Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground. Beta assistance from TJ4ev and Whimsyfox enables (most of) my grammar to pass muster for Hal.
Reviews are welcome, loved and encourage prompter updates.
One fluorescent lit corridor led to another, and Alex realized the Archive was a maze that went deeper than she would have guessed. She had a sinking suspicion who Rook wanted them to see and took Hal's hand, giving him an encouraging squeeze. His only response was to press his lips into a determined line. It was clear Hal suspected who they were being led to as well.
After two lefts and a right, they entered a room that served as an obvious holding pen. One half of the room was cordoned off with heavy steel bars, making it a somewhat generous prison, but a prison nonetheless. A metal shelf bolted to the wall with large rivets served as a seating area, or a bed. On it, a black woolen coat was strewn along with what looked to be a suit jacket, wadded into a makeshift pillow. With hands clasped behind his back and rumpled shirt untucked, Richard Turner paced within his confinement. Hal shifted his posture and slipped his hand free from Alex's grasp. Richard glanced up as they entered and the only surprise he showed was a slight clenching of his aristocratic jaw.
"Henry. And your exotic little pet." Richard shook his head as Alex stood a little straighter, affronted. "I knew it." He sauntered towards them, coming to stand serenely opposite on the other side of the bars. "How do you always manage to squirrel your way into these things?"
Hal regarded Richard in a detached silence which was met with a steeled stare from the caged vampire. Both were equally stone-faced and Alex couldn't tell what either were thinking. She'd hate to play poker with these two.
Seemingly yielding the staring contest, Richard ran a hand through his mussed hair. His attack on their group in London had not allowed much time for observation, so Alex hadn't gotten a good look at Hal's old business partner until now. She noted that he must have been older than Hal when he was turned; his black hair was lightly peppered silver at the temples. He was a darkly handsome man who would look at ease anywhere from Prague to Palermo; an international chameleon expensively tailored. With broad shoulders over a narrow waist, he was similar in build to Hal, though slightly taller. He also was lacking Hal's ever-present coiled reservation. Instead, Richard Turner oozed a relaxed, vampiric charm. The dimples of his slow smile only accented the budding suave promise of sensual and secret things.
"So. Are you here to rescue me then? Scratch that," he said, dark eyes flicking to Rook lingering in the doorway. "You're clearly involved. Tell me you aren't blowing up your own assets?" He peered at Hal, then shifted his attention to Alex. She felt his gaze assess her almost caressingly, from her neck clear down to her boots. He huffed with a small laugh, "Jesus. You fucking would, wouldn't you? Probably even got your ghost to do it for you."
The spell of his charm broke and Alex bristled. "Och! Listen here cupcake," she started to retort but Hal stopped her with a quick gesture. Richard caught their exchange and showed his amusement with the raise of one eyebrow. Hal halted that as well with a smouldering glower and Richard's amused smile quickly dropped.
"I'm not the one behind this. Do you know why you're here?"
"Oh yeah, sure. Fucking secret agents are just peachy conversationalists." Richard shrugged, exasperation and fatigue clearly evident beneath his facade as he shot an uneasy glare towards Rook. "How do you know these bureaucratic assholes anyway?"
"The firm has been threatened. You have been compromised."
"Oh really? No shit." Richard grasped one of the bars, the ring he was wearing clinking against the metal as he leaned towards them. "I would have let you go, you know. This," he waved to his cage, "is completely uncalled for."
"You brought this on yourself when you didn't replace your public front," Hal stated.
"What? That philistine? Gave himself a cardiac. On the books for twenty years with nary an incident and then this."
"He died two years ago Richard."
"So what? Snow was going to kick off his big bloody Coming-Out party. I didn't think I'd need to have bothered. You know how much we have to pay Patsys like him so's to not get staked? And since when did you care anyway?"
"I don't," Hal stated plainly. "However, if you were to have gotten yourself arrested it would inevitably unveil our entire world. There are those who would prefer that not to happen."
"That you've certainly proven," Richard agreed angrily. "Except you're missing one thing, friend." He tapped the bar percussively with his fingernail.
"You're not arrested. Not yet. You, friend, are being detained."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Get me the fuck out of here then."
"Not in my power, I'm afraid," Hal said casually.
For the first time during their entire exchange, Richard looked genuinely shocked and straightened his posture. "Surely you're not working for these children."
"No, I'm working with them. A subtle difference, and a skill you perhaps have forgotten."
"Oh, Henry! You're still sore over your little detainment in London, aren't you? And here I thought you would have understood my position."
