Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground. Beta assistance from TJ4ev enables (most of) my grammar to pass muster for Hal.
Reviews are love.
The weight in her lap was comforting, but the novel couldn't hold her attention. Alex had been slowly working her way through Hal's collection of Dickens the past couple weeks, yet tonight, she couldn't bring herself to read. Hal had launched into a flurry of housework after Rook left, brooding and silent while he changed their bedding, cycled laundry, and tidied the bathroom. The hour had finally grown into the actual ungodly side of things, but she could understand. The conversations of the past two days, along with the people they had met, kept circling her thoughts. Something about meeting Carl this morning, something she couldn't quite place, had unnerved her.
And Adam, who was also 'off the blood'. His efforts were aided through Yvonne's influence apparently, but still; Hal wasn't alone in his propensity for vampiric teetotaling.
In stark contrast was Hal's old partner Richard. He was a vampire that made her want to agree with Hal's stance on Eve's prophecy. The look he had given her was like he could drain her dry and make her love every second of it in the process. It was a look she had seen before... Alex shivered, letting her gaze slide over Hal while he completed his regular evening routine. She had been right about him earlier. Hal had been visibly more relaxed after their interlude, and even seemed to handle Rook with more of an even temperament, until the end anyways. Mid sit-up, he caught her watching him.
"Are you alright?" he asked, then dropped back down.
"Yeah. It's just… Carl," she admitted to one of the thoughts that had plagued her.
"What of Carl?"
"Well… for one, he said you were quote, 'older than America' unquote."
"I am older than America," Hal agreed while executing ridiculously perfect form.
"I know… it's just… sometimes I get this rush of context about you. Everything you've seen, experienced."
"Mildly late to have that bother you, is it not?"
"Har-har," she mock laughed. "That's not what I meant. Just…" she paused, blushing a bit at her own admission, "how incredible you are. It's a shame really - that your existence has to be so secret. Why can't the world know about vampires?"
"History has repeatedly shown the discovery of any of our kind leads to witch trials. Humanity, at its core, can be most brutal. Especially when it comes to things beyond comprehension. I wouldn't last a day," he huffed, his words punched by sit-ups.
"You mean they'd be more interested in dissecting you than talking with you?"
He snorted a laugh, "Sometimes I wonder about Rook."
"Oh, I think he's already fully satisfied that curiosity. That archive was outrageous," she joked, trying to make light of a dark situation.
"The extent of their collection was... impressive. It explains how he knows so much," Hal admitted, pausing briefly, then continued with his count.
"No way he could read all that. He said they had been keeping supernatural secrets nearly as long as you had…" Alex contemplated. "The Men in Grey have been around awhile then too," she concluded and Hal didn't respond, breathing with his movements. She decided to broach another angle of her thoughts. "It was interesting to meet others like you. Vampires, trying to be good. Trying to live normal."
"Trying to be human?"
"Yeah. That," she laughed. "Why don't more try it?"
"I'm sure plenty do, but it is near impossible to do on your own. Nor is the lifestyle particularly encouraged."
"You taught Carl."
"He told you that?" Hal smirked. "I should not have left you two alone."
"Who taught you?"
Hal stopped, coming to rest with his hands clasped over his knees. "No one did. Not really."
"But you just said it's impossible to do on your own."
"I had been held captive… centuries ago. For six months," he shook his head and looked away, the memory obviously bothering him. "It was a general belief that the hunger would drive one mad, or worse. When I escaped my confines and found my facilities to be remarkably, intact, I grew curious. It wasn't long after that I made my first attempt by choice. Which, is why I know it is near impossible to achieve alone."
"Grimsay," Alex said out loud, suddenly connecting his story to her dream. Hal's eyes darkened and he looked away. Oops. Alex pursed her lips, hoping that he realized she could have surmised the connection from their conversation this morning.
"Yes, Grimsay," he acknowledged then stood, turning to face the laundry he had sorted on the bed. His stack of vests, laid out flattened against each other like pieces of paper so they cooled without wrinkling, were quickly folded, alongside his carefully rolled collection of boxers. Alex had made the mistake of helping with the laundry a couple weeks ago. Hal had refolded every piece she had touched, so she had no qualms about keeping her sprawl over the sofa now. He started putting things away, still without saying anything further on the matter of Grimsay and Alex sighed. She tried once more to turn her attention back to the book in her lap.
