![[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 02: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
She slept for around four hours before the alarm on her wristwatch woke her, the strident sound blaring just beneath her ear yanking her, startled and half-panicked, from whatever dark place she'd been.
It was too hot in her room; she kicked the covers off impatiently, her eyes gritty with exhaustion. There was no point in dwelling on it - she needed to check in with her team, make sure that nothing had gone awry since she'd passed out.
Make sure King was still alive for a start.
She dragged her clothes on, combing her fingers impatiently through her hair while avoiding the lump on her scalp that was still tender. Falling into bed with her hair still wet meant that it had dried bushy and unmanageable. She didn't give much of a shit about how she looked normally - she was more of a practical leathers and jeans kind of a girl - but the last thing she wanted to do was walk into Sommerfield's lab looking like she'd simply rolled out of bed, heavy-lidded and debauched. King was bound to make a comment on it and even if he didn't, chances were he'd still see it as some sign of weakness, something to exploit. She had no intention of showing him any chinks in her armour.
She made sure to stop by the kitchen en route, stealing Hedges' cup of freshly brewed coffee on the way. He'd soon learn he needed to move faster around them if he wanted to drink what he made, especially given that they all had cast iron stomachs and asbestos mouths.
The sun had been up for hours, but there was no sign of Frank when she reached Sommerfield's lab, coffee cup still clutched in one hand, although it was mostly empty now. Dex was slouched in the doorway, looking as tired as she felt. She nodded to him before handing him what was left of Hedges' coffee, and he shot her a grateful look, drinking the rest of it down.
"Everything okay?" she asked him quietly, and he shrugged, stifling a yawn.
"Quiet," he murmured back, bringing his hand up to his mouth to hide another yawn. "Hedges make a whole pot?"
Trust Dex to recognise Hedges' hand in the coffee he'd drunk, but then Abby would have made it stronger.
"I think so," she said absently, watching the even rise and fall of King's chest. She couldn't tell if the vampire was asleep or simply faking it, but she wasn't going to step any closer and find out. Not until the caffeine had had a chance to kick in. "He give you any trouble?"
"Wouldn't stop talking," Mick grumbled from across the room. "I notice you didn't bring me any coffee." Abby ignored his complaint, but Dex smirked.
"I think he likes Mick," he said, grinning at Abby when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Kept asking him about England." Mick grimaced and flipped the pair of them off. "Although, to be fair, Mick asked a few pointed questions of his own about Canada."
Mick snorted. "I only asked the once if they fucked moose."
Dex's smirk deepened. "They don't. Beavers on the other hand..."
King stirred and Dex stopped talking immediately, his expression growing sharp as he watched their guest, eagle-eyed, until King had settled back down again.
"He don't look so good," Mick observed, and it startled Abby into actually looking at King instead of simply checking that he was still there and still breathing.
Mick was right - King's face was pale, his brows drawn down into a slight frown. His eyes were closed, either sleeping or dozing. Whichever it was, he wasn't paying them any attention, and didn't seem to have heard Mick's comment.
"I suppose that's to be expected," Abby offered cautiously, and Mick grunted, holding tightly onto whatever grudge he thought he had towards her.
"Well, what the fuck ever," he said. "He's your problem now. I'm hitting the sack. Don't wake me for anything less than an emergency. And I don't count him being a twat as an emergency," he added, nodding towards King as he headed out the door.
Dex chuckled, folding his arms again and leaning back against the wall.
"You want to get some shut-eye?" Abby asked him, keeping her voice low to avoid waking King up, more because she wanted to avoid dealing with him than because she thought he needed his rest.
"Sure," said Dex affably. "You planning on having Frank rip off my balls for leaving you alone with him?"
She wasn't about to let that go without comment. "I think I can cope," she said dryly. "I spent several hours on my own with him yesterday without killing him or myself."
"Still," said Dex, drawing the word out in a way that made it clear he wasn't comfortable with the idea. Abby got where he was coming from - even with King chained up and apparently asleep, Frank's instructions had been clear and he'd had good reason for them. "I'm kind of attached to my balls, you know? I'd like them to remain attached."
She grinned at him, all teeth. Maybe she'd even have come up with a smart rejoinder for him if she hadn't spotted Frank heading towards them. She dug Dex in the ribs with her elbow, gesturing with her head towards Frank.
Frank didn't look any more rested, his face fixed in a slight frown, although with Frank that wasn't unusual.
Dex quirked his mouth up, a brief moment of camaraderie, and then he pushed himself up away from the doorjamb and ambled off after Mick, giving Frank a brief nod of acknowledgement as they passed each other.
Frank, Abby noticed, had liberated his own cup of coffee. He took a sip from it as he gave King the once over, his frown settling more firmly on his face.
"He's asleep," Abby said quietly. She didn't know why she'd felt the need to state the obvious, or to keep her voice low, and when Frank turned his head to look at her, she could feel the blood start to rise to her face. She held his gaze steadily though, not looking away until he did.
Frank still hadn't shaved, and that wasn't like Frank. He must be more worried than she'd thought if he'd headed straight down here before he'd completed his morning rituals.
He stared at King for long moments, the steam from his coffee rising up between them. It was the only sign of movement until he sighed, wiping his other hand tiredly over his face.
"You seen Sommerfield?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
"No," she said. "Haven't seen Velasquez either. Just Mick and Dex when I got here."
Frank frowned again, but it was tired rather than pissed. "Mick?" he queried, and too late Abby realised how it sounded.
"I relieved him," she said steadily. "Just like you relieved Dex."
Frank snorted, sparing her a brief look that was full of a kind of dark amusement. "I'll be sure to let Mick know you had his back," he said, and she looked away, fighting the flush that was all too ready to rise to her face again.
"Sommer's probably getting Zoë's breakfast," she said, more to have something to say than anything else. "Not sure about Velasquez."
Frank nodded, his eyes still firmly fixed on King. Whatever was going on in his mind as he watched the vampire, he didn't seem to be willing to share it with Abby. Eventually he seemed to come to some decision, letting out his breath in a slow sigh.
"You going to be okay with him for a few minutes?"
Abby blinked at him. "On my own?" she asked and then, just in case Frank thought it was concern in her voice, or fear, she added hastily, "I thought you wanted us in pairs?"
Frank turned his head, giving her a searching look, and she did her very best not to let anything he wasn't going to like show on her face. Or even think it - sometimes the man seemed like a fucking mind reader.
"The others in pairs," he said quietly. "You, on the other hand, are considerably less likely to do something stupid." He paused for a moment, giving her another searching look, a much less comfortable one this time around. "You planning on doing anything stupid, Whistler?"
She shook her head, staying mute.
"Good," he said slowly, draining his cup before he put it down on a nearby counter. "I'll go roust Sommerfield from wherever she's hiding." He hesitated, looking at Abby for a long moment, the expression on his face one she couldn't read, and then he nodded again, more to himself than Abby, and headed out the door.
She took a deep breath, slumping against the counter. It dug into her hip, but she didn't move; the slight pain grounded her as she stood there, staring at King and watching him breathe.
Mick had been dead on the money. King's face wasn't just pale. There were small beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his upper lip and, as she watched, his face creased up, pained even in his sleep; it was instinct to glance at one of his wrists, make sure the silver hadn't burned too deeply.
When she looked back, King's eyes were open and he was watching her.
She jumped, banging her hip against the counter as she stumbled and sending a scowl in his direction as the small, sharp pain hit. It didn't work; he simply blinked at her blearily, his eyes muddy and unfocused in the room's dim light. And then he coughed, the sound harsh and wet as it ripped from his throat, making her wince in unwilling sympathy.
She took a step towards him just as he started to struggle against the straps around his wrists. Fucking typical; she was about to take another step closer, already opening her mouth to tell him to quit it, when he coughed again, a harsh, hacking sound that set her teeth on edge.
