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.

It's my birthday this week and ALL I want is a comment from YOU. Good, bad, ugly, short or sweet - Bring 'em on!


The old stairs barely creaked as Allison ascended towards her room. She wanted to check her email while Tom was in the shower, which meant retrieving her laptop from upstairs. She had learned which steps to avoid on her way past Hal's landing, but light spilling out from his door gave her pause. As she passed, she glanced at the neatly-made bed and empty space with neither vampire nor ghost within. Idly, she wondered where they could have gone off to at this hour. She doubted that any vampires Hal needed to speak to were amiable this early, but he would know, she supposed. Maybe there was some key individual that was better approached before breakfast.

Reaching her room, she set her tea down on the desk and flipped open her laptop. There was a message from a classmate about their recent study assignment, one from her mother about their autumn holiday, but nothing else.

Yet again Allison was disappointed. There wasn't a single line of refusal, rebuttal, argument or advice. Vinicius still hadn't returned her email.


"We have prepared an identity and a charge account for expenses," Rook said by way of greeting when Hal knocked and entered his office. The plastic cards sat neatly at the edge of the desk in a line of token peace offerings. "Should you run into any mishap -"

"How did you do this?" Hal implored, interrupting Rook and staring openly at the identification card emblazoned with his full name. What was remarkable however was the photograph of a youthful man bearing a striking resemblance to a portrait he had commissioned in the distant past.

"Modern facial recognition software. Quite simple, really. Now -"

"But who is this?"

"An Irishman studying abroad. It won't be traced. Who will you be speaking with first?" Rook returned the conversation to the matter at hand, seemingly eager to return to his work.

Hal glanced up from the casual gift that was nothing but casual as he took the seat across from Rook. "I require you to track a number from Richard's mobile."

Rook raised one eyebrow. "Oh? Who?"

"Steven Pyke."

Rook's eyebrow remained raised and his lips pursed as if he couldn't quite wrap his mouth around what he wanted to say. "Spike."

"Yes. I believe we can use him to approach Rosanna Bellante."

"I am most certain you can," Rook agreed, turning away and clicking through something on his screen. "Why Miss Bellante?"

"She is rising in power at the moment. She was… in favour with the Old Ones, therefore her word has the highest likelihood of being believed."

"Interesting," Rook answered, staring at the computer monitor.

"Well?" Hal needled, impatiently.

"It is unnecessary to track Mr. Pyke. We already know exactly where he his." Rook turned his monitor towards Hal. The screen read "Confidential Personnel" and underneath was a black and white image of a young, dark-haired man with handsome features. He was wearing an oxford shirt with a thin pencil tie. Hal scanned the screen quickly, realising the photo, unlike his, must be from pre-recruitment.

"He's working for you. He's working for Richard and he's working for you. Of course," Hal shook his head and huffed an incredulous little laugh. "Where can I find him?"


Training wasn't going well. Tom mulled it over as he worked alone in the hotel kitchen. He wouldn't have the werewolves ready to fight in time at the rate things were going.

It took time, practise and dedication to fight the way McNair had taught him. Allison was pretty good with a stake now, but Tom had weeks to teach her. Not just a handful of days.

A werewolf's strength and aim was naturally superior to that of a human, but Tom still wished he had more time. Or a few more of himself to go around...

When he had helped Allison, they had worked together exclusively. WIth this group, he only had a small amount of time with each person. And worse yet, another few had trickled in and he had to start with them all over! The Gwedores were a good help though, especially Conal. He'd had a few run-ins with vampires in his past, as had Irving. They were nowhere near the level of a dedication to the hunt as Tom and McNair had been, but enough that they were comfortable in helping the others train for a fight.

"You really must enjoy slicing those apples," a familiar voice drawled from the side and Tom looked up. Milo was leaning against the wall just outside of the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I like em well enough," Tom shrugged, keeping his focus on the task at hand and trying to remain casual. He had wondered when Milo would turn up, but was still surprised he had chosen Tom's place of work as neutral territory for a second time. They were short-staffed today what with Hal gone, and Megan had called in sick so Sophie was upstairs covering for her. Tom and Milo were alone.

