Disclaimer: I own nothing. Incredibly thankful beyond words for the world that Toby Whithouse has created and for the character of Hal that Damien Molony has brought to life. All mistakes are my own.

Thank you Miss Saemay and Miss TJ4EV for the help proofing this one. And for the lovely comments in doc, gave me warm fuzzies.

I hope you really enjoy this one. Extra long which hopefully makes up for the delay. It was a bit hard to tackle then as usual took on a life of it's own... Reviews, faves, and follows make me super duper happy.

Ch. 11 A Good Rough and Tumble

From her perch on a low-lying branch of a tree Sylvie gazes down at Hal with amusement. She'd accompanied him on this morning's ride to collect samples. One of the routines he is passionate about is botany, a hobby normally considered as a feminine pursuit but he defends as a burgeoning science. He delights in poring over the books, called floras, revels in the rigorous process of matching a specimen to its proper entry in the books; finding the name, description, and classification and then documenting his finds. Collecting the samples is a different story altogether.

Hal stands at the embankment of a stream, attempting to grab some leaves from a branch that is partially submerged in the water. Something about this particular set of leaves on this particular plant, whatever it is called - she'd tuned out the botany lesson - was appealing to him. He steps gingerly in the rock-strewn mud, stretching his arm out trying to reach what is just out of reach.

Sylvie calls down, chortling, "You are such a fusspot. You wouldn't be in this predicament if you just took some leaves from anywhere else."

Hal huffs, "I have exacting standards." He teeters precariously.

"Hal stop pussyfooting. Just get in there and yank it."

"Sylvie, you are ever so gifted at giving helpful advice," he says sarcastically.

She jumps out of the tree she'd been in and bounces lively across the 30 or so feet to the stream.

As she comes upon him she says, "Oh for heaven's sake, here let me help you," and without pause she reaches over him to grab the branch. In her exuberance she inadvertently bumps into him and sends him face first into the water.

She gasps then starts giggling madly as he sputters in the shallow water, the silt swirling around him. He recovers himself, lifting up on his hands and looks up at her in disbelief. "Sylvie!"

His stunned look is worth any repercussions. Her giggles intensify. She can't help but tease him. "Oh no Hal, now you're all wet and dirty. How will you cope?"

He gives her a martyred look, standing up and glancing down at himself with a grimace. His breeches have suffered the worst, mud from his high boots to his thighs. His jacket and waistcoat are splattered with mud as well and he is soaked through, water dripping from his face and hair. He automatically pulls out his silk handkerchief, wiping his face, then walks out of the water to the grass-line and with a sigh begins to remove the muddy garments. He folds his jacket and waistcoat carefully to encompass the mess and places them on the ground, but he is reluctant to remove his breeches.

Sylvie follows him up the embankment and just stands admiring how the now wet, thin material of his shirt clings to the rippling muscles underneath, the contours of his shoulders, chest and abdomen a very pleasing sight. She feels suddenly very warm, warmer than can be accounted for even by the summer morning sun streaming down. Half teasingly, with a husky "mmm...", she tells him, "You know Hal, you should fall into streams more often. The look suits you, mud and all."

Hal rolls his eyes. "Sylvie, would you kindly hand me that flannel we brought so that I may use it to wipe up some of this mess?" He begins taking off his boots.

She goes over to the horses to grab the spare blanket tied to her saddle. They had ridden out far today, seeking new terrain, and had brought supplies for a picnic lunch. He'd spread the other blanket from his saddle when they'd first arrived at this spot, assuming she would demurely sit waiting for him as he explored this bit of countryside they had not visited before. Instead she'd scrambled up the tree, answering his words about her undignified actions with "Good climbing trees don't just grow everywhere. Must take advantage of any I come across." He'd answered her request to join her with "I couldn't possibly do your enthusiasm justice," and a withering look.

She comes back with the blanket, her arm extended. "Here you are love. But do not approach me until you are suitably clean. Wouldn't want you to dirty my pretty new dress."

Frowning he points out, "But you've been climbing in trees. I am certain there are a plethora of stains on it by now." He wipes his face and runs a corner of the blanket through his hair, leaving it ruffled. Then he vigorously begins rubbing at the mud on his breeches.

"Not so. I am an experienced tree climber. See, nary a mark on my skirt." She pirouettes gracefully, the blue riding habit indeed cleaner than he would have thought possible. She continues, "You on the other hand have much to learn about exploring out in the wilderness."