Blood erupted from his mouth.
She froze, her mind blanking as she watched the blood trickle, dark red and viscous, down his chin. He coughed again, still spluttering, red bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth as he strained to roll over, turn his head, anything. The sound took on a more urgent quality, fierce and frantic, as King fought against the straps that tied him down.
He was choking.
The thought snapped her into action, finally quick and decisive as she swore and darted around the examining table, banging her hip again as she careened into it. It was instinct to aim for the arm he'd been trying to free - it was quicker to work with him rather than against him - but whoever had strapped him down had fastened the buckles tight. She was still struggling when Frank surged through the door with a face like thunder.
"What the fuck? Whistler, have you lost your fucking mind?"
She ignored him, all of her attention focused on King. She wasn't even sure it was possible for him to choke to death, but what she did know was that there was no way in hell King was faking this one and with Frank in the doorway, there was no way he was getting out even if he was.
The strap finally came loose and King rolled onto his side, still making those god-awful choking, rasping sounds as he struggled for breath. Frank took two steps forward, fire in his eyes and his gaze fixed on Abby.
It was the wrong move - two steps forward brought him in reach of the table King was on, and King finally stopped choking, vomiting up hours old blood all over the floor and splattering Frank's shoes.
Frank jumped back out of the way, his hands raised, and then his eyes found Abby again.
"He was choking," she said, her tone short as she moved around the table, keeping a way eye on King as she went. He was panting for breath, fingers curled into a fist near his stomach. The blood had coated his chin, turning his face into a macabre mask, his skin pale and sweaty above the rust coloured streaks and his eyes tightly closed.
"He's a vampire," Frank said. "He can't choke." His voice was tight with a kind of controlled fury, ice-cold and terrifying. It was far enough out of character for Frank that it might have worked on her under other circumstances, but right then there was something suspiciously like pity curling in her chest for someone who shouldn't deserve it.
"What's going on?" Sommerfield's voice was sharp as she came to a halt in the doorway. "Anyone care to explain, seeing as he's my patient?"
Frank glanced over at Sommerfield, his face twisting into a frustrated expression, although his frustration wasn't aimed at Sommerfield. "Your 'patient' has just thrown up over my goddamned shoes and Whistler seems to have developed a death wish."
Sommerfield frowned, her nose crinkling, although whether that was due to Frank's explanation or the scent of stale blood finally hitting her nostrils, Abby couldn't tell. The smell was certainly doing unpleasant things to her stomach.
"Strap him down again." Abby snapped back to herself, meeting Frank's eyes, which were hard and uncompromising. His voice was silkily dangerous as he repeated, "Strap him back down again, Whistler."
"Somebody want to fill me in?" Sommerfield's tone was even sharper now, filled with undercurrents of fear and tension. "He's free?"
King had curled up, his face ghastly white and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wasn't making any attempt to further free himself - the more dealings that Abby had with him, the more sure she was that she'd been right about him not being stupid. He was giving absolutely no sign that he was a threat. Deliberately so.
She turned back to Sommerfield, avoiding looking at Frank. She didn't need to, not when she was hyperaware of him, all of the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. "One hand," she explained, trying to soothe the other woman's fear, something Frank didn't seem inclined to do right then. "Just one hand, Sommer." She met Frank's eyes briefly, and some of her defiance must have shown on her face or come through in her body language because Frank straightened up, his expression growing ominous. She'd seen that look in the field often enough to recognise it, although it was usually aimed at the vampires rather than his own team. "He was choking on his own vomit."
"Vampires can't choke," Frank repeated, and his eyes never left Abby's face, cold and angry in a way that sent a shiver through her. She'd faced down vamps more than once, but there was something more terrifying about Frank's all too human rage, not least because while Frank could be cold, he was normally calm.
"Cite your source," Sommerfield snapped, moving closer, and Frank blinked, the spell he had over Abby wavering as he shot a look in Sommerfield's direction. "Ever try it, Frank?"
"Danica did." King's voice was quiet, blurred and indistinct. "'s not fun." His eyes were finally open, but they weren't focusing on anyone. Instead he simply stared into space and the look in his eyes was a familiar one. She'd seen it more than once in the faces of those that came through the door after their lives had been ripped apart by something from twisted fairytales: the lost, the dispossessed. The broken.
She shivered.
Frank was still glaring at her, but it lacked his earlier heat and he wasn't making any move to strap King back down - although that could have been because he needed to make her do it or because he didn't want to touch King any more than necessary. She hadn't a clue which and she was rapidly passing the point of caring. There was only so much fear her body could cope with, so much adrenaline it could pump out to keep her going, and the events of the day before had exhausted her reserves. She took two steps towards the door, and Frank's hand jerked up to catch her before he caught himself instead and let it drop by his side.
"Hedges," she yelled through the open doorway. "Get your ass in here."
And then she turned back to meet Frank's eyes again - the look in them might have been disappointed, but right then it was better than meeting the empty look in King's.
"What?" Hedges hove into view, coming to a skidding stop in the doorway, his eyes wide and his expression half-panicked. "Jesus!" he said, taking in the sight of the blood splattering the floor and masking King's face. He swallowed, his face paling.
"We need chains. Hedges." She snapped his name out when he didn't respond, his eyes still fixed on the pool of blood by the examining table. "Chains."
He swallowed again, dragging his eyes away and meeting Abby's. "Okay. Okay. What...? How long and...?"
She held back the sigh that wanted out; he was new and he was nervous and God knew the rest of them weren't dealing with this whole situation much better than he was.
"Long enough so he can lie on his side. Strong enough so he can't break it. Secure enough that he can't unfasten it. Got it?" Hedges nodded, his eyes fixed on her face like keeping his attention on her was the only way he was going to get through it. "Go."
He went, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.
She'd half expected King to come back with some snappy comment, something about him not being Houdini, but he stayed silent. When she turned to look at him again, his eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth, each breath so small and shallow that for a second, until she caught the sound of the next one, she half-thought he was dead.
"That's your plan?" Frank asked calmly, and oddly the calmness of it sent her hackles rising again, putting her on the defensive.
"You got a better one?"
She knew the words were a mistake as soon as they were out of her mouth, and winced, not missing the way that Frank's head raised like a vampire scenting blood. She took a deep breath - through her mouth so that she couldn't smell the blood, but the thick miasma of it still coated her tongue, metallic and sharp, leaving her feeling nauseous.
Maybe she could blame yesterday's blow to the head for her current lack of a survival instinct - in dealing with King and Frank, both.
"We don't know if he can choke to death," she said, aiming for a tone that was slightly more appeasing and slightly less fuck you. She wasn't sure she hit it, judging by the way that Frank's eyebrows were making a break for his hairline, but she persevered. It wasn't Frank she was irritated with, not really. "But I don't want to go out and find another vampire, and I'm pretty sure Sommerfield would prefer it if her experiment didn't die half way through. Not if we can help it."
Frank treated her to a long, steady look, one that was no less dangerous than any of the others that had preceded it, but that at least didn't hold any threat of immediate consequences. He had a long memory, though. She'd never pegged him as a vindictive man - harsh, yes, but not the kind to be petty and cruel - but he didn't take any shit from his team, and she'd pretty much been giving him nothing but shit the last couple of days.
After this was over, she might need to find another cell to work with, and wouldn't her father be pleased about that level of fuck-up?
"Jesus!" Velasquez stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her much as Hedges had, but unlike Hedges she didn't freeze. Instead, her mouth firmed up and her eyes narrowed, and if she hesitated, it was only briefly before she moved into the room. "What do you need?"