Hal did not want to think about Grimsay. The extroverted attentions of the past day had caught up to him tonight. He did not wish to contemplate Carl. Or Tibet. Or the mess of horrors that came after. Hal needed to hone his attention into someone else's story. With only the briefest of thought, he selected a faded title, its cover and binding functional but worn. Swift was transportive, which he needed tonight. He felt like reading, but since Alex had already fully coveted the sofa, he prepared for bed. He removed his shirt and trousers, folded them to sit on the chair, then pulled back the blankets. Sitting upright against the pillows, he tucked the blankets around his waist and began to read.
Mere pages after, he felt her weight on the mattress and he pointedly kept reading. He really did not wish to renew their previous conversation. But when she tugged at the covers and then slid under beside him, he felt that she too had prepared for bed. The warmth of her skin welcomed, he drew her close and wrapped his free arm around her bare shoulders, but he continued to read.
She kissed his shoulder, he turned a page. Her hand slid across his stomach to his waist and he retaliated by turning towards her to halt her immediate reach. He tucked his chin over her fringe, holding the book aloft behind her head. Alex huffed her indignation at being ignored, then did something he truly didn't expect.
She tickled him.
Throatily, deeply he laughed. He had anticipated her advance, but not that. He reciprocated one handed, keeping his novel at arms length. Alex squirmed, giggling and fighting until she caught his hand and her breath. Smiling widely and meeting his eyes she said, "You should do that more oft. Its lovely."
"Win at tickling you? Alright," he taunted back at her.
"Nae silly - laugh."
Suddenly serious, their eyes locked. With everything that was going on, she had made him momentarily forget, and laugh. Not in cruelty or jest, but with sincerity. Had he truly relaxed with her as much as this? Her hand was pressed against his sternum and she flattened her palm against him. Hal tipped his book out of the way, behind his head to kiss her softened mouth. She responded eagerly, returning his kiss with a stark passion. Despite their conversation, despite Carl, despite the cliff of his past they had nearly dived off into, Alex still wanted him. Her hand slid over his waist to the small of his back, spreading her palm wide and pressing against his spine as if she knew the effect. The book slipped from his fingers to land with a thump on the floor as he brought his hand to her waist.
He had wrestled with this for so long but knew. He had known for weeks now. He didn't want to be involved with Rook or vampires or revolutions, and the risk of blood was only one of his reasons. He didn't want any of this to change. Alex wasn't merely another addiction to add to his list. She was so much more. He didn't want to lose her.
When his book hit the floor so carelessly, so un-Hal-like, something broke free in Alex. She couldn't deny the power that she held over him; this beautifully complicated immortal person. This person whom she had come to love despite all of his flaws and complications. She realized why she had been mulling over Carl so heavily. That it wasn't Carl himself, but what he stood for. The way he had looked at Hal; with respect, admiration and love. Alex realized that she wasn't crazy. She wasn't merely anchored and tied through this strange bond they shared. She had fallen for Hal Yorke, irrevocably, and quite some time ago.
She wrapped her leg over his, rubbing against the hardness straining against his pants and Hal made a small moan against her mouth. He pushed his hip into her, forcing her to turn so he could straddle her. His erection pulsed against her belly and she arched up to keep kissing him. To keep his taste on her lips, the quickening of their breath, the swell of feeling between them - all this, and to convey how she felt about it, him - them. It didn't matter that they had engaged mere hours ago - this wasn't just sex or play or distraction. This was different.
She tugged at the waistband of his pants and his breath came quicker. He retaliated by reaching past hers and slipping a finger into her. Alex gasped and he deepened his efforts, all while kissing her and stroking feather-light across her breasts and side.
She wanted to tell him, she wanted him to know how she felt but he was taking her breath away. She could lose herself in this weight of sensation; of his intoxifying scent and the heat they built together so quickly. She nearly did, until his feather-light touch across her side alarmingly returned to tickle her.
"Gah!" she shrieked, angry and delighted all at once.
Hal cocked her a sly smile. "I win," he gloated as he tugged her knickers down, dropping his kisses down her belly. His tongue swirled through her navel, still riding that line of pleasure and torment.
"So much for Gulliver," she teased, under her breath as his kisses trailed further.