"You're doing a nice job with our friends. I've come to thank you."

"You have?" Tom stopped his food prep and looked up.

"You're good. I'll hand you that much." Milo paused, his dark eyes glancing over Tom with a considering expression.

"But?"

"You're too clinical. Do you even kill vampires anymore?"

"Some. I've staked some."

"Is he really worth that much to you that you've changed your ideals McNair?"

"Hal?" Tom asked, as if he didn't already know who Milo was referring to. "There's more to it than that, mate."

Milo shrugged. "There always is. Can you trust him?"

"Cor' I can. I'd trust him with my life."

"Yours, sure. But what about theirs?" Milo asked. "After all this time, you don't think he'd side with his own kind when it all comes down?"

"No! Hal's not like that. He's been helping even."

"Oh has he now? And how is that?"

Tom realised too late he couldn't tell Milo that Hal was off trying to convince the vampires to stay out of it. The fight seemed to be exactly what Milo wanted. Quickly, Tom covered. "He's gonna help me to train. Tomorrow."

Milo's eyes widened and he held Tom's gaze for a moment in disbelief. Then he barked a laugh that spread into a grin. "Now that I'd pay money to see. Once an Old One," Milo laughed then shook his head. "War-mongering fucks. What time? I'll be there."

Tom swallowed and inwardly winced. "Oh," Tom stalled while he thought through timing. Hal was gonna kill him. "Half eight."


The doors of St. Joseph's church opened into the grey drizzle and soggy bustle of a London street. Hal straightened his already impeccable clothing and glanced around, shaking his head.

"I doubt I will ever recover from the oddity of that," he murmured as he snapped open the umbrella he had brought with them, then struck out walking without waiting for her reply. "This way."

They had teleported the natural way; Alex had used her recollection of that disastrous afternoon Hal had confronted Hetty to bring them back to the very spot. They had waited until well after Mass, and with one phone call Rook had even ensured the cathedral was empty before giving them the all clear. Hal didn't wish to re-open the block that Maggie had placed unless they had to. Fortunately, the vampire they were seeking was reportedly nearby.

Hal had remained withdrawn after they left the Archive. She was being just as silent, so she supposed she didn't blame him. With so much to say, how did one even start? He had thrown himself into his routine that morning with a focus akin to when he was newly freed. His cycle of press ups, sit-ups and spirals of dominos was deliberate, flawless and relentless. Alex couldn't take it, so had left the room.

She wanted to ask him about their situation, and what he knew, but also didn't yet trust herself to say something she wasn't entirely sure if she meant. He had watched her leave, their eyes locking at the apex of his perfectly formed sit-up, but he didn't even pause. She'd closed the door and had gone out for a walk. Tom was at work, Allison was at school and the house felt just too big and quiet with only Hal for company.

If she loved him, it wasn't the fault of their bond, Maggie had told her. Alex hadn't even realised she had been using it as an excuse, but she had been. And now… she didn't know how she really felt. Hal's past was nothing but a long trail of corpses. And she was one of them. Inadvertently, tangentially, but still.

She knew he still harboured guilt over her passing; for the part she had been chosen by Cutler to play. But she also had to recognise that a small part of her actually blamed him for that tangential fault. She had partially used it as an excuse that he owed her. She had continually pushed at him, needled him and stubbornly refused to listen to him all out of a sense of entitlement. And according to Maggie, she had opened the channel to his memories because she wanted to know. It had struck her then, on a mundane and unremarkable side street of Barry, that she had nothing and no one to blame but her own stubborn-damned self.

Hal had tried to push her away. He had tried in so many ways. He had straight up and repeatedly told her that he was bad news, that Cutler was right, that she had no business staying. That she should 'finish her business and leave'. Even from the aggressive onslaught of withdrawal, he had tried to protect her in the only way he could; with terrible, brutal honesty.

