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.
Huge thanks to those of you who have commented! Every little note has been a sparkle in my day. It is nice to know there are those of you who want to read this yarn as I spin it. And now, onwards to a hop, skip and reveal in the skein...
"Well, that was pleasant," Hal proclaimed, tucking his umbrella under his arm as they stepped back out onto the street. He started off in the direction of a busier intersection in search of another taxicab for their next errand.
"I take it we're not done then?" Alex asked, following him with stomping footfalls. "Any more old-flame surprises you want to tell me about? Maybe before we bloody meet them?"
"Rosanna was not -" Hal started, glanced at her indignant expression, then rolled his eyes and kept walking. "No, that was quite enough for one day. We'll be visiting Turner's next."
"Good. We can teleport straight there and then be home so I can wither into the telly. I need some fecking football after that."
"Too much culture for you?" Hal jibed with one corner of his mouth raising in a half smile.
"No, too much," Alex started then made an exasperated hour-glass shape in the air with her hands, at which Hal raised his eyebrows. "Argh. Shouldn't we be finding an alley or some such?"
Hal paused at the end of the street and watched a few cars go by. "I didn't love her," he uttered plainly.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Alex demanded, but she only half meant it. The issue between them wasn't Rosanna. But it felt good to have something more concrete than the speculations of an old ghost to direct her frustration toward.
"We're not going to the office," Hal answered her previous question as he stepped forward to hail a cab.
Allison let go of Tom's hand when they entered the warehouse for that evening's training. She had wanted to support Tom in this, but with one quick scan of the voluminous room she realised he had grossly understated his need for help. The cavernous space did little to mask the fact that it was filled with werewolves. She could smell them. The scent sank through her lungs and called to something deep in her blood. A belonging; a sudden and stunning relief of an inset loneliness she hadn't even realised she'd had.
But these were strangers - strangers who she instantly felt connected to. It was unnerving. And downright weird.
An elder gentleman approached them and clapped Tom on the back with a whisper into his ear by way of greeting. As soon as he spoke, Allison knew this must be one of the Irish pack Tom had first met.
"We've run through the blocking and practise with some o'them earlier, but there's been a question rippling through the ranks," he stated, then paused as he noticed her lingering. Straightening, he extended his hand to Allison. "Conal Gwedore," he introduced himself gruffly.
"Allison Larkin," she took the man's firm handshake, answering with one of her own. He smiled.
"Ah, you be Tom's leannán. Tis a pleasure."
"I'm here to help with the efforts - to rally the ranks and temper the troops, as it were."
"As a mate to this one? I'm certain you can lassie," Conal grinned, immediately relaxing with Allison as part of the pack.
"What's the question?" Tom asked, returning to Conal's first statement.
"They be wanting to know how to fight through the transition. How you get past the pain."
Tom's eyebrows pinched together, then he nervously ran his hand over the back of his head. With a shrug, he dropped his hand into his pocket. "That's the thing. I don't really. It still hurts."
"Well lad, you'll be having to tell them something. Because you've a reputation as being able to use it. Now be the time to share how."
Several of the people in the open expanse of warehouse had started to gather around them as they had been talking. Tom turned away from Conal and cleared his throat in awkward officiality before addressing the group.
"The turn is gonna hurt no matter what you do," he declared. "But it hurts a lot less if you don't fight it coming." He had their attention now, but he glanced back to Allison. She gave him a reassuring smile. He still didn't trust his public speaking abilities but he was better at it than he thought. He was a natural at being disarming.
"You can't ever forget - your wolf is an animal. If you back him into a corner, he's gonna have'ta bite something. He's always goin'ta win so there's no use fighting him, see? You've got to be gentle with him for the turn."
"Gentle?" a woman called out from the assembled group. "How the bloody hell can you be gentle to something that's clawing it's way out of you?"
"I don't fight my wolf Tom," Milo added, stepping forward with his arms folded across his chest. "And yet he still leaves me without capacity. How have you managed to fight through that? How have you used your wolf against vampires?"