"I've read it before," he countered, removing his pants. He settled between her legs and she hugged his waist with her knees, drawing him to her. Hal, it seemed, still wished to torment her for tickling him. He remained pressed against her, just outside of reach as he trailed kisses across and back up her belly. He restrained the circling of her hips and pressed the tiniest bit more, easing into her as he kissed her breast, then took the nipple into his mouth.
Pleasure and want crashed over her in a wave and she strained to draw him deeper. She ran both hands spread and yearning over the muscles of his back. He released one hip, but retreated a fraction, his free hand supporting his weight. Moving to her other breast he pivoted his hips to come the barest bit deeper, still restraining her from arching up to meet him. When his kisses reached her neck, it was to the briefest relief of the head of his cock to slip into her, but still, he only circled, maddening her. He was kissing and sucking at her neck but Alex didn't care. He was doing it because he could and she could feel his ecstasy as shivers ran through her. The want she had for him felt like it would stretch into forever. Her center, her very soul ached in impatience for him.
Hal moved lower and kissed the base of her throat in an attempt to slow his movements. He dropped his head to rest over her chest and her rising heartbeat reverberated through him with incredible loudness. His chest, his throat, his skull all constricted with that delicious sound.
He wanted to consume her. He wanted to shred through - to claim that heart as his own. To taste her pulsing life.
Yet, he knew it was a mirage, an illusion. The reality of Alex's heart was that it wasn't really there. It only seemed so to him. This was the logic that kept his monster at bay - most of the time. But sometimes, he wondered if she seemed and felt that real to him, then maybe her heart would be too. Except, if that was real, then Alex would be dead. And he didn't want that. Even if it was already true.
She held him, coaxing him, making irresistibly small moans at the back of her throat and he returned his mouth and attention to the exquisite softness of her breasts. Sucking at the nipple, he slammed to penetrate her fully, hitting that cradled, yearning spot of home and she cried out.
Thoughts of consuming her heart lessened. He already had her, and she, him.
In their rhythm together, she soothed his tattered edges. In their joining, he gave her power over him. He could weep with the knowledge. Everyone he had ever loved eventually met a tragic end.
They were doomed.
A lone figure sat, sagged and broken at the center of the room. His hands and feet were lashed with a dense, rough rope to a heavy wood chair. His tan shirt was splotched dark with someone else's blood, a bright beacon tantalizingly irritating. Now that the carpet was rolled tidily away from harm, they could begin. The man's lithe frame and fine-boned wrists seemed fragile. Even without seeing his face, this 'Carl Corinth' seemed too far gone. He barely flinched when struck.
"Why are you here?"
The fire in the hearth was hot, smoky and close. Outside, a storm raged, the wind howling. The vampire tied to the chair was sweating.
"Please," his voice cracked. "I only need a little. I get by on so little."
"There's nothing for you here." Shoving up on his forehead, he forced his captive to look at him. He held the vampire's hazy gaze with willful force and asked again, "Who sent you here?"
Carl closed his eyes against his inquisition and swallowed with difficulty, dropping his head back down when released. "Who sent you? Do not make me ask again."
Carl remained silent. Either from injury or pride, it wasn't clear. Turning away, he crouched at the hearth, briefly embracing its heat before he pulled the orange glowing tip clear of the the coals and stood. Iron being dragged across stone clattered against the wind, the sound threatening. Standing over the captive vampire one moment, two, until eventually he braved to look up. Beautiful eyes widened in fear and only then did he move. Lunging in to push Carl forcibly against the chair, he held the glowing tip of the fire poker just over the tender base of his throat.
"Who sent you?" The question was almost conversational this time. Never mind the threatening iron dangerously close to bare skin. Carl's eyes flicked to meet his captor's, hesitantly, possibly wondering if he was bluffing.
Hal wasn't bluffing.
Holding the gaze he simply shifted his weight, and the heated iron tip met skin. For half a moment, it seemed Carl wouldn't budge. His lip quivered, eyes tightening in pain, obviously trying to keep from crying out. With a lovingly slow turn of wrist, the iron tip rolled, spinning a low burning trail across the base of Carl's throat. The scent of scorched flesh hit his senses, acrid and thick and finally Carl's scream curdled out of him.
"No one!" he gasped, fangs dropping in defense.
