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.
Papers yellowed with age, journals and empty file boxes spread in a circle around her, stark against the dull laminate floor. She had first appeared in the archive room where they had met Arthur, and quickly come to realize the files weren't organised chronologically. They were grouped according to case number, and then by location. She scanned the whole room before she inferred that what she was looking for must be deeper in the Archive. She was going to pass through to the next room, when an aisle end label caught her eye; SY042. The label was fresh, as if it had recently been moved. And something about it struck her as familiar. The box nearest the end was titled "Crucifix Lane". The box after that was marked "Stokers". She lifted the lid and inside amongst various files were photos of the warehouse where Annie had blown up the Old Ones.
Alex walked to the end of the aisle. Other case numbers were referenced periodically, but every single box along the entire row was labeled SY042. Could all this be Hal's? Alex opened the box nearest to her. In it was a leatherbound journal dated 1855. She swallowed and quickly closed the box, moving further up. This could take longer than she had thought.
Her quick-glance approach of searching up through time was all well and good until she reached the 1900s. Delicately scripted eyewitness accounts were rather institutional compared to early crime scene photography. Crime scenes marked in white numbers contrasted with stark blacks. A bloody wrist. A strapless gown marred by spatter. A lifeless lump, a neck without it's head; the row of files went on.
And then, there it was; what she had been looking for. The charred and decimated corpse found at the burned down flat of one Robert Mercer, solicitor, January 24th, 1950.
She barely had time to process her findings. Footsteps. In the dead of night, footsteps.
Alex frantically tried to scurry the papers back into order, ghosting them onto a shelf with barely a whisper when Rook stopped at the end of the aisle, his gaze searching over her head. She was seated on the floor, completely frozen even though she knew he couldn't see her. One long finger tapped the shelf as his cold blue eyes swept the scene. Did this guy ever sleep?
"Miss Millar. I presume," he spoke in her direction. Without a response or indication from her, he continued, as if he somehow knew she was right in front of him, beyond his sight. "I hazarded to surmise you would return..." He took a clipped step forward, fingering the files that began in the 17th century and branched onwards. "I surmised that you do not truly know who your lover is, do you? It was only a matter of time..."
Alex stood and faced Rook. He couldn't hear her, but she wanted to shout to the lights that it didn't matter. That Hal had conquered the demons of his past. That he wasn't this monster from his files anymore. Except… she was silent. She wanted to know what Rook thought he could tell her. It sickened her, but she couldn't help it. She needed to know.
"Henry Yorke. Category, Old One. Turned, 1514. Youthful in appearance, charming as they always are, but ruthless. Did you know that the title of "Old One" has naught to do with their age? But rather it is a nod of respect towards deeds done? A badge of damnable honor. Their leaders; the vampires' very own nightmare."
Rook stepped forward, tapped his finger against a particularly large file. "For instance take this village. It's what he did." He flashed a wicked smile, showing a wisp of pleasure at revealing such a deed to his invisible companion. "We had to cover it up. Claim it was the plague. An orphanage. Children, and everyone else. Word was, Yorke was traveling alone then. He must have worked up an appetite."
Rook took another step forward and Alex stepped back. His fingers thoughtfully trailed the spine of another file. "Or perhaps more recent deeds will strike your fancy? 1944… and a certain financial backer? It took them years to uncover the relocated Nazis under Operation Odessa..."
The tinney fluorescent light overhead began to flicker, sputtering and cracking with it's increased oscillations.
"Is this bothering you Miss Millar?" Rook strode forward, almost to where Alex stood. She backed into the end of the shelf and felt a row of files topple behind her. Rook smiled, then reached out his hands, fingers extended, searching. Aghast, but unable to shake herself into movement, Alex watched his fingers brush the sleeve of her jacket. His smile broadened as he must have sensed her. Assured she was still there, still listening, he said "You see Miss Millar, I have to make certain that you know these things. So much depends on you; on your bond with him. If it were to break, I'd rather that was today. I'd rather know - wouldn't you?"
Alex shuddered and regained her senses. She needed to get away from Rook's pushing presence and she needed to go now.
She landed in a heap in the soft dark of the living room - familiar, achingly domestic and such a relief after the glaring truths of the Archive. She stumbled and sank into the sofa. Curling up against the armrest, she hugged a pillow to her chest as visions of corpses pulsed behind her eyes. She let the tears wrack her body in great hewing, silent sobs. Row upon row of shelves… and the implication of so much more... Alex shuddered and shook and clung the pillow tighter, as if it could shield her from the anguish in her chest. Three, four hitches of heaving later and her breath caught. A gentle weight had sunk into the sofa silently next to her.
He did not speak or try to console her. She lifted her face to see Hal seated stiffly in the dark next to her. His posture was perfect with hands on his thighs and gaze staring ahead, into the mantle.