"I trusted you," Hal spoke calmly, his hands loose at his sides but the coiled threat present in him was all the more pronounced. "Trust, which was betrayed to Snow and then repaid with one of your little joy rides and an all-out attempt to kill off my friends. How did you think I would react?"
"Well," Richard shrugged loosely, leaning against the bars once more. "You didn't come after me."
"No, I did not. I believed you would have understood my position and left well enough alone." Hal turned to Rook, acknowledging that the man had been curiously watching his reunion with Richard. "Is there a point you are trying to make?"
Rook stepped forward, keeping his blue gaze steadily on Richard as he answered Hal, "I had questioned the true nature of the relationship between you."
"And?" Hal prodded. His temper was growing short.
"And you have confirmed what I already suspected. Come, let us continue our discussion elsewhere."
"Away from Richard you mean." Hal stated flatly.
Behind the bars Richard bellowed a sudden laugh. "Oh this is… I never thought I'd see the day."
"What else have we to discuss?" Hal ignored Richard's taunting as Rook indicated that they should go.
Richard gripped the bar tighter, his knuckles whitening. "Really Henry? Truly? You show up, plain as day and then… just leave me here?"
"There is much, Mr. Yorke," Rook answered, turning away.
"Oh Jesus - Henry, come on!" Richard pleaded as Hal started to turn away. "There are things at stake - the Council-"
Hal turned back lightening fast and slammed his palm into the bar next to Richard's head; his old partner visibly flinched. Hal's eyes had darkened dangerously as he took a breath and wrapped his fingers into a fist around the bar. "This is beyond control of your fucking Council!." Richard swallowed, finally silenced and Hal softened his stance. "You're safe here. You will just have to manage."
Richard snorted, seeming to relax. "Safe? They'll come looking for me you know. Spike was there - he saw me get taken. I'm sure he'll alert-"
"Spike?"
"Oh, you know - Steven." At Hal's blank look Richard added, "Rosanna's lad. He works for us now."
A recognition, along with something else, flickered across Hal's features but he quickly schooled himself back to impassive.
"Time is as ever of the essence, Mr. Yorke," Rook prodded from the doorway. Hal held Richard's gaze a moment longer before releasing the bar and turning away. This time, Richard remained silent and watched them go. Alex followed, but shot a backwards glance at the vampire in the cage. Richard Turner gave her a slow, surreptitious smile that sent a chill straight through. She quickly rent-a-ghosted to catch up, relieved to be out of his sight.
They didn't return to Rook's office. Instead, he led them further along a corridor to a stairwell, the concrete treads well worn.
"Mr. Turner has not been the most forthcoming with information," Rook began as he descended the stairwell. "Nor is he one that we would expect as an ally. The loyalty he holds to his clients runs deep."
"If he wasn't forthcoming, then how did you know he hasn't told his Council about the other locations?"
"We have our ways."
"Wooo, scary. Is this guy self-assured or what?" Alex barbed, following Hal.
"You have an informant within the Council then?" Hal asked but Rook did not answer. Instead, they reached the bottom of the stairwell to a landing with two doors, each marked with a large number. Rook produced a key card from his pocket and swiped the electronic reader next to the door marked with a large, black 1. The door lock released and Rook turned the latch, pocketing his key-card and pausing.
"We discreetly work with many Types who acknowledge and understand our cause. It is my hope that you will continue to be one of them, Mr. Yorke."
Hal tilted his head quizzically at Rook's statement as he opened the door to a long room bracketed with row upon row of ceiling-tall wire shelves.
"Holy cheeses," Alex exclaimed, taking in the room over Hal's shoulder. "They really do have an archive in the Archive."
"Greetings Arthur," Rook called out as he stepped through the threshold then held the door open for Hal to join him. An elder gentleman with a trim white beard, dressed in dark grey waistcoat with white gloves, stepped forward past a row of shelves and smiled warmly.
"Mr. Rook!" he greeted. Then, watching Hal enter the space he added, "And a guest. Hello."
Rook let the door swing shut and Alex quickly rent-a-ghosted to stand on the other side of him in the narrow aisle between tall shelves. "This is our depository for active cases. Our archivist, Arthur runs a tight ship. Arthur, this is Hal Yorke."
Arthur's bright eyes widened and his hand trembled slightly as he set his clipboard down on the shelf next to him. "Bless my buttons - surely not?"
"Indeed," Rook acknowledged quick and clipped. "We're sorry to interrupt, but if you could be so kind as to pull what information, if any, you have on activity surrounding the Barry Island Pleasure Park?"
Arthur was openly staring at Hal, his cheerful smile exchanged for amazement. "Whatever you wish, sir."
"Thank you, Arthur. Call me if you find anything." Rook requested.
"Of course. Sir?" Arthur asked as Rook had turned to leave. "Is the Type seven here as well?"
"He doesn't mean me, does he?" Alex wondered out loud.
"Yes, she is," Rook answered quickly even though he hadn't directly acknowledged her presence until now.
"Honoured, Miss Millar," Arthur concluded with a little nod of his head. "Thank you sir."
Rook led them back out the way they came. Once the door was securely shut, he said, "Arthur's favourites are always the ghost stories." He swiped his key card at the reader across the hall and opened the door on another shelving-filled room identical to the one they had just left. They passed through it briskly and exited through the door marked 2 on the opposite end. The landing beyond mirrored the first, only these doors were marked 2 and 3. Alex wondered just how many such rooms were sequestered down here.
Rook led them up the stairwell and they were back in a familiar corridor. Instead of returning to his office, he motioned them towards an empty meeting room. Austere and utilitarian, the room contained only a table with several chairs on either side with a telephone at its center. Opposite the doorway was a large mirror centered on the wall either for observation, like in police interrogation films, or merely as a blatant vampire check. Alex's reflection stared back at her next to the absence where Hal's should be.
Unconcerned, Rook took a seat and motioned for Hal to join him as he renewed the conversation."The situation is such that we could benefit from your continued involvement."
"In what sense?" Hal's tone was terse and reserved as he took a seat. The small encounter with Arthur and the immensity of the archive had disarmed him somewhat, but he still remained guarded around Rook.
Alex pulled a chair free and took a seat as well, as Rook looked on, seemingly searching the air for her presence with his piercing blue gaze. Once she was settled, he returned his attention to Hal. "We have a duty to try and stop this from happening, or at least contain it. If the vampires are enticed to travel to our area, we have to make sure that they do not. I will set my teams to investigate incoming correspondence over the next few days. There may be a way in which to track these wolves to their source. In the meantime, we will keep an eye on our visitors."
"Your calculations put nearly a dozen in our area?" Hal asked, resting his hands carefully on the surface of the table. Alex could sense that he was attempting to appear relaxed.
"Yes, plus your household of course."
Hal squared his jaw, obviously displeased at this development. The full moon would prove to be even more of an evening to remain indoors than usual it would seem. "A dozen well-placed werewolves could do a lot of damage, but it would be more akin to exposure than annihilation."
"This department has been guarding supernatural secrets almost as long as you have. Containing any exposure is our job. However, something else is bothering you, isn't it?"
"Whatever is about to happen seems to be just another means to an end. A dozen werewolves would hardly make a dent in the number of vampires in the world."
"Perhaps more Type threes will be coming," Rook theorized. "Our informant with the Lobisomem has not reported anything out of the ordinary, so either he is lying, or we may be dealing with a rogue group. If we can stop the vampires from arriving as well, then the entire situation could be stymied." Rook cocked his head at Hal, contemplative. "You have already served a diplomatic purpose at times in your past, correct?" Without awaiting Hal's answer, Rook continued matter-of-factly, "You are acquaintances with some of the key players. And if not, then they will know of you. However it happens this could be the start of a war, as you have said. We're going to have to convince them otherwise. You could convince them otherwise. The world isn't ready."
Hal shook his head, then took a moment with his palms flattened to the table."Change isn't always unwanted, Dominic," Hal spoke softly with an undercurrent of control. Rook leaned forward, about to argue, but Hal continued, "I supported the War Child for a reason."
"You want this war to happen?" Rook demanded, disbelieving.
"No, but I cannot deny the appeal of a world without vampires."
"The world isn't ready," Rook repeated.
"No, I believe it is you who isn't ready. We're done." Hal pushed away from the table and stood, holding a hand to Alex. "Your request is for something I cannot do. I mustn't return, no matter the purpose."
She stood, taking Hal's offered hand with uncertainty, "What? That's it?"
Rook had raised an eyebrow but remained seated. "There's just one more thing," he stated, causing them both to pause. "Mr. McNair has become entangled."
The only indication of Hal's growing irritation was a clenching of his jaw, the muscles becoming more pronounced. "Tom?" Alex wondered out loud. "So when he didn't come home…"
"Entangled how, exactly?" Hal asked, the edge in his voice betraying his slipping restraint.
"It appears he has befriended some of our visitors."
"I will speak with him. Good day, Mr. Rook."
Allison Larkin was at the library again for her afternoon break between classes. She had been distracted away from her return email to Vinnie the previous night by her conversation with Tom. Allison smiled with a soft blush at the thought. It had been rather nice to have an entire evening with the the house to themselves.
She wanted to confide in Vinnie about her research, as well as her intimate knowledge of UK werewolves - namely, herself - but she also didn't really know Vinnie. In light of recent events she decided to run a quick Google-stalking to see what else she could discover before she crafted her response.
Within the very first search results, there it was. Even before translating the news clipping, she could recognise the meaning. Her search parameters hadn't come up with it before because she had been geared towards werewolf stories. When she found Vinnie's article about the Lobisomem, she had taken it at face value. She had quickly clicked the web-mail link from within his short bio to send him her first inquiry.
According to this however, Vinicius Emanuel da Rocha Batista was dead.
She imported the memorial announcement into Translate to read more. Vinnie was killed in an apparent auto accident, over eight weeks ago. Had she been exchanging messages with his ghost?
Allison opened her email, clicking on the email chain with Vinnie. He must be pretending to still be alive - and still pursuing his research. She knew the explanation of a ghost online was entirely plausible. But even knowing, believing and living with undeniable proof in the existence of ghosts, Allison Larkin still felt a chill creep across the back of her neck, her hackles rising in caution. Something, she couldn't pin it down, was throwing her off.
Vinnie claimed he had gone looking for his missing cousin. Usually, one does not see the Lobisomem and return to tell the tale, he had said. Had Vinnie found the Lobisomem and then was killed for it?
Hal and Alex had traveled to speak with someone connected to the Pack for Mr. Rook. Could they actually be in danger? Quickly, Allison retrieved her mobile and dialed Honolulu Heights. The line trilled several times before connecting to the answering machine. "Hal? Alex? This is Allison. Give me a ring when you get in."
Allison ended the call then stared at the memorial announcement on her screen. They really needed to convince Hal to carry a mobile.
From their vantage in front of the cheery placard over the range, the house appeared quiet and empty. The kitchen was in the same orderly state as he had left it. Hal absorbed the gentle sanctuary of familiar surroundings, already feeling soothed. He didn't even realize he had kept his arms resting over Alex's shoulders after their teleportation, until she spoke.
"You okay?" She asked.
He didn't know. It was all so… Hal stepped away from her and reached for the kettle. Filling it with water would allow him to turn away from her questioning gaze, and allow him to stall maybe long enough to know. Her question wasn't just about whether he was okay, but what he was going to do. And for that, he needed tea. And perhaps an infinity of press ups…
He had begun this.
Almost a century ago the pieces had started to fall and he had no inkling. He wondered if Snow even could have foreseen the catastrophe they had created. Maybe he did. Maybe it was all part of the ancient's endless scheme. Chaos, exposure; Snow always did prefer to stir the pot and see what arose. A mortal's idea of free will had amused the Old One, and he had been notorious for toying with it. Perhaps allowing the Lobisomem their freedom all those years ago had been just another piece of a long game towards ultimate chaos and control.
"Hal?" Alex placed a hand on his shoulder. He had stopped, kettle filled and the water off but leaning against the sink in his contemplation. He shrugged her away and turned to put the kettle on. "Do you want to -" she started, pushing again.
Exasperation left him in a huff. "I need to think."
He pulled down a teapot and rummaged in the cabinet for a decent loose leaf, still keeping his back to Alex. He didn't have an answer for her yet.
"But if Tom's involved -"
"Alex! Jesus." He snapped, whirring to face her. Wide-eyed and hurt, she looked away, her fingers twirling the ring on her left hand in consternation. Immediately he regretted snapping at her. She was only trying to help.
Hal took a deep breath and attempted to soften his stance. "I didn't mean-" he started but she furrowed her brow and disappeared with a stiff displacement and the ghostly equivalent of a slammed door. Hal could instantly feel that she wasn't in the house. "Damn it," he muttered.
After days, weeks - months really, Hal was alone again. Until this week, he had rarely been left on his own. Even at the hotel Tom and Alex were always on shift when he was. His visit to Glasgow, and subsequent solo return journey hadn't been planned as such, but nor had it felt as trying as now. The temptation to return to London - to take control and fix all this - was strong, regardless of what he had told Rook. But it wasn't about stopping a war... Hal swallowed, placed his hands on the counter and took a steadying breath. Focus. It was only the strain of the past day that made the issue as pronounced as he now felt it. He took another few rounds of breath, then focused on measuring tea leaves. He didn't have to do anything. He could talk to Tom, convince his friend to stay out of it. They could all go back to living as before.
Horsefeathers. It was a nice delusion.
While the water heated, he set about locating the shoe polish. At least he could finally clean his fucking boots.
*Horsefeathers = bullshit, Victorian style.
