knew he was a vampire - many of his human employees did - but that was in the abstract. The most she'd ever been exposed to was an occasional glass, drained of blood, left out to be washed. The reality of having the house overrun with vamps, coupled with the bloody mess they had made of her immaculate kitchen, was another thing entirely. It was proving too much for her to handle.

I'll probably have to look for a replacement now, Josef thought gloomily. And, if she left, she'd take her husband, Dave, his vineyard manager, with her. Dammit! Reliable human help was so difficult to come by...

Beth warmed herself in front of the fire he had had built in the sleek, but seldom-used, granite fireplace. Her shivering, however, came as much from within as from exposure to the cold, as she thought about Mick.

"I'm talking about grief, Josef. I mean, it's morning and Mick s still alive, so there's still hope, but my insides feel like they're being eaten up, especially when he's out of my sight." She hesitated, loathe to cause him more pain, but she had to know. "You loved Sara so much. How do you stand the heartache? I'm not sure I could."

Josef sat down slowly in the wing chair next to the one Beth was huddled in. "Someone once told me that grief is the price we pay for love. I think there's some truth to that – and I believe it's especially true for vampires."

He stared into the fire for a long moment as he conjured up Sara's smiling face, his dark eyes haunted. How can I explain what I can't really understand myself? "When you live as long as we do, Beth, you can start to feel less than alive. That's why so many older vamps are mean and do stupid stuff – they just want to feel something. I think love is what really keeps you going - but finding someone to love through eternity is tricky business. So many of us find humans to love - which means that, inevitably, we will lose those we care about. Over and over again. Grief defines us; it's part of the price we pay for living forever."

"But, how..." she whispered.

"How do I stand it?" He laughed harshly, a grating sound in the quiet room. "I don't, Beth. Everything I just said – it's just a way for me to rationalize all this pain. The truth is... I don't stand it, at least not very well. That's why I try not to love. I was a basket case after Sara died. Mick helped me get through it. It still feels like I've been sucker-punched though... Every day. And if he dies..." Josef trailed off, then shrugged. "Well, if he does, I'll go on because that's what I do - just like you will. But that doesn't mean it won't change us, doesn't mean we won't feel that pain for the rest of our lives - however long those lives are."

She shook her head, her eyes glittering with tears she refused to shed. She'd already cried way too much. The firelight caught her blonde hair, making it shimmer with the movement of her head. "I'm not that strong, Josef. I thought I knew pain when Josh was killed - but it was nothing like this. I don't know how I would go on if Mick...if he..." She couldn't even bring herself to finish the sentence. It seemed like uttering the words out loud might make it a real possibility.

"You would, Blondie. And, you know what would make it bearable? Revenge." He smiled humorlessly, thinking of Gabby's words to him a short time before. "For me, that's a dish that's tasty hot or cold. If I can't live for love... I'll live for revenge."

Beth closed her eyes, a jumble of images swirling through her mind. Mick serving her a candlelight dinner on a rooftop after giving up his longed-for humanity to save her... Mick refusing to let things end between them and busting back through her door to tell her he loved her… Mick playing his guitar, hair hanging in his face... Mick smiling down at her as they made love...

A sob caught in her throat, and she fought to push it down and gain control over her pain and fear - and anger. "Revenge," she whispered. The word felt strange in her mouth, but its taste... she could get used to that taste.

"I was expecting your call well before now." Christophe Durand's tone was measured. He squinted at the late morning light streaming in through the stained-glass window he had had installed, the light refracting into rich reds, blues and greens as it passed through the glass. Personally rescuing the window almost ten years ago from an ancient church in France that was being demolished, he had transported the fragile artifact back to New York at considerable expense. Like the Raphael painting in his office, the exquisite window also showed St. George slaying a dragon.

"This is the first time I've had a chance to call! I have to be careful not to arouse any suspicion and, as you can imagine, the place is pretty much under lock down."

"I understand. I have faith in you - one of the few people I can say that about right now. I'm just anxious to hear what's going on." Durand sat down at the desk in the den of his spacious apartment, pulling out the leather-bound journal he was never without.

It was the latest in a series of hand-written logs he had kept since joining Crucis years before. In them, he had chronicled his exploits with the organization, plans for future actions, even his thoughts and feelings about fighting the scourge of vampires. The journals had evolved into a cross between a war plan and a personal diary. Flipping to a new page and noting the date with his heavy Mont Blanc pen, he said. "I'm ready. Tell me what's happening."

"The ammunition apparently worked far better than you might have hoped. He was shot in the abdomen and there was extensive serious physical damage and wide-spread silver contamination."

"What about the addition of the silver powder?" Durand was writing furiously.

"That appears to have been an inspired idea. Just like with the previous prototype, the silver fragments were widespread and difficult to retrieve, but the dust added an extra element that is very difficult to counteract. I think that almost any vampire these munitions are used on, will die within a few hours. Very painfully."

Durand smiled, the expression making him look, if anything, even more threatening. "Good, good. That sounds even better than we might have hoped for. Perhaps, in his own traitorous way, McCallum provided us with a good opportunity for field-testing this weaponry."

