![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: The Lies You Live
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Highlight to read: violence, implications of past torture and sexual abuse, potential triggers for suicidal thoughts and actions.
Notes: This is the extended, higher rated director's cut version of the story, being posted in parts over the next week or so. If you'd prefer not to wait, a complete (non-sexy, rated 15!) version can be found here. Also, there is fabulous art by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skylar0grace here.
Summary: Hunting is in her blood and in her bones, but when Abigail Whistler's path crosses that of a smart-mouthed vampire who seems perfectly happy to die, she's left questioning everything she thought she knew. While her team work to cure Hannibal King of his vampirism with an experimental antivirus, she finds herself warming to their captive in spite of her reservations, and when their actions turn out to have devastating consequences, Abby's loyalties are left torn.
Masterlist: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Part 01: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
The ride back to base was as tense as she could have anticipated. King didn't seem to be in the mood to make any friends, going out of his way to catch Mick's eye just to remind Mick of his existence and piss Mick off even more. Whether that had something to do with the years King had spent with this Danica and it being a hard habit to break or whether it was just a facet of King's normal personality, Abby didn't know and didn't care. The only thing that stopped her from turning a blind eye to Mick's less than subtle shoves and kicks as he fidgeted was the way that the skin around King's eyes tightened every time the silver cuffs dug into his flesh, a sharp little reminder of the fact that King wasn't the only bastard in the truck.
Abby had her own guilt about that, even if King didn't complain about it out loud the way that he felt the need to complain about everything else, from the air conditioning to the admittedly overpowering scent of Mick's cologne.
"No, seriously," King said, widening his eyes comically at Mick, although perhaps Abby was the only one who noticed how watchful his gaze stayed. "Vampires do have a sense of smell, you know, and you're pretty much advertising the fact that you're coming." He paused for a beat, and Abby was familiar enough by now with the rhythms of the way he interacted with the world to know that something else was coming. She wasn't disappointed. "From several blocks away, actually."
"If you don't shut it, I'm going to shove your fucking teeth down your fucking throat," Mick snarled.
"Fangs," offered King helpfully, and flashed them in a smile, just to piss Mick off further.
It worked. Mick pushed himself up, his face contorted in a rictus of fury, and Abby threw out her arm, slamming him back into his seat again before he could launch himself at King.
"Quit it," she snapped, glaring at King. "Or I will let him shove your fangs down your throat." King's expression settled into an apologetic little moue, which was something, even if it was aimed in her direction rather than at Mick.
She ignored it, but she was less inclined to ignore Mick's little smirk of triumph, especially not when he stretched his leg out again and 'accidentally' slammed his steel-toed boot down onto King's bare foot.
King's lips curled up, his fangs exposed again, but she didn't think it was anger this time. Pain, maybe, especially when he drew his feet back, tucking them under his seat as far as he could.
Mick raised his foot again. "Do it and I'll feed you to him," Abby said evenly, and Mick hesitated, his gaze darting between Abby and King before he subsided, settling back into his seat with a grimace.
Abby met Frank's eyes in the rear view mirror. They were cool and assessing, and she dropped her gaze, staring out of the window instead at the unformed darkness outside as it rolled past.
When she finally turned her attention back into the inside of the truck again, King was watching her, his look as assessing as Frank's had been but without the same coolness. There was a small frown creasing his brow, like he was trying to figure her out and failing. She met his eyes calmly and this time he was the one to look away.
"Do you have to fucking fidget?" Mick snapped out, his jaw tense and his knee jiggling up and down as his fingers clenched into a fist. He was glaring at King, the hatred clear in his eyes, and she got it, she really did, no matter what Mick might think. It wasn't easy for her to be this close to a vampire either, not without staking the fucker, and she had considerably less reason to hate them than Mick.
So she didn't snap back at Mick, not this time, but let her thigh press against his for a moment, just a subtle reminder that she was there and that, when push came to shove, she'd be shoving on Mick's side.
Mick pulled his leg back, all the 'fuck you' she needed and more than she wanted, but he was fidgeting as badly as King. His body knocked into hers each time he shuffled around in his seat, making the ache behind her eyeballs worse. She sighed, resisting the urge to rub her forehead, not wanting to show any sign of weakness to these men - any of them.
"The silver's burning him," she said quietly, and Mick let out a short, ugly little laugh.
"Good," he said.
The muscle to one side of King's jaw twitched, but for once he didn't have a smart comeback. Or maybe he did but finally thought better of it. He simply glanced at Abby and then turned his face away, staring out at the darkness, much as she had done. The skin under his eye tightened fractionally, but that - and the constant movement - was the only real sign that his shackles were paining him. Dex shuffled in his seat, next to King's, and Abby switched her attention from King to him, tensing up. Mick she got - he was a hot-headed little shit sometimes - but Dex was so laid back that he was virtually horizontal. If he started on King, she wasn't sure she could stop him.
But Dex didn't seem interested in starting anything. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, crisp and cotton white, holding it out to King like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
"It's clean," he said when King balked for a second, eyeing Dex like he thought the man had lost his mind. "Use it for your wrist, man." When King finally reached out and took it, still eyeing Dex with a look of utter confusion on his face, Dex turned away from him, crossing his ankles and folding his arms and meeting Abby's eyes with a slight shrug and an even slighter smile. "Might help."
Abby returned Dex's smile with a small one of her own, ignoring Mick's soft sound of disgust. She raised her eyebrows at him, and Dex shrugged again, ducking his head to hide his grin.
For once King's silence didn't have that watchful, wary quality she was growing used to. Instead, when she glanced back at him, he looked bewildered, as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. His fingers closed over the handkerchief and his face, when he glanced across at Dex, was unreadable. "Thank you," he said, and it sounded genuine.
He tucked the fabric under the shackle on his right wrist, which seemed to be paining him the worst, hissing and pulling his fingers back when they started to blister. The skin under the metal was black again, blistering and flaking, oozing clear plasma as it tried - and failed - to heal. The sight of it sent another unexpected and unwanted surge of pity through Abby. Quick and clean, no messing. That was how she killed vamps. This slow torture sickened her. She'd like to think it was a vamp thing, but she was old enough to know better, no matter what Frank thought of her naivety.
"Here," she said, leaning forward as far as her seatbelt would let her. She made quick work of it, tucking the fabric underneath the metal cuff until it was as padded as she could get it. She tried not to touch King, but it was impossible to avoid it entirely; his skin was smooth under her quick, impatient fingers, the soft, dark hairs on his arm brushing against her fingertips as she worked. He felt disturbingly human except for being slightly cool to the touch, but then he hadn't fed recently. Maybe if he had, he'd be warmer.
"Thank you," he said again when she'd finished, some of the tension leaching out of his body as the pain in that wrist faded to something he seemed better able to bear. The fingers of his left hand, where the cuff wasn't padded, still flexed and curled, as though moving made the burning in that wrist better rather than worse. Sweat had beaded on his upper lip and there were slight tremors running through him. The sight of it turned her stomach, a mixture of pity and revulsion with a hefty dose of fear thrown into the mix.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mick snarled, startling her and putting her instantly on guard, all of her muscles tensing and the hairs rising on the nape of her neck. "Here." He pulled out a wad of tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket and flung them into King's lap. "Mine aren't clean but what the fuck. If it stops you wriggling like a fucking three-year-old..." He folded his arms, glaring at Abby over the top of them when she raised one eyebrow at him. "Not a fucking word, Whistler."
She turned her head away to hide her smile, leaning in to find a couple of tissues that were at least semi-clean and grimacing as she threw the ones that weren't down into the foot well. It was Mick's turn to clean the truck anyway.
"Thank you," King repeated, staring at Mick like he'd grown another head.
Mick snorted. "What are you? Fucking Canadian?"
King blinked at him. "Yes," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving Mick a quizzical look. "From Vancouver originally."