"Have you accepted him? Actually accepted your wolf - that he's a part of you?" Tom asked.
Milo hardened his glare, dropping his hands into his pockets. "He's a curse I've come to live with."
"Exactly. If that's your stance then o'course it ain't easy," Tom answered. He looked around the warehouse, then pointedly up at the expanse of trussed roof, and then back at the group. "We got to get outdoors. The wolf wants to run - always, even now - to feel the earth underfoot and be without walls. If you want the wolf to work for you, you've all got to start working for your wolf. And tonight is a good a night as any."
"To do what, exactly?" another called out.
"To run until your true senses take over. Who's with me?"
At first, the group exchanged a few hesitant glances with each other. To be encouraging, Allison shot her hand up. Then, slowly, the first woman who had questioned Tom raised hers as well. Within seconds, they were no longer alone. Hands raised all across the cavernous space.
Alex teleported to stand outside while Hal settled up with the cabbie. The stately, tree lined street was hushed by its narrowness. She had no idea where they were, but judging by the upkeep and perfection of the tall, old homes, this was a very posh neighborhood.
The door to the taxicab closed and the car departed in a reflection of red tail lights. Hal came to stand beside her on the pavement.
"I am going to require your expert assistance, if you'll grant it," he said, glancing towards the heavy black painted door in the entry across from them.
She stared at him openly as he examined the darkened windows, one hand in his pocket and the other casually holding his umbrella. It was the first thing he had said since declaring they weren't going to Turner's office. Their cab ride here had passed in silence, with Hal sullenly staring out the window at the city and tapping his fingers in repetitive counting. Alex had sat unseen in the back seat, knowing it would be awkward for her to try to engage him in conversation, but feeling the silence nonetheless.
She sighed and motioned towards the door. "You need me to teleport us in?"
"It would be preferable if you could simply unlock the door," he answered with a hint of warmth.
"Oh. Right." Alex approached the entry he had indicated. Underneath an iron-screened panel sat a heavy and ornate knocker. Brass botanicals spread in a sun-like radius from a primitive and threatening face at the center. The handle was a twined motif of snakes dropping below the floral iron. "So, is it still breaking and entering if nothing is broken?" she joked half-heartedly as Hal joined her on the stoop. With the barest sip of concentration, she propelled herself forward to the other side of the door.
Despite the posh feel of the neighborhood and the ornate presence of the door, the interior still caused Alex to do a double-take. What once had been a row of slender townhomes had been renovated into a massive, open-concept flat. Two previous entries were now filled with ornately moulded built-ins with the actual entry at the center. The vaulted foyer opened to a staircase that led upwards to a darkened landing, and the polished floor glinted in the pale light from the leaded glass window over the door. Flanking the stairway were a pair of life-sized, wood-carved warriors, complete with spears and painted feathers, that startled her briefly. She began to make out other tribal masks and primitive weapons adorning the walls leading past the foyer. It was an extensive collection. Still, Hal's single light knock against the door from the outside made her jump.
She turned around to face the door and unbolted the latch above the handle. As the door swung open, she leaned against the frame. "You know, for someone who lives for-effing-ever, you're rather impatient."
Hal crossed the threshold and rolled his eyes skyward as he shut the door behind. Without turning on lights he strode purposely past the stairs and Alex followed. Her frustration with him was rising. She had been rather patient today, all things considered. But now they were alone and he continued to be brusque. "Can we talk about this?" she asked.
They entered a living room of minimalist perfection, as if it were poised for a magazine shoot. A seamless steel banquet table, large enough to seat a dozen, separated the space from an austere kitchen. "About your new-found afterlife of crime?" he bantered, avoiding her question as he scanned the space.
Aiming for the closed double doors on the opposite side, Hal swung them open then proceeded into the next darkened room. "If you mean Rosanna, there's nothing to talk about."
"Hah! That I seriously doubt," she snorted. "I mean all of it. This morning and Maggie."