Hal clenches his jaw as he finishes his ministrations on his grey breeches and folds the blanket. The fact that she'd thrown him in the stream, however unintentionally, and now is taunting him is too much. She has such a smug look on her face, her eyes glinting playfully. He crouches down indignantly to gather the wet garments when a thought enters his head. He lifts his head suddenly, locking his eyes on hers. "Sylvie, you are quite ticklish, are you not?"

He's pleased to see his rhetorical question wipes the smugness from her face. Hal stands up, the garments forgotten on the grass, and tilts his head at her, calculatingly. Then he gives her a wicked look and growls, "Sylvie, I shall give you to the count of ten."

Sylvie suddenly feels flutters in her stomach. She looks at him quizzically, worriedly. "For what?"

In a low growl Hal says, "To Run!"

Sylvie's doe eyes go wide as saucers as she gathers her skirts high. She pauses to see if he is serious.

"ONE!"

With a squeak she turns around and starts running. The flutters in her stomach bubble up her throat. Hal watches her graceful lope, a grin blooming on his lips at the thought of catching her, the anticipation of revenge sweet. But then there's a shift in the moment. Watching her running away from him, hearing her shriek conjures a memory - a pale-haired woman running through the woods.

"TWO!"

She's near the tree now. That perpetual hunger that he always works hard to suppress surfaces and another anticipation on an instinctive level starts to build.

"THREE!"

She's past the tree now and he watches as Sylvie twirls around to look at him, her lips quirked with mirth, her eyes shining bright. But he sees another image superimposed over her, a mouth open in a scream, eyes round with terror.

The hunger claws at his middle. He shifts his weight forward as not so much a word but a feeling tries to surface.

"FOUR!"

Prey. His muscles clench, his mouth waters. He begins the chase.

Sylvie looks back as she hears a noise and sees Hal begin to run after her. The cheat, he said he would give her to ten! The flutters finally burst forth in sparkling peals of laughter. She continues her flight gaily.

"FIVE"

She'd gotten far ahead of him, but he can see the distance will easily be bridged in mere moments. The anticipation intensifies as he feels the exquisite pressure that signals his fangs about to drop and he breathes in deeply, hoping to catch her scent. But, before his vision changes, before he can give into his instincts further, he hears the sound of Sylvie's throaty laughter float towards him and watches as she turns his way once more, time slowing as her movement swirls her dark hair around her in that indescribable motion that never fails to captivate him. It sends a jolt straight into the pit of his belly. No!

He'd halved the distance between them.

He stops and blinks, keeping himself from manifesting, trying to get the image of the memory-woman out of his head. He breaks through the dark thoughts before they can descend into madness, pushing the memory away and concentrating on Sylvie. She'd turned away once more before he'd stopped himself and still sprints away, oblivious to the turmoil within him. He lets the sound of her laughter wash over him, wash away the last vestiges of tantalizing screams. He refuses to let the memories taint this moment.

"SIX!"

He assesses himself and feeling the control firmly in place he continues his pursuit, resolutely concentrating on his original intent; playful retribution for her badgering. To his relief he recaptures the lighthearted feeling with surprising ease - the months of control, and the painful feeling in his heart at the thought of hurting her spurring his confidence.

As he reaches her he snakes his arm around her waist and yanks her backward. She feels him twist them both around as they fall, tumbling so that his back lands on the ground and she lands on him. Chortling, she tries to escape but he easily stops her with a chuckle, his hands in a tight grip at her waist. She tenses, expecting him to tickle her mercilessly, but instead he brings one hand up and pulls her head down to kiss her passionately, his fingers entwined in her hair, teasing circles at the nape of her neck while his other hand roams up from her waist, cupping her breast, teasing it with his thumb. The flutters return to settle into an ache lower down, and she shivers as his wet shirt touches her bare arms. He breaks the kiss and stares longingly into her eyes, the hunger and apprehension built up to a tension needing release. His voice is suddenly very husky.

"Seven."

His counting, which had been so playful before, now sends shivers of delightful anticipation through her. He sits them up suddenly, and he kisses her ardently, roughly, between their movements as they scramble to unbutton his trousers and pull them and his drawers down.

"Eight."