"There's more. The amount of silver contamination was enough to prevent St. John from healing spontaneously, even after the surgery and constant blood transfusions. He had not begun to heal when he was put in a freezer room after surgery and is still unresponsive, without any signs of healing. That takes away a major advantage they have. And…" The caller paused, knowing that the Crucis leader would especially appreciate his next statement, "And, based on what I saw and heard, I can assure you that - live or die - Mick St. John has suffered tremendously."

Durand dropped his silver pen onto the page in front of him and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, a satisfied expression on his face as he pictured the vampire in question writhing in agony on the ground.

There was a lengthy silence, stretching out until the caller spoke again. "Christophe? Are you still there? Did you hear me?"

With a sigh, the Crucis leader came back to the task at hand. Picking his pen back up, he growled, "You said, 'live or die'. Which is it? Will we have to deal with this St. John problem anymore?"

"I- I don't know yet. I believe it could go either way at this point." Anticipating the next comment, he blurted, "Before you ask, he is so closely watched that there is no opportunity to get to him to ensure his death, so you will be forced to wait for nature to take its course."

"Nature!" Durand snorted. "Nature has nothing to do with these creatures! He picked his pen back up, tapping the journal page with the tip as he looked over the notes. "All right. This will do for now. Keep me posted. McCallum is due in this afternoon - I'm sure he would be devastated to hear that this monster survived."

"There is more to report, but nothing urgent. I can fill you in when we are face-to-face. I will call as I can but my time is not my own right now." With a click, the caller was gone.

Durand jumped up and began pacing, his long legs covering the space in his den with a few strides. He stared down as he walked, not seeing the exquisite Persian rug under his feet. Instead, he again conjured up an image of Mick St. John, dying as so many of that kind had... under his heel, in agony.

Simone wandered into Josef's study, yawning, her thick brunette hair tousled. The four hours of sleep she had managed to snatch were not enough. Not nearly enough, she thought, rubbing at her eyes, which felt as if they were full of sand. She knew, without looking in a mirror, that they were reddened and irritated, the result of her spending an hour with Beth in the dry, cold air of Josef's freezer room, then falling into an exhausted sleep without removing her contacts. In her rush to get to Temecula after Ryder's call, she had left her glasses and spare contacts at home. She'd ordered replacements as soon as she discovered her error, but they wouldn't arrive until later today. Having the eyesight of a myopic mole, she was stuck with the grainy, tired sensation until then.

Dropping her hands, she stopped abruptly as she made out Josef Kostan, standing almost where she had last left him, staring out one of the heavily tinted windows into the vineyards in the fields below the house.

"Josef! What are you doing still up?" When he did not respond, Simone hurried over to the solitary figure, touching him on his sleeve.

Kostan turned, displaying a pale face with a shadow of beard, and tired eyes above dark circles. Without a word, he encircled her in his arms, hugging her hard as he buried his face in the hair at the crook of her neck.

Simone responded instinctively, hugging him back and rubbing his back comfortingly. "Is there any change?" she whispered, fear in her voice.

As a lawyer, blessed - or cursed - with a trained, logical mind, she held no illusions that Mick would recover. What she had seen in the cold room with Beth had convinced her of that. She was sure that Josef's friend had died while she was asleep. She dreaded what that death would do to Beth - and to him.

Surprisingly, Kostan shook his head negatively. His voice was muffled in her hair as he responded, "No, he's not dead, but there's no change either. He isn't healing - and he hasn't shown any signs of consciousness."

Simone hesitated, contemplating discussing her doubts over any possible recovery by the injured vampire but decided against it. Josef was in no condition for that conversation right now. Instead, she led him over to a wing chair, pushing him down into it. He went without protest.

"Where is everyone?"

"I sent them all off to sleep. I just wanted to be alone."

"You sent everyone else off to their freezers... Josef, did you get any freezer time at all?" She already knew the answer.

"No, I wanted to wait... just to see if there was any change."

"You are as bad as Beth. Dr. Spector said it could be days. You can't stay up all that time, Josef." She sank down beside his chair, peering up into his face. "Frankly, you look like hell. You need to be in your freezer. Someone has to run things here and you aren't going to be able to do it if you don't take care of yourself."

Rising gracefully to her knees, she offered her wrist to the suffering vampire. "Why don't you drink - and then, go to sleep?" she said softly, running the fingers of her other hand down his hair, smoothing stray strands into place.

Josef took her wrist, but used it to pull her up onto his lap instead of biting her. He brushed back the hair from her neck, stroking her there lightly with his fingertips. "Do you mind?" he asked, focusing on her throat, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"Of course not. You usually don't want to." Simone pulled her hair back over the opposite shoulder, baring her neck fully to him. Tilting her head back, she whispered, "But I want you to."

He leaned forward, touching her throat first with his lips, then with his tongue, feeling the shiver his touch elicited in her. As he bit down carefully, a single tear escaped him, mingling with Simone's blood, and sliding down her neck as he fed.

End song: Need Someone, Mary J. Blige