It was Mick's turn to blink, his mouth hanging half-open. And then he closed it with a snap. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he repeated weakly, wiping his hand tiredly over his face, which left his expression even more hangdog than usual. "Fucking figures." And then he stabbed one finger back in King's direction. "Don't make the mistake that this changes anything, you arsewipe. Still want you fucking dead. Just don't want you fucking fidgeting anymore."
King mouthed Mick's choice of insult, like he was trying out the feel of it, but his mocking was muted. Abby let her eyes track over his face, taking him in, examining his expression for any sign of what was going through his mind. His eyes were tired and his face drawn, as though under all of his insouciance he was exhausted and unable to hide it any longer. As soon as he caught her looking, he turned away again, staring out at the empty streets rolling past. The light from the streetlights they passed ebbed and flowed, a pulsing rhythm that fell upon his face, leaving him looking a little other worldly, something from myth and legend.
"Thank fuck he's shut up," Mick murmured sotto voce beside her and Abby pulled her eyes away from King, turning her attention straight ahead instead, towards their destination.
Her eyes met Frank's in the rear view mirror, and this time she didn't look away.
-o-
Frank must have called ahead because Sommerfield was waiting for them when they pulled up, Velasquez a wordless menace on the steps behind her. How the hell Sommerfield had persuaded the other woman that coming down to meet them when they had a vamp in tow was a good idea, Abby couldn't begin to guess, but Velasquez gave her a noncommittal nod as Abby stepped out of the truck, her broad face giving nothing away. She was armed, at least, her weapon unsheathed and held firmly by her side, ready just in case. And whatever arguments Velasquez may have had with Sommerfield before the rest of the cell rolled up, at least Sommerfield's daughter, Zoë, was firmly out of sight. Abby suspected that Zoë's safety might be the only thing that Sommerfield and Velasquez had actually agreed on.
Sommerfield still had enough smarts and self-preservation not to say anything, waiting with her head inclined, listening intently as the truck doors slammed shut. The sunglasses she wore day in and day out hid her eyes from view and if Abby hadn't already known she was blind, she wouldn't have been able to tell, so focused was Sommerfield on them.
Frank headed towards Sommerfield and Velasquez, casting a warning look back over his shoulder at the field team as he went. His gaze lingered longest on Abby, and she swallowed heavily, the fear of disappointing him a lead weight beneath her ribs.
There was a soft, metallic thump and she turned her head to find King leaning against the truck beside her, his eyes dull as he watched Frank stalk away. He blinked, slowly and sluggishly. It seemed that the truck was the only thing holding him up, which meant that the question Abby needed to focus on right then was whether a vampire running on fumes was more or less dangerous than usual.
"Who's that?" he asked, nodding his head towards Sommerfield. He didn't seem very interested in Abby's answer, so maybe he'd asked just to have something to say. Or maybe he was playing some form of long con. Abby weighed up her options and settled for the truth again. He'd figure some of it out eventually anyway, and it wasn't worth the effort of coming up with some sort of elaborate lie that he'd buy and that she'd be able to keep straight.
"She's the one who's going to cure you," she said.
"Hopefully." He said it as though he wasn't going to be able to believe it until it actually happened. It was probably a smart move on his part. "So is she actually a medical doctor or just someone who got their certificate in the mail?"
"She's a real doctor," Abby said evenly, refusing to either elaborate or get defensive. She suspected that either would be a win for King, and he didn't need to know that Sommerfield's doctorate was in genetics.
"Doctor Mengele," he muttered under his breath. It was a crass comparison from where she stood, but maybe he hadn't intended for her to overhear. Even so, she wasn't going to let it pass, not without smacking him down the way he seemed to need on a regular basis.
"Sommerfield," she corrected. "And, yes," she added when his brows lowered and his lips parted as though he was about to explain who the fuck Mengele was. "I got the reference."
"Ah." He shut his mouth with an audible click, slumping further. "Well far be it from me to put my foot in my mouth..."
If he was inviting sympathy from her, he'd failed. She ignored him, staring across the yard to where Frank and Sommerfield were deep in conversation, Frank occasionally casting a look in their direction. King shifted again, his chains clanking against the paintwork, and Dex was not going to be happy about that. When she glanced across at him, a frown on her face, he'd turned his attention from Sommerfield to her.
"Relax," she said to him, keeping it brief and to the point as she turned back to watch Frank and Sommerfield's conversation. "We're not planning to use you in any experiments you didn't sign up for. We don't need to. We've got centuries of lore on you fuckers."
She caught King moving out of the corner of her eye, and when she glanced back at him, he was nodding his head slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on her. "I appreciate the honesty," he said. For once he didn't sound like he was mocking her, but her frown still deepened. She was irritated more by the fact that he confused her than by his moods being all over the place, but any further comments she might have made were stopped in their tracks when Frank stepped back from Sommerfield, making a peremptory 'come on' gesture in their direction.
"You're up," she said to King, pushing herself away from the truck. "Try not to fuck it up."
She didn't wait to see if he followed her.
-o-
Sommerfield's makeshift lab was always too cold, probably because of the samples she and Velasquez dealt with day in and day out, but that didn't seem to bother King, even though he was wearing nothing but a pair of grubby cargo pants. Maybe that was a vampire thing, or maybe he was just past the point of caring; Abby certainly was. She leaned against the wall, folding her arms so that she mirrored Dex - who'd taken the same stance on the far side of the room - and watched as King took a seat on the examining table Sommerfield waved him towards. His face had settled into a blank mask, only the tight clenching of his fingers on the edge of the table giving his tension away. His eyes scanned the room, taking everything in. Everything but Abby, and she was glad of that. She pulled up her own blank mask in response, but she had a feeling that it was cracking around the edges and even if it wasn't, King's weird golden eyes were alien enough to make her feel like he could see straight through her.
Whatever the outcome of her discussions with Frank, Sommerfield wasn't in the sharing mood. She ignored all of them, moving around her equipment confidently, her fingers steady and sure as they skimmed over the surface of her keyboard and across the neatly labelled vials, picking up the Braille used on both. Abby watched her for a moment, letting Sommerfield's competency sink into her and soothe away things that had been on edge for too many hours.
When she looked back, she met Dex's eyes rather than King's. Dex raised his eyebrow at her, jerking his head towards King and dragging her attention back to him, whether she wanted that or not.
The tension had reached King's shoulders now, and the longer that Sommerfield ignored him, the tenser he was becoming. Abby frowned; she really wasn't in the mood to deal with his shit.
Sommerfield was conferring with Velasquez, heads bent together and with Velasquez throwing the occasional cold and suspicious look in King's direction. King ignored them. He had that thousand yard stare look back in his eyes, unfocused and not seeming to pay any of them any attention, although she knew he'd was aware of everything going on in the room on some level at least.
"Do you know when he last ate?" It took Abby a second to realise that Sommerfield was talking to her, especially as Sommerfield wasn't quite looking in her direction. How the hell should she know? She wasn't King's keeper.
"Still in the room," said King mildly. Sommerfield ignored him, still not quite staring at Abby.
Abby racked her brain for something that could pass as an answer. "He said he'd been down there for more than three weeks." She didn't look to King for confirmation, but he nodded anyway; she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.
"'Bout that. I lose track, sometimes."
He sounded tired, drawn, but Sommerfield didn't show any sympathy for him, simply nodding briskly, her face still turned in Abby's general direction. "He'll need to feed," she said, and King's head rose, the blank look in his eye fading to be replaced with something more wary. And hungry.
"That a good idea?" Dex asked, rising up slightly from his nonchalant slouch against the far wall. Sommerfield turned her head in his direction.