He says in a gravelly whisper as she straddles him and he pulls up her skirts. The shock of his wet clothes on her bare bottom makes her instinctively squirm and giggle once more, and he smirks smugly. "You fiend," Sylvie playfully bats at him, as he suddenly rubs his wet hair all over her cheeks and jaw, her neck. But then he nuzzles the exposed skin above her low neckline, his whiskery chin and cheeks tingling her skin as his soft lips place kisses along the tops of her breasts, and she melts into him. Suddenly he forcibly grabs her hips, grinding against her, teasing her against his hardness. The giggles quickly turn to pants. He continues his teasing, gliding her wet arousal against him, while he moves his lips from her chest in favour of assaulting her mouth, licking the sensitive upper lip, sucking the lower one, tangling their tongues repeatedly. He finally pulls away when they are both breathless. He lifts her hips up, shifting, then lowers her down.

"Niiiine."

He groans out the syllable as he enters her, thrusting deep, letting her settle on him with a contented sigh. With his hands under her skirts he guides her hips in time with his as she grabs onto his biceps, the damp clothes and his retribution forgotten as they are lost together in the rhythm of their lovemaking. He sets a fast pace immediately, lifting and lowering her at first, then laying back to allow her to take him in completely. Sylvie arches into him, squeezing, and smirks down at him when his breath hitches and he groans. She leans forward to increase the delicious friction between their bodies as his hands cup her bottom, fingers squeezing her into him roughly as he thrusts with mounting urgency. He holds on to the tension until she explodes with waves of pleasure, tightening and buckling around him. He finally surrenders to his own climax with a lusty exhale.

Sometime later, as she lays on top of him, still joined, her panting having finally calmed to the occasional sigh, she reminds him.

"Ten."

Later they sit together after having eaten the picnic lunch they had brought with them. The warm summer sun makes the water shimmer and the balmy air is making quick work at drying their rumpled, stained clothes even in the dappled shade where they sit on the blanket.

Sylvie sits cross legged, and having coaxed Hal to lay his head on her lap, sings softly to him while combing her fingers through his lush hair. She removes an errant leaf with a smile. Hal's eyes are closed, a slight smile playing on his own lips. Then he opens his eyes and she sighs at the sweetness she sees, his gaze clear, his brows calm, not knit together with his usual struggles.

Hal stares at her in wonder. Time. All he has is time. A vampire feels his own mortality in each sparse heartbeat, his immortality in each breath. The duality of wanting more time, of fearing the infinity of time. He's never felt the need to hold onto any particular moment, most of the time he seeks to forget them, but if he possessed the ability to stop time, he would at this very instance. All things are calm. Sylvie's sweet voice drowns out the sound of her heart, her fingers are soothing, a feeling amplified as they evoked one of his few happy childhood memories. He feels sated and the hunger is easily squashed. She looks down at him with a tender smile full of love and acceptance. Yes, this moment he would gladly remain in forever. Or conversely, this would be the moment he'd choose to die, this memory his last.

As if reading his thoughts Sylvie says "You seem happy today. It seems easier to manage."

He thinks about earlier. "It is easier. Today."

"Why is that, do you think?"

"Perhaps it's the company I keep."

Sylvie snorts, "You've been 'keeping company' with me for many months. It is not always like this. I do not complain mind you. I wish it was like this always."

Hal can't help but correct her, "I believe the proper terminology is 'I wish it were like this always.'"

She punches him in the arm.

Hal rolls his eyes. "You are fond of hitting me aren't you? There was a time that sort of behaviour would have resulted in dire consequences."

Sylvie smiles impudently, "You do not scare me Lord Harry."

Hal raises his eyebrows but decides to leave the teasing. He wants to hang on to the feel of this moment, a feeling he hasn't experienced often. Peace.

Sylvie resumes running her fingers through his hair. "I do wish we knew what helps. We have yet to test any theories. Perhaps sweet things? That cordial you drank at the party last year had quite an affect on you."

Hal blushes. He remembers quite well the effect that drink had on him. Had it not been for the werewolf making himself known, Sylvie wouldn't have left that party with her honour intact. It had been a strange thing, nothing near the powerful heady feeling of being blood drunk, more similar to being drunk on regular spirits, his carnal desires intensified. After the episode he hadn't given it much thought, having been more preoccupied with the werewolf's presence. He eats food for sustenance but it doesn't remove the perpetual hunger he feels. It barely makes it more bearable. He hadn't noticed a propensity for anything in particular.