Her caught breath shot out in a stuttered exhale and she wiped her face. Of course. Her heart sank with the realisation. Hal could sense spikes in her emotions just as she could in his. Damn it all to hell.
"Hal..." she braved, even though she hadn't a clue what she could possibly say. Fortunately, he cut right through to it without her having to say anything at all.
"You went to the Archive," he stated, his words even, but his body deathly still. "You know my darkest self and no longer think that you know me." His eyes flashed in the dim light, meeting hers across the length of the sofa. His tone was grim, final and deeply disappointed. "You could have asked me, Alex. I would have told you. Anything you wanted, I would have told you."
Alex sniffed, wiped her nose and felt the shift as he stood. His footsteps were soft against the worn carpeting as he walked behind her. He stood there for a breath, maybe two, giving her space to respond, but her voice died in her throat. The horror of a nightmare proven real was still all too close for words.
One finger gently stroked the fine hairs on the back of her neck, sending a familiar shiver of a response through her body. His touch trembled as he pulled away. She closed her eyes, anticipating his arm across her chest... his lips to brush her skin in understanding and an urging of her to speak. Instead there was the sound of his footsteps retreating. She whirled in her seat, "Hal!"
He paused, but did not turn. She gripped the back of the sofa as she struggled to even begin to explain, "I… needed to know… before I-"
"You need to stay away tonight." His whispered words held a heavy threat. Alex leapt off the sofa to stand, still clutching her pillow with one arm.
"No, dammit! Let me at least explain -"
"NO!" He shouted, harsh, and final, turning back to face her and force his gaze. Her protest died on her lips.
His eyes were full, cavernous black.
She could feel his presence, awake and brooding a floor below her. She wondered if he were steadying himself with dominos, or his regimen. She wondered if he were still furious. It had been an hour.
Alex had sat numbly on the sofa in the darkened living room for a time, but then craved her room. She didn't want to have to answer questions if Tom or Allison came downstairs.
In the attic, she paced. She had to tell him. She had to be patient, to let him cool down, but she had to tell him. She replayed his tone of disappointment when he said you could have asked me. It cut through her. She was kicking herself. So stupid. Yeah, he'd get mad. So what. If she really cared for him, then she had to just tell him. Keeping the nightmares to herself was selfish. Stupid, and selfish. Part of her had wanted to know. All the gruesome, carnal terribleness. She wanted to understand him.
He had told her to stay away, but he needed to know the truth. And he needed to know it now.
Alex was at his landing before she had really even thought it through. She paused, then boldly entered anyways.
Hal was at the sofa. A marching white spiral of ivory spun out on the small table in front of him. But he wasn't placing them, nor was he taking them down. He had reached the end and just… stopped. His gaze was intent on the last piece, hands resting on his thighs. He didn't look up or even glance away when she entered, but she supposed he didn't need to.
She stood there, awkwardly for a moment before forging ahead. "I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant… I mean..."
"The spiral moves in opposite directions from itself," Hal started, strangely conversational when she trailed off. "It is the ultimate expression of both the infinitely expanded, and the infinitely contracted. It is in constant approach of its own duality, existing without a center, yet always stretching towards the perfect singularity from which it arose." His eyes were still distant, looking into and through the last domino. "From small beginnings to the finitely expanded. Did you know that to remove the most recent compartment from a nautilus shell, is to actually move backwards in time?" Hal posed the question without expecting an answer as he reached forward to delicately caress his last domino. "Why did you go?"
Alex took a deep breath, watching the intensity of his eyes on that single piece of ivory. "I needed to check something before I talked to you about it. I had… I wanted to be certain."
"Certain about what?" His tone was detached and cold, and it frightened her in its starkness.
"I've been," she paused, uncertain if there was any other way to say it. "I've been having nightmares Hal."
At that, he did look up, sharp and piercing. She swallowed. No stopping now. "Tonight I had one with a date. It seemed like a good idea to check it."
"Why would you have to check a date at the Archive?" As he asked the question, she could see the answer already forming.
"Because it wasn't a nightmare. Turns out, it was a memory."
For half a second, he held her gaze. His lips parted and a small, anguished shudder escaped. "My memory. Oh Jesus." The curse was a long drawn whisper before he suddenly stood, jostling the table enough to make the ivories totter and sway. He stepped away, glancing at it only briefly before returning his eyes to her with a demanding, "How long?"
"Er, not long. Two, three days if you count tonight."
"And you didn't think to mention it? Until now?"
"The first one, I thought was a fluke. The second I tried to rationalize. I didn't know."
Anger rising, the brush of red on his cheeks flared. "Why didn't you say," he shouted.
"Cuz I knew you'd get like this!"
