Choices of Ghosts in the Shadows
It's not uncommon for her to call Abel a fool, or a troublemaker, or even just careless. It's part of the masks they both wear. She plays the stern, often exasperated boss, and he plays the careless, scatterbrained, often broke and somewhat whiny AX priest.
They both know what he is, under the affability and the klutzy demeanor. She knows some of the power he can command, but not all, and what she does know would be terrifying did she not know and trust the man who wields it. He could easily take over the Vatican if he wished it, or become a power to rival any country. But he has chosen his role as her subordinate instead - to be known as the affable, somewhat clumsy and eternally hungry Father Nightroad - and she is content to let him have it.
After all, she was there in the beginning, when he first emerged from his long mourning and the shadows of the underground tomb. She was there for the nightmares, the anguish and the soul searching, and the long, painful struggle to make himself into the man he is now.
And it is because she was there, because she knows the man behind the mask of absent-minded idiot, that she knows he remembers exactly what he chartered as cargo to Albion. And why. He simply doesn't want to speak of it, not where anyone with malicious intentions might hear. Which means one of two things, if not both.
One: he wants her to have plausible deniability. The choice he has made may have questionable repercussions, and he wants her to be safe from them, if the situation goes poorly, or trouble arises from his actions in the future. That is very like him, to spare her when he can.
Two: The choice has made, or the reasons for it, touch upon his past. The past that is largely hidden in shadows, even from her. Something about the decision touches upon old wounds thinly healed, and scars he has no desire to bare to the light of day, not even with her.
She can appreciate the first reason, and respect the second, but she prefers to know what's going on in her first agent and oldest friend's head. It never hurts to be prepared, after all. If nothing else, it means she, or someone else, can be there to soothe any nightmares which might otherwise torment the man.
That's why she seeks him out, after the evening Mass, in the gardens where there are no spies, and no one is listening. Not even Leon, who has already been sent back to his cell. She finds him in a small, sheltered area, leaning against the balustrade, and stands beside him, overlooking the roses in the moonlight. His face is paler than normal, graven with lines that rarely appear on a face that hasn't changed since their first meeting, so many years ago. "Well?"
She knows that he is aware of what she wants to know. The question is a request to speak, but she will not force the confidence from him. They both understand that much. She may be curious, but if he truly fears retribution, or truly cannot bear these wounds, then she will not force the words from him.
She could, she knows that. He would bend to her command, if she made it one. But that is why she will not do so. Abel is too important to her to torment so cruelly by forcing confessions and responses he isn't ready to speak.
In this case, however, he only pauses, considering his words, before he breaks the silence. "They were only children."
She saw the pictures of the 'fairies'. She knows of whom he speaks. "They still did a great deal of harm."
"I know that." One hand clenches on the stone rail, and she wonders what his eyes see. The fairies of Neverland Island, or older memories? "Even so, they were children."
"I understand that." His repetition of the words puzzles her. He knows that she read the file, so why the insistence on that particular point?
"You don't." His words are stark, cold, and harsh, almost dismissive, but underneath them lurks an old pain. Old hurts, and old anger taint his voice, rather than any ill-will toward her. Something from his past, then, some ghost he cannot dismiss, is part of his decision.
"Can you explain it to me?" Knowing now what the impetus is behind his silence and whatever decision he has made, she will tread cautiously, gently, to avoid tearing further the wounds that bleed in his soul.
"Barrie took children and experimented on them. There were seven or eight on the island. More than three times that buried in the caves below it. The supposed 'failures', who couldn't become vampires." Abel's voice is sharp enough to draw blood on its own, and it takes everything she has not to reach out to him. In a mood like this, he won't welcome touch.
He wouldn't hurt her, would never hurt her, but she knows that in a mood such as this, bitterness and anguish make any human contact painful, and touch can increase the risk of flashbacks. She doesn't want that for him.
"What else?" Because there is more, she is certain.
"He hurt them. Not just the experiments. He...the boy Peter said he took special interest in the older girl. The one they called Wendy."
Special interest. She doesn't need any greater explanation than that. She doesn't want to know any more. However much or however little Abel knows of the matter, he doesn't want to say, and she doesn't want to hear. Some things need not be spoken of to be completely, and painfully, understood.
"I...they imprisoned me, briefly, in one of the so-called treatment rooms. Treatment...it was only equipped with metal tables, with leather straps to hold them down. Barrie had drugs, to keep them from being able to fight back. They drugged me, at one point."
He knows, then, exactly how Barrie would have drugged the children, what he used, and he has to have some idea of what was done to them in those rooms. Caterina herself has some idea, but she knows that Abel has seen, lived through, worse than she can imagine. She might wonder how Barrie's atrocities compare to the ones that lurk in his past, if she didn't remember his nightmares. She's seen glimpses of the ghosts in his mind, and she's no desire to know how closely reality has matched with memory in this case.