Velasquez aimed her question at Abby and Frank didn't miss that. His expression tightened, but that was the extent of his visible reaction. He certainly didn't step up to the plate; instead he took a step back, folding his arms and watching Abby over the top of them.
He wasn't glaring at her now; his face was impassive, unreadable, only the cool light in his eyes giving away the fact that he wasn't as unmoved or immovable as he seemed.
Abby took a deep breath, her mind moving quickly, sorting through her options. Velasquez was older, more experienced - giving her orders, or even instructions, didn't sit right with Abby.
"Maybe we could clean up?" she suggested tentatively and Frank huffed out a sharp, impatient breath.
"You're the one who set this in motion, Whistler," he barked, and his bark was worse than his bite. "Don't ask - damn well tell."
"That include you?" she shot back before she could think better of it, and Frank's brows lowered, his expression heading towards bleakly amused.
"You think you can get me to do what you want me to do, girl, you go for it."
She bristled at the 'girl', but she reined her irritation in, letting it spike briefly and then letting it go. Frank had thirty-odd years on her - losing her temper now would be a damned good way of demonstrating that she really was too young for this.
Instead of giving him the reaction he was watching and waiting for, she simply nodded. "If I can think of a use for you, I'll be sure to let you know," she said coolly, and this time the bark of laughter he let out was genuine.
"I'm sure you will, Whistler," he said, and there was a reluctant kind of respect in his voice. "But since you seem to have it all under control, I'm going to leave you to it." He lifted his chin, staring her down, and she looked away, a brief moment of weakness, just like he expected.
It only took her a moment to look back, and there was a dry little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. But for once Frank seemed willing to let it go. He stepped closer to King, leaning down until his face was barely inches from King. "If you fuck this up," he said, voice low and full of menace, turning it on easily now that he was speaking to a vampire instead of Abby, "I'm going to fuck you up."
King blinked at him blearily. "You might wanna step back," he slurred, the words slipping and sliding into each other. "No, seriously. Step the fuck back." He grimaced, his hand dropping and his fingers curling against his stomach. "Now!"
Frank straightened up, his face settling into lines of stone cold fury, but King jerked, his body convulsing as it expelled what was left of his meal.
This time he didn't miss Frank's shoes.
"Shit," King groaned, curling up on himself, blood dripping from his chin. "I really don't feel so good..."
Frank stepped back, the muscle in his jaw twitching. But - as always - he was in control of himself. "He so much as moves," he said, and the words were bitten out, one by one, not snarled and not shouted. "You shoot him." He leaned in towards King again, waiting until the vampire locked eyes with him. "You get that?"
"I got it."
King's voice was thready and weak, but it didn't stop him from flipping Frank off defiantly as soon as Frank turned his back on him and headed towards the door. Abby raised one eyebrow at him, and King lowered his finger sullenly.
"In my defence," he said, "I did warn him. Is it my fault he didn't listen?" She continued to stare him down, but he didn't seem to care, rapidly losing interest in her as he curled up into an even smaller ball, shivering. "I really don't feel so good," he murmured softly, and Abby rubbed tiredly at her face.
"Well," said Velasquez flatly. "I'll clean the floor - won't be the first time I've cleaned up some asshole's puke - but I'm not going anywhere near those fucking fangs of his, got it?"
She got it, and Velasquez was right. There was no point in taking stupid risks.
Hedges reappeared in the doorway, clutching a length of chain like his life depended on it. "I... um..." He held it out, like Abby was supposed to do something with it.
"Have we got something to weld it to his cuffs with?" He nodded, eyeing her like a rabbit in headlights. "Well?"
He blinked. "Oh. Right," he stuttered and she squeezed her eyes shut, holding onto her precarious temper with an effort. When she opened them again, Hedges was on his way out of the door, his hands flapping nervously by his side.
King was shivering more violently now, the tremors running through his body. She sighed again.
"Hey, Hedges," she bellowed out of the door, hoping like hell he heard it, "Fetch a blanket, too."
-o-
Abby suspected that Frank spent the next few days avoiding her, although he gave a damned good impression of simply being busy. He wasn't sharing busy with what, at least not with Abby, but then Frank had always kept his own counsel. But he took Dex and Mick on a couple of jobs, leaving Abby behind, and it hurt more than she expected.
There was no point in tackling Frank about it. He'd simply look her straight in the eye and ask her if she hadn't got something better to do than whining.
She barely saw Dex and Mick. Even when they were back at base, they were either sleeping or watching King. Mostly, in Mick's case, they were sleeping, which meant that the bulk of babysitting fell onto Abby and Velasquez. As jobs went, it wasn't a hard task, just a thankless one. King spent most of his time asleep and when he was awake he got a little less coherent with each passing hour as the fever raged through his body.
Abby grew used to him muttering in his sleep, and the way that his face creased and his fingers jerked as he dreamed. She studied him sometimes in the still of the night while Velasquez drew blood from him or made notes for Sommerfield on the computer. In the abstract - ignoring the pale skin, pale eyes and fangs - he was good looking - well-muscled but lean with it, with a symmetrical and attractive face - but that wasn't what fascinated her about him. It was what was going on inside his head that she was most curious about, that and the fact that so much of it seemed to show on his face.
Sometimes she lingered longer than she needed to, but if the others noticed, they didn't call her on it. Maybe they all felt the same combination of fascination and revulsion; it wasn't like they often got a chance to spend some quality time with vamps before they killed them.
When she reached the lab on the fourth evening after they'd captured him, her hair still damp from her shower and a cup of coffee - liberated from Hedges again - clutched in her hand, there was no sign of Sommerfield. Velasquez was alone, leaning against the counter, her face blank with tiredness.
Abby stopped in the doorway, eyeing the room warily.
"What's up?"
Velasquez jerked her head up, blinking at her. "Oh, hey. Nothing much." She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Our house guest's pretty much slept all day. Hasn't been any trouble."
"You're on your own?"
Velasquez pulled a face. "Mick was supposed to be with me. But he fucking flaked on me a couple hours ago. Frank finds out, his ass will be grass." She gave Abby a sharp look. "I won't be mentioning it."
That was pretty typical of Mick as far as Abby was concerned. She put her cup down on the counter, not bothering to hide her irritation. "He's an idiot," she said.
Velasquez shrugged. "Get no argument from me 'bout that," she said genially. "And you know what Frank says. If you're stupid -"
"You're dead," Abby completed with a smile.
Velasquez grinned at her, before eyeing Abby's mostly full cup greedily. Abby sighed, pushing it over. "Thanks, hon." She took a deep gulp of coffee, appreciation for the bitter taste clear on her face, and then added, seemingly at random, "Mick's been out with Frank."
"Mick's been out with Frank on a couple of cake walks."
Velasquez watched her over the rim of her cup, her face carefully bland. "Not the way Mick tells it."
Abby bit back on her irritation - and her resentment at being kept out of the field while Mick got to play - with an effort, glancing across at King so that she didn't have to look at Velasquez until she'd regained control of her temper. He was curled up on his side again, his right hand still strapped down and his left tucked under his chin. He looked almost peaceful, although the chain dangling down off the side of the bed didn't fit with that impression.
"But Dex is still pulling his weight?" she asked.
"Dex is the driver," Velasquez answered mildly. "According to Mick, Dex sits on his ass, waiting for the real work to be done. And you don't have to tell me," she shot out before Abby could do more than draw down her eyebrows and open her mouth. "I know. Mick can be an ass, God love him. But it comes from a place of insecurity."
Abby simply stared at her.
"He has a tiny penis," Velasquez explained, but she couldn't keep a straight face and the final words dissolved into laughter.
Abby's mouth turned up in a reluctant grin. "You speaking from experience?"
"Hell, no. I'm far too much woman for him, and he's nowhere near woman enough for me."
Abby finally gave in and laughed, hiding the sound behind her hand and shooting a slightly guilty look at King, worried about waking him.