Hal hated himself, that much was clear. His attempts to set things right only made her confusion worse. Was he seeking redemption? Forgiveness? Even though it was painfully clear he didn't think himself deserving… which maybe was why he couldn't have told her he loved her, until it slipped out in anger. He probably hadn't planned to tell her at all. Not in so many words, anyway.

Did she love him? Could she still face herself if she did? How could she have come to love him when everything she knew and everything she continued to learn was so savagely, monstrously wrong?

Except, that wasn't Hal now.

Now he was kind, and caring, if a bit odd. Careful and strong, if a bit systematic, with a sincere compassion for those around him; none of which were the characteristics of a monster. She could feel the good in him. She had come to know that good in him well… Just as she had come to know the dark. Staring head-on into the fathomless depth of that darkness, made the contrast of good and light all the more staggering.

She knew then, walking back to the tall, brick townhouse that had slowly become her home, that without the contrast, she wouldn't have fallen for him at all. She was amused by his Forrest Gump tendencies, that was true, but it was that undercurrent of dark mystery that had kept her coming back. That continual wanting to know.

But now, on an apparent stakeout, in wait for one vampire to lead them to another vampire, and with Hal still not talking to her, Alex was growing impatient. "I don't get why we can't just go and ask him," she grumbled.

"He knows me," Hal answered without looking at her. "Not the pleasant me," he added. "We will wait, then follow."

"Great," Alex muttered sarcastically, then leaned against a lamp post. "I've seen some hipsters who can quaff serious quantities of coffee."

"He usually sees Rosanna on Fridays, according to Rook. It shouldn't be long."

If Alex didn't know any better, she would think the young man they were stalking was a hipster, not a vampire older than her Da. They watched Steven Pyke through the fogged windows of the cafe across the lane for what seemed like forever. He drained a full mug, then immediately ordered another while he fidgeted with his phone. His dark jeans were perfectly fitted, as was his shirt. The look was complete by a pair of dark rimmed glasses and perfectly tousled hair. Between the outfit and and his squared jaw line, he struck Alex as a blue-eyed Buddy Holly.

When he finally stood, donning a black jacket in the cafe window, Alex unnecessarily felt the urge to stretch out stiff limbs. The cafe door opened with a jingle and their quarry headed out, tilting up his collar against the damp. Alex immediately started after him, eager to get a move on, but Hal caught her hand and held her back. "He can see you," he cautioned.

Only after Spike was almost a full block ahead did Hal start walking. They paced him from across the street, a block behind. When Spike approached an intersection, Hal slowed his stride only to resume with more speed just as the traffic signal changed. The flow of following someone without being seen was practised and natural.

"Okay, how many times have you done this? Because it's a little creepy." Alex was only half joking, which Hal merely shrugged off.

They had gone about six more blocks when Spike slowed, suddenly pausing to answer the phone in his pocket and turning towards the street while he spoke. Hal kept walking, not changing his pace in the slightest, but Alex hesitated. Phone to ear, Spike glanced her way casually, then did a double-take flick of his eyes in recognition back to Alex.

Hal slowed, closing his umbrella when he was nearly even with Spike across the street, who completely froze as his attention was drawn. Hal took a step forward, extending his hands away from his sides in a non-threatening manner. But Spike lowered his mobile, mouthed the word "Shit!" then took off into a full-tilt run. With an exasperated growl, Hal launched after him, narrowly dodging an auto and putting on speed.

Normally, Hal was quite fast, but not now. Not with his latent injury from Hetty's attack with Tom's blood. Spike was starting to get away and a budding urge to stop him rose up in Alex. Before she could think it through, she teleported to be right in front of the fleeing vampire. He was stealing a look back at Hal, so didn't see Alex until it was too late. He ran right into her.

She caught him by the shoulders and somehow managed to keep them both from tumbling to the pavement. The moment of surprise gone, Spike fought desperately to get past her; to get away from Hal's swift approach. He planted one good shove against her before Hal caught up with them and snagged the vampire's collar, yanking him away.