Sylvie continues speculating, "You've just eaten some sweet biscuits, which you rarely do, and you seem quite relaxed. Also, you told me once my honey-laced kiss helped switch the focus of your hunger. As a matter of fact," She smiles at him suggestively, "we have yet to try that trick with the honey. We've proven today you aren't exactly opposed to getting a little dirty, as long as you are engaged in the proper distracting activities."

Hal thinks of those 'distracting activities'. He's certain their tumble in the grass has had a bigger contribution to his current mood than any foodstuffs possibly could, but he blushes at openly discussing the matter and seeks to change the subject away from the sticky prospect she proposes. He sits up abruptly and turns to her.

"Sylvie, I have been thinking. Now that I am managing my condition, I was wondering if perhaps you would like to go somewhere. I mean, for us to go somewhere. Together. I know how... tiresome... it can be to devote yourself to my care. I have seen some of your drawings, of places that I know you have not seen in person."

Sylvie smiles tentatively. Hal rarely offers to do something for her benefit and she'd resigned herself to his requirements. "Truly? I would love to travel. But I thought we had to keep you away from too many people."

"I can manage it. We could go, if you like. Anywhere you'd like."

Sylvie raises an eyebrow at him. "Careful Hal, you're dangerously close to doing something altruistic."

He raises his eyebrows but says nothing.

Sylvie is still cautious, but allows herself to be hopeful. "Yes, I would like that very much."

It is nearing evening when Sylvie and Hal come home, racing each other, their laughter preceding them. They'd spent some time planning a trip to France, Paris of course, he was intimately acquainted with the city, but also the countryside. He'd enthralled her with descriptions of the opera houses, museums, markets and squares. He'd been a guest at Versailles towards the beginning of the century; he had visited the new Catacombs shortly before he'd made his decision to leave the vampires once more; and he described to her the wonder he'd felt upon his first experience being able to enter Notre Dame. Even whilst talking about the Catacombs, confessing to having had a hand in the deaths of hundreds of the residents there, his tone had been lighthearted and Sylvie had gotten increasingly excited as he was forthcoming with answers. He'd even jested about the good providence that he'd sought sobriety before the Revolution, saying his kind gloried in chaotic circumstances like the Reign of Terror. She knew she should be horrified, though in true form he was vague about the details, but instead she was just thankful that he sat here with her away from that life. He described the peacefulness he'd found in the French countryside during one of his good periods - quaint villages, vineyards, elegant Chateaus, fields of sunflowers or lavender... She's become intoxicated with the idea of them escaping to that oasis.

Hal feels like this day has been a blessing, one of so few in his cursed existence. However, as they come up to the manor his happiness evaporates into suspicion as he notes an unknown carriage pulled up front. They pass by it on the way to the stables where they dismount as their butler James hurries over agitatedly.

Eyeing the state of their clothing and hair with a raised eyebrow, their butler bows formally and informs them, "Sorry to accost you upon your return, Lord Yorke, but there is a gentleman by the name of Regus who arrived nearly an hour past. He did not give surname or title and I daresay he is rather unsavory looking." The older man purses his lips with another glance at their unkempt state.

Hal has been helping Sylvie down from her horse and she feels the sudden tension in his body as he pauses with his hands still at her waist.

Hal looks and speaks sharply at James. "You did not invite him into my home, did you?!" The servants are under strict orders not to invite anyone into any of their buildings, but it is not in Hal's nature to trust that orders given are always followed.

The butler gives him a horrified look, "Of course not my Lord. He awaits in the garden. Shall I bring refreshments?"

Hal had begun trembling but collects himself enough to say politely, "Thank you James. No. I'm sure this visit will be a short one. Just have everyone remain indoors."

Sylvie notes the increased quiver in Hal's voice and is immediately on alert. She waits for the butler to walk away before asking in a sharp whisper, "Who is he Hal? A vampire? Why is he here?"

Hal looks down at her. I knew this peace wouldn't last. His chest suddenly feels very tight. He'd hoped to keep Sylvie away from the world of supernaturals, but it seems that supernaturals keep finding them. "He's not a threat, but the men he works for are. I do not know how he found me, nor why he's here but I can't imagine it's just a social call. Go inside."

"No. I wish to stay by your side."

Hal frowns at her. "Sylvie, this is not a time for your characteristic behaviour of ignoring my wishes."

She tilts her chin up. "You say he is not a threat."

"All vampires are a threat to you. You are human."

"Well, if he decides he needs a snack, I am certain you can protect me. If you want me to stay inside you'll have to physically take me there and restrain me."