"Pretty sure that one will sleep until he's dead," Velasquez said, her tone shrewd as she watched Abby closely.
"How's he doing?"
Velasquez shrugged, the move turning into another yawn. "Viral load's down," she said.
"That's a good sign, right?"
"Sure. As long as it doesn't rally again." Velasquez hesitated, still eyeing Abby too closely for comfort. "He's not your responsibility, you know?"
She wished Velasquez hadn't taken her coffee. It would have given her something to hold, something to focus on other than Velasquez's piercing gaze.
"I don't think that," she said, and it sounded weak even to her.
"Sure you don't, honey." But Velasquez didn't seem to be interested in pursuing it now that she'd made her point. Instead, she simply drained the coffee cup and set it back down on the counter. "Need me to roust Mick out wherever the hell he's hiding for you and get him to do some actual work for a change?"
"You'd better, or Frank really will have his ass." Abby scowled for a second. "Or I will."
"Better you than me, Whistler." Velasquez smirked at Abby's disgusted face and flipped a wave at her as she headed out the door.
That left her alone with King.
She caught herself staring at him again, and dragged her attention away, flushing even though there was no one there to see it. Velasquez had left Sommerfield's computer on - it was humming quietly in the corner - and she wandered over to it, scrolling through the notes that Velasquez had left just to have something productive to do. It didn't help much; she only understood five words out of every ten and King was right there and far more interesting.
She gave up, propping her chin in her hand and watching him sleep, trying - once again - to figure out what was going through his mind. He was twitching in his sleep again, his face furrowed and his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids, like he was caught in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. But it wasn't just some weird kind of compassion that finally had her pushing her chair back and heading towards him; four days of inactivity had left her bored and restless, and at least if he was awake he might want to talk to her.
She'd only taken a couple of steps towards him when he jerked upright, his body twisting as the strap around his right wrist held him down. He was making these sounds, awful gulping, gasping sounds, like he couldn't catch his breath, couldn't do anything but panic. Each time he panted out, there was a moaning edge to the sound that went right through her, making her skin prickle as though something with claws was crawling up her spine. He flailed at the strap, trying to unfasten it with his free hand, the one with nothing but a cuff and chain to hold it down, and she bolted the last few steps, heart pounding and her mouth already dry with adrenaline.
By the time she'd reached him, he'd given up on that and was tearing at his free wrist with his teeth; this close, she could smell the skin of his lips burning and she shouldn't be able to, shouldn't have that scent hitting the back of her throat. It shouldn't be that strong, strong enough to have saliva flood her mouth, sickly sweet as though she was going to join him in hurling on the floor.
She grabbed his forearm, dragging it away from his mouth, half-panicked that he was going to tear his wrist open to feed on himself, and the rest panicked that he was going to turn on her, tear her fucking throat open. She didn't reach for her gun - she couldn't, not when she needed both hands to wrestle his arm down and not when it would be child's play for him to take it off her when they were this close. But she shouted, so hard and so fierce that her throat hurt with it; what she didn't know, but she needed someone, anyone's attention.
The burning smell hadn't been King's mouth, although his lips were swollen and blistered, blood smearing them. It had come from his wrist, where the silver had burnt through his flesh so deeply that she could see bone, whatever padding they'd used having slipped free as he'd tossed and turned in his sleep.
He was still fighting her, his body convulsing as he tried in vain to shake the cuff free, but it wasn't going to work, not with it so deeply embedded. "Hold still," she yelled, her fingers frantically scrabbling for a grip on the metal. "King, just hold still, okay?"
His struggles slowed as he stared up at her, his face white with shock and his eyes bright and fever glazed, but starting to turn back to brown now, not glowing gold. "Just hold still," she said more quietly, and her voice was shaking as she finally, finally managed to grab hold. And then she was pulling it free, the cuff sliding away from his flesh with the kind of wet, sucking sound she was going to be hearing in her dreams for days to come.
"Okay, okay, I got it. Just..."
Her hands were shaking too as she stared down into the wound, and the cuff was knocking against his flesh as she struggled to hold it so that it didn't touch any part of him. Soft puffs of smoke rose from his skin whenever her grip slipped, but he didn't fight her, not now.
"I got it," she repeated, holding onto the words like a mantra. "Just hold still."
"What the hell?"
It was Mick's voice, high pitched and stressed, but she didn't turn around, all of her focus on King. "I need bolt-cutters," she snapped. "And Velasquez."
"Velasquez's gone to get some sleep."
"So wake her up!"
The words came out shrill and panicked, and Mick's steps receded rapidly, whether to do as she asked or to go find Frank Reilly she didn't know and didn't care. Her world had narrowed down to one thing - King.
He was staring up at her like she was his fucking saviour or something, eyes focused on her and lips parted as he struggled to control the pain.
"Hurts," he gasped, and the sound was raw and liquid.
"I know. I know. Just... just hold on, okay?"
He blinked up at her and then licked his lips. His eyes were still too light and flecked with gold, but the look in them was all too human.
"Okay," he murmured and swallowed, struggling to regain control of himself. "How bad?"
She licked at her own lips, echoing his move and realising too late that it gave away the fact that she was about to lie her ass off. "I've seen worse," she said weakly. "And you'll heal."
"I hope so," he said, and his body was trembling where it pressed up against hers. "That's my jerking off hand." And then he swallowed, visibly banking down the panic. "I can't move my fingers. Which, you know. Sucks."
"It's... it's deep," she said. "Tendon damage, maybe. But you're not going to lose your hand, and even if you did, vampires grow limbs back, right? Like newts?"
"Sure." He swallowed again. "Less slimy, though."
"That's a matter of opinion."
That shook a laugh out of him, and when it cracked around the edges she pretended not to notice. Instead, she cradled his arm more closely to her body, supporting it as she yelled over her shoulder, "Mick! Where the hell are you?"
"Hold your bloody horses," Mick's voice echoed behind her. "I'm here, all right?"
He was, and for once he'd listened to her. He had a pair of bolt-cutters dangling from one hand, although he was making no attempt to move any closer.
"Okay," she said, positioning herself so that she was as out of the way as she could get and still keep the cuff from contacting King's skin any more than necessary. "You'll need to cut it in two places..."
"Are you fucking mental?" Mick spat the words out, fast and furious. "No way am I letting him go. How about I use them on his fucking neck instead?"
"How about I use them on your balls?" she hurled back. "Assuming you can find them."
He scowled at her, the expression ugly and feral on his face, but before he could reply, Velasquez hurtled through the doorway, her eyes heavy-lidded and her hair wild. Frank was hot on her heels.
"Jesus," said Velasquez as she took in the sight before her. She thinned her lips, moving around the other side of the bed so that she could get a good look at King's wound.
"Anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?" Frank cut to the chase as usual.
"The cuffs need to come off," Velasquez said briskly. Abby shot her a grateful look, but Velasquez ignored her. "Now would be good, before it eats all the way through his wrist." Velasquez looked up, meeting Frank's eyes and, whatever wordless exchange took place, Frank huffed out a breath, reaching across to snatch the bolt-cutters from Mick.
Mick gave them up without a fight, although he did stare at Frank, open-mouthed, for a moment before his jaw slapped shut. He took a step back, folding his arms and glaring at all and sundry over the top of them, but given that he wasn't in a position to be an ass any more, Abby dismissed him from her thoughts and turned her attention back to King.
"Okay," said Frank. "You're going to have to give me some room to move, Whistler. Up or down - your choice."
She couldn't figure out what he meant, not at first. Not until she compared the depth of the bolt-cutter blades against the thickness of the cuffs. She caught her lip between her teeth, considering her options for a split second before she turned King's arm over, pressing the back of it down against the top of the table.