"Well, there are two courses of action. First is that we don't feed him and the virus is weakened, which might give the antivirus a better chance of succeeding. Downside to that one is that he's weakened, too, and he might not make it through it." She shrugged, the gesture weirdly dismissive given that she still hadn't acknowledged King's existence directly. "Selena says he's already wounded?" Hearing her name, Velasquez looked up from the vials she was neatly lining up on one tidy counter.
It took Abby a second to figure out what Sommerfield was asking, and she nodded before remembering that Sommerfield couldn't see her and finding her voice again. "Yes," she said, and it came out hoarse and tired. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Silver."
Velasquez butted in, her brown eyes bright and fierce. "Wounds aren't healing as fast as they should." She didn't sound sorry about it.
That was something Abby had missed - she knew vampires healed, but not how fast - but of course Velasquez would catch it; she'd been an EMT before one of her patients had a vamped out in the back of her unit and killed her partner in front of her. No going back from that, not when no one would believe that it wasn't just a junkie jumped up on PCP.
"Could be the silver," Sommerfield mused. "Or could be the fact that the virus is starving, which, like I said, means it's not as strong as it could be, but then neither is he."
"I have a name," King interjected, his tone still deceptively mild.
"Yes," snapped Abby, her focus all on Sommerfield. "And it's a stupid one." King subsided, the look on his face bordering on sulky. Dex, on the other hand, chuckled softly, his eyes full of mirth when they met Abby's. "What's the second option?" she asked Sommerfield, trying to keep the conversation on track in spite of King's efforts to derail it.
"We feed him, but we also feed the virus."
"You think the second option's better than the first?" Abby didn't know why she was bothering to ask - it wasn't like she had more than a basic understanding of first aid anyway, and it wasn't like she cared.
"Do I get a say in this?" King asked, and his constant butting in - those sharp little reminders that he was there when if she'd been in his position, she'd have stayed as quiet and unobtrusive as possible - were starting to piss her off.
"Sure," she snapped back. "Which do you want to go for?"
Sommerfield raised one eyebrow at her tone and Velasquez hid a smirk, but King simply stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and shocked. And then he swallowed, his expression cracking for a second, a flash of something through his eyes that she recognised; that recognition curdled in her stomach, leaving something close to shame behind.
He was scared. No, he was terrified and trying very hard not to show it, shooting off his mouth and cracking stupid jokes because he had nothing else to hide behind. She'd known vamps felt fear, of course - she'd been the cause of it more than once - but there was something ugly about King's, something fractured and vulnerable as he sat there, clad in nothing but a pair of pants, silver cuffs and false bravado.
He swallowed again, not meeting Abby's eyes for long moments. "Feed," he said eventually, and Dex snorted, the sound making King's shoulders twitch. But King finally looked straight at Abby - at Abby, not at Sommerfield, who couldn't meet his eyes anyway, or Velasquez, who was watching him closely with a mask-like expression of her own. "You've only got one lab rat, right? If she's right," and he gestured at Sommerfield, "and a weak virus means a weak me, you don't want your lab rat dying the first time out." He swallowed again, his fingers dropping to grip the side of the examining table again; Abby didn't think he'd noticed he'd done it.
King nodded to himself, the expression on his face struggling as he thought it through. "But if you feed me and it doesn't work, because the virus is too strong or what the fuck ever, at least you still have the option of chaining me up in the dark and starving me for a month again rather than simply being left with an admittedly good looking corpse." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an all too human sign of nervousness. "Of course, I'd appreciate it if this time you missed out on the silver chains."
Abby had been right - he was smart, very smart. There wasn't much comfort in the realisation.
Sommerfield was nodding slowly, her head finally turned in King's direction as she listened to him. "Those were my thoughts, too," she said, and she sounded intrigued. "There's a risk that if we expose the virus to the antivirus more than once and it doesn't kill it, it will end up developing resistance, but I don't think that's much of a risk first time out, so feeding it is." She turned her head in Velasquez's direction, but the other woman was already moving towards the fridge where they kept their stock of fresh blood, although they usually used it for a different purpose than entertaining vampires. Dealing with the aftermath of entertaining them, maybe.
King watched Velasquez hungrily, trying very hard not to look like he was doing so and failing. His eyes were such a pale gold now they almost looked like they were glowing in the fluorescents overhead. He licked at his lips again, and Abby got the feeling that the move wasn't about nervousness, not this time.
Maybe Dex had seen it too, or maybe it was simply his natural cautiousness, but he straightened up when Velasquez moved within reaching distance of King, holding out the chilled bag of O positive she'd dug out of the cooler, her nose crinkled into an expression of distaste.
King didn't snatch at it, although the muscles around his mouth twitched and his fingers curled like it was a close thing. Instead, he reached out slowly and, once his fingers had wrapped around the bag, he pulled it towards him just as slowly, cradling it to his chest for a moment. Faint tremors were running through his body, and he swallowed again, the sound loud in the sudden silence.
"So, you all just going to stand there and watch me?" he asked, his voice cracking around the edges. "What is this? Feeding time at the zoo?"
"Would you like us to fetch you a cup?" Frank asked from the doorway, his tone dry. The words startled Abby. She'd been so focused on King, she hadn't even realised Frank was there; her inattention hadn't been missed, not if the look in Frank's eyes when they briefly passed over her was any indication.
"Would you, please?" King asked, switching his gaze from the blood bag to Frank. Sweat was beading on his upper lip again, and the tremors running through him were stronger as he fought against the hunger out of simple, pigheaded pride. He'd probably aimed for sarcastic, but if so he'd missed it by a mile. It didn't stop Frank from staring at him down, open challenge in his eyes; unsurprisingly, it was King who looked away first.
Abby's heart didn't quite go out to him, but she'd never been one to pull the wings off flies, not even the stinging, biting kind. That didn't mean she was stupid - she wasn't under any illusions about how Frank saw her. Unlike the rest of their crew she hadn't lost anyone directly to the vamps. The way Frank saw it she had no axe to grind in this fight, no real commitment. And the way Abby saw it she wasn't any braver than King, not when it came to Frank Reilly. The idea that at some point Frank would consider her more trouble than she was worth wasn't one she wanted to entertain.
Velasquez, on the other hand, didn't give a shit, not even about Frank's good opinion. She scooped up an empty mug from the bench - Hedges', judging by the size of it - and stalked towards King, five foot nothing of pure attitude. Dex was still watching alertly, his eyes sharp and dangerous, so different from the normal laidback persona he projected, but Velasquez wasn't stupid either. She kept a close and wary eye on King even as she held her hand out peremptorily, and she didn't stand any closer to him than she had to.
Velasquez's fingers, at least, weren't shaking; Abby couldn't say the same for King's, which were still trembling when he handed the bag over, reluctance in every line on his face. It took long moments for his fingers to slip away from the bag entirely, even after Velasquez had hold of it.
Velasquez waited him out calmly, nothing but a certain tenseness in the firm line of her mouth and her slow careful movements to give away her fear. She stepped back out of reach when she had hold of it, and King jerked, an instinctive move that he reined in before Dex could do more than take a step forward and Velasquez a step back.
His eyes were brighter than they had been, his lips curled back in an unconscious grimace, fangs exposed. Even as Abby watched, her hand slowly moving towards the weapon on her hip, he regained control of himself, his shoulders slumping as he avoided meeting anyone's eyes.
Velasquez waited until she was a long way out of reach before she turned her back on him, and her fingers were finally shaking as she opened the valve. But Velasquez was tough - a hell of a lot tougher than Abby. She simply compressed her mouth into an even tighter line and by the time she turned to face King again, her expression was back to giving nothing away.
King didn't look at anyone. He was back to blank, eyes unfocused and dull again, but he didn't seem to have stopped thinking, or manipulating; when Velasquez hesitated just out of his reach, he slipped his hands, slowly and deliberately, under his legs. There couldn't have been a clearer sign that he wasn't intending to start anything.