"I don't have any exact details. I wouldn't have been able to remain in control if I had known." The admission is a stark one, and tells her everything she needs to know about what Barrie did. There are very few things that can push Abel into losing control, and any reason that does not involve him suffering physical harm to the point of near death is the sort of reason that would make most sane individuals violently ill - if not simply violent.
Abel does not take well to any form of injury, abuse, or experimentation that involves children. He can retain his composure to a point, but not even Tres will remain near him if that line is crossed. The Elise Wassmeyer incident is a case in point.
And Leon is not supposed to know about the Crusnik. He's never assigned to a case where Abel might lose his control or activate his powers, for that reason. Unless, of course, they have no other choice.
Abel continues speaking, and she listens, as much for the information he provides as to offer a source of comfort in the darkness his mind wanders through.
"They did what they did to protect themselves. They were afraid of someone like Barrie coming to separate them, to hurt them further. They were trying to defend themselves from grown-ups. People who might torture them, experiment on them, or kill them."
She can sympathize, somewhat. Not that she condones what the fairies of Neverland did, but with this, she is beginning to understand the scant details in Abel's report, and guess what decision he made.
"Barrie had them using a sonic weapon that coordinated their powers. Leon and I destroyed it. With the system gone and the children removed from Barrie's care, they won't cause any more harm."
The pieces click into place. "The 'cargo' you sent to Albion was the children of Neverland Island."
Abel inclines his head in the slightest gesture of assent. They both know he won't actually say that he did so, for the same reason he didn't tell her of his decision while they were in her office. "It's the safest place for them, other than perhaps the Empire."
Sending them to the Empire would have been even more dangerous. And more suspicious, not to mention more expensive. "You think Albion would accept them?"
"I've heard rumors of an Albion Underground. If they were to make it that far, they should be safe there."
His words are vague, but she knows Abel. And knows now that he most certainly sent the vampire children of Neverland to the Albion Underground, to keep them safe from both the Vatican and Barrie.
It was a risky decision, and all the more so because he would have had to convince Leon to help with the initial arrangements, and keep quiet about it later. "They must have made quite an impression on you."
Something tightens in his face, shadows it, and his jaw clenches. "Children don't belong in labs, being used as experiments. Such things should never come to pass."
There's an unspoken 'again', in his voice, and she realizes, with the intuition that comes from long years of knowing Abel, that he's not just referring to whatever Barrie has done. There are ghosts in his eyes, and memories in his voice. Painful ones.
Then he looks away from her, head slightly bowed, face averted. It's a familiar gesture, one that speaks of shame, as well as anger and pain.
There is something about these children that reminds him of himself, of his past, of some old anguish that has never left him. She wonders what he is remembering, what he saw or lived through that has made such a deep and lasting impression that it would affect his decisions nearly a thousand years later.
But that is not a question she will ask. These memories are part of the shadows that fill his history, ghosts of old regrets and deeper torments that she is powerless to ease. She can only hope that, in helping the children of Neverland, Abel has soothed some of his own pain, and given some of the ghosts a chance to rest.
She could say more, ask for more details, but she limits herself to a soft touch on his shoulder. "All right. I'll take care of it."
She is relieved when Abel leans into her hand, and the iron-stiff shoulders relax under her gentle offer of comfort. He is by no means at ease, she understands that well, but at least in speaking to her, they have managed, together, to take some of the weight from his spirit, and soothe the worst of his anguish. The rest will fade and diminish with time.
She'll see the invoice is paid. Officially, there will be a notation about 'docking Father Nightroad's pay' in recompense. In reality, they both know he has access to hidden funds, and some of them will find their way into her personal accounts, to be funneled to her working budget, the next time he descends into the underground tomb.
He has never needed the salary he garners as a priest, and never really been without resources when he travels. It's simply part of the masks they both wear.
"Thank you." He pauses. "I'm sorry."
He's apologizing for causing her trouble, and she shakes her head. "Don't be. I only hope your decision ends well."
For him and for the children, though she'll not say so aloud.
He is her knight in the shadows, his power hidden in the darkness, and his past concealed save for the ghosts of his regrets and sorrows. They both agreed long ago that it was necessary. Even so, she will not have him apologize for the decisions he makes when those ghosts and shadows demand it, any more than she would wish him to feel guilty for the night he saved her life.
They both have choices they must make, not all of them in the light, if they are to find peace. If this choice has brought him some measure of comfort, then it is not one she can fault him for.
Even if she thinks he is a fool to believe she would ever disapprove, or refuse to defend the things he does, as well as the choices he makes to drive the shadows away from the man he has chosen to be.
Author's Note: I was rewatching the series and realized that Abel didn't REALLY forget what he shipped to Albion, and Caterina knows who he REALLY is, so...yeah. And then this just sort of wrote itself from there.