"This will only take a moment. Then we can go," Hal answered, without answering. She sighed but followed him into the room.
Double-height, the space was nearly devoid of furnishings except for a pair of plush leather wingback chairs and a behemoth of an old desk. Muted light filtered through from the street behind a gauzy wall of sheer curtains. The remaining walls were filled nearly floor to ceiling with paintings, all of them portraits.
Women, men, young and old; they were varied stylistically and numerous. Hal instantly crossed the room, barely taking notice, but Alex was floored. There had to be over thirty to a wall! There weren't any labels like in a gallery, and each was framed in a similar golden gilding, making it a cohesive private collection.
Hal leaned his umbrella against the heavy old desk in the corner and began to rummage through, while she scanned the room. She noticed a pair of portraits that had little red ribbons discreetly strapped out of the back left corners. Her eye now drawn to the red flags, she spotted two more. Then, her breath caught when she saw a familiar face staring down at her. Drawn like a moth to flame, she stepped towards it. Cutler was dressed in a smart suit, black and pinstriped, his red tie accenting his cherub blonde complexion, his expression neutral. The portrait had a hint of innocence to it, reminiscent of the Cutler from Hal's memory, and not the self-assured, maniacal man who had killed her.
"What is this place?" she asked, peeling her eyes away from the painting.
"Richard's real office. His archive. Rook may believe that he knows everything," Hal tutted, rifling through drawers. "It should be destroyed, but sentimental fools are not easily parted from folly."
"These are all clients?"
Hal was about to answer, but he paused with a tilt of his head and a quick glance towards the darkened doorway.
More startling than the crack of sound was the rush of air - as if a full balloon had suddenly popped and expelled into her mouth. Befuddled as to why Cutler's portrait had somehow gone askew, Alex turned to see what had given Hal pause a millisecond prior.
The white fabric bunched around her scrawny elbows flashed brightly in the pale light as she lowered the pistol. Hetty gave a glaring smile from the doorway, "Gotcha."
A momentary panic hit Alex right in the gut and she looked down at her unharmed torso. Still, her hands rose in an automatic, if delayed, defense. "Did you just bloody shoot me?"
"Fat load of good it did anyone," Hetty laughed with a toss of her braids. Her knobby knees stuck out under the hem of what seemed to be a man's dress shirt. She padded towards them in bare feet. As Hal took a step towards Alex, Hetty instantly raised her pistol with a sharp aim towards his head. "Don't," she commanded, all humour bleached from her voice. "Stay right where you are. And lose the loafers."
"Hetty, I -"
"Ditch the shoes shithead." She ordered, aim unwavering. Hal held her stony gaze and didn't move. "You - sweet tits - over there." Hetty motioned for Alex to move closer to the wall. "Wouldn't want this slippery fish to swim away, eh?"
Alex stole a glance at Hal and Hetty shook her head. "Uh-uh. The second you teleport, he's getting shot."
Hal knew he had very little with which to appease Hetty. She couldn't really hurt Alex - there wasn't anything at hand with which to do so. And there didn't appear to be a stake present, so she couldn't really hurt him. Nor, he wagered, would she. Being shot again wasn't a pleasant idea, but it also wasn't a real threat. Which, he hoped Alex recognized. Judging from her hesitation however, she was obviously weighing the implications. In contrast to the multiple quick scenarios his mind was playing through, he moved slowly to heed Hetty's request. Perhaps they could entertain her demands long enough for a chance to teleport cleanly.
"Well-well! Aren't I a lucky duck. Wishes really do come true," the little vampire sing-songed. "What the fuck are you doing here? Your pal Dick is up and gone."
She kept her aim trained on Hal as he stepped clear of his shoes. "Unless… you've seen him?" she asked curiously, but then shook her head. "You wouldn't be here to pay dear ol' Het a sweet little visit, so what do you want?"
"Put away your toy and maybe I'll tell you," Hal answered, standing stiffly in his socks. Alex tried to catch his eye, but his gaze remained fixed on Hetty.