Frank shifted in the doorway. When Abby glanced across at him, the movement drawing her attention momentarily away from King, he was watching King thoughtfully. They didn't seem to pleasant thoughts judging by the deep grooves at the sides of his mouth.
King hadn't noticed; he was still sitting stock still, his hands trapped under his bodyweight and his eyes deliberately avoiding Velasquez, who came to a stop just in front of him. She didn't place the cup down next to him. Instead, she held it out to him, just as deliberately, and the hand holding it was rock steady, even if she'd curled the other one into a loose fist that hung by her side.
"Take it," she said, and her voice was as steady as her hand.
King twitched again, still avoiding Velasquez's eyes, the struggle clear on his face. But he seemed unable to resist her - or the siren call of the blood she held - and he worked one hand free, reaching for the cup she held outstretched.
He didn't snatch it this time, either; his fingers closed slowly around it and he waited until Velasquez's grip loosened before he pulled it towards himself.
Velasquez let go and stepped back, watching him with a mingled look of fascination and revulsion on her face. Abby was pretty sure that her expression matched Velasquez's and King didn't miss either of their reactions. When he finally brought the cup to his lips his fingers were gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. It still shook, a droplet of blood escaping to run down the side, and he had to bring his other hand up to steady it, cradling the cup in both hands like a kid as he gulped down the contents, shudders running through his body.
He finally pulled the cup away and wiped at his red-stained mouth with the back of one shaky hand, smearing blood across his cheek. His shoulders hunched up further in the face of their continued silence. It made him seem small when he was anything but - he had a couple of inches on Frank and Frank was an imposing son of a bitch. Making Frank seem short was an achievement.
Abby stayed silent, unable to think of anything to say. Frank had no such compunction.
"Make sure he's strapped down," he told Velasquez, his tone brooking no argument. "Keep the silver on. I want two guards in here at all times, in addition to anyone treating him. If he so much as breathes on you or looks at you funny, shoot him." He waited for Velasquez to acknowledge his orders, a brief nod from the other woman all he needed, and then he looked straight at Abby, jerking his head towards the door in an unmistakeable 'come on' gesture that she'd have been stupid to overlook. And since she wasn't stupid, she followed him, even if she cast one last look back over her shoulder at King as she exited the room.
When she caught up with him, Frank had already caught Mick's attention with another peremptory head jerk, sending him into the room to take Abby's place. It seemed he was deadly serious about two guards at all times.
"Thoughts?" Frank asked as soon as they were out of earshot, and she blinked at him, not quite sure if it was a genuine question or a 'what the hell are you thinking?' Frank tended to the formal, kick ass and gravitas in equal measure; all she could do was take his question at face value. He'd soon let her know if she was wrong.
She gave the question as much consideration as she could, knowing that giving the wrong answer - an ill-considered and ill-articulated one - would piss him off a lot more quickly and a lot more thoroughly than taking her time.
"I don't know if he's genuine," she started slowly, and he snorted. She swallowed nervously, refusing to let him put her off her game. If she could sit in the dark and shoot the shit with a vamp, she'd better be able to cope with Frank Reilly's gimlet eyes and fierce line in straight talk. "I'm not sure it matters at this point. He may not even make it through Sommer's cure."
"But?" he prompted, either because he knew she had more or because he expected her to have more, both of which indicated a margin of respect for her.
"But..." She trailed off for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. "But if he is genuine, he was turned about five years ago, unwillingly." Frank treated her to a slightly impatient look, but she wasn't about to be rushed, not when this could be important.
Although she shouldn't be thinking of King as important.
"He said he picked this Danica up in a bar. So if he went out, then never got home again -"
"Danica? Danica Talos?" Frank interrupted, the intensity in his voice taking her by surprise.
"He said Danica, that's all. I don't know..." Her voice trailed off as she searched Frank's face for some sign of what he wanted from her. "Is it important?"
Frank didn't answer her for a long moment, his face expressionless as he stared off into the distance, the look in his eyes so reminiscent of King's thousand yard stare that it was eerie. And then he came back to himself, rubbing his hand over the greying stubble that was already sprouting on his chin; it was getting late and she doubted that Frank was the only one who looked tired.
"The place we hit wasn't supposed to be a Talos operation," he said heavily. "And Danica Talos is serious fucking bad news. If she's moving into the territory of other clans, that's even worse news."
That was much more information than Frank normally shared with her, and she hesitated, not sure how to take it, whether as a sign of his increased trust in her or simply that Danica's name had taken him by surprise.
He caught her watching him, and his expression settled back into its normal impassive mask, shutting everything down so as not to spook her. She knew why he was doing it, but that didn't make it any less irritating. "Were you thinking missing person report?" he asked, now seemingly simply interested, and subtly steering the conversation back on track. The switch in tone confused her, especially as there might have been something close to approval lurking in his cool blue eyes.
She gathered her thoughts again, focusing before Frank could call her on it. "Maybe it even hit the news. His name isn't exactly common."
Frank nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Why would you think it hit the news? People go missing all of the time." His tone was challenging but not aggressive, but then Frank liked to keep them on their toes.
"He's white, well-educated, from the kind of background where children get named Hannibal and Hephaestion," she said, not even having to think about that part. "I'm thinking that they're the kind of people who get noticed. Probably not poor. Probably not homeless. The kind of people who may have the connections to make a noise when they lose a child."
She stopped abruptly - it was the first time she'd thought of King in those terms. Someone's brother. Someone's child. That he'd had a family, yes, but that his family had also had him...
It wasn't a comfortable thought. King was becoming more and more human to her, more and more real, with each passing moment, and she really didn't want to think about something with fangs in those terms.
Frank was still giving her a piercing look, weighing her up as much as he was weighing up her answers. She gave him her full attention, drawing herself up to her full height and putting the steel in her spine again, meeting his eyes as coolly and calmly as she could. After a moment he nodded, although again she couldn't quite tell if it was in agreement with her or because he'd seen her, really seen her, and for once was satisfied with what he'd seen.
"Talk to Hedges," he said. "He's supposedly all about the research, so let's see if our newbie can earn his keep given he's going to be close to useless in the field."
He stepped away from her, making it very clear from the way he looked at her that he expected her to speak to their newest recruit right about now. She nodded, waiting until he turned away before she let herself lick her dry lips and go in search of Hedges.
She couldn't resist casting one last look into the interior of Sommerfield's lab before she went.
-o-
Hedges had jumped at the chance of something to do, babbling excitedly at her about microfiche and the new field of online newspaper archives until it finally dawned on him that she wasn't paying attention. And then he'd subsided, telling her that he'd have something for her in a couple of days at absolute most.
She nodded in all the right places, hopefully made the right noises and tried not to make her longing for her bed too obvious. She'd swallowed some Tylenol dry, but her head still ached and her eyes were gritty, and Hedges' constant stream of words wasn't helping.
She detoured back to Sommerfield's lab on her way to the shower. Dex and Mick were watching their guest, their body language watchful but not tense; when she stole a brief glance at King, he was flat on his back on the examining table. There were straps around his wrists, just above the gleaming shine of his cuffs, but whoever had tied him down had taken some pity on him at least. They'd left his legs free, and he had one foot flat on the black plastic covering of the couch, his knee cocked as he stared up at the ceiling.
He ignored her and she returned the favour, heading off for her shower in the hopes that it would wash at least some of today's grime away.
It helped a little, but only a little. When it came down to it, the only thing that would help was sleep, and she collapsed gratefully onto her bunk, not even bothering to dry her hair before Morpheus dragged her under.
If she dreamed, she didn't remember.
-o-
Part 03: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Highlight to read: violence, implications of past torture and sexual abuse, potential triggers for suicidal thoughts and actions.