"Do not tempt me..." Hal huffs at her. He sees Sylvie's stubborn look and decides to capitulate. "Very well, but you will stay behind me at all times. Am I understood?"

Sylvie nods her assent. He takes her hand and they go around to the gardens in the back.

As they approach Sylvie sees the back of a man with ginger hair dressed in dusty looking, worn, rumpled jacket and breeches and a squashed hat. She can see why James called him unsavory, though at the moment they rival him.

Before they reach him Hal shores up his confidence. He slips into his role like a second skin and asks authoritatively, "Regus. What are you doing here? How did you find me?" He stops a dozen paces away and Sylvie stops beside him. He nudges forward a step, ascertaining that he's between Sylvie and Regus.

The man turns towards them and Sylvie sees he is of middle age, unkempt and wears spectacles. He looks Hal up and down with disbelief, no doubt wondering why Hal looks in no better shape than he, but inclines his head, "Lord Harry. Pleasure to see you too." He pauses but Hal says nothing so he continues, "I've been scouring every county office in England, cross referencing some information on a parchment that Mr. Snow has me hunting down. Imagine my surprise when I came across a marriage license with your name on it. I thought, no it can't be, must be a coincidence. But there rarely are coincidences."

He turns to her saying, "And who is the lucky lady?" He holds out his hand boorishly, but at Hal's warning look he drops it. He squints at Sylvie and then startles. "Oh God, you're human!"

He turns to Hal. "She's human?"

Hal says, "It's complicated."

"How long? Does this mean...? Are you two -"

Hal interrupts him, raising his voice, speaking in clipped tones. "Regus, I know you haven't appeared just to congratulate me on my nuptials. What are you doing here? Did you tell anyone?" Suddenly he looks frightened and lowers his voice, "Does Mr. Snow know?"

"No, I didn't tell a soul. Been on my own on this bloody hunt for this bloody parchment for quite some time!"

"Well then?" Hal clearly has no patience for the man.

"I came because you entrusted me with that godforsaken trunk of yours. Do you know how bloody hard it is to travel with that thing? I was half hoping you were proper dead all these years so I could bloody get rid of it."

Hal raises his eyebrows in disbelief. He whispers shakily, "You still have it?"

"Blimey, do you think I'm an idiot? I don't have a death wish! Even if you were on one of your good phases when you told me to keep it safe."

Hal looks off introspectively, "I wasn't sure... if he would destroy it this time... I could feel him coming. I sensed my resolve slipping..."

Sylvie can see a haunted look in Hal's eyes. She squeezes his hand reassuringly and he looks over at her with a slightly glazed look.

With a sharper gaze he turns to Regus. "Did you tell anyone about it? Did anyone see it?"

"Well now that's just adding insult to injury. I put some old parchments and books at the top. If anyone took a peek all they would think is that I was traveling with my research. Which I couldn't because I had to travel with your effects instead."

Hal strokes his lower lip with his thumb as he considers. Then he turns to Sylvie, "I need to have space cleared out quickly. In the attic."

Sylvie hesitates to leave, not wanting to miss the conversation between Hal and another vampire, but his look brooks no argument. She hikes her skirts up and runs off to tell the servants.

Hal looks after her then reluctantly turns towards Regus.

Regus is looking after Sylvie too. "Well, I am feeling a bit parched. Is there something or someone I can have?"

Hal gives him a scathing look and grabs him by the throat. "You have two minutes to get that trunk off that carriage and leave! And you speak of her and this place to no one, am I understood?"

Regus gulps and bobs his head repeatedly. Hal shoves him away and follows him to the carriage.

By the time Sylvie comes back out with help, she finds Hal, holding a large iron key, standing over a beaten-looking, rectangular wooden chest, more than a metre in length. The other vampire is gone. Hal stares down at it intensely with an odd mixture on his features - anxious, forlorn, wistful.

She touches his arm to get his attention. "Hal?"

It takes him a moment to look up at her, his eyes revealing a mind lost in thought, lost in time.

Sylvie asks, "You would like this moved up to the attic?"

Hal doesn't speak, just gives her a slight nod.