He was across the room in an instant. When his hands bit into her arms she had a taste of just how restrained he normally was with her. Even through her jacket, his grip hurt.
"Like this is how I am. What the hell makes you think I'd be okay not knowing you could go walking through my head? "
His anger and charge unleashed the stubbornness in her. She spat his anger right back, shoving him away with supernatural force. "What's so terrible that you don't want me to know? What is so horrendous that you think I need protecting from? I know who you were Hal! What does it matter what I see?"
"Knowing and seeing are two separate things! It's ALL of it. I wouldn't wish my memories on anyone, much less someone I love."
Alex choked on her anger, stalled and stopped. Faintly, disbelieving, she couldn't help but ask, "You - you what?" He loved her, and she couldn't even repeat it. She hadn't thought that he really could. And she never fathomed that he would ever say it. She had felt his care, his trust… but...
Something in his face crumpled as she stood there, dumbfounded and he shook his head. "Just… go. Please," he pleaded.
Sharp welling of tears pinched her throat at the hurt and confusion of it all. That he still wanted her to go. She bit her lip to try and hold it back, but it was no use. She disappeared.
It was the grey hour of morning, and Alex had spent the night how she used to: alone and left to her own devices. She didn't read. She couldn't bring herself to watch the tele. She spent it back in the attic, lost in thought after she had disappeared. Eventually, she kicked off her boots so her steps wouldn't wake him. If he had managed to sleep that is.
Much less someone I love.
He loved her, he had actually said it. In anger. This whole time, he had never actually said. He had deliriously spouted poetry to her, after London. In the weeks since, she had certainly felt his care for her. He attended her service on Saturday even though it caused him great difficulty. They way he had been with her the night they spent on Grimsay…
She was so confused. Now, knowing all that she did - she couldn't still feel the same, could she?
Alex was surprised to hear a knock on the attic door. She had been so lost in thought, she hadn't sensed his approach. She opened the door to Hal holding two steaming mugs of tea.
"May I?" he asked her formally and Alex just stood there. She almost wanted to tell him to leave her be. That he needed to stay away tonight. Part of her was still angry. But instead, she shrugged, then took one of the mugs from him and retreated to the sofa.
He followed her, closing the door quietly behind him, then came to sit opposite her. With controlled casualness, he sipped his tea before speaking, gathering himself as he examined her. Alex was caught silent, not knowing what to say, not knowing where to start. And he just kept staring at her, looking her directly in the eyes. Contemplating her.
Just when she couldn't bear it anymore - she was going to blurt out something, anything to break this, his eyes dropped. Then he apologised to her.
"I'm sorry, Alex," his eyes closed. This was hard for him. "I do not have the right to be angry for something you cannot control." He glanced at her and she just held her tea, embracing the warmth. "I'm so sorry you have had to see that part of me."
He was so earnest, so true in his apology that her anger broke. She set her mug to the side and started hesitantly, tugging at the hem of her dress. "I should'nae have kept it from you. At first, I didn't believe it. I tried to rationalize that it could have come from my death, from all this. I thought that maybe, it was my subconscious way of dealing with it all. I've had days to mull this over. You had to deal with it all at once. I'm sorry."
Hal held her gaze, seeking the truth in her eyes, then set his mug down as well. A look of pain mixed with resignation crossed his features when he met her eyes again. Open handed, he beckoned her to him. Alex hesitated briefly, but then she edged across the sofa and Hal wrapped his arm around her shoulders to hug her to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath.
"I'm so sorry you had to see it," he repeated. She didn't say anything. There was no denying the dreams were terrible. She moved her arm to return his embrace and hugged him closer, feeling the subtle way he trembled deep through his core. They held each other, each consoling the other, until he softly asked, "Can you tell me?"
With her head resting on his chest and his arms around her, she recounted the dreams. She kept them in order and didn't go into much detail, expecting that he would know. And he did.
For the first time since she died, Alex felt wetness in her hair. Hal was crying. Without sound and with small, shuddering shakes. She didn't say anything further, just held him close while keeping her face pressed to his chest.
Eventually, he swallowed, his breath controlled and even as he rested his chin atop her head. With a composed voice, he softly declared, "We will ask if the Department employs a Medium. Maybe they can help."
*From Wikipedia: "ODESSA is believed to have been an international Nazi network set up towards the end of World War II. The purpose of the ODESSA was to establish and facilitate secret escape routes, later known as ratlines, to allow SS members to avoid their capture and prosecution for war crimes. Most of those fleeing Germany and Austria were helped to South America and the Middle East."
(I have a whole theory / short story brewing about the events that led Hal to be fed up with his darker self, and vampire involvement in WWII is part of that.)
** I refreshed my memory on Spiral Theory from Sacred Geometry, by Robert Lawlor.