"Nah, not just yet," Hetty dropped the muzzle of the gun so it was pointed at his thigh. "How's the leg?" she snickered.
When he didn't answer she rolled her eyes skyward. "Oh for fucks sake Hal. What are you drinking these days? Juice boxes? Whisky? What? And I mean it on the shoes sweet," she nodded at Alex with a casual wave of her pistol. "Dickie may have flown the coop, but we'll still respect his house. Oh wait - you can't," she mocked.
"Tea," Hal spoke calmly, before Alex could enlighten Hetty about her abilities. "I'll take tea, if you must."
"Huh. Well, I'll be warming up a dredge of the downstairs tenant. Sure you don't -"
"No, thank you."
"Suit yourself. Spit-spot," she waved them forward. "Join me in the kitchen, won't you?" She peered suspiciously at Alex. "You first."
Alex looked to Hal, and to where Hetty was aiming her pistol, but he shook his head, "She won't harm us."
"Try me," Hetty sneered. "Kitchen. Now! Tea won't up and brew itself."
Alex swallowed and started towards the doorway. Hetty stepped forward opposite her, keeping her aim on Hal steady. "There's a dear," Hetty turned as Alex passed, following her with piercing eyes. "Now you," she said to Hal without taking her eyes off Alex.
Hal made to reach for his shoes and Hetty fired, the sound stabbing a sudden panic through Alex. The wood splintered the floor where the bullet had hit, a fraction past Hal's hand. "Leave em! I know you'd rather get shot than step foot outside in your sockies."
She marched them through the living room to the large, steel table. "Take a seat ghostie," she commanded when Alex had reached the head of the table. Alex glared at Hetty, but then pulled the chair out and sat while watching Hal. He approached the table with an impassive expression that she was coming to recognize as coiled. "Hal, be a dear and sit at eight," Hetty waved her pistol casually then proceeded to the kitchen.
Without taking his eyes off Hetty, he pulled free a chair a few away from Alex and sat. "Sod your manners - elbows on the table you two," Hetty called as she backed into the kitchen, facing them. One handed, she reached into the sink and extracted a mug. Without a glance she took another backwards step and set the contemporary white china cup on the counter, then clicked on an electric kettle. Hal leaned into his elbow, chin cupped in his hand as his eyes followed her movements.
"This isn't necessary Hetty," he said, staring right at her hand which held the pistol.
"Oh! You're gonna stick around and talk to me casually are you? Horse dung."
"What is it that you want?" Alex asked, exasperated. She was ready to teleport them out of there with the slightest opening from the girl, or any indication from Hal, but he remained neutral.
"I just want a chat with my dear ol' mucker Harry," Hetty smiled sweetly as she opened the fridge, extracting a stoppered glass bottle half-full with sluggish, red blood. She leaned her narrow hip into the cupboard to reach with one extended finger for the release button on the microwave. "You already here and all."
She put her bottle in and slammed the door. The microwave beeped, then illuminated the kitchen with a warm light as it came on. "Ugh, leftovers," she scoffed.
"What are you doing here?" Hal asked.
"I was waiting for Dick," she shrugged as she opened a drawer and pulled out a tea sachet. "Only he didn't come home. Given the way you two just waltzed in here, looks like you knew it. Shame-shame shady dealer. You are nothing but suspicious these days."
"Hal hasn't done anything wrong," Alex tried, flattening her palms against the cool metal of the table.
"Exactly. That's the problem, peaches."
Hetty poured hot water into the cup and dunked the tea sachet in, giving it a good poke with her finger. She walked it over and slid the cup across the table to Hal who made no motion for it. She peered at him with a churlish frown until the microwave chimed.