He slammed Spike forward, face-first into the iron railing separating the tiny garden of a townhouse from the street. He brandished his umbrella in a staff-like block between them, holding Spike's arms down. "Hello Steven." Hal scoffed the greeting, wincing from his injured leg but hiding the weakness.

"Shitshitshitshit!" Spike blubbered. "I don't know where he is I swear! I didn't -"

Hal shoved Spike again and Alex took a step back, alarmed by the force of it. "Can you be civil? I'm not here to hurt you," he added. Spike continued to struggle, obviously disbelieving Hal.

"Hey - we just want to talk alright?" she tried.

"I've heard that before," Spike retorted, buckling under Hal's force with his face pressed to the pickets. He finally stilled, abandoning his struggle and Hal slowly began to lower the umbrella. He had nearly let go when there was some small hint of movement and Hal grabbed Spike's collar again, spinning him around. "I would rather there wasn't a further scene than what we've had already. Can you be civil?"

Spike caught his breath, finally looking Hal in the eyes then swallowed nervously. Shakily, he nodded.

"Good." Hal's sneered tone struck Alex as being familiar - familiar to her dreams. He was tapping into that side of himself - into Lord Harry - to exert control over the younger vampire. "We are working for the same cause. You can calm down."

Spike's eyes widened, "The Department?" He shook himself then the blue of his eyes darkened. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because Dominic Rook told me where to find you."

Spike nodded once, dropping his gaze to analyze the pavement. When he looked back up, it was with determination, "Do you know where Mr. Turner is?"

"You can know he's safe. Where is your mistress this evening?"

Spike paused, then righted his glasses. Alex didn't even think vampires needed glasses. Maybe it was a fashion statement, or his attempt at a disguise. If he had been working for Richard she guessed the police might be looking for him too. "I was about to meet her," he admitted cautiously.

"Where?"

"She asked me to be her date," Spike stated reluctantly.

"Where," Hal repeated.

"Her gallery. I was just about to catch a bus and -" Spike started with a hesitantly helpful tone, but Hal suddenly turned away. He stepped towards the lane and commandeered a taxicab with barely a pause.

"Oh," Spike murmured with a brush of hand through his hair. "Expedient."

Hal opened the cab's door and motioned for Alex, then nodded to Spike. "Great. Thank you."

Alex scooted into the cab with a furrowed glance back to Spike who had already started to back away. Hal closed the door, looking as if he had changed his mind about the back seat and joined the driver in the front. "You know where we're going?" she asked.

"Camberwell," his answer was directed to the driver.


Melodious laughter and a golden glow spilled onto the pavement, reaching beyond the wrought-iron gates. The stately building had been converted to a contemporary gallery a hundred years prior but still retained it's grace. Inside, the the tall walls ached a pure brightness, washed with the kind of Door-white light that a vampire could never hope to achieve. The fact that tonight's exhibition's primary focus was a thick contrast of crimson and black was no shocking surprise.

Voices and music washed over him, the cadence voluminous and the air thick with red wine and warm, heated bodies. Hal recognized the work now. Richard had a piece in the lobby of their office building.

The crowd was young, fashionable and well off. Plain white shirts paired with the finest Italian leather. Extravagant earrings dangling above denim. This was a market of casual means, of expenditures for pleasure. Given the lack of information listed on the labels, the paintings of "Zanna Bell" were pleasurable expenditures indeed.

The artist in question was nowhere to be seen. Real-world celebrity never did do a vampire well - not since the invention, and subsequent availability of photographic cameras. Hal continued to scan the room just as the centre began to clear and three identically dressed women appeared from separate corners. The music shifted to a pulsing electric hum and they began to dance. Muscles toned and stretching, the dance was fluid, modern and immediately caught the appreciative eye of his hunger. So much so, that when Alex took his hand, he flinched. He was on edge in a room with this many people, his attention and focus scattering. She must have sensed his growing discomfort as she wasn't dissuaded. She squeezed his hand and stepped closer to him. While one dancer performed a stunningly slow lift of one long leg, Alex whispered in his ear, "Do you see her?"