Backing off ever so slightly, Hal waited. He could be very patient, but not today. Not here. Not when he had come so far. Steam rose from the singed skin, welting. Correctly sensing he only had seconds, the restrained vampire sobbed, "No one sent me. I sent myself. Ivan -"
Hal growled, "Ivan sent you?"
"I went to him for help," Carl whispered The burn on his throat was already lightened, healing but Hal kept the poker close enough that the young vampire could still feel the threat of heat.
"Help with what?" Hal's tone was commanding.
"He couldn't help me, not really," Carl bemoaned. "But he's the one who told me to find you. Said you were in Kathmandu. You weren't." Carl met Hal's eyes, delirious, "but I didn't stop looking."
"Help. With. What?"
"To quit. All this," Carl wheezed a breath. "To go off blood," he whispered, then a spasm shook through his slender frame. "Oh God - its not possible!"
Hal blinked. Slowly, he lowered his weapon but kept his leverage against the vampire's shoulder.
"Kill me - stake me - please! - if you don't believe me. I don't care. I can't do this anymore. I just can't," Carl pleaded, shaking his head. "Its agonizing."
"How did you find me?"
"I didn't. I swear I didn't. I had given up. You just found me."
She woke tangled with him; her head on his chest, his chin in her hair and arm heavy across her shoulders. His uninjured leg was straddled pleasantly between hers, but Alex was deeply glad he was still asleep. Home, bed, Hal's arms - her surroundings should be comforting, except… In her dream those arms had shown such coldness. Such cruelty. If Hal had taught Carl, then it made sense he had been dry himself at the time. Could this dream have come from a time when Hal was supposedly dry? A revelation that it didn't all come from the monster he fought?
Alex shuddered. The tender way he was holding her in sleep was at complete odds with what she had just seen. Carl went through that - yet, loved him. Carl had ended up falling in love with Hal. What was this great power he had over people? What was this spell he had over her? If these dreams she kept having were true, then she was in love with a monster.
And yet... Carl still clearly respected Hal. He even must have shared their story with Davi. Maybe all vampires were capable of such cruelty. Maybe all vampires deserved to be wiped out by Eve's prophecy, like Hal believed. Maybe. Somehow, Alex didn't think that was the case. Cutler had certainly seemed cruel. And crazy, but cruel nonetheless. And his henchman who nabbed her... But Carl and Adam - neither had struck her as cruel. They both seemed content to be abstaining from blood and living their lives peacefully. Alex just didn't know. There wasn't a black and white to this. Even Carl had apparently killed someone close, and Adam was under Yvonne's influence.
But she was in love with Hal. She, Alex Millar, was in love with a murdering sociopath. Sure, she had always had a tendency towards the bad bloke, but even without the dreams what she knew of Hal was that he was light years beyond on the bad seed scale. So, what did that make her? Adam and Carl had both seemed so even-keeled. She supposed from the outside, so did Hal. She had first been drawn to him because he seemed so ridiculously dorky and normal. But just how constant was the battle? How often did the sociopath - his monster - win?
However, wasn't a sociopath someone who operated outside of the rules and beliefs of society? By that definition, then weren't all supernaturals sociopaths? Tom, Adam, Yvonne, Christa, Carl, Davi, even Annie, and definitely even Rook… but not Allison. She, at least, seemed to remain pretty "normal" despite all this. But what of herself? Was it that her and Allison were just so new to this life? How long would it be before she was justifying killing and torturing people?
If she counted vampires as people, and obviously she did, then the slip had already started to happen. When Cutler broke into the house - her murderer! - and was about to kill baby Eve, she couldn't bring herself to stop him. Instead, she had looked to Annie.
Two months later and she had staked a vampire in London alongside the rest of them. The shock and disappointment on that woman's face right before it crumbled… Alex had tried not to think about it.
Just as she had tried not to think too much about Hal. Could the dreams be merely a product of her subconscious, forcing her to face who he was? Were they memories, or dreams of her own making? She had to know. She had to find out before she could talk to him about it.