It pushed the cuff against his skin, trapping the silver between his flesh and the table, and he yelped out a high-pitched "Fuck me!" that had her wincing in sympathy. But it gave Frank room to manoeuvre, catching the top of the cuff between the blades and snapping it in two places so that Velasquez could pull them apart and away.
King was panting heavily as he pulled his wrist back, cradling it against his chest as he let out soft, pained gasps. Velasquez pulled on some surgical gloves but when she reached for his arm, he jerked away from her, his face white and drawn and the look in his eyes shell-shocked. Abby reached for him, running on instinct now, and he let her catch hold of his forearm and gently ease it down so that Velasquez could examine it.
"Anyone want to tell me what happened?" Frank asked as he shoved the bolt-cutters in Mick's direction again. Mick took them with a scowl.
"What's to understand?" King bit back on a moan as Velasquez's fingers poked at his wound, a little less gently than she may have done had he been human. "Fire burns, so does silver." It seemed that King was back to being a sarcastic pain in the ass, even if each word was bitten out, his face tight with pain.
Frank straightened up, managing to loom over King without taking a step closer.
"Fine," King said, flinching again as Velasquez continued to poke and prod, and avoiding Frank's eyes. She could understand why when he was still strapped down by one wrist, forcing him into a supine position, driving home just how vulnerable he was. He still looked shocky, paler even than his vampire nature could account for, and there was an unpleasant grey pallor to his skin, shock or sickness or both. "I woke up to find my wrist on fire."
"And it just woke you up? You didn't notice until it was halfway through your wrist?" Frank sounded dubious, and when he put it like that, Abby couldn't blame him for having doubts.
King tried to shrug, one shouldered, but that was obviously a mistake; he froze halfway through the movement, pulling his injured wrist closer to his chest. "I was asleep," he said, and he sounded deflated now, obviously struggling, as though he'd used up all of his energy being sarcastic in Frank's general direction. "I don't..."
"We keep him sedated," Velasquez interrupted quietly, and King's expression stilled, the look in his eyes telling Abby clearly that he hadn't known that. It left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable, despite the fact that keeping him sedated made sense.
"Do you think you could not do that?" King asked, not looking at Velasquez and avoiding Abby's eyes, too. "Or at least, you know, take the fucking silver off first."
"Do we still need the silver?" Abby asked quietly, directing her question at Velasquez, who might be reasonable about it, instead of Frank, who wouldn't, not when it came to the perceived safety of his team. "Given that you said his... viral load was dropping, so it may not even be effective for much longer?"
Velasquez looked straight at Frank, biting at her bottom lip as she mulled it over. And then she shrugged, a move she pulled off far more effectively than King had.
"Fine," Frank bit out tersely, gesturing at Mick to hand the bolt-cutters over again. He made short work of the other cuff; Dex's handkerchief fluttered to the ground, job done. Somehow Abby didn't think he'd want it back.
Once the silver had gone, the tension finally eased out of King, leaving him boneless and hollow-eyed on the bed. It drove home to Abby just how on edge he'd been, at least while awake. In spite of his obvious pain, his eyes were slowly drifting shut, the exhaustion or sedation dragging him down again. He was fighting it every step of the way, but he was losing.
"Whistler..." Frank's voice gave nothing of what he was thinking away, but when Abby looked up at him, he nodded his head towards the door. When he was sure she'd got the message, he jerked his chin at Velasquez.
"Sedated or not," he said, "you keep him strapped down."
Velasquez tipped him a salute, but King tensed up again, his eyes flying open and fixing on Frank. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something - argue or beg, and either looked likely - but as she watched, the animation drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaky. He pulled his arm into his body, cradling it protectively as though that was going to be enough to stop Mick and Velasquez from tying him down again, and his expression was resigned.
It sent another unwelcome surge of sympathy for him through her, tightening in her throat. In a moment of weakness, she let her fingers come to rest his arm. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, as though he was going to care one way or the other. As though she was going to be any less wary or any gentler with him than her team mates.
The fact that he actually looked grateful left a sour taste in her mouth. Her fingers slipped away from his skin and she followed after Frank silently.
Frank was waiting for her out of sight and out of earshot. She figured that she was in for an ass-kicking given the stupid risk she'd taken. Frank was not a fan of stupid risks, but Frank also liked to have the element of surprise on his side. "Hedges has found something," he said, gesturing towards Hedges' little cubby hole, leaving her off-balance and struggling for something to say, the words of apology she was busy pulling together dying on her lips.
Hedges wasn't expecting them judging by the way that Frank's arrival flustered him, but maybe that was simply the effect that Frank had on him all of the time; Abby didn't know Hedges well enough yet to be able to tell.
Frank wasn't in a cooperative mood. He simply leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching Hedges hawkishly and not elaborating on whatever it was that he wanted Hedges to share. That left Hedges' eyes darting between the pair of them, clearing his throat nervously.
Abby felt some sympathy for him. Frank was difficult to get used to the best of times, and since they'd taken King on board, Frank had not been at his best. "What have you got?" she asked, not missing the way that Hedges' eyes darted towards Frank again before he answered her.
"Well, it turns out that none of the newspapers native to Vancouver actually have online news archives, yet, although one of the biggest now has a web presence." He was babbling, as he did when he got nervous - she'd already gathered that much about him. What she hadn't figured out yet was how to deal with it. All she could do was mimic Frank, leaning against his desk, folding her arms and giving him an impatient little head nod. "So we're back to old fashioned detective work, trawling through microfiche. And by 'we', I mean not me, since I couldn't exactly haul ass up to Vancouver for something that might not pan out." He smiled nervously, but she didn't return it. She didn't need to know the how, just the what, and Hedges' smile soon faded.
Frank finally decided to step in. "Just tell her what you've got, Hedges."
"Okay." He wiped his hands on the legs of his pants. "We started five years ago, in Vancouver, and we were right. Or rather, you were right. Here..." He started to dig through the pile of loose papers on his desk, which tottered precariously. Only Abby slamming her hand firmly down on the top of it prevented it from collapsing onto the floor.
"Right," Hedges muttered, adding a belated, "Thanks.
"Okay, to start with, this is an article from the Vancouver Sun, July 1997." He thrust one of the sheets of paper he'd dug out at her and she grabbed it instinctively. It turned out to be a fax, the previous day's date at the top. "That's our first piece of the puzzle..."
She scanned the page, taking in the salient points as quickly as she could, and then started at the top again, reading it more slowly this time.
Hedges leaned over her shoulder, or rather around it given that he wasn't much taller than her. "He was out drinking with friends. They took three days to report him missing - they... I think they thought he'd scored." He frowned, as though the idea of 'scoring' was an alien one. Or maybe it was just the 'friends' that threw him. And then he seemed to give himself a mental shake, snapping back to the present and giving Abby his full attention.
"He was a student?"
"Yep," Hedges confirmed. "University of Chicago. Grad student, I'd guess, although it doesn't spell that out and doesn't say what in - I'm going to hazard a guess at Frat Boy.
"Anyway, you'll notice it took a while for the Vancouver papers to pick it up. I guess it must have been a slow news day. The article's very much 'local family still searching for missing son' rather than anything concrete." He twitched another smile at her, clearing his throat nervously again. She nodded and didn't protest when he reached out and plucked the sheet of paper from her hand; she had what she needed from it.
"Okay, moving on," Hedges said, riffling through his small bundle of papers. "Birth certificate - luckily he was born in Vancouver, so that wasn't too difficult. His middle name's Joseph, by the way." He waved the facsimile of that under her nose but pulled it away again before she could do more than glance at it. "We got a copy of the old style certification so, you know... there's an address. Not sure if his family is still there thirty years later, but..."