Notes: This is the extended, higher rated director's cut version of the story, being posted in parts over the next week or so. If you'd prefer not to wait, a complete (non-sexy, rated 15!) version can be found here. Also, there is fabulous art by
skylar0grace here.Summary: Hunting is in her blood and in her bones, but when Abigail Whistler's path crosses that of a smart-mouthed vampire who seems perfectly happy to die, she's left questioning everything she thought she knew. While her team work to cure Hannibal King of his vampirism with an experimental antivirus, she finds herself warming to their captive in spite of her reservations, and when their actions turn out to have devastating consequences, Abby's loyalties are left torn.
Masterlist: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Part 01: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
The ride back to base was as tense as she could have anticipated. King didn't seem to be in the mood to make any friends, going out of his way to catch Mick's eye just to remind Mick of his existence and piss Mick off even more. Whether that had something to do with the years King had spent with this Danica and it being a hard habit to break or whether it was just a facet of King's normal personality, Abby didn't know and didn't care. The only thing that stopped her from turning a blind eye to Mick's less than subtle shoves and kicks as he fidgeted was the way that the skin around King's eyes tightened every time the silver cuffs dug into his flesh, a sharp little reminder of the fact that King wasn't the only bastard in the truck.
Abby had her own guilt about that, even if King didn't complain about it out loud the way that he felt the need to complain about everything else, from the air conditioning to the admittedly overpowering scent of Mick's cologne.
"No, seriously," King said, widening his eyes comically at Mick, although perhaps Abby was the only one who noticed how watchful his gaze stayed. "Vampires do have a sense of smell, you know, and you're pretty much advertising the fact that you're coming." He paused for a beat, and Abby was familiar enough by now with the rhythms of the way he interacted with the world to know that something else was coming. She wasn't disappointed. "From several blocks away, actually."
"If you don't shut it, I'm going to shove your fucking teeth down your fucking throat," Mick snarled.
"Fangs," offered King helpfully, and flashed them in a smile, just to piss Mick off further.
It worked. Mick pushed himself up, his face contorted in a rictus of fury, and Abby threw out her arm, slamming him back into his seat again before he could launch himself at King.
"Quit it," she snapped, glaring at King. "Or I will let him shove your fangs down your throat." King's expression settled into an apologetic little moue, which was something, even if it was aimed in her direction rather than at Mick.
She ignored it, but she was less inclined to ignore Mick's little smirk of triumph, especially not when he stretched his leg out again and 'accidentally' slammed his steel-toed boot down onto King's bare foot.
King's lips curled up, his fangs exposed again, but she didn't think it was anger this time. Pain, maybe, especially when he drew his feet back, tucking them under his seat as far as he could.
Mick raised his foot again. "Do it and I'll feed you to him," Abby said evenly, and Mick hesitated, his gaze darting between Abby and King before he subsided, settling back into his seat with a grimace.
Abby met Frank's eyes in the rear view mirror. They were cool and assessing, and she dropped her gaze, staring out of the window instead at the unformed darkness outside as it rolled past.
When she finally turned her attention back into the inside of the truck again, King was watching her, his look as assessing as Frank's had been but without the same coolness. There was a small frown creasing his brow, like he was trying to figure her out and failing. She met his eyes calmly and this time he was the one to look away.
"Do you have to fucking fidget?" Mick snapped out, his jaw tense and his knee jiggling up and down as his fingers clenched into a fist. He was glaring at King, the hatred clear in his eyes, and she got it, she really did, no matter what Mick might think. It wasn't easy for her to be this close to a vampire either, not without staking the fucker, and she had considerably less reason to hate them than Mick.
So she didn't snap back at Mick, not this time, but let her thigh press against his for a moment, just a subtle reminder that she was there and that, when push came to shove, she'd be shoving on Mick's side.
Mick pulled his leg back, all the 'fuck you' she needed and more than she wanted, but he was fidgeting as badly as King. His body knocked into hers each time he shuffled around in his seat, making the ache behind her eyeballs worse. She sighed, resisting the urge to rub her forehead, not wanting to show any sign of weakness to these men - any of them.
"The silver's burning him," she said quietly, and Mick let out a short, ugly little laugh.
"Good," he said.
The muscle to one side of King's jaw twitched, but for once he didn't have a smart comeback. Or maybe he did but finally thought better of it. He simply glanced at Abby and then turned his face away, staring out at the darkness, much as she had done. The skin under his eye tightened fractionally, but that - and the constant movement - was the only real sign that his shackles were paining him. Dex shuffled in his seat, next to King's, and Abby switched her attention from King to him, tensing up. Mick she got - he was a hot-headed little shit sometimes - but Dex was so laid back that he was virtually horizontal. If he started on King, she wasn't sure she could stop him.
But Dex didn't seem interested in starting anything. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, crisp and cotton white, holding it out to King like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
"It's clean," he said when King balked for a second, eyeing Dex like he thought the man had lost his mind. "Use it for your wrist, man." When King finally reached out and took it, still eyeing Dex with a look of utter confusion on his face, Dex turned away from him, crossing his ankles and folding his arms and meeting Abby's eyes with a slight shrug and an even slighter smile. "Might help."
Abby returned Dex's smile with a small one of her own, ignoring Mick's soft sound of disgust. She raised her eyebrows at him, and Dex shrugged again, ducking his head to hide his grin.
For once King's silence didn't have that watchful, wary quality she was growing used to. Instead, when she glanced back at him, he looked bewildered, as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. His fingers closed over the handkerchief and his face, when he glanced across at Dex, was unreadable. "Thank you," he said, and it sounded genuine.
He tucked the fabric under the shackle on his right wrist, which seemed to be paining him the worst, hissing and pulling his fingers back when they started to blister. The skin under the metal was black again, blistering and flaking, oozing clear plasma as it tried - and failed - to heal. The sight of it sent another unexpected and unwanted surge of pity through Abby. Quick and clean, no messing. That was how she killed vamps. This slow torture sickened her. She'd like to think it was a vamp thing, but she was old enough to know better, no matter what Frank thought of her naivety.
"Here," she said, leaning forward as far as her seatbelt would let her. She made quick work of it, tucking the fabric underneath the metal cuff until it was as padded as she could get it. She tried not to touch King, but it was impossible to avoid it entirely; his skin was smooth under her quick, impatient fingers, the soft, dark hairs on his arm brushing against her fingertips as she worked. He felt disturbingly human except for being slightly cool to the touch, but then he hadn't fed recently. Maybe if he had, he'd be warmer.
"Thank you," he said again when she'd finished, some of the tension leaching out of his body as the pain in that wrist faded to something he seemed better able to bear. The fingers of his left hand, where the cuff wasn't padded, still flexed and curled, as though moving made the burning in that wrist better rather than worse. Sweat had beaded on his upper lip and there were slight tremors running through him. The sight of it turned her stomach, a mixture of pity and revulsion with a hefty dose of fear thrown into the mix.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mick snarled, startling her and putting her instantly on guard, all of her muscles tensing and the hairs rising on the nape of her neck. "Here." He pulled out a wad of tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket and flung them into King's lap. "Mine aren't clean but what the fuck. If it stops you wriggling like a fucking three-year-old..." He folded his arms, glaring at Abby over the top of them when she raised one eyebrow at him. "Not a fucking word, Whistler."
She turned her head away to hide her smile, leaning in to find a couple of tissues that were at least semi-clean and grimacing as she threw the ones that weren't down into the foot well. It was Mick's turn to clean the truck anyway.
"Thank you," King repeated, staring at Mick like he'd grown another head.
Mick snorted. "What are you? Fucking Canadian?"
King blinked at him. "Yes," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving Mick a quizzical look. "From Vancouver originally."
It was Mick's turn to blink, his mouth hanging half-open. And then he closed it with a snap. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he repeated weakly, wiping his hand tiredly over his face, which left his expression even more hangdog than usual. "Fucking figures." And then he stabbed one finger back in King's direction. "Don't make the mistake that this changes anything, you arsewipe. Still want you fucking dead. Just don't want you fucking fidgeting anymore."