Within half hour the trunk is settled. She climbs up the stairs behind him but at the door he turns to her with that haunted look and whispers roughly, shakily, "I'm sorry. I can't." As he closes the door she sees him clenching the key in his right hand so hard the knuckles show white. She stands outside the door, leaning against it, and after a quarter of an hour she finally hears the click of a lock and the creak of hinges. Then nothing. No clang of objects being removed, no joyous exclamations of remembrances, no crying... not even the sound of him sitting or shuffling his feet. She eventually sits down on the floor waiting for him to come out but after a couple hours the complete silence behind the door is unnerving. She decides to head to their room, cleaning herself up, laboriously combing through the tangles of her hair, and ridding herself of the rumpled riding habit - had it really only been a few hours ago they'd spent a blissful day together? She lays in bed worriedly looking up at a corner of the ceiling, up to where he must still be standing. She must have fallen asleep waiting for him for she wakes with a start sometime in the middle of the night as he slips into bed beside her. She reaches for him, noting that he'd changed into his nightclothes - now that it is summer he wears his long drawers without a nightshirt. She is sure it hasn't been long since he'd come down. He feels icy and is trembling.

Hal distractedly pulls Sylvie to him, letting her rest her head on the hollow of his shoulder, letting the warmth of her body drive away the cold of his. If only she could drive away the cold in his heart.

Sylvie senses his remoteness. She's afraid to intrude on his stillness, but curiosity gets the best of her. "Hal, what is in the chest?"

He remains silent.

She lifts up onto her elbow to look at him in the light of the candle she'd left burning on the side table. He's staring at the same corner of the ceiling she had earlier, where that trunk rests above.

"Hal, please. I can see it has distressed you. If you confide in me, as you have already about other matters in your past - surely it will bring you some relief."

He looks at her with absolutely no expression on his face.

Sylvie decides on another tactic. "You owe me a favour, remember?"

He frowns up at her and answers in clipped tones. "The implication was for something trivial. This is the very opposite of that."

"I never declared the intention to waste it on something trivial. This will satisfy your debt to me."

"I owe you nothing." He says it as a firm dismissal as he closes his eyes.

Sylvie bites her lip, thinking. He seems so aloof, the coldness emanating from within him. She doesn't want this to escalate into an argument and doesn't want him to shut himself away; she wants to recall the companionability of the day. She uses the best weapon at her disposal, using their intimacy to bring him back to her. She begins kissing his chest, then kissing down the line between the ripples of his stomach muscles to his navel. She nuzzles the hair above the waistband of his drawers and smiles at his muscles contracting, his intake of breath.

"Sylvie, stop!" He says sharply.

She looks up and meets his eyes impertinently. "No."

She eases the waistband off his hips, satisfied that no matter how cold he might seem, she's already had an effect on him. He gasps when she grabs him.

"Sylvie, stop." He says, although not as sharply as before.

"Make me." She shoots back at him and she moves down to lick him as he becomes hard. He buckles with a moan when her lips close over his arousal.

And then suddenly he's pulling her up and flipping her onto her back, rolling onto her and pinning her bent arms up. He seems to hesitate, she sees the desire in his eyes, but also a reluctance, like he wants to hold back, the coldness wanting to claim him. She whispers to him, "I love you. Whatever past is contained up there, I will always love you." She sees his pain shoot through his features before he ducks his head to kiss her... His movements have an edge of desperation this time, different from the urgency and playfulness of this morning's tumble. His hands tremble as he touches her, his eyes and lips roam everywhere, unsettled, as if he is drinking her in. His thrusts alternate irregularly, as if his mind cycles through conflicting thoughts. But finally he commits to her and when they explode together he collapses on her with a sob. She holds him to her, reluctant to move, caressing his hair as his head rests over her heart.

When finally he looks up at her, his eyes hold only a trace of sadness, no longer cold and haunted. "The contents of that trunk are my burden to ponder alone. It is enough that you are here."

Two days later Hal and Sylvie are let into the De La Villa home and stand in the foyer. He hadn't wanted to bring her, but she had coerced him to accede. She'd used her "favour", saying that she would leave off inquiring about his past if he just let her come. "Surely there is no harm in a visit with friends," She had said. He isn't so certain. From what he'd observed during his stay here and the information Sylvie has told him about the werewolf's activities, he has a fair notion what the wolf wants from him. It also hadn't escaped Hal's notice that tonight brought a full moon. He puts his hands on his thighs nervously.

The werewolf comes to greet them and Hal sees immediately that Sylvie's presence is an unwelcome surprise to him as well. But the Spanish man puts on his charms, his greeting warm, if a little forced. Sylvie seems oblivious to the tension. He escorts them to the parlor where his wife is and quickly suggests the two women go out to the gardens to enjoy the fresh air while the men conduct their business. Sylvie raises an eyebrow at that, but gives in as the other human insists.