"No," he answered and pulled at Alex, shifting so she was in front of him. The crowd was pressing in to gain a better view of the performance, and he knew that the idea of accidentally being walked-through disturbed her greatly. Humans however, will naturally ebb around a ghost, for the most part. They could sense the dead among them even if they weren't cognizant. Whether Alex believed that or not, he could still use the fact to ensure an extra buffer. She tensed at first - the undercurrent that had been between them all day still at the forefront - but then backed against him, softening with the contact.

"What does she look like?" she asked, leaning against his torso. Hal merely shrugged and shifted his weight into a casual stance, leaning into the handle of his propped umbrella. But that was when he saw her.

Even from a partial side view, he knew her; knew the bones of her, knew that deer-like grace, that impossibly small waist over long legs. As the prey knows its predator, she sensed him watching. Their eyes locked from across the room, past the circle of performance and fifty beating hearts, and held. Rosanna's lips parted with the hint of surprise, but she caught herself and glanced away. When she looked back, he kept her gaze, answering the question on her face. Alex had her attention fixed on the dancers as she dropped her hands into the pockets of her jacket and huffed, "This is shite."

"Shh," he cautioned, still keeping sight of Rosanna. As the performance was nearing a peak, she abruptly turned away and pointedly wove through the crowd. She paused at the set of stairs at the back of the room marked "Staff Only", the open cut of her dress showing a plunging line of bare skin that she seemed to flaunt before she glanced back at him.

"Now," he whispered and took Alex by the arm to guide her into movement. Purposeful and direct, he heeded Rosanna's invitation, weaving deftly through the clumps of people. "Please follow my lead," he whispered to Alex, who thankfully nodded.

Rosanna was waiting for them in a private sitting room upstairs, one hip leaning against a red velvet sofa and a thin flute of champagne in her hand.

"So. The rumours are true," she proclaimed, then shook her head with an animalistic grace. She looked just the same. Hal had wondered if she would have cut her hair, but no. It still cascaded past her shoulders in a dark satin avalanche of waves. She took a step toward them, black dress and red heels adding to her sway. She was drunk. Possibly even blood-drunk. This could either play into his favour, or go very wrong. He probably shouldn't have allowed Alex to come.

"Rosanna," he acknowledged cooly.

She paused mid-way to him and her face scrunched. A silence stretched into nearing awkward, when finally she said, "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Forgive me. Rosanna Bellante, this is Alex Millar."

"Erm, how do you do?" Alex answered but Rosanna didn't even give her the courtesy of a nod.

"I don't," she said, still not taking her eyes off Hal. "Forgive you, that is." She dropped her arm to dangle the flute of her champagne from her side.

Hal sighed, but stood a little straighter. "I know."

Rosanna pursed her full lips, then released the expression. She took one purposeful stride forward and slapped Hal. Hard.

Alex jumped but Hal didn't move, didn't even flinch. He just took it, as if he had expected as much. In one sharp action, Alex came to realise that he knew this woman far better than he had let on.

"You fucking bastard!" Rosanna shouted. His lack of response had only seemed to enrage her more.

"I know," he answered wearily.

"I mourned you and then had to pick up the pieces. They all thought I had something to do with it! It took me decades - decades to gain back their trust! And now here you are? No. Just when everything -" she hugged her arm across her slender torso. "How dare you show your face here. How dare you."

"You're drunk," Hal declared distastefully.

"So? It's my party you chose to crash. You don't control me anymore."

"I never did."

"You are such a sick piece of work." She turned to Alex, finally acknowledging her. "I'd watch myself duck. Hope you didn't already give him your heart. He doesn't give them back you see," Rosanna spat.

Until that moment, Alex hadn't been much in the presence of a female vampire. With the exception of the quick rush of their fight with Hetty, all of her encounters had been with men; Hal, Cutler, Snow, Richard, Adam and Carl. Seeing what she was coming to recognize as the vampire appeal of charmed darkness and confident allure placed in a woman was heady. This woman oozed power and seduction beneath her anger. High flushed cheekbones, a delicate chin and flawless skin with ruddy lips. Her dress tailored to be just tight enough, heels worn with predatory confidence, and her thick black hair shined as if it had been made of polished silk. In short, she was absolutely, stunningly gorgeous and everything Alex was not.

And she knew. You didn't get a slap like that for friendship. Shite.

"I never forced you to do anything you didn't wish," Hal continued calmly, with an even and placating voice.

"Oh no, I was all too willing. A willing fool! Once I realised that, you were easy to replace," she scoffed haughtily.

"What? With Spike?" Hal queried, innocently enough but Rosanna's face fell.

"Oh God, what have you done with him?"

Hal shrugged nonchalantly, "Not a thing. Though, I may have frightened him away from your party. He scurried like a rabbit."

Rosanna swallowed, her demeanour sobering slightly while she stared at Hal. When he didn't elaborate further, she shifted her gaze to Alex. Her eyes were a deep blue which didn't give anything away as she assessed her. Glancing back to Hal, she pursed her lips, seemingly collecting herself, then asked, "Why have you come?"

"I needed to speak with someone I can trust."

"So why not Richard? He's the dodger who kept mum about you all these years."

"Richard is missing. But I believe you knew that."

Rosanna shook her tresses, more in irritation than denial. Then she tilted her head and smiled, "I should take you to the Council."

"It would be a lark to see you try," Hal answered immediately and Alex tensed. Was this what he had meant when he asked her to follow his lead? Did he know he was leading them into a fight? They all stared each other down, mere feet apart and of equal height. Although, Alex realised, even with the heels Rosanna was a couple of inches shorter. Hal gave her a soft smile with a disarming opening, "Or, you could hear me out. We know who destroyed the club."

"As do I. Werewolves, with a side of Chinese whispers," Rosanna shrugged one bare shoulder. "The bets are already running for how many of the pups it'll take to pay off the replacement."

Hal didn't respond to that, but instead asked conversationally, "Were you going to the fight on Monday, by chance?"

Rosanna was not duped however and she peered at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Don't." Hal asserted. "Stay in London. Organize some local amusement."

"Why." She repeated the question, reminding Alex very much of Hal's own tactic.

"Our friends the Lobisomem. They're out of hiding."

"I'm not afraid of your little pack darling. We'd still outnumber them ten to one."

"And if it were all of the werewolves from across the country?" Hal asked and Rosanna's bravado left her in a slow crestfall. "There has been a Route. In Barry."

"Why?" She whispered the question this time.

"Somehow, they plan to kill us all."

"From Barry, of all places," Rosanna huffed. "Didn't you already do those honours?"

"Hal didn't kill the Old Ones," Alex burst in frustration, unable to stay silent any longer. Rosanna turned her dark blue gaze on her.

"Sorry sweet, but who are you exactly?"

"Alex," Hal cautioned but Alex continued over him.

"Just someone who gives a shite, sugar. Though, I'm not sure why. Go ahead. Come to Barry and join the massacre. It'll be a grand rollick of a party."

Rosanna blinked at Alex's fiery taunting, then turned back to Hal. "You are really trying to warn us off, aren't you?"

"Yes," Hal answered plainly.

"And why is that?" She asked, clearly trying to understand his motivations.

"Because there are those I'd rather not see dead."

"Your little werewolves," she scoffed.

"There are those on either side," he answered meaningfully, giving Rosanna that open and honest look that had softened Alex's heart and temper so many times before. Her lips parted and her breath hitched. Whether Hal truly meant it or not, it worked. Rosanna Bellante believed him.


* Chinese whispers is an antiquated phrase for playing "gossip" or "pass the message."

* I rarely feel inclined to share my musical nods, but Elbow's "The Bones of You" was so prominently running through my head for the gallery scenes of this chapter that I must give the credit.