He trailed off, glancing between Abby and Frank. Abby kept silent, and once again Frank was keeping his own counsel.
"The police report might be a bit difficult to get hold of," Hedges continued, and this time his smile was more like a wince. "We...er... don't exactly have many friends in the local cop shop, never mind Chicago. But I'll keep trying. See if we can't figure out more of what happened to him."
"We know what happened to him, Hedges," Abby said quietly.
"He ran into Danica Talos," Frank added. When she glanced across at him, his face was drawn down into a frown.
"If King gives us intel on her, will we be going after her next?"
Frank stilled for a moment, his expression torn before it smoothed out, everything sinking back below the surface. "Any ideas you have about that, Whistler, forget them. The Talos clan are way beyond our pay grade, at least for the time being. So let's not go picking fights with the big boys and girls until we've taken out the ones who are more our size first, okay?"
She wasn't happy with the answer, but she knew Frank well enough to know it was going to be all she'd get. She settled on nodding at him slowly, just to acknowledge his point while she turned Hedges' new information over in her mind and tried to it fit what she knew of King. It didn't, not yet, but that didn't mean she was going to discard it.
And there was one important piece that did fit.
"He was telling the truth," she said quietly, and Frank grunted, not entirely in agreement.
"Some of it, probably," he said. His eyes were piercing as he held her gaze. "Five years is a hell of a long time, Whistler, especially when he's been in the clutches of someone like Danica Talos. Who the hell knows what she's had him doing, or what he's done without her asking. Don't get too hung up on trying to save him.
"Five years is a hell of a lot of people fed on. He's still breathing. They aren't. Think on that before you start baking him a 'welcome back to humanity' cake."
Franks tone had been measured, no slam intended by his words, but they stung anyway, probably because there was more than a grain of truth in them.
"Um..." Hedges was back to darting looks between them, obviously not wanting to get caught up in whatever undercurrents he thought he could see. "Do you want me to keep digging?"
Frank's eyes stayed locked on hers for long moments before he finally looked away to acknowledge Hedges.
"Yes," he said simply. "Anything you find, no matter how insignificant you think it is, you let me know straight away." He turned back to Abby and raised his eyebrow at her. "Haven't you got some babysitting to do?"
-o-
Part 04: 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 02: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
She slept for around four hours before the alarm on her wristwatch woke her, the strident sound blaring just beneath her ear yanking her, startled and half-panicked, from whatever dark place she'd been.
It was too hot in her room; she kicked the covers off impatiently, her eyes gritty with exhaustion. There was no point in dwelling on it - she needed to check in with her team, make sure that nothing had gone awry since she'd passed out.
Make sure King was still alive for a start.
She dragged her clothes on, combing her fingers impatiently through her hair while avoiding the lump on her scalp that was still tender. Falling into bed with her hair still wet meant that it had dried bushy and unmanageable. She didn't give much of a shit about how she looked normally - she was more of a practical leathers and jeans kind of a girl - but the last thing she wanted to do was walk into Sommerfield's lab looking like she'd simply rolled out of bed, heavy-lidded and debauched. King was bound to make a comment on it and even if he didn't, chances were he'd still see it as some sign of weakness, something to exploit. She had no intention of showing him any chinks in her armour.
She made sure to stop by the kitchen en route, stealing Hedges' cup of freshly brewed coffee on the way. He'd soon learn he needed to move faster around them if he wanted to drink what he made, especially given that they all had cast iron stomachs and asbestos mouths.
The sun had been up for hours, but there was no sign of Frank when she reached Sommerfield's lab, coffee cup still clutched in one hand, although it was mostly empty now. Dex was slouched in the doorway, looking as tired as she felt. She nodded to him before handing him what was left of Hedges' coffee, and he shot her a grateful look, drinking the rest of it down.
"Everything okay?" she asked him quietly, and he shrugged, stifling a yawn.
"Quiet," he murmured back, bringing his hand up to his mouth to hide another yawn. "Hedges make a whole pot?"
Trust Dex to recognise Hedges' hand in the coffee he'd drunk, but then Abby would have made it stronger.
"I think so," she said absently, watching the even rise and fall of King's chest. She couldn't tell if the vampire was asleep or simply faking it, but she wasn't going to step any closer and find out. Not until the caffeine had had a chance to kick in. "He give you any trouble?"
"Wouldn't stop talking," Mick grumbled from across the room. "I notice you didn't bring me any coffee." Abby ignored his complaint, but Dex smirked.
"I think he likes Mick," he said, grinning at Abby when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Kept asking him about England." Mick grimaced and flipped the pair of them off. "Although, to be fair, Mick asked a few pointed questions of his own about Canada."
Mick snorted. "I only asked the once if they fucked moose."
Dex's smirk deepened. "They don't. Beavers on the other hand..."
King stirred and Dex stopped talking immediately, his expression growing sharp as he watched their guest, eagle-eyed, until King had settled back down again.
"He don't look so good," Mick observed, and it startled Abby into actually looking at King instead of simply checking that he was still there and still breathing.
Mick was right - King's face was pale, his brows drawn down into a slight frown. His eyes were closed, either sleeping or dozing. Whichever it was, he wasn't paying them any attention, and didn't seem to have heard Mick's comment.
"I suppose that's to be expected," Abby offered cautiously, and Mick grunted, holding tightly onto whatever grudge he thought he had towards her.
"Well, what the fuck ever," he said. "He's your problem now. I'm hitting the sack. Don't wake me for anything less than an emergency. And I don't count him being a twat as an emergency," he added, nodding towards King as he headed out the door.
Dex chuckled, folding his arms again and leaning back against the wall.
"You want to get some shut-eye?" Abby asked him, keeping her voice low to avoid waking King up, more because she wanted to avoid dealing with him than because she thought he needed his rest.
"Sure," said Dex affably. "You planning on having Frank rip off my balls for leaving you alone with him?"
She wasn't about to let that go without comment. "I think I can cope," she said dryly. "I spent several hours on my own with him yesterday without killing him or myself."
"Still," said Dex, drawing the word out in a way that made it clear he wasn't comfortable with the idea. Abby got where he was coming from - even with King chained up and apparently asleep, Frank's instructions had been clear and he'd had good reason for them. "I'm kind of attached to my balls, you know? I'd like them to remain attached."
She grinned at him, all teeth. Maybe she'd even have come up with a smart rejoinder for him if she hadn't spotted Frank heading towards them. She dug Dex in the ribs with her elbow, gesturing with her head towards Frank.
Frank didn't look any more rested, his face fixed in a slight frown, although with Frank that wasn't unusual.
Dex quirked his mouth up, a brief moment of camaraderie, and then he pushed himself up away from the doorjamb and ambled off after Mick, giving Frank a brief nod of acknowledgement as they passed each other.
Frank, Abby noticed, had liberated his own cup of coffee. He took a sip from it as he gave King the once over, his frown settling more firmly on his face.
"He's asleep," Abby said quietly. She didn't know why she'd felt the need to state the obvious, or to keep her voice low, and when Frank turned his head to look at her, she could feel the blood start to rise to her face. She held his gaze steadily though, not looking away until he did.
Frank still hadn't shaved, and that wasn't like Frank. He must be more worried than she'd thought if he'd headed straight down here before he'd completed his morning rituals.
He stared at King for long moments, the steam from his coffee rising up between them. It was the only sign of movement until he sighed, wiping his other hand tiredly over his face.
"You seen Sommerfield?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
"No," she said. "Haven't seen Velasquez either. Just Mick and Dex when I got here."
Frank frowned again, but it was tired rather than pissed. "Mick?" he queried, and too late Abby realised how it sounded.
"I relieved him," she said steadily. "Just like you relieved Dex."
Frank snorted, sparing her a brief look that was full of a kind of dark amusement. "I'll be sure to let Mick know you had his back," he said, and she looked away, fighting the flush that was all too ready to rise to her face again.