As soon as the women are well away, the wolf loses no time with pleasantries.

"Hal, you know of my involvement with the Werewolf Underground, sí?

Hal's voice is polite, but strained. "I do recall. Thanks to this movement of yours, you knew where to find me when you brought Sylvie to London. A risk you put her in that I haven't forgotten."

"The only danger she was in came from you."

Hal says nothing, intending to keep calm.

"We keep an eye on the vampires' movements in London and the surrounding counties, and do everything we can to ensure that any werewolves we come across are not captured to be used by them. Unfortunately only four of us run the organization and your kind are a scourge that seems to multiply like rabbits. We aren't able to keep track of every coming and going. Los cabrones found two young werewolves, only twelve in age and new to this life. Two boys from a small village out during a full moon a couple of months ago, accidentally infected. They are holding them captive. I need information. I want you to share with me the knowledge you have so that we can go in and rescue them."

"It sounds like the problem you have is the need to police the werewolves. They are the ones responsible for infecting children." Hal can see that his comment stings but he continues, "I'm sorry but I can't be of service to you. That is your world, no longer mine. It is a problem you will have to solve without my involvement."

"I am not asking you to help me get them out, just that you tell me what you know about the vampire operations. You don't owe them any loyalty, do you? If you do not want to be part of the supernatural element, then why not give them up completely?"

Hal looks away, hesitant to answer. He's cut ties with the vampires, left that world behind. But... if there's one lesson his military tours have taught him it is to not burn any bridges. This advice has helped keep him alive for over 300 years.

The wolf tries to persuade him. "Hal you were there less than a year ago, you saw what they are doing. They have human women and children caged up! They have taken up exactly where you left them, using all the techniques you taught them! What would Sylvie think of you if she knew?"

Hal looks at him sideways, suspiciously. "You haven't told her anything, have you?"

"Claro que no. She is an innocent. I have come to see her as I would a sister or daughter. I should tell her, so she can see how truly inhuman you are. But I would not do that to her. I am not cruel like you."

Hal relaxes. "Look, I am sorry, I truly am, but I cannot afford to get involved. I have Sylvie to think of."

At that comment the werewolf squints his eyes and says angrily, "Is that really the reason? For her? I invited you into my house, as a sign of good faith. I kept you here safe for weeks, fed you, cared for you and her while you 'recovered' from yet another murder. I agreed to La Señiorita's plan to marry you. I gave you my blood to help keep her safe. I thought we were amigos. I thought your love for a human meant you cared about more than just yourself."

"And I do, but... I have put systems in place to remain hidden and have worked hard to forget that lifestyle. Any involvement threatens to draw me back into that existence-"

The wolf spits out, "See. Your self preservation is still the only thing you truly care about!" Hal can sense that the proximity to transformation has the wolf on a short fuse. He knows he needs to end the conversation before it becomes a confrontation.

"I believe it is time we departed." Hal turns intending to go out to collect Sylvie. But the Spaniard's words stop him.

"We know about your cycles. Apparently you are somewhat of a legend amongst your kind. I saw you at your worst, I refused to believe that the murderous bastard that kept me in chains and forced me to kill could be anything but a monster. Then I saw you control yourself. Then I started to believe. Then I started to plan."

Hal turns back, cocking his head wondering, "What do you mean, plan?"

"If you really want to be human, if you want to atone for your sins, you need to join us. Tell us all the secrets, help us eradicate the vampires from London, from England, from other parts of Europe. You are an Old One, the knowledge you have is invaluable. It shouldn't stay locked away in your head. It can be used for good. Isn't that what you want, what Sylvie wants? For you to be good?"

Hal stands there considering. To atone for his sins. To use his knowledge for good, would that ease his conscience? How many deaths could he avert by helping this group fight the vampires? Nowhere near what would balance the ones he'd been responsible for in his 303 years. And besides, the beast posed himself as a 'friend', but really all he wants to do is use him. Just like everyone else except Sylvie.

"I'm sorry but I can't. I wish you well in rescuing your pups, but I refuse to get involved. They are your kind. You deal with it."

