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.

I promise there is an outline, and an end. It may be taking me longer between posts these days, but we will get there. Huge thanks to those of you still following along. Reviews, as always, are love.


The persistent beat of the helicopter blades had fused into a pulsing drone, and Nave gave an impatient wave towards the van. Two young men in matching grey overcoats pulled a bright yellow stretcher free from the rear, and proceeded towards the shelter of the boarded up ice-cream stand. Alex stood and took a step back, giving them plenty of clearance. The operatives set their stretcher on the pavement next to Hal, but before they moved him, one revealed a syringe. Without hesitation, he stabbed Hal none-too-gently in the side of the neck. Alex gasped in surprise but he had already delivered the drug and retracted the needle as if it were completely standard procedure. He then helped hoist Hal onto the gurney.

"Sorry there Alex," Nave cleared his throat, overseeing his team bind Hal with heavy straps. "That dart won't keep a vampire under long enough. This is the only way we can transport him safely, given the, er... state of things," he fumbled. "You understand?"

Alex couldn't answer, so didn't. Everyone around them knew exactly how dangerous Hal really was, and took appropriate precaution. First Hetty, when she had immobilized Hal in order to talk to Alex, and now the Department. Better to knock out the loose cannon rather than set him off… Hal had always been a ticking time bomb. Alex had just chosen not to see it. His strength had won out for so long before, she had thought it would again. Even yesterday she had pushed him. Let go, she had said. You're not going to hurt me. Alex had been blind. The panic of losing him had overcome reason. She should have gotten them safe somewhere, before giving him blood. But then, would he have just come after her anyways? It had been Castle he leapt for upon waking. Castle, who had set them all up, somehow. The gurney was lifted, breaking Alex from her thoughts as Nave started following them. Alex trailed along behind.

The churned wind whipped Nave's short hair to a frenzy as they ducked under the helicopter blades. Alex's skirt didn't even move, but she didn't stop to contemplate it. The helicopter was painted a flat, military grey. Its rounded nose was almost friendly, and Alex recalled the poster that had been pinned to the wall of her brother Ryan's room since he was eleven years old. A Westland Lynx, she remembered with strange detachment as she followed the stretcher into the cramped space of the helicopter. Nave paused at the door, the floor of the cargo hold level with his waist as he watched the operatives hook Hal's stretcher in, opposite from Castle.

"Alright?" he asked, looking up towards the pilot. "Godspeed. I'll see you soon."

"Wait - you're not coming?" Alex asked, panic suddenly and irrationally rising. But Nave couldn't hear her now anymore than he could previously. He slapped the metal hull then backed away.

The pilot watched the operatives finish strapping in their cargo, then turned to face a barrage of dials. Before it seemed anyone was even settled - one operative was still in process of securing the door - the sound of the blades changed, and the helicopter lifted up and forward, following along the road as it rose.

The only time Alex had been inside a helicopter was at the National Museum of Flight during one of their more successful family holidays. There had been one lonely old relic in a massive hangar filled with various other wartime examples. It had metal steps leading visitors in one side of the open panel door, then out the other. The paint of the steel floor had worn down, leaving a polished pathway. Separating the cockpit from over-enthusiastic visitors had been a wall of scratched and hazy plexiglass. The cargo hold had been empty, making the craft feel much more spacious than it actually was. In real world reality, it was quite cramped. And terribly loud.

Her brothers would flip at the chance to be flown like this, but she couldn't enjoy it. Not with being pressed against door in an attempt to avoid anyone brushing into her, given the confinement of the space. Not with the faint and decreasing blip of the monitor on Jonathan Castle who was incredibly, still alive. Alex almost couldn't believe it. She hadn't survived when Cutler had torn into her. But then again, no one had been around to attempt to resuscitate her either. Still, Castle's outlook didn't seem good. His face was partially obscured by an oxygen mask that did little to hide how pale he was. His ravaged neck was covered by a thick wad of gauze that one operative kept in place with pressure.