King mouthed Mick's choice of insult, like he was trying out the feel of it, but his mocking was muted. Abby let her eyes track over his face, taking him in, examining his expression for any sign of what was going through his mind. His eyes were tired and his face drawn, as though under all of his insouciance he was exhausted and unable to hide it any longer. As soon as he caught her looking, he turned away again, staring out at the empty streets rolling past. The light from the streetlights they passed ebbed and flowed, a pulsing rhythm that fell upon his face, leaving him looking a little other worldly, something from myth and legend.
"Thank fuck he's shut up," Mick murmured sotto voce beside her and Abby pulled her eyes away from King, turning her attention straight ahead instead, towards their destination.
Her eyes met Frank's in the rear view mirror, and this time she didn't look away.
-o-
Frank must have called ahead because Sommerfield was waiting for them when they pulled up, Velasquez a wordless menace on the steps behind her. How the hell Sommerfield had persuaded the other woman that coming down to meet them when they had a vamp in tow was a good idea, Abby couldn't begin to guess, but Velasquez gave her a noncommittal nod as Abby stepped out of the truck, her broad face giving nothing away. She was armed, at least, her weapon unsheathed and held firmly by her side, ready just in case. And whatever arguments Velasquez may have had with Sommerfield before the rest of the cell rolled up, at least Sommerfield's daughter, Zoë, was firmly out of sight. Abby suspected that Zoë's safety might be the only thing that Sommerfield and Velasquez had actually agreed on.
Sommerfield still had enough smarts and self-preservation not to say anything, waiting with her head inclined, listening intently as the truck doors slammed shut. The sunglasses she wore day in and day out hid her eyes from view and if Abby hadn't already known she was blind, she wouldn't have been able to tell, so focused was Sommerfield on them.
Frank headed towards Sommerfield and Velasquez, casting a warning look back over his shoulder at the field team as he went. His gaze lingered longest on Abby, and she swallowed heavily, the fear of disappointing him a lead weight beneath her ribs.
There was a soft, metallic thump and she turned her head to find King leaning against the truck beside her, his eyes dull as he watched Frank stalk away. He blinked, slowly and sluggishly. It seemed that the truck was the only thing holding him up, which meant that the question Abby needed to focus on right then was whether a vampire running on fumes was more or less dangerous than usual.
"Who's that?" he asked, nodding his head towards Sommerfield. He didn't seem very interested in Abby's answer, so maybe he'd asked just to have something to say. Or maybe he was playing some form of long con. Abby weighed up her options and settled for the truth again. He'd figure some of it out eventually anyway, and it wasn't worth the effort of coming up with some sort of elaborate lie that he'd buy and that she'd be able to keep straight.
"She's the one who's going to cure you," she said.
"Hopefully." He said it as though he wasn't going to be able to believe it until it actually happened. It was probably a smart move on his part. "So is she actually a medical doctor or just someone who got their certificate in the mail?"
"She's a real doctor," Abby said evenly, refusing to either elaborate or get defensive. She suspected that either would be a win for King, and he didn't need to know that Sommerfield's doctorate was in genetics.
"Doctor Mengele," he muttered under his breath. It was a crass comparison from where she stood, but maybe he hadn't intended for her to overhear. Even so, she wasn't going to let it pass, not without smacking him down the way he seemed to need on a regular basis.
"Sommerfield," she corrected. "And, yes," she added when his brows lowered and his lips parted as though he was about to explain who the fuck Mengele was. "I got the reference."
"Ah." He shut his mouth with an audible click, slumping further. "Well far be it from me to put my foot in my mouth..."
If he was inviting sympathy from her, he'd failed. She ignored him, staring across the yard to where Frank and Sommerfield were deep in conversation, Frank occasionally casting a look in their direction. King shifted again, his chains clanking against the paintwork, and Dex was not going to be happy about that. When she glanced across at him, a frown on her face, he'd turned his attention from Sommerfield to her.
"Relax," she said to him, keeping it brief and to the point as she turned back to watch Frank and Sommerfield's conversation. "We're not planning to use you in any experiments you didn't sign up for. We don't need to. We've got centuries of lore on you fuckers."
She caught King moving out of the corner of her eye, and when she glanced back at him, he was nodding his head slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on her. "I appreciate the honesty," he said. For once he didn't sound like he was mocking her, but her frown still deepened. She was irritated more by the fact that he confused her than by his moods being all over the place, but any further comments she might have made were stopped in their tracks when Frank stepped back from Sommerfield, making a peremptory 'come on' gesture in their direction.
"You're up," she said to King, pushing herself away from the truck. "Try not to fuck it up."
She didn't wait to see if he followed her.
-o-
Sommerfield's makeshift lab was always too cold, probably because of the samples she and Velasquez dealt with day in and day out, but that didn't seem to bother King, even though he was wearing nothing but a pair of grubby cargo pants. Maybe that was a vampire thing, or maybe he was just past the point of caring; Abby certainly was. She leaned against the wall, folding her arms so that she mirrored Dex - who'd taken the same stance on the far side of the room - and watched as King took a seat on the examining table Sommerfield waved him towards. His face had settled into a blank mask, only the tight clenching of his fingers on the edge of the table giving his tension away. His eyes scanned the room, taking everything in. Everything but Abby, and she was glad of that. She pulled up her own blank mask in response, but she had a feeling that it was cracking around the edges and even if it wasn't, King's weird golden eyes were alien enough to make her feel like he could see straight through her.
Whatever the outcome of her discussions with Frank, Sommerfield wasn't in the sharing mood. She ignored all of them, moving around her equipment confidently, her fingers steady and sure as they skimmed over the surface of her keyboard and across the neatly labelled vials, picking up the Braille used on both. Abby watched her for a moment, letting Sommerfield's competency sink into her and soothe away things that had been on edge for too many hours.
When she looked back, she met Dex's eyes rather than King's. Dex raised his eyebrow at her, jerking his head towards King and dragging her attention back to him, whether she wanted that or not.
The tension had reached King's shoulders now, and the longer that Sommerfield ignored him, the tenser he was becoming. Abby frowned; she really wasn't in the mood to deal with his shit.
Sommerfield was conferring with Velasquez, heads bent together and with Velasquez throwing the occasional cold and suspicious look in King's direction. King ignored them. He had that thousand yard stare look back in his eyes, unfocused and not seeming to pay any of them any attention, although she knew he'd was aware of everything going on in the room on some level at least.
"Do you know when he last ate?" It took Abby a second to realise that Sommerfield was talking to her, especially as Sommerfield wasn't quite looking in her direction. How the hell should she know? She wasn't King's keeper.
"Still in the room," said King mildly. Sommerfield ignored him, still not quite staring at Abby.
Abby racked her brain for something that could pass as an answer. "He said he'd been down there for more than three weeks." She didn't look to King for confirmation, but he nodded anyway; she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.
"'Bout that. I lose track, sometimes."
He sounded tired, drawn, but Sommerfield didn't show any sympathy for him, simply nodding briskly, her face still turned in Abby's general direction. "He'll need to feed," she said, and King's head rose, the blank look in his eye fading to be replaced with something more wary. And hungry.
"That a good idea?" Dex asked, rising up slightly from his nonchalant slouch against the far wall. Sommerfield turned her head in his direction.
"Well, there are two courses of action. First is that we don't feed him and the virus is weakened, which might give the antivirus a better chance of succeeding. Downside to that one is that he's weakened, too, and he might not make it through it." She shrugged, the gesture weirdly dismissive given that she still hadn't acknowledged King's existence directly. "Selena says he's already wounded?" Hearing her name, Velasquez looked up from the vials she was neatly lining up on one tidy counter.
It took Abby a second to figure out what Sommerfield was asking, and she nodded before remembering that Sommerfield couldn't see her and finding her voice again. "Yes," she said, and it came out hoarse and tired. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Silver."