A deep growl precedes the werewolf's sudden forward lunge, as he barrels towards Hal. Hal had been carefully monitoring the wolf and so was prepared for it. As he topples over he twists sideways, deflecting most of the blow to one side, able to utilize the momentum to roll over and lithely get to his feet, coming up with a blade he had ensconced in his boot.

The wolf ends up on his hands and knees on the floor, but quickly jumps to his feet facing Hal, a stake in his hand. "Tu sí eres un hijo de puta!" He comes at Hal again.

Hal recalls that the werewolf had fought well, both in his wolf form and in human form. But he'd let himself grow soft. Hal never lets himself grow soft. Furniture is overturned and thrown noisily about as they tumble through the room. Hal blocks and parries, meeting each attack easily. He senses the werewolf growing angrier at each unsuccessful lunge. The werewolf grabs the poker from the hearth and sends it sailing through the air. Hal swerves and the poker is impaled through the wall behind him. The wolf comes at him again but Hal kicks him away and tries to reason with him. "You don't want to do this."

Another lunge - the wolf gets a punch in. "This," he growls, his accent getting thicker in his rage, "This is exactly what I've wanted to do since you first ordered chains on me 13 years ago!"

Hal dances backward. "Think about Sylvie! Whatever your feelings about me, you are her friend. If you kill me, what do you think will happen? It would break her heart."

The wolf grabs an unlit lamp and throws it at Hal. He ducks and it crashes through a window. The werewolf looks like he's ready to lunge at him again. "Killing you is a mercy for her. She is better off with a broken heart than one ripped out and eaten by you!"

Suddenly the wolf stops, narrowing his eyes. "I will kill you, and then I will tell her how you've done exactly that, ripped out people's hearts and eaten them. I will tell her of all the atrocities I witnessed, and those I've heard about. She will come to see the monster you are and will come to hate you."

Hal swallows against the tightness in his throat as the memories flood in, as he thinks of Sylvie's reaction to knowing just how monstrous he truly was. That is more unbearable than the prospect of meeting his death this day.

Then the animal taunts him with something that changes everything.

"We will take her in, and we will care for her, and after I finish telling her about the true Lord Harry, and she burns with hatred of your kind, I will introduce her to some of my brethren. I know a young guapo that will help ease her heartache."

Darkness bubbles up within Hal. He hisses, baring his fangs, letting that darkness consume his eyes. He blinks to clear his vision and lunges at the wolf, slicing the air as the filthy beast scrambles backward just out of reach until he hits a wall. Hal's blade slices his arm and droplets of acrid blood land on Hal's face, the sting driving him into further rage and he pulls his arm back to thrust his blade into the wolf's kidney. But the Spaniard slides sideways and down, coming around to Hal's back. Hal twirls quickly, just in time to block the stake aimed at his chest, grabbing the werewolf's right wrist with his left hand at the same moment the dog clasps his right wrist.

As he struggles to keep the stake away from himself, and to thrust his blade forward, he warns through clenched teeth, "You fucking filthy hounds will stay away from her!" He swipes his leg sideways, knocking the dog's leg out from under him. The momentum of his fall pulls Hal down as well and they roll a few times on the floor, each struggling to get their weapons closer, both intent on killing their enemy.

And then suddenly a blooming pain on his arm and shoulder, a loud splintering sound, and pieces of wood raining down on him stops him cold with shock at the same instant as the werewolf, breaking the murderous spell. Both supernaturals look up simultaneously to see Sylvie holding the remnants of two wooden legs from a small console table, a look of disappointment on her face.

The Catacombs of Paris - the exhumation and transfer of all Paris's dead to the underground sepulture occurred from 1786 - 1788.

The Reign of Terror (September 1793 – July 1794)

I had a question about this so I thought I'd point it out - Hal does not call/think of the werewolf by name, very deliberately. He doesn't trust him, both as an individual and as his "natural" enemy.

Sorry it's been a long time between updates. I was a bit tied up, but for a good reason. Anyone who isn't on Twitter or Tumblr or one of the fan forums - I set up a fundraiser in honour of Toby Whithouse (he picked the charity) and we have several unique prizes. One is a quilt I made of the Show No Mercy banner from S4E7. It is signed on the back by Damien Molony. The other is a signed copy of the script from S4E7 that Toby himself will donate if we meet our target. We also have a Being Human prop donated by Laura Cotton, the fireguard from Hal's bedroom and... something else I will be announcing soon. Fanfiction doesn't let me put in the link but please check it out: justgivingdotcom/MakingHistory