"Sommer's probably getting Zoë's breakfast," she said, more to have something to say than anything else. "Not sure about Velasquez."
Frank nodded, his eyes still firmly fixed on King. Whatever was going on in his mind as he watched the vampire, he didn't seem to be willing to share it with Abby. Eventually he seemed to come to some decision, letting out his breath in a slow sigh.
"You going to be okay with him for a few minutes?"
Abby blinked at him. "On my own?" she asked and then, just in case Frank thought it was concern in her voice, or fear, she added hastily, "I thought you wanted us in pairs?"
Frank turned his head, giving her a searching look, and she did her very best not to let anything he wasn't going to like show on her face. Or even think it - sometimes the man seemed like a fucking mind reader.
"The others in pairs," he said quietly. "You, on the other hand, are considerably less likely to do something stupid." He paused for a moment, giving her another searching look, a much less comfortable one this time around. "You planning on doing anything stupid, Whistler?"
She shook her head, staying mute.
"Good," he said slowly, draining his cup before he put it down on a nearby counter. "I'll go roust Sommerfield from wherever she's hiding." He hesitated, looking at Abby for a long moment, the expression on his face one she couldn't read, and then he nodded again, more to himself than Abby, and headed out the door.
She took a deep breath, slumping against the counter. It dug into her hip, but she didn't move; the slight pain grounded her as she stood there, staring at King and watching him breathe.
Mick had been dead on the money. King's face wasn't just pale. There were small beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his upper lip and, as she watched, his face creased up, pained even in his sleep; it was instinct to glance at one of his wrists, make sure the silver hadn't burned too deeply.
When she looked back, King's eyes were open and he was watching her.
She jumped, banging her hip against the counter as she stumbled and sending a scowl in his direction as the small, sharp pain hit. It didn't work; he simply blinked at her blearily, his eyes muddy and unfocused in the room's dim light. And then he coughed, the sound harsh and wet as it ripped from his throat, making her wince in unwilling sympathy.
She took a step towards him just as he started to struggle against the straps around his wrists. Fucking typical; she was about to take another step closer, already opening her mouth to tell him to quit it, when he coughed again, a harsh, hacking sound that set her teeth on edge.
Blood erupted from his mouth.
She froze, her mind blanking as she watched the blood trickle, dark red and viscous, down his chin. He coughed again, still spluttering, red bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth as he strained to roll over, turn his head, anything. The sound took on a more urgent quality, fierce and frantic, as King fought against the straps that tied him down.
He was choking.
The thought snapped her into action, finally quick and decisive as she swore and darted around the examining table, banging her hip again as she careened into it. It was instinct to aim for the arm he'd been trying to free - it was quicker to work with him rather than against him - but whoever had strapped him down had fastened the buckles tight. She was still struggling when Frank surged through the door with a face like thunder.
"What the fuck? Whistler, have you lost your fucking mind?"
She ignored him, all of her attention focused on King. She wasn't even sure it was possible for him to choke to death, but what she did know was that there was no way in hell King was faking this one and with Frank in the doorway, there was no way he was getting out even if he was.
The strap finally came loose and King rolled onto his side, still making those god-awful choking, rasping sounds as he struggled for breath. Frank took two steps forward, fire in his eyes and his gaze fixed on Abby.
It was the wrong move - two steps forward brought him in reach of the table King was on, and King finally stopped choking, vomiting up hours old blood all over the floor and splattering Frank's shoes.
Frank jumped back out of the way, his hands raised, and then his eyes found Abby again.
"He was choking," she said, her tone short as she moved around the table, keeping a way eye on King as she went. He was panting for breath, fingers curled into a fist near his stomach. The blood had coated his chin, turning his face into a macabre mask, his skin pale and sweaty above the rust coloured streaks and his eyes tightly closed.
"He's a vampire," Frank said. "He can't choke." His voice was tight with a kind of controlled fury, ice-cold and terrifying. It was far enough out of character for Frank that it might have worked on her under other circumstances, but right then there was something suspiciously like pity curling in her chest for someone who shouldn't deserve it.
"What's going on?" Sommerfield's voice was sharp as she came to a halt in the doorway. "Anyone care to explain, seeing as he's my patient?"
Frank glanced over at Sommerfield, his face twisting into a frustrated expression, although his frustration wasn't aimed at Sommerfield. "Your 'patient' has just thrown up over my goddamned shoes and Whistler seems to have developed a death wish."
Sommerfield frowned, her nose crinkling, although whether that was due to Frank's explanation or the scent of stale blood finally hitting her nostrils, Abby couldn't tell. The smell was certainly doing unpleasant things to her stomach.
"Strap him down again." Abby snapped back to herself, meeting Frank's eyes, which were hard and uncompromising. His voice was silkily dangerous as he repeated, "Strap him back down again, Whistler."
"Somebody want to fill me in?" Sommerfield's tone was even sharper now, filled with undercurrents of fear and tension. "He's free?"
King had curled up, his face ghastly white and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wasn't making any attempt to further free himself - the more dealings that Abby had with him, the more sure she was that she'd been right about him not being stupid. He was giving absolutely no sign that he was a threat. Deliberately so.
She turned back to Sommerfield, avoiding looking at Frank. She didn't need to, not when she was hyperaware of him, all of the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. "One hand," she explained, trying to soothe the other woman's fear, something Frank didn't seem inclined to do right then. "Just one hand, Sommer." She met Frank's eyes briefly, and some of her defiance must have shown on her face or come through in her body language because Frank straightened up, his expression growing ominous. She'd seen that look in the field often enough to recognise it, although it was usually aimed at the vampires rather than his own team. "He was choking on his own vomit."
"Vampires can't choke," Frank repeated, and his eyes never left Abby's face, cold and angry in a way that sent a shiver through her. She'd faced down vamps more than once, but there was something more terrifying about Frank's all too human rage, not least because while Frank could be cold, he was normally calm.
"Cite your source," Sommerfield snapped, moving closer, and Frank blinked, the spell he had over Abby wavering as he shot a look in Sommerfield's direction. "Ever try it, Frank?"
"Danica did." King's voice was quiet, blurred and indistinct. "'s not fun." His eyes were finally open, but they weren't focusing on anyone. Instead he simply stared into space and the look in his eyes was a familiar one. She'd seen it more than once in the faces of those that came through the door after their lives had been ripped apart by something from twisted fairytales: the lost, the dispossessed. The broken.
She shivered.
Frank was still glaring at her, but it lacked his earlier heat and he wasn't making any move to strap King back down - although that could have been because he needed to make her do it or because he didn't want to touch King any more than necessary. She hadn't a clue which and she was rapidly passing the point of caring. There was only so much fear her body could cope with, so much adrenaline it could pump out to keep her going, and the events of the day before had exhausted her reserves. She took two steps towards the door, and Frank's hand jerked up to catch her before he caught himself instead and let it drop by his side.
"Hedges," she yelled through the open doorway. "Get your ass in here."
And then she turned back to meet Frank's eyes again - the look in them might have been disappointed, but right then it was better than meeting the empty look in King's.
"What?" Hedges hove into view, coming to a skidding stop in the doorway, his eyes wide and his expression half-panicked. "Jesus!" he said, taking in the sight of the blood splattering the floor and masking King's face. He swallowed, his face paling.
"We need chains. Hedges." She snapped his name out when he didn't respond, his eyes still fixed on the pool of blood by the examining table. "Chains."
He swallowed again, dragging his eyes away and meeting Abby's. "Okay. Okay. What...? How long and...?"
She held back the sigh that wanted out; he was new and he was nervous and God knew the rest of them weren't dealing with this whole situation much better than he was.
"Long enough so he can lie on his side. Strong enough so he can't break it. Secure enough that he can't unfasten it. Got it?" Hedges nodded, his eyes fixed on her face like keeping his attention on her was the only way he was going to get through it. "Go."
He went, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.
She'd half expected King to come back with some snappy comment, something about him not being Houdini, but he stayed silent. When she turned to look at him again, his eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth, each breath so small and shallow that for a second, until she caught the sound of the next one, she half-thought he was dead.
"That's your plan?" Frank asked calmly, and oddly the calmness of it sent her hackles rising again, putting her on the defensive.
"You got a better one?"
She knew the words were a mistake as soon as they were out of her mouth, and winced, not missing the way that Frank's head raised like a vampire scenting blood. She took a deep breath - through her mouth so that she couldn't smell the blood, but the thick miasma of it still coated her tongue, metallic and sharp, leaving her feeling nauseous.
Maybe she could blame yesterday's blow to the head for her current lack of a survival instinct - in dealing with King and Frank, both.
"We don't know if he can choke to death," she said, aiming for a tone that was slightly more appeasing and slightly less fuck you. She wasn't sure she hit it, judging by the way that Frank's eyebrows were making a break for his hairline, but she persevered. It wasn't Frank she was irritated with, not really. "But I don't want to go out and find another vampire, and I'm pretty sure Sommerfield would prefer it if her experiment didn't die half way through. Not if we can help it."
Frank treated her to a long, steady look, one that was no less dangerous than any of the others that had preceded it, but that at least didn't hold any threat of immediate consequences. He had a long memory, though. She'd never pegged him as a vindictive man - harsh, yes, but not the kind to be petty and cruel - but he didn't take any shit from his team, and she'd pretty much been giving him nothing but shit the last couple of days.
After this was over, she might need to find another cell to work with, and wouldn't her father be pleased about that level of fuck-up?
"Jesus!" Velasquez stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her much as Hedges had, but unlike Hedges she didn't freeze. Instead, her mouth firmed up and her eyes narrowed, and if she hesitated, it was only briefly before she moved into the room. "What do you need?"
Velasquez aimed her question at Abby and Frank didn't miss that. His expression tightened, but that was the extent of his visible reaction. He certainly didn't step up to the plate; instead he took a step back, folding his arms and watching Abby over the top of them.
He wasn't glaring at her now; his face was impassive, unreadable, only the cool light in his eyes giving away the fact that he wasn't as unmoved or immovable as he seemed.
Abby took a deep breath, her mind moving quickly, sorting through her options. Velasquez was older, more experienced - giving her orders, or even instructions, didn't sit right with Abby.
"Maybe we could clean up?" she suggested tentatively and Frank huffed out a sharp, impatient breath.
"You're the one who set this in motion, Whistler," he barked, and his bark was worse than his bite. "Don't ask - damn well tell."
"That include you?" she shot back before she could think better of it, and Frank's brows lowered, his expression heading towards bleakly amused.
"You think you can get me to do what you want me to do, girl, you go for it."
She bristled at the 'girl', but she reined her irritation in, letting it spike briefly and then letting it go. Frank had thirty-odd years on her - losing her temper now would be a damned good way of demonstrating that she really was too young for this.
Instead of giving him the reaction he was watching and waiting for, she simply nodded. "If I can think of a use for you, I'll be sure to let you know," she said coolly, and this time the bark of laughter he let out was genuine.
"I'm sure you will, Whistler," he said, and there was a reluctant kind of respect in his voice. "But since you seem to have it all under control, I'm going to leave you to it." He lifted his chin, staring her down, and she looked away, a brief moment of weakness, just like he expected.
It only took her a moment to look back, and there was a dry little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. But for once Frank seemed willing to let it go. He stepped closer to King, leaning down until his face was barely inches from King. "If you fuck this up," he said, voice low and full of menace, turning it on easily now that he was speaking to a vampire instead of Abby, "I'm going to fuck you up."
King blinked at him blearily. "You might wanna step back," he slurred, the words slipping and sliding into each other. "No, seriously. Step the fuck back." He grimaced, his hand dropping and his fingers curling against his stomach. "Now!"
Frank straightened up, his face settling into lines of stone cold fury, but King jerked, his body convulsing as it expelled what was left of his meal.
This time he didn't miss Frank's shoes.
"Shit," King groaned, curling up on himself, blood dripping from his chin. "I really don't feel so good..."
Frank stepped back, the muscle in his jaw twitching. But - as always - he was in control of himself. "He so much as moves," he said, and the words were bitten out, one by one, not snarled and not shouted. "You shoot him." He leaned in towards King again, waiting until the vampire locked eyes with him. "You get that?"
"I got it."
King's voice was thready and weak, but it didn't stop him from flipping Frank off defiantly as soon as Frank turned his back on him and headed towards the door. Abby raised one eyebrow at him, and King lowered his finger sullenly.
"In my defence," he said, "I did warn him. Is it my fault he didn't listen?" She continued to stare him down, but he didn't seem to care, rapidly losing interest in her as he curled up into an even smaller ball, shivering. "I really don't feel so good," he murmured softly, and Abby rubbed tiredly at her face.
"Well," said Velasquez flatly. "I'll clean the floor - won't be the first time I've cleaned up some asshole's puke - but I'm not going anywhere near those fucking fangs of his, got it?"
She got it, and Velasquez was right. There was no point in taking stupid risks.
Hedges reappeared in the doorway, clutching a length of chain like his life depended on it. "I... um..." He held it out, like Abby was supposed to do something with it.
"Have we got something to weld it to his cuffs with?" He nodded, eyeing her like a rabbit in headlights. "Well?"
He blinked. "Oh. Right," he stuttered and she squeezed her eyes shut, holding onto her precarious temper with an effort. When she opened them again, Hedges was on his way out of the door, his hands flapping nervously by his side.
King was shivering more violently now, the tremors running through his body. She sighed again.
"Hey, Hedges," she bellowed out of the door, hoping like hell he heard it, "Fetch a blanket, too."
-o-
Abby suspected that Frank spent the next few days avoiding her, although he gave a damned good impression of simply being busy. He wasn't sharing busy with what, at least not with Abby, but then Frank had always kept his own counsel. But he took Dex and Mick on a couple of jobs, leaving Abby behind, and it hurt more than she expected.
There was no point in tackling Frank about it. He'd simply look her straight in the eye and ask her if she hadn't got something better to do than whining.
She barely saw Dex and Mick. Even when they were back at base, they were either sleeping or watching King. Mostly, in Mick's case, they were sleeping, which meant that the bulk of babysitting fell onto Abby and Velasquez. As jobs went, it wasn't a hard task, just a thankless one. King spent most of his time asleep and when he was awake he got a little less coherent with each passing hour as the fever raged through his body.
Abby grew used to him muttering in his sleep, and the way that his face creased and his fingers jerked as he dreamed. She studied him sometimes in the still of the night while Velasquez drew blood from him or made notes for Sommerfield on the computer. In the abstract - ignoring the pale skin, pale eyes and fangs - he was good looking - well-muscled but lean with it, with a symmetrical and attractive face - but that wasn't what fascinated her about him. It was what was going on inside his head that she was most curious about, that and the fact that so much of it seemed to show on his face.
Sometimes she lingered longer than she needed to, but if the others noticed, they didn't call her on it. Maybe they all felt the same combination of fascination and revulsion; it wasn't like they often got a chance to spend some quality time with vamps before they killed them.
When she reached the lab on the fourth evening after they'd captured him, her hair still damp from her shower and a cup of coffee - liberated from Hedges again - clutched in her hand, there was no sign of Sommerfield. Velasquez was alone, leaning against the counter, her face blank with tiredness.
Abby stopped in the doorway, eyeing the room warