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 love, and so is cake.
Tom arrived home and shrugged out of his jacket, pinning it up quickly on the coat rack. He wanted to talk to Allison about the Route, but knew she may not make it home from her study group in time. Rather than call her, he rationalized that he would investigate, then report back and tell her if it were anything worth telling. The werewolves were gathering, and Irving's pack wouldn't say why. Didn't seem like they quite knew themselves. Almost all of them had received messages, or been met by others asking to join in a revolution, a movement. Individuals all over the West had been alerted. Those in the area who could make it, were either already in Barry, or on their way.
Tom guessed it had something to do with the bombings that Rook had told Hal and Alex about. Tom was still angry with Hal for deceiving him, but that wasn't why he had decided to go. Nor was it to investigate for Rook to find out who was behind it all. Tom had accepted Conal's invitation purely for his own curiosity.
He stepped into the kitchen to prepare a quick supper. He would leave a note for Allison along with the leftovers. He was about to pull down a saucepan, but a newly washed teapot in the strainer caught his eye, then a small bit of movement made him quickly turn. Hal was standing in the doorway.
"It's not nice to sneak in on folks," Tom grumbled, then resumed his reach for a pan. Part of him was glad his friends had made it back, but part of him bristled as well. He was still mad at Hal, and a little mad at himself for being too distracted to realize his flatmate was home.
"Hello Tom."
"Where's Alex?" Tom asked in an attempt to be civil, placing a cutting board on the counter.
"She... had some business to attend to elsewhere."
Tom glanced at Hal who was holding himself rather stiffly in the doorway. His friend always righted his posture into perfection when he was uncomfortable. "Don't you go being all polite. She's hacked off at you now too then?"
Hal pressed his lips into a line as he met Tom's accusatory stare. He soon softened though and gave a dismissive nod. "Probably, yes."
Tom snorted a smug laugh that his guess was right, then reached for a knife. He set about peeling some potatoes. Hal relaxed a bit and leaned into the doorway, watching him work for moment.
"The implication is that you are still 'hacked off' with me," Hal stated, forging into what they both knew they needed to discuss.
"Cor I am," Tom shrugged then pointedly chopped a potato in half, the knife thwacking against the cutting board. "You lied."
"I withheld the truth. There is a distinction."
"No, not really. S'not all that different."
"Aren't you doing the same?"
Tom stopped, his second potato only half chopped and set the knife down. "What makes you say that?"
"You could have told me yesterday that you ran into some wolves. Preferably before we went all the way to the Hebrides to speak with one."
"I didn't know they was connected," Tom shrugged then folded his arms across his chest. "And don't go turning this on me. Why didn't you tell me 'bout the fight rings?"
Hal kept Tom's demanding gaze but didn't shift his leaning posture. "You had not yet told me how McNair was turned, so a reason to disclose that part of my past never arose. Why would I have hurt you unnecessarily?"
Relaxed and even, Hal's tone was like he was explaining a simple thing to a child. Tom hated when he did that. Especially when he knew that Hal was right. Tom searched his friend's face for a hint of deception, but there was none. "Has there been anything else you've naught told me?"
"Of course. Several centuries, in fact."
Tom rolled his eyes at Hal's sarcasm and added to his question, "Does what you've not told me affect our household now?"
"Until yesterday, I would have probably answered no."
Tom broke his gaze away to stare at the floor near Hal's bare feet. "You be involved with this revolution mess, haven't ya?"
"Yes," Hal answered simply. "I fear that I started it. A century ago. The situation was just awaiting a spark. Cutler lit the fuse with his anti-werewolf campaign."
"Oh," Tom turned away, pondering while he resumed supper prep. "That's a right bother then."
"Yes, I believe it is." Hal agreed with a softened voice. "You can ask me - anything, Tom. I hope you know that."
Tom considered for a moment while keeping his attention on the counter and tried not to act surprised. What Hal was offering was huge for him, and Tom was warmed by his friend's openness. So he asked the first question that popped into his head. "Are you really five hundred and something?"
"I, er, don't actually know," Hal straightened, startled by Tom's question. "I'm five hundred and something." Hal paused, reflecting briefly, then added "I have been a vampire four hundred and ninety eight years, one month and fifteen days."
"Oh," Tom exclaimed softly, momentarily taken aback at Hal's exactness. "Why don't you know 'fore that? Do you not know your own birthday?" Tom asked then shrugged, "I never 'ad mucha one but at least I knew of it."
"I was born in a brothel in a time before public records."
"You were wha?" Tom stopped working again and glanced at Hal, disbelieving. "You're putting me on."
"No. Afraid not."
"Blimey."
"That is one way of putting it."
"So you don't know your own birthday," Tom pressed, attempting to ignore the brothel bit for now.
"No," Hal shook his head.
"When do you get cake then?"
Hal gave a laugh at Tom's genuine question. "A group of werewolves are about to start a revolution, potentially take over Barry and beyond, but you want to know when I celebrate my birthday? Oh, Tom."
"Well," Tom shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling simple and peered at his potatoes. "You're right and all, but when am I gonna make you cake? Annie can't do it, so somebody's gotta."
"Unless you get yourself killed by being mixed up in all this," Hal countered, redirecting the conversation. "Who are your new friends?"
Tom sighed and looked away again. "They're werewolves, Hal. They waited until I was away from the house before introducing themselves so you probably won't be able to talk to them."
"I don't need to talk to them. I just need to know that you're okay."
"Yeah. I'm fine. They're nice. Not what you'd think. They're a family."
"And what do you believe I'd be thinking about them, exactly?"
"Not every werewolf sets out to be a slayer is all."
"I'm aware of that. What are they doing here though? What is their plan?"
"They… wanted to find me actually. They'd heard bout me n'McNair, and…" Tom stopped, suddenly unsure of what else he could and should tell Hal. He wanted to withhold which was the very thing Hal had accused him of doing. He wanted to withhold because he knew Hal wouldn't like it. "There's a gathering. Tonight. They wanted me to come."
"And you're going." Hal stated it without question, as if he already knew that Tom would.
"May as well, right?" Tom asked, trying to get a sense from Hal. "I never had much opportunity to meet many of my own kind..."
"Do you know what they want from you?"
Tom was uncomfortable answering, but Hal's earlier openness made him press on. "They want me to teach them how to use the wolf, during a turn-like."
"And you agreed?" Hal asked. Tom merely nodded a nervous response, but Hal didn't seem angry. "Just make sure you know your own motivations," he added. "I will be here, if you need. I can't deny it will be interesting to hear what you find out."
"What did that Brazilian fellow have to say?"
"Nothing you haven't already been made aware of, I'm sure," Hal answered. "There is a faction of the Lobisomem planning to wage war on vampires. Somehow, that entails their gathering here in Barry. Rook and his department are trying to find out why and where, so they can keep the situation from going public."
"And stop it right? They'll try to stop it?"
"Rook will do whatever it takes to keep this quiet, that much is certain."
"And what about you? Will you try and stop it?"
"I think that maybe, this is just all part of what was supposed to happen after Eve," Hal mused.
"Prophecy and the like? Did the skin parchment have anything to say 'bout a werewolf war?"
"The scriptures never were overly specific, but Eve was the War Child."
Tom sighed and turned away. Even up until the very end he never really believed little Eve's fate had been so black and white. He often wondered what it would have been like, if things had gone differently. But Hal believed, and Tom knew he didn't stand a chance at arguing down a five hundred year old from a centuries-held belief. He was too glad to have the tension gone between them for that. "So… you hungry?" Tom asked.
"I'm always hungry, Tom." Hal stated plainly.
"Good. You can help with the cookin'."
Hal was coming into the kitchen holding two empty plates when Alex reappeared. He looked up at her sudden appearance, but kept on his trajectory for the sink.
"You just missed Tom," he said by way of greeting before he turned on the tap.
"He okay?" she asked as she hitched up to sit on the counter.
"He's fine. I just hope he stays that way."
"What do you mean?"
"He's gone to a Route."
"Shouldn't that be 'gone on a route' or something?"
"A Route is a gathering of werewolves."
"Oh shite. And you let him go?"
"Tom is an adult who can make his own choices. He's been seeking his kind for most his life. It would have been a row if I tried to keep him from it."
"So? You two were already having a row," Alex hopped off the counter, boots smacking the floor. "Where is he? I'll go! Make sure he's okay."
"Tom will be fine. It should only be a couple hours and then maybe we'll know more of what is happening."
"Jesus, you sent him to spy?"
"I did nothing of the sort. I didn't send Tom anywhere. He was already going. And we're not having a row."
"Oh that's great."
Hal turned off the water and took Alex by the shoulders. "Tom will be fine," he assured, holding her still. Searching her eyes, he added "Are you alright? This has been a lot to process today. And… I'm sorry for earlier."
Alex closed her eyes, half shaking her head then took a deep breath. "I went to Finnegan's - across from the Pleasure Park?" She met Hal's gaze, seeking understanding before continuing. "I just wanted a slice of normal, you know? There were blokes watching a match, and a family eating chips and it was all just… so…" She paused but Hal didn't say anything, just waited for her. "I kipped into the park, which was empty cuz it's past season… and I just couldn't understand what they'd want with Barry. How will a bunch of werewolves showing up here destroy vampires? I mean, there's really not much left to vandalize." She joked halfheartedly and met his open hazel eyes.
He shook his head before pulling her close, arms wrapped around her and sighed into her hair, "I honestly don't know."
Alex tucked her face against his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him. Their embrace made her feel instantly more grounded. He rested his chin on the top of her head and their closeness made her whisper, "What if they're successful? What if something happens to you?"
"Nothing is going to happen to me because I'm staying out of it."
"But what Rook said - if you can stop the vampires from even coming-"
"I can't," he stated and Alex pulled away so she could look at him.
"Can't, or won't?"
"You saw how Richard reacted, and he had been an ally. I do not hold sway anymore, nor…" Hal paused, took a deep breath. "Nor do I wish to. I cannot go back. Rook's best candidate is already in his keeping."
"But they're looking for Richard. If the authorities find him then that's it - vampires all out of the closet."
"There will have to be another way. We don't have enough information yet."
"Hence, Tom."
"Tom has made friends with some of the werewolves here. He was sought out for his past with McNair."
"For killing, you mean."
"They already believe him to be on their side. Tom will be fine."
Alex considered and figured Hal was probably right. But she also realized that if the day had taken its toll on her, then it probably had for him as well. "And what about you?"
"I'm fine," Hal answered rather quickly. Alex narrowed her eyes and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, like she were taking a temperature. Tension, coiled and tough, met her psyche at the barest sip of how he was feeling.
"The hell you are. Upstairs," Alex commanded and Hal's eyes instantly hardened.
"What?"
"Upstairs. Now," she insisted. He didn't move except to tilt his head at her curiously, then slide his eyes to the sink full of dishes and sudsy water. She caught the look and smiled. "Washing up can wait," she challenged.
"Alex," Hal started to pull away, his body language evident he was going to argue, so she stopped him. She dropped her hands to his waist and pulled him to her as she leaned in and kissed him. Fully, quickly and without room for debate, she sparked the wanting between them and felt it drop through. She tugged at his lower lip and he softened ever so slightly and shuddered. Then he pushed her away, jaw clenched as he caught his breath.
"Hal, if we were still trail running I would so teleport you to the woods right now."
"I know." Hal turned towards the sink and reached for the marigolds. Alex gave an exasperated sigh, then rent-a-ghosted back to her perch on the countertop. She watched as he began washing each dish, intently focused and precise.
"Did you and Tom sort stuff out then?"
"For now."
"He cares for you, you know."
"I know."
Alex bit her lip, unsure why Hal had gotten so terse. There was a tension radiating from him and it wasn't just their conversation, or the conversation from Rook earlier. She almost wondered if he wished for her to disappear again. She crossed her ankles and let her heels fall against the cabinet with a soft thud.
He finished the wash, placing the cutlery in line on the terry next to the strainer, then removed the marigolds. He washed his hands and still didn't look at her. Alex was just about to say the hell with it and leave him be, when finally, he turned. Hands at his sides and still, his gaze landed on her boots, then travelled to where her hands curved over the edge of the counter top, up her torso and to her neck. When he met her eyes, he tilted his head and took a deep breath. Alex stared back and didn't budge.
Hal took one step towards her, coming right up against her knees and her ankles uncrossed automatically. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her to the edge of the counter, forcing her knees to rise in a quick counterbalance. She exhaled with surprise as her groin met his stomach, and her knees tightened against him. He leaned in to kiss her, the full softness of his lips met hers and she responded hungrily, arching into him.
Sometimes, kissing Hal was akin to drinking a rich, red wine; full and heady. Their fire flared, her jacket felt thick and cumbersome between them and his grip on her hips tightened. He held her lower lip and shuddered, then pulled away and dropped his head. Blatantly, in an abject challenge of himself or her - she wasn't certain - he kissed the side of her throat. His tongue met her skin and a shiver shot through her. Alex tightened her knees on either side of his waist - in warning or encouragement, she wasn't sure. But then his teeth - his normal teeth - scraped and Alex gasped. Hal trembled, his breath quickened but he merely sucked at her skin lightly, then kissed her throat. He lifted his head and met her eyes, his expression at once open, lost, hopeful, and agonizingly lustful. She didn't need to touch him to know.
"Upstairs now?" Her whispered question with a hint of a smile was all she could manage. He took a shaky breath, then nodded once. She brought her hands to his face, cupping his jaw and fingertips resting against his sideburns, before she teleported them direct to his bed.
Alex toppled backwards against the mattress and Hal landed on top of her. He blinked, shaking his head at the sudden and unexpected jump, then decided it didn't matter. He slid his body over hers and kissed her fiercely. Immediately after teleportation, Alex always tasted of chardonnay. The last thing she had before Cutler killed her. He preferred a vintage sherry of course, but mixed with the scent of her, Alex always tasted exquisite. She opened her mouth to him and began circling her hips, inciting him. Jesus, he couldn't get enough of her. He wanted to bite her lip. Instead, he kissed her jaw, then moved to her throat, both of their breathing already haggard.
Enticing as it was he merely sucked at the skin then moved down, fingers quickly finding the zip of her jacket. He wound his hands through to the warmth of her waist, massaging her groin with the increasing bulge of his trousers as he kissed the rise of her breasts. Alex moaned and hugged her legs around his hips, inviting him closer and he felt the weight of her boots against his thighs.
Her hands found his waist, fingers slipped past his belt and the contact made him gasp. It was an electric shiver, every time. She caressed his skin lightly then moved to undo the buckle. He hadn't even gotten her jacket off yet. His hands ran up her sides, then slipped over her arms to push the material off her shoulders.
"Mmm, Hal," she moaned and he lifted his head to kiss her, to taste her. She helped him relieve her of the jacket then brought her hands to his face. She pressed against him and returned his kiss, darting her tongue into his mouth.
This would never cease to be dangerous, but the more they engaged, the more he could channel his focus to her; to responding to her pace and what she wanted of him, then the more he could tune out his own urges.
Except… last night he had slipped. He had allowed himself to manifest and sense her fully while he was deliciously inside of her. And she had goaded him on. She was always pushing at his boundaries - testing her theory that if he could give in to his monster just a little, he could appease it. Yet what she didn't understand was that he would always want more. Always.
He knew he should stop. It was only a matter of time before - Alex's teeth had grasped his lip and her hands had dropped to his chest, tugging at his shirt. It was only a matter of time, but that time wasn't now. He let her coax the fabric up while his hands shoved aside the skirt of her dress. Belly to belly, they both gasped. Every time.
The Route was a not-so-clandestine gathering of werewolves in a warehouse near the docks. Lights were shining and the scent of food and ale was in the air. Conal hadn't mentioned that there'd be supper, but then Tom supposed it made sense if this were werewolves getting together. Tom didn't think he was late, yet even from outside he could sense them - several of them.
The din of voices increased as Tom followed a narrow path past pallets and table sized shipping spools. A stout, gruff fellow was stationed next to the door on a bar stool, his beard illuminated by the glow of his mobile. With a quick twitch of moustache, Tom was waved through without any other kind of greeting. The doorman went back to reading his phone and Tom squared his jaw before he ducked inside.
Never, in all his life, had he seen so many. There had to be over two dozen. Young, mostly. Men, mostly. The few lady werewolves had arms draped protectively over their shoulders. Some of the conversations shushed at his entrance as heads turned and a few of them even blatantly sniffed the air. His status as one of them confirmed, the wash of voices quickly resumed. Tom was the outsider here, and yet he couldn't dispel the excitement he felt at the core of him. This was it - finally. The Pack!
Irving must have been looking out for him because he immediately appeared. "You came!" He clapped Tom on the back and grinned. "I didn't rightly know if you would. Maude and Beg are off there," Irving pointed and Begley gave an excited wave that nearly made him drop his plate.
"Where's Conal?" Tom asked. At his name, Conal turned from the conversation he was in with a broad shouldered man. Recognition instantly hit Tom square in the gut. His stance hardened into preparation for a fight, and Irving furrowed his brow.
"What be the matter?"
Tom didn't answer as Conal approached. Looming behind him was a man whose stride across the room was followed by nearly all in attendance. Broad shoulders that commanded attention in his same tan leather jacket and seemingly permanent scowl.
"Are you here to spy, pipsqueak?" Milo's hardened glare raked at him as he stepped right close, pulled Tom by the collar, and sniffed. "At least you don't smell like him."
"I'm not no spy," Tom met Milo's hard stare assertively, fully knowing how much was riding on convincing Milo of that. Milo released him with a huffed shove but didn't move. Tom stood his ground as well. Conal and Irving both hung back and Tom felt a stab of betrayal. They knew Milo would confront him. Milo may have even been the one to tell Irving where he was. Tom wondered what else the pack knew that they hadn't told him. But Milo broke his stony assessment and surprised Tom.
"You're infamous, Thomas McNair. But I want to know what you're doing still keeping the company you keep?"
"Like you're one to talk," Tom grumbled. "I had made an exception."
"You made an exception for the worst of them left."
"Not no more. He's kind, changed," Tom surprised himself at sticking up for Hal.
"He turned traitor to his own kind. He can't be trusted. I wasn't so sure about you… but Gwedore here has vouched for you. I get it. You're the loyal sort." Milo paused, his wary eyes still narrowed. "We could use the likes of you, which is why I had you followed. But whether you were invited or no was up to them."
As Tom processed the shifting information about his new friends, Milo snorted a laugh. Tom knew his face had probably betrayed his mixed feelings. But before Milo could goad him further, Tom turned it on him. "What about you? How'd you get involved with your own kind? How'd they even let you after who you worked for?"
Milo just cocked a smile. If Tom had thought he could reveal something to the wolves watching, he was wrong. Milo wasn't hiding a thing. "Bolivia was done. Snow was done. I had certain intel that could prove useful to another player."
"So you ran from the warehouse and went crawling back to the wolves."
"Negotiations, dear Tom. Negotiations. I told you I would survive whatever you decided."
"I don't see a big kid on your playground here. Have you upgraded?" Cheekily, Tom looked around past Milo.
Milo snorted. "Slayer, we are the big kids now. The vampires won't even see what hits 'em."
Suddenly Milo whirled away from Tom. In a booming voice, he shouted, "Alright people, listen up!"