Velasquez butted in, her brown eyes bright and fierce. "Wounds aren't healing as fast as they should." She didn't sound sorry about it.
That was something Abby had missed - she knew vampires healed, but not how fast - but of course Velasquez would catch it; she'd been an EMT before one of her patients had a vamped out in the back of her unit and killed her partner in front of her. No going back from that, not when no one would believe that it wasn't just a junkie jumped up on PCP.
"Could be the silver," Sommerfield mused. "Or could be the fact that the virus is starving, which, like I said, means it's not as strong as it could be, but then neither is he."
"I have a name," King interjected, his tone still deceptively mild.
"Yes," snapped Abby, her focus all on Sommerfield. "And it's a stupid one." King subsided, the look on his face bordering on sulky. Dex, on the other hand, chuckled softly, his eyes full of mirth when they met Abby's. "What's the second option?" she asked Sommerfield, trying to keep the conversation on track in spite of King's efforts to derail it.
"We feed him, but we also feed the virus."
"You think the second option's better than the first?" Abby didn't know why she was bothering to ask - it wasn't like she had more than a basic understanding of first aid anyway, and it wasn't like she cared.
"Do I get a say in this?" King asked, and his constant butting in - those sharp little reminders that he was there when if she'd been in his position, she'd have stayed as quiet and unobtrusive as possible - were starting to piss her off.
"Sure," she snapped back. "Which do you want to go for?"
Sommerfield raised one eyebrow at her tone and Velasquez hid a smirk, but King simply stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and shocked. And then he swallowed, his expression cracking for a second, a flash of something through his eyes that she recognised; that recognition curdled in her stomach, leaving something close to shame behind.
He was scared. No, he was terrified and trying very hard not to show it, shooting off his mouth and cracking stupid jokes because he had nothing else to hide behind. She'd known vamps felt fear, of course - she'd been the cause of it more than once - but there was something ugly about King's, something fractured and vulnerable as he sat there, clad in nothing but a pair of pants, silver cuffs and false bravado.
He swallowed again, not meeting Abby's eyes for long moments. "Feed," he said eventually, and Dex snorted, the sound making King's shoulders twitch. But King finally looked straight at Abby - at Abby, not at Sommerfield, who couldn't meet his eyes anyway, or Velasquez, who was watching him closely with a mask-like expression of her own. "You've only got one lab rat, right? If she's right," and he gestured at Sommerfield, "and a weak virus means a weak me, you don't want your lab rat dying the first time out." He swallowed again, his fingers dropping to grip the side of the examining table again; Abby didn't think he'd noticed he'd done it.
King nodded to himself, the expression on his face struggling as he thought it through. "But if you feed me and it doesn't work, because the virus is too strong or what the fuck ever, at least you still have the option of chaining me up in the dark and starving me for a month again rather than simply being left with an admittedly good looking corpse." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an all too human sign of nervousness. "Of course, I'd appreciate it if this time you missed out on the silver chains."
Abby had been right - he was smart, very smart. There wasn't much comfort in the realisation.
Sommerfield was nodding slowly, her head finally turned in King's direction as she listened to him. "Those were my thoughts, too," she said, and she sounded intrigued. "There's a risk that if we expose the virus to the antivirus more than once and it doesn't kill it, it will end up developing resistance, but I don't think that's much of a risk first time out, so feeding it is." She turned her head in Velasquez's direction, but the other woman was already moving towards the fridge where they kept their stock of fresh blood, although they usually used it for a different purpose than entertaining vampires. Dealing with the aftermath of entertaining them, maybe.
King watched Velasquez hungrily, trying very hard not to look like he was doing so and failing. His eyes were such a pale gold now they almost looked like they were glowing in the fluorescents overhead. He licked at his lips again, and Abby got the feeling that the move wasn't about nervousness, not this time.
Maybe Dex had seen it too, or maybe it was simply his natural cautiousness, but he straightened up when Velasquez moved within reaching distance of King, holding out the chilled bag of O positive she'd dug out of the cooler, her nose crinkled into an expression of distaste.
King didn't snatch at it, although the muscles around his mouth twitched and his fingers curled like it was a close thing. Instead, he reached out slowly and, once his fingers had wrapped around the bag, he pulled it towards him just as slowly, cradling it to his chest for a moment. Faint tremors were running through his body, and he swallowed again, the sound loud in the sudden silence.
"So, you all just going to stand there and watch me?" he asked, his voice cracking around the edges. "What is this? Feeding time at the zoo?"
"Would you like us to fetch you a cup?" Frank asked from the doorway, his tone dry. The words startled Abby. She'd been so focused on King, she hadn't even realised Frank was there; her inattention hadn't been missed, not if the look in Frank's eyes when they briefly passed over her was any indication.
"Would you, please?" King asked, switching his gaze from the blood bag to Frank. Sweat was beading on his upper lip again, and the tremors running through him were stronger as he fought against the hunger out of simple, pigheaded pride. He'd probably aimed for sarcastic, but if so he'd missed it by a mile. It didn't stop Frank from staring at him down, open challenge in his eyes; unsurprisingly, it was King who looked away first.
Abby's heart didn't quite go out to him, but she'd never been one to pull the wings off flies, not even the stinging, biting kind. That didn't mean she was stupid - she wasn't under any illusions about how Frank saw her. Unlike the rest of their crew she hadn't lost anyone directly to the vamps. The way Frank saw it she had no axe to grind in this fight, no real commitment. And the way Abby saw it she wasn't any braver than King, not when it came to Frank Reilly. The idea that at some point Frank would consider her more trouble than she was worth wasn't one she wanted to entertain.
Velasquez, on the other hand, didn't give a shit, not even about Frank's good opinion. She scooped up an empty mug from the bench - Hedges', judging by the size of it - and stalked towards King, five foot nothing of pure attitude. Dex was still watching alertly, his eyes sharp and dangerous, so different from the normal laidback persona he projected, but Velasquez wasn't stupid either. She kept a close and wary eye on King even as she held her hand out peremptorily, and she didn't stand any closer to him than she had to.
Velasquez's fingers, at least, weren't shaking; Abby couldn't say the same for King's, which were still trembling when he handed the bag over, reluctance in every line on his face. It took long moments for his fingers to slip away from the bag entirely, even after Velasquez had hold of it.
Velasquez waited him out calmly, nothing but a certain tenseness in the firm line of her mouth and her slow careful movements to give away her fear. She stepped back out of reach when she had hold of it, and King jerked, an instinctive move that he reined in before Dex could do more than take a step forward and Velasquez a step back.
His eyes were brighter than they had been, his lips curled back in an unconscious grimace, fangs exposed. Even as Abby watched, her hand slowly moving towards the weapon on her hip, he regained control of himself, his shoulders slumping as he avoided meeting anyone's eyes.
Velasquez waited until she was a long way out of reach before she turned her back on him, and her fingers were finally shaking as she opened the valve. But Velasquez was tough - a hell of a lot tougher than Abby. She simply compressed her mouth into an even tighter line and by the time she turned to face King again, her expression was back to giving nothing away.
King didn't look at anyone. He was back to blank, eyes unfocused and dull again, but he didn't seem to have stopped thinking, or manipulating; when Velasquez hesitated just out of his reach, he slipped his hands, slowly and deliberately, under his legs. There couldn't have been a clearer sign that he wasn't intending to start anything.
Frank shifted in the doorway. When Abby glanced across at him, the movement drawing her attention momentarily away from King, he was watching King thoughtfully. They didn't seem to pleasant thoughts judging by the deep grooves at the sides of his mouth.
King hadn't noticed; he was still sitting stock still, his hands trapped under his bodyweight and his eyes deliberately avoiding Velasquez, who came to a stop just in front of him. She didn't place the cup down next to him. Instead, she held it out to him, just as deliberately, and the hand holding it was rock steady, even if she'd curled the other one into a loose fist that hung by her side.