Alex wondered at a way to explain things long enough that the light had changed. Downstairs, she could hear Allison and Tom stirring. The shower came on, then Tom's electric clippers. Normal sounds on a normal morning, that was completely un-normal. She didn't recall consciously hearing it before, but then again, she was usually still asleep with Hal. He stirred with the sounds however, breathing deeply into her hair, his arm tightening over her side. She wondered if this was how he woke up everyday without an alarm. Maybe it wasn't that he had an uncanny sense of time, but that he had tuned into the sounds around him.
He sighed, seeming to savour her presence. For once, Alex did not goad or prompt him in any way. They hadn't slept much but it was still surprising to her when he seemed to still and return to dozing. She focused on the soft way his stomach moved as he breathed, the warmth between them, the weight of his arm. His scent. It all felt so rich. She felt so completely present in his arms. And so completely not-dead. Was it growing, this bond of theirs? Was she slipping out of herself and into him while they slept? Alex wanted to know what his previous experience or knowledge of a Hangori was, but what she really wanted to know was what happened. How did this end? Did it end? Why were they so rare? He had brushed it off. Said even the Old Ones didn't know much about it. But the way Richard had looked at at her yesterday, so knowingly. Hungrily, even though he knew she was a ghost.
The kettle all the way down in the kitchen broke her thoughts, and Hal stirred again. She wove her fingers through his and tried to show cheer despite her dark introspection. "Heya sunshine."
"Mmm…" he sighed sleepily, then pulled away a bit, rubbing his eyes. He started to sit up and Alex turned onto her back.
"You're not seriously just going to work, are you? After -"
"The world hasn't come to a stop, Alex," he muttered, sitting all the way up. Alex sat up too. "You are on shift today as well, if you recall."
"I know… Its just. Wow. Mundane after everything. A war may be breaking out in our world, but in this one we still have to sort the linens."
"Wars break out nearly every day. And linens will not sort themselves," Hal drawled, reaching for his pants. He returned his forgotten book to the shelf then started to stretch, making his way into his morning routine with more discipline than he had exhibited all week.
"Are you alright?" she asked. He still was moving rather stiffly, but she also wondered if his nightmares had anything to do with why he had left the bed so quickly. He shrugged, then dropped to begin his press ups.
"Just tired," he answered.
When it seemed he was going to focus, Alex decided to get up too. She teleported out of bed and into her attire. She sprawled across the sofa behind him, but Hal was definitely focused, so after a few repetitions she stood.
She teleported to the kitchen where Tom was making breakfast.
"Oi! Hey there Alex," he greeted her cheerfully.
"Hey yourself. What are you doing up on your day off?"
"I'm just helping out Allison since she has to go to class and all, and we all stayed up late talking. We didn't sleep well," he blushed and Alex smiled. Tom was still so belovedly innocent in some ways and she adored him for it.
"Yeah, Hal neither. But we traded today for my um… Saturday so…" Alex still couldn't quite address the day as having been her memorial. It felt just too odd, especially when she felt so solid.
"He alright, you think?" Tom caught her discomfort and tried to change the topic.
"Hal? Yeah, he's fine. As much as usual anyways" she assured. The exchange reminded her of when they both were more equally involved in looking after their captive housemate. She never thought she'd have felt nostalgic for that. But it was a time when Tom's friendship was her strength, and they shared a more regular closeness. He was almost a surrogate brother, really. She worried about him. "You still gonna see the pack today?"
Tom nodded, "Yeah. I didn't talk it up or nothing last night, but I'll be teaching more than just the Irish folk."
"You'll be careful, yeah?"
Tom nodded, "Course."
"I mean it Thomas," she insisted and he shrugged off her concern in that bumbling way of his. In a surge of sappiness, she hugged him.
"Hey - paws off!" Allison mocked as she joined them in the kitchen. Alex let go of Tom and grinned. "You'd think handsome McOldy up there would be enough," she added with a sleepy smile, wrapping her arms around Tom's waist from behind. He raised his arms and grinned too.
"Yet I've got me the two ladies of the house fighting o'er."
"Don't let it go to your head," Allison hugged him then turned to rescue her toast.
"McOldy is more than a handful, thank you. Don't ever let him catch you calling him that," Alex laughed.
"Eh yeah, that'd be unpleasant is what," Tom grinned then returned to fixing up breakfast with Allison.
Alex settled in at the table, watching her housemates and enjoying this small moment of normality. Instinctually she knew that it wouldn't matter whether they kept themselves out of the impending revolution or not. Their world was already changing.