After retrieving her bottle she joined them at the table, settling into the chair across from Hal. With her her pistol still aimed at him, she took a sloshy slurp from the glass. She was obviously trying to get a rise out of him, but he gave no outward indication that he was bothered. Hal had slipped into his impenetrable poker face again. Half the liquid drained, Hetty slammed the glass down on the table, licking away a blatant bit of red at the edge of her mouth. "Yummy," she taunted with a grin. Out of the baggy pocket of her shirt, she produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Alex widened her eyes as the seemingly little girl lit her smoke and took a deep drag. Hal hoped the action would help dissuade Alex of the façade. Hetty was nearly as old as he was and she used her camouflage exceptionally well. She exhaled a cloud of smoke straight towards him.
"You know, that was quite a stunt you pulled in '55," she started conversationally. "We all thought you were proper dead. Yours truly included. I can't believe Richard kept mum 'bout it this long. And you! Living with a dog. Huh."
"Richard has his value," Hal answered stiffly, not making any indication to take his tea or respond to her subvert needling.
"Yes, he does, don't he?" Hetty laughed, taking another long drag of her smoke.
"You never liked him. Why are you working with him now?" Hal asked, equally conversationally.
"Richard has his value," Hetty echoed, then shrugged. "He's connected to the peons. I take it you've seen his ugly mug?"
"He is at a safe house of sorts."
"Oh is he now? So then why are you here, ass-hat?" she asked again, relaxing into her chair with her gun hand resting on a raised knee. She tapped her ashes directly onto the steel tabletop.
"Milo." Hal lied as he seized the opportunity to see what Hetty knew.
"Snow's lapdog?"
"What do you know of him?"
"Aside from him being a right wanker?" She shrugged. "He was nicer than you."
"Where did he come from? How did he get involved with Snow?"
"Snow captured him. He was killing off our guards. Then he demanded a job. Queer if you ask me, but Snow was amused." Hetty waved dismissively with her cigarette, ashes scattering on the table between her and Hal. "Are you refusing my hospitality?"
"Your tea making skills are atrocious."
"So? You're still the one being rude," Hetty tutted, then added. "I'll put down my toy if you join me in a drink."
Hal held her gaze, but in true childlike stare-down, she wasn't deterred. Hal reached for the cup, the warmth friendly against his fingers as he raised it. Alex was looking rapidly between him and Hetty, surely trying to suss out the game they were playing. He took a polite sip, swallowed, then set the mug back down. Hetty smiled and set her gun on the table with a metallic clank just as the barely detectable bitter undercurrent burned the back of his throat.
"Damn it Hetty."
"Damn your pal Dickie. His kitchen," she shrugged but grinned slyly. "Gave me quite the surprise this morning. Besides, it would have made a vile mess if I'd actually shot you." Hal flushed, crimson flooding his cheeks and he gulped a breath, then choked.
"What the hell?" Alex stood, chair scuffing loudly across the floor as she took a step towards Hal.
"Not so fast sugar-pie," Hetty brushed aside the shirt draped over her knee to expose a familiar blade strapped to her scrawny thigh. Alex knew that knife. "I'll dispel you mid skip and it will be ages 'fore you can pull yourself together. Who knows what that'd do to him."
Hal gasped, his knuckles going white against the edge of the table as he fought against the hostility of the tea, and lost. Despite Hetty's threat with the knife, Alex took another step towards him. Wildly, his eyes met hers - to jump - do it anyway - leave without him - but his throat had closed. As his body quickly processed the poison, the burning paralysis of it spread. His arm slid and his head hit the table.
"Or," Hetty watched Hal slump forward with one raised eyebrow before she continued. "You can do what I want and I'll let you both on your merry way when he comes around. We're a resilient lot - it won't take long. Your choice, doll."
Alex clenched her teeth. "What do you want?"
Hetty took a long drag off her cigarette, then stubbed it out on the table."Take his hand," she declared as she freed the blade from its harness. She scooted off her chair and stood, coming around the table towards them. "And give me yours."
Instinctively, Alex tucked her hands into her pockets. "Why? What are you going to do?"
"Oh come on - he's had to have told you by now? You two all chum-like? You're a rare treat of a creampuff." She clasped her hands behind her back and casually sauntered towards them. "I couldn't believe the spit-fire timing of you. And now that I know you're both still attached, as it were, I'm curious."
"How did you even know?" Alex asked, stalling. Maybe she could stall enough for Hal to wake up.
Hetty laughed, "I could see it all over you. It's obvious. Then Richard of all people confirmed it. Harry's got you tethered to him."
"But he said even the Old Ones don't know how it happens," Alex stuttered, stealing another glance at Hal. He was out cold, cheek pressed to the metal of the table.
"That's one thing Harry-shitting-Yorke didn't lie about. We don't. We do know how to look for them however. A ghost that haunts a vampire… extra strength… tenacity. I've never seen one bound to an Old One though. It's a bit of a mind-fuck," Hetty smiled, then her smile turned sly. "The blood of a bonded Hangori is what gives us our immunities cotton-tits," Hetty stated, watching the shock blossom across Alex's face. "Snow would entrap one every half century or so. We'd all re-up as it were… and indoctrinate any newbies Snow felt worthy of keeping the secret."
"That's… that's it?"
"Well, you have to be in physical contact with your host of course. And there's ritual and some tidy sacrifice involved, but yes. That about does it."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I know you won't breathe a word. It wouldn't do for your pretty self-preservation."
Hetty came right up to Alex, the top of her braids barely reaching Alex's sternum. Her fingers, cool and small, wrapped over Alex's wrist with a little tug. "Take his hand and give me yours," she repeated.
Alex bit her lip with a glance at Hal before releasing her hand from her pocket. Hetty's fingers slid up the inside of her wrist with a small pressure, and Alex cautiously took Hal's outstretched hand. Hetty traced the ridge of her palm, and Alex watched the girl follow her life-line like a palmist. Alex didn't feel the same magnetic tingle as when Hal did it, but the sensation was odd nonetheless. Like an echo.
Hetty turned her hand over, clasping her fingers as she ran her thumb lightly across the bones. "Wow," she uttered, concentrating fully on holding Alex's hand. This was old news. Yeah, she was real through Hal. Alex stole a glance at him. The flush across his cheeks had already died down.
A searing pain hit her wrist as Hetty's teeth punctured through. "Eh!" Alex protested, trying to yank her hand away, but the little girl was deceptively strong. Alex let go of Hal and sent a shockwave of energy through Hetty, pushing her away. The girl's teeth nipped free and she stumbled backwards, licking her lips and eyes alight as Alex rubbed her wrist. The wound was already gone, like it hadn't just happened at all.
"Wow," Hetty repeated, her fangs still out and eyelids lowered in pleasure. Angered, Alex rushed the little vampire with a growl. She just laughed, raising her iron blade and ready to fight, but Alex didn't give her the chance. She hurtled into Hetty, grabbing her by the neck and -snap!-
- they appeared in front of Cutler's skewed portrait. Alex released the sputtering girl then -snap!- and she was back next to Hal.
"Hey!" Hetty shouted from the far room. It would take her a few seconds to get her bearings if Hal's first time with teleportation was any indication. Alex took him by the shoulders, testing him and pulling him upright. He was still out.
"Fuck this noise," she muttered, then whisked them to the familiar space of his bedroom, leagues away from the little cursing vampire.
"Hal?" she let go and he fell bonelessly against the pillows of their bed. Her sense of him was dulled. It didn't feel like before - she didn't have that panicked feeling that he was slipping out of reach. He was just… gone.
She curled up next to him and wove her fingers through his hair. "Tasting" from him could very well re-open the block that Maggie had placed, but she needed to know if he was okay. Only then could she face everything she had just learned. Alex let her subconscious slip in.
It wasn't as effortless as before. She dropped into Hal like cool water on a hot day, bracing and sudden. At first, there was nothing. Only blackness. But then she felt a glimmer. Like a dream, as if it were far away and in another room, she heard a rich, melodious and accented voice.
"This is the moment Hal. What you do now is going to change everything."