Two of the operatives tended to Castle, while the other seemed to be exclusively monitoring Hal. With a loaded crossbow. They had drugged him. Why were they still worried? Was the pull of fresh blood enough to bring Hal around regardless of whatever they had dosed him with?

The sensation of rising increased, and Alex held onto the back of the pilot's seat. They cleared the height of the hills and buildings, turned and headed north. Towards the Archive.

The waiting silence in the cabin was tense with only the crashing beat of the blades as they travelled. The operatives seeing to Castle were obviously trained in this sort of emergency response, and Alex wondered just how often their skills were needed. She hoped Jonathan Castle would make it. She hoped the Department wanted to know just what the hell he had been up to as much as she did.

Fortunately, the journey to the area of the woods that hid the Archive didn't take long via helicopter flight. Alex watched their descent through the windscreen over the pilot's shoulder as they quickly approached what she would have thought was an impassable clearing. The pilot maneuvered the craft expertly however, and they landed with hardly a bounce. He flipped a few switches, dampening down the whine of the engines, then was instantly on his radio.

"Dustoff code red. I repeat, dustoff code red. Target, over."

Alex scooted out of the way as one of the operatives slid open the panel door. They unhooked the carabiners securing Castle, then slid the gurney towards the opening. Two of the operatives hopped out, pulled the gurney clear and dropped the wheeled base. Then just as swiftly, they were off, wheeling Castle into the darkness of the woods. Mister Unwavering Crossbow remained, as did the pilot, who casually reached for a packet of crisps.

"It's all gone pear-shaped I hear. The Old Man really give orders for this?" the pilot asked then opened his crisps with a foiled crinkle. He swiveled in his seat and extended the packet. "Eh?"

The fellow with the crossbow relaxed some, then reached across Hal with his free hand to take the offered crisp with a shrug. "Arsed if you ask me," he said then glanced down. "The fang's an Old One."

The pilot raised an eyebrow under his helmet briefly, but then shook his head. "So? I still don't see why we're bothered to take him home."

The younger operative shrugged again, then glanced out into the woods. "He's wanted for questioning about Castle. All's I care 'bout is for 'em to get on with it," he said.

The pilot chuckled. "Just because this bloke's an Old One don't mean he's gonna wake up."

"Still. I'd rather he weren't our problem in any case. Gives me the creeps."

"What? The vampire? Or the ghost?" The pilot searched the empty space. "She may not even be here, all we know," he declared, then casually popped another crisp in his mouth. Alex rolled her eyes, then flicked at a loose strap. It swayed nicely and the youth's eyes darted to it, then he hardened his mouth into a line.

"Heh," the pilot showed his amusement. "You'll get used to it Jim, trust me."

"Yeh, right… Still - I'd rather we weren't the only thing standing between it and another Box Tunnel fiasco, or worse. I heard Arthur tell of a dry one years back that took out a whole bingo hall." Jim shuddered but Alex nearly wanted to laugh. Or cry. The entire situation was painfully absurd. She knew just how grave it had all become. Hal had nearly...

The pilot shook his head. "With what they dosed him with? He won't be waking up anytime soon. Relax." To make his point he rummaged around for another crisp.

Alex looked to Hal who was utterly still from whatever concoction they had given him. His black shirt was torn and slick with blood. He looked dead. With a pang of despair, Alex closed her eyes.

And suddenly, the ground heaved out from under her and she opened her eyes to the kitchen of Honolulu Heights. Accidental teleportation hadn't happened like that since… She shook herself. It hadn't happened since she was first practising, when Hal was still chaired. He had yelled a particularly nasty insult and bam! she was back home. In Glasgow. Which was when she first discovered she could jump that far.

To have tried so hard earlier and failed, only to now end up "home" again? Alex sighed a shaky breath, unsettled. The house was darkened except for a bare glow filtering in through stained glass. The kitchen was empty, quiet. "Home" despite her anchoring sign's cheerful declaration, felt foreign and surreal. Everything was off, with an undercurrent of wrongness. Even the few dishes in the sink from before they left were wrong. Hal hadn't the time to wash them, before…

Before.

As if in a dream, Alex turned on the tap. She stoppered the sink and added fairy liquid, watching the water froth with bubbles. Mechanically, she reached for the sponge then immersed her hands into the steaming water. It could have been air for all she felt.

She found a plate, something in the hardness differentiating itself, and she began to scrub. She rinsed it, then set it aside, then reached for the next. There. This was good. Hal wouldn't have to... When he came home… If he… Hal wouldn't be doing the washing up. They'd have to chair him all over again. Her despair sank through her center.

The plate shattered with a crunching crash into the sink and Alex gasped. The overhead light flickered, illuminating the empty kitchen in haphazard flashes, then snapped out.

Alex turned off the water.

Breathing deeply to try and calm herself, she stepped away. The blinding panic that had started to take hold slowly began to fade with every focused exhale. She couldn't remain here. She should get back, if she could. Alex took a deep breath and concentrated. She pictured the scene she had just left. The meadow. The deepening darkness of woods. Hal motionless and strapped down like cargo.

And just as it should be, she was back in the helicopter. Jim immediately adjusted his posture to be back on his guard, and the pilot swiveled to face the dash, crumpling his empty crisp packet into a duffel. Startled, Alex glanced between them before realizing she hadn't been the cause.

The steel frame of an empty trolley flashed in the dark, wheeled through the woods by only one of the medics. He gave a nod to Jim as he approached. The young operative squared his jaw then kneeled to unfasten Hal's stretcher from the helicopter. Once the medic lined the trolley up with the edge of the helicopter platform, Jim jumped out and helped transfer Hal to the stretcher. The pilot kicked the engine on, sending the rotor quickly into spin.

"Good luck," he said in parting before the sound swelled.

Alex hopped out without a backwards glance. As the engine kicked into gear, the medic strapped Hal to the trolley with heavy belts across his legs and torso, then bound his wrists to the frame.

"Is this really necessary? He's out for fucksake!" Alex shouted, but of course, no one could hear her. And they were already off, swiftly moving their charge through the dark woods as the helicopter lifted. Before the sound had even faded away, they came to an unfamiliar storage container. There was a grinding of a door mechanism, which pivoted open at their approach. Inside the rusting hulk of the container was… absolutely nothing. The storage container was barren. This couldn't be the isolation room that Rook spoke of - it was far too exposed to stash a bloodthirsty vampire. Still, Alex followed behind as the cantilevered door started to shut. The dim light dropped to blackness with the closing door and both operatives just… stood there, as if they were waiting for something. The floor suddenly lurched into movement as tiny blue lights pinged on to give the barest of illumination to the floor edges, and Alex realized they were in a giant lift. It was big enough to hold a couple of cars. Or a van.

The room went down with a steady sinking for several levels. There weren't any doors, only a solid wall of steel that they descended. There weren't any visible controls, so the lift must be remotely operated. An edge of a panel door appeared in the wall of steel, and the sinking came to a stop. The panel slid open to the bright lights of a startlingly cavernous parking garage. But aside from a couple of unmarked vans and a few civilian cars, the space was empty.

The operatives didn't linger. Without speaking, they were wheeling the trolley forward again towards a smaller mechanical door on the far side of the garage. Then they were speeding through familiar grey corridors, though Alex couldn't be certain where in the Archive they were. It all looked the same, until they came to a hallway that dead ended. Along it were six identical metal doors and a single chair at the end. They took Hal to the last room on the left.

Inside was a grey cube. Constructed of concrete, it was featureless except for a small drain at the center and a dark metal base framing the room in a poor attempt at design. Overhead, was a recessed light guarded behind a steel cage. In one wall were inset bolts sunk into the concrete. Shackle bolts, Alex realized with a start.

Jim hung back with his crossbow trained on Hal's immobile torso while the medic locked the wheels on the trolley. He double checked that every strap was secure, then hooked a carabiner to the inset bolt, effectively shackling the trolley to the wall. He then looked up to glance around the empty room. It almost seemed like he was about speak, when a static hiss of radio cut in.

"Prepare C and D for Type three receiving, over."

The medic retrieved the radio from his belt and answered with a simple, "Copy." He gave a nod to Jim who finally lowered his weapon. Then, they both left the room, pulling the door shut behind. There was a large inlay of a cross set into the backside of the metal door. Above that was a small fish-eye camera lens tucked behind the grate of a single vent. "Isolation room" Rook had said. Alex gave a sorrowful huff. Prison was more like it. She knew the cross wouldn't bother Hal, but it sank home the true purpose of this place. Perhaps the entire corridor, with its identical heavy doors, was solely for the stowage of supernatural captives.

When the operatives departed, the silence was abysmal.

She looked to Hal, still and pale against the overbearing grey of the room. The dark spatter smeared dry under his chin stood out in vivid colour. His hollow gaze flashed before her eyes in recollection of just how quickly he had turned. How quickly he was gone, consumed by the call of blood. The sheer power it had over him.

And she had given him over to it. He would have killed her - worse than killed her. He would have taken all of her, leaving nothing. She would have ceased to be - Door or no. And it was exactly what he had feared. What he had warned her of about him time and time again. If he were to loose his hold on himself, the result would be catastrophic. The deadly insistence of his eyes when he asked if she knew just how close he had come with Megan, at the hotel… if she hadn't intercepted him.

Alex had known the hold that blood had over Hal. She had glimpsed what level he would literally stoop to if he gave in. She had known, but hadn't really fathomed just how dangerous an on-the-wagon vampire really was.

Hal had been dry for an entire lifetime before they met… and yet in the span of his lifetime it wasn't so long. Bloodshed, taking life - it hadn't just been in his past - it had been the majority of his past. That he had fought against it this long was a miracle. It was a strong attestment to his character that he even could. That he would even choose to, knowing how quickly it all could change. She had saved him, but had she really? She had saved him, but it had come at such a heavy cost.

Yet, it still wasn't why she wanted to cry. Why her tears wouldn't come. All she could feel was loss. She was a barren cavity scooped out. A hollow thing. An echo. A ghost.

Her senses had been heightened whenever they touched, but even when leagues apart from Hal, Alex had still felt relatively normal. Like herself.

This was terrible.

She couldn't hide from facing it any longer. From the moment she had let go in self-preservation, the entire world had deadened. Sounds were dulled. Not to mention touch and smell. The floor, the concrete walls - nothing felt real. She was numbed to the world. Or perhaps the world was now numbed to her. It was as if she were walking through a dream, detached. She was being without her body. She was truly a ghost.

Alex came to stand next to the gurney, and looked down on Hal's slackened face. The shadows of his eyelashes against his pale skin were stark. The broken lines of ash that had stood out so strongly before she had fed him, were washed away. Under the tear of his shirt, his skin was unbroken. Healed. His hair was damp from the rain, and dishevelled. And it was utterly futile to delay any longer. Unable to resist her morbid curiosity, Alex reached out to brush his bedraggled hair aside. When Hal didn't stir, she lightly cupped his cheek. And there it was. Or rather, there it wasn't. She couldn't feel him anymore. Not really. Not in the comfortable way she had grown used to. The thread of their bond that had woven so strongly between them, was gone.

She knew without a doubt that the blanket over her senses was the result of her abilities removed. All of the normal human senses she had taken for granted, continuing even after her death, had been directly linked to her tie to him. She had felt normal, because of him. She had been kept under a spell - an illusion - that she was still alive.

Alex took her hand away, and hugged her arms into her chest. If this was what being a ghost was supposed to be like, then she'd swear she'd find her Door, and soon.

Except for Hal.

Gods, she loved him. Really, deeply loved him. Even after facing his darkness - after nearly being consumed by it herself, she still loved him. And now she truly knew that the tie of their bond had little to do with it. The anchor merely had supported the fall. She loved him for his strength, how he held himself in balance against his past. She loved him for his simple and blunt honesty, even over difficult things. She loved the mystery of him - that she could never know everything behind the age in his eyes. Nor would she want to. Because then she would be Done. "Send the Door," kind of done. There was no true knowing of Hal Yorke. Because it was somewhere in between the vampire and the man that lay a schism of who he really was. She loved him for that man, and the man he tried to be with her. Unguarded, open and true.

It just wasn't fair! For them to have come so far only to have everything so broken? This morning Hal had been happy - actually happy - like it was a strange and foreign thing. "A most remarkable thing," he had said. The memory of sensation washed over her - of water and touch and love - and Alex's sorrow threatened to bowl her over.

The only thought that saved her from sinking to the floor right then and there, was a what-if. What if she could take it back? What if she could undo their untangling? Alex reached out to take Hal's fingers. Cold, lifeless, and without their spark, it wasn't just that he was unconscious. It was that her path to him was severed. There was caked blood under his fingernails. Red sickles of carnage she couldn't help but acknowledge. Still, Alex closed her eyes, and sank her focus into him, searching.

There was nothing but blackness. She searched first one way, then another. Fathomless black. Emptiness and blood. Unable to find a single path through the dark, slowly, she pulled her consciousness back out.

Blood. It was the only clear thing she could sense from him. Maybe it was the only way back through? Alex still had Tom's balisong. She fished it out from her pocket, and switched open the blade. For a moment, she stood poised over Hal, uncertain of what she actually needed to do. In the past, she would grow stronger and more solid if she took on a bit of his blood. Maybe it was all that she needed? She opened his hand as much as she could against the binding of the strap. With a bite of her lip, she pressed the blade to Hal's palm. Then, she sliced.

Blood blossomed forth, a crisp red bead that started to run and Alex cupped her hand under his. The blood dripped, and hit the floor with a sad splat. It had fallen straight through - as if she wasn't there at all. Alex's breath caught in her throat. Her tears finally welled as she watched the wound rapidly heal, Hal's skin fusing back into place like a time-lapse video in reverse.

Alex backed away and sank all the way to the floor. She dropped the bloodied blade with a clatter next to her, and pulled her knees in close. The ever present weight of her boots was the only thing that felt real anymore. Even her brimming tears seemed to be happening to someone else as she stared at Hal, feeling an impossible distance. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a comfort to her amidst the surreality she now found herself in. That base instinct to keep breathing... Alex forced her own breath to match his rhythm. Inhale, exhale. She couldn't even feel the air that she breathed. Inhale, exhale. Was that merely an illusion as well? She supposed she had no use for breath anymore except for her own habit of being. Exhale.

A soft knock made Alex quickly wipe her eyes and look up. The metal door swung open and Maggie studied Hal from the doorway, then glanced to Alex. "Have the withdrawals hit yet?" she asked abruptly.

Alex shook her head, unsure what Maggie meant. "He's out. They double dosed him with something, so how would I even be able to tell?"

"Oh, you'll be able to tell. Trust me," she cautioned, then stepped into the room. She took in Alex, sitting on the floor with a curious expression. "It won't last, you know. He's using that blood up to heal." Maggie stated bluntly.

"I know."

"Tis only a matter of time before he won't be able to control it again."

"I know," Alex repeated, sharper this time. It was then Maggie's eyes went to the knife on the floor.

"Are you… alright?" Maggie's voice exuded a cautioned concern. "I know a lot has happened tonight, but…"

Maggie paused when Alex shook her head. "That block you placed? It can be reopened, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I… It's gone. I turned it off, when he…" Alex faltered. She couldn't say it out loud.

Maggie furrowed her brow, then crossed the room and gestured for Alex's hand. Once Alex reached out, Maggie pulled her upright. Face to face, she closed her her eyes and held Alex's hand, searching. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was sorrowful. She drew Alex close into a gentle hug. "Oh, girlie. I am so sorry."

At the confirmation of what she already knew, Alex took a shaky breath and retreated from the woman's embrace. She would not cry. She would not. Maggie patted her hand and shook her head as she met Alex's eyes. "If you had held on, maybe. But once your blood was diluted…" Maggie let the thought trail off, then looked over to Hal. "There isn't anything left for you."

"So that's it then," Alex swallowed, coaxing down her tears. "There's no way to bring it back?"

"Dear - the two of you? It's uncharted territory. I just don't know. I've seen plenty of strange and miraculous things though, in my time," she offered, thoughtfully. "I'm curious," Maggie tilted her head, thankfully changing the subject. "How does he stop it?"

"Oh, er. He'll have to detox it out again. Last time, we had to keep him tied to a chair for a month."

"Oh," Maggie's forehead wrinkled. "Well, that's mighty unpleasant."

Alex huffed, "Yeah. It really is."

"There anything you need tonight? I'm sure they'll send someone to check in later, but we're a bit maxed out tonight. It could be awhile yet before he wakes in any case."

"Oh, er… thanks, but no, I guess," Alex answered, unsure of what could possibly help. "I've got a question though," she asked, and the old ghost paused with an open expression. "Castle. Even before I lost my moxy… My powers didn't work against him."

"Against Jonathan?" Maggie asked in return, surprised, then her eyes shifted to thoughtful. "Or was it against the weapon he carried?"

"I was trying to block a stake he had on Hal, yeah."

"This department has run on a limited budget for a very long time. Most of our weapons serve dual purpose."

Alex cocked her head, not understanding, so Maggie elaborated. "Castle's stake had an iron core. It was the weapon you couldn't poltergeist, not him. We're only human," Maggie shrugged. "Well, most of us anyway," Maggie smiled. "Look, I have to get back."

"Oh. I thought your part was done?"

"The vampires have all scurried - they don't stick around when there are loose werewolves about. We've just about got the park cleared, so it's time to "find" the bomb and let the residents return."

"And you're extra insurance so they don't ask questions?"

"Indeed."

"How does that work? Is it something you learn?"

"Is it something you feel you have to learn?"

Alex shook her head then shrugged, "Just curious, I guess. Nevermind."

"I've always been a psychic, but this was something the Department's last ghost taught me. It's like how you taste, only in reverse. You project what you want them to see. Most souls aren't strong enough to do it though, and it certainly takes some practise. You can bet your buttons I'll be cosied up watching my shows for a spell later."

"Oh, huh," Alex answered, thoughtful.

"You however, are a strong soul, m'dear. If you're interested, we could always use the help, you know."

"Oh, er…"

"Don't fret. You have other things to attend to, I know. All's I'm saying, is that you could still be needed, if things don't, well... you know," she cleared her throat with a glance to Hal. She seemed to ponder for a moment, searching for the right words. "Belonging somewhere, having a purpose? It keeps us from fading. You don't need to feel so lost, is all I'm saying."

Alex took a deep breath, startled and yet thankful for what the ghost was offering. "Good luck," she offered, changing the subject back. Maggie nodded, and started to leave. "And… Maggie?" Alex asked, and she paused in the doorway. "Thanks."

Maggie gave a soft smile, then left Alex alone with only Hal's unconscious company. The long night yawned forward, and Alex settled in to sift through her thoughts. She replayed everything she knew of Milo, and Jonathan Castle, but still couldn't make heads or tails of it all. At the end, it had seemed like Hal had Castle pegged. Like he knew the operative was behind it all somehow. But then, Rosanna had clearly come to collect Hal. Could Castle have been working with the vampires? Through Milo, she supposed it was possible. Really, anything was possible.

Some time later, Alex looked up when footsteps broke through the silence in the corridor. There were several pairs, and the creak of a door opening and hushed voices. Another metallic creak, then a thud and the bang of a door closing. The footsteps retreated, but then there was the close sound of a chair scraped against concrete, and another set of footfalls, clipped and even.

"Welcome back, sir." Alex could just barely make out Jim's muffled voice as he greeted the approaching footfalls. "All is well?"

"As to be expected," Rook's voice answered, sounding wearied before he opened the door. He did not knock. Paused in the doorway, Rook watched Hal warily for any signs of movement, then entered the space. He was carrying a bundle of items.

"Miss Millar?" he asked to the air. "You will be pleased to know your friends are safe. McNair and Larkin have been transported here." He paused, not quite looking at her. "I apologize. We normally treat those in service with more care." At first Alex thought he meant that something had happened to Tom or Allison, but instead, Rook indicated the bundle he was holding. A folded grey blanket and the edge of a shirt sat under a bottle of water.

"Mr. Yorke will be quite thirsty when he awakens, and may wish for a change of clothing," Rook said, setting his bundle on the floor. As he straightened, he extracted something else from the pile and held it up. A whiteboard. "And this is for you. I need to collect a statement, if you don't mind."

"From me?" She asked even though he offered the board forward.

"Miss Millar, in your own words please, what happened?"

Alex reached out and took the offered board and Rook nodded. He then extracted a marker wrapped in a fold of cloth from his shirt pocket and handed that over as well.

Quickly, Alex scribbled:
You want me to write it all on this?

"This is as close as we can have to a private conversation. I would like to be able to ask questions. Please, proceed."

Alex wiped away her first question with the cloth, the wrote another:
WHY did you shoot Hal?

Rook steeled his blue eyes and answered simply. "I thought my operative was in mortal danger. Jonathan had been with this Department for over fifteen years. My bias towards someone I helped raise…" His blue eyes flashed a hint of emotion that he quickly dampened. "It caused me to make a grave miscalculation. Which is why I need to understand what happened. How did you come to the knowledge that Jonathan Castle was working with Milo?"

Alex sighed, then cleared the board. It didn't really change anything, but knowing Rook hadn't acted out of hostility was a comfort. It meant that hopefully, he was still an ally. She hoped that they could trust him. And, she wanted to know the truth as well. She sat down, cross-legged at the foot of the trolley and tried to determine where to start. Recalling the scene when she and Hal had come upon Milo with Castle, Alex began to relay it all. She stuck to the facts and tried to describe what had happened as clearly as she could. When she would reach the end of the board, Rook would command "Hold," then take a photograph with his mobile. He would then give a nod and say, "proceed," and Alex would clear off the board and continue.

Rook asked a lot of questions. He made her repeat details that didn't seem relevant. Where had Milo been trying to go to when Castle was fighting Hal? Did Milo try to interfere at all? Where was the open lorry in relation to the fight? What exactly had Castle said? Was Alex absolutely certain that Rosanna didn't mention Milo or Castle? By the time Rook was satisfied, the eraser cloth was completely black.

He was jotting one last note onto a ledger, but she tried to hand the whiteboard back to him. He glanced at it, then resumed writing. "Please, keep it. Should you need, you can wave it in front of the door," he demonstrated, miming a rigid back and forth motion, "and we will be alerted. Hal can stay here as long as is necessary."

Alex glanced up to the camera. She had wondered why they bothered if vampires didn't show up on film. She quickly wrote out another line:
Thank you for helping him.

"Well," Rook glanced to Hal lying still, then back to the board. "Some of this was my fault. I should have -" he stopped, eyes flicking to Hal. "I am sorry, Miss Millar."

Alex didn't know what to say to that. She doubted Rook was the type of person to apologise often. He pocketed his pen and collected himself, turning to go. He paused in the doorway however, and looked back to Hal. In that moment, backlit from the light in the corridor, Dominic Rook seemed painfully tired. He gave a deliberating sigh, then glanced down to the floor. "I suppose that I can tell you now," he said wearily. "Castle did not survive. We'll be questioning Milo as soon as it is possible."

Alex let the whiteboard fall on her lap. In stunned silence, she watched Mr. Rook depart, latching the door behind him.

So, there it was. Hal had killed Jonathan Castle.

She doubted that dying had been part of Castle's plan. To whatever end, they may now never actually know what that plan had been.