"Take it," she said, and her voice was as steady as her hand.
King twitched again, still avoiding Velasquez's eyes, the struggle clear on his face. But he seemed unable to resist her - or the siren call of the blood she held - and he worked one hand free, reaching for the cup she held outstretched.
He didn't snatch it this time, either; his fingers closed slowly around it and he waited until Velasquez's grip loosened before he pulled it towards himself.
Velasquez let go and stepped back, watching him with a mingled look of fascination and revulsion on her face. Abby was pretty sure that her expression matched Velasquez's and King didn't miss either of their reactions. When he finally brought the cup to his lips his fingers were gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. It still shook, a droplet of blood escaping to run down the side, and he had to bring his other hand up to steady it, cradling the cup in both hands like a kid as he gulped down the contents, shudders running through his body.
He finally pulled the cup away and wiped at his red-stained mouth with the back of one shaky hand, smearing blood across his cheek. His shoulders hunched up further in the face of their continued silence. It made him seem small when he was anything but - he had a couple of inches on Frank and Frank was an imposing son of a bitch. Making Frank seem short was an achievement.
Abby stayed silent, unable to think of anything to say. Frank had no such compunction.
"Make sure he's strapped down," he told Velasquez, his tone brooking no argument. "Keep the silver on. I want two guards in here at all times, in addition to anyone treating him. If he so much as breathes on you or looks at you funny, shoot him." He waited for Velasquez to acknowledge his orders, a brief nod from the other woman all he needed, and then he looked straight at Abby, jerking his head towards the door in an unmistakeable 'come on' gesture that she'd have been stupid to overlook. And since she wasn't stupid, she followed him, even if she cast one last look back over her shoulder at King as she exited the room.
When she caught up with him, Frank had already caught Mick's attention with another peremptory head jerk, sending him into the room to take Abby's place. It seemed he was deadly serious about two guards at all times.
"Thoughts?" Frank asked as soon as they were out of earshot, and she blinked at him, not quite sure if it was a genuine question or a 'what the hell are you thinking?' Frank tended to the formal, kick ass and gravitas in equal measure; all she could do was take his question at face value. He'd soon let her know if she was wrong.
She gave the question as much consideration as she could, knowing that giving the wrong answer - an ill-considered and ill-articulated one - would piss him off a lot more quickly and a lot more thoroughly than taking her time.
"I don't know if he's genuine," she started slowly, and he snorted. She swallowed nervously, refusing to let him put her off her game. If she could sit in the dark and shoot the shit with a vamp, she'd better be able to cope with Frank Reilly's gimlet eyes and fierce line in straight talk. "I'm not sure it matters at this point. He may not even make it through Sommer's cure."
"But?" he prompted, either because he knew she had more or because he expected her to have more, both of which indicated a margin of respect for her.
"But..." She trailed off for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. "But if he is genuine, he was turned about five years ago, unwillingly." Frank treated her to a slightly impatient look, but she wasn't about to be rushed, not when this could be important.
Although she shouldn't be thinking of King as important.
"He said he picked this Danica up in a bar. So if he went out, then never got home again -"
"Danica? Danica Talos?" Frank interrupted, the intensity in his voice taking her by surprise.
"He said Danica, that's all. I don't know..." Her voice trailed off as she searched Frank's face for some sign of what he wanted from her. "Is it important?"
Frank didn't answer her for a long moment, his face expressionless as he stared off into the distance, the look in his eyes so reminiscent of King's thousand yard stare that it was eerie. And then he came back to himself, rubbing his hand over the greying stubble that was already sprouting on his chin; it was getting late and she doubted that Frank was the only one who looked tired.
"The place we hit wasn't supposed to be a Talos operation," he said heavily. "And Danica Talos is serious fucking bad news. If she's moving into the territory of other clans, that's even worse news."
That was much more information than Frank normally shared with her, and she hesitated, not sure how to take it, whether as a sign of his increased trust in her or simply that Danica's name had taken him by surprise.
He caught her watching him, and his expression settled back into its normal impassive mask, shutting everything down so as not to spook her. She knew why he was doing it, but that didn't make it any less irritating. "Were you thinking missing person report?" he asked, now seemingly simply interested, and subtly steering the conversation back on track. The switch in tone confused her, especially as there might have been something close to approval lurking in his cool blue eyes.
She gathered her thoughts again, focusing before Frank could call her on it. "Maybe it even hit the news. His name isn't exactly common."
Frank nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Why would you think it hit the news? People go missing all of the time." His tone was challenging but not aggressive, but then Frank liked to keep them on their toes.
"He's white, well-educated, from the kind of background where children get named Hannibal and Hephaestion," she said, not even having to think about that part. "I'm thinking that they're the kind of people who get noticed. Probably not poor. Probably not homeless. The kind of people who may have the connections to make a noise when they lose a child."
She stopped abruptly - it was the first time she'd thought of King in those terms. Someone's brother. Someone's child. That he'd had a family, yes, but that his family had also had him...
It wasn't a comfortable thought. King was becoming more and more human to her, more and more real, with each passing moment, and she really didn't want to think about something with fangs in those terms.
Frank was still giving her a piercing look, weighing her up as much as he was weighing up her answers. She gave him her full attention, drawing herself up to her full height and putting the steel in her spine again, meeting his eyes as coolly and calmly as she could. After a moment he nodded, although again she couldn't quite tell if it was in agreement with her or because he'd seen her, really seen her, and for once was satisfied with what he'd seen.
"Talk to Hedges," he said. "He's supposedly all about the research, so let's see if our newbie can earn his keep given he's going to be close to useless in the field."
He stepped away from her, making it very clear from the way he looked at her that he expected her to speak to their newest recruit right about now. She nodded, waiting until he turned away before she let herself lick her dry lips and go in search of Hedges.
She couldn't resist casting one last look into the interior of Sommerfield's lab before she went.
-o-
Hedges had jumped at the chance of something to do, babbling excitedly at her about microfiche and the new field of online newspaper archives until it finally dawned on him that she wasn't paying attention. And then he'd subsided, telling her that he'd have something for her in a couple of days at absolute most.
She nodded in all the right places, hopefully made the right noises and tried not to make her longing for her bed too obvious. She'd swallowed some Tylenol dry, but her head still ached and her eyes were gritty, and Hedges' constant stream of words wasn't helping.
She detoured back to Sommerfield's lab on her way to the shower. Dex and Mick were watching their guest, their body language watchful but not tense; when she stole a brief glance at King, he was flat on his back on the examining table. There were straps around his wrists, just above the gleaming shine of his cuffs, but whoever had tied him down had taken some pity on him at least. They'd left his legs free, and he had one foot flat on the black plastic covering of the couch, his knee cocked as he stared up at the ceiling.
He ignored her and she returned the favour, heading off for her shower in the hopes that it would wash at least some of today's grime away.
It helped a little, but only a little. When it came down to it, the only thing that would help was sleep, and she collapsed gratefully onto her bunk, not even bothering to dry her hair before Morpheus dragged her under.
If she dreamed, she didn't remember.
-o-
Part 03: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
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I've been writing fic for this pairing since March, and squeeing about them for quite a bit longer, so I'm a little bit surprised that you've only just noticed ::g:: Obviously, I need to squee harder.
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looks like I will have to see this film...
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Also, if you check certain of my tags (including the actor: ryan reynolds one) you may find another goodie or two ::g::
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King blinked at him. "Yes," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving Mick a quizzical look. "From Vancouver originally."
I damn near did a spit take. SO MANY GIGGLES.
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Yeah when you've got me wanting to lecture fictional characters about, uh, reacting in understandable fashion...*g* I'm a little hooked and everything from my first post comment goes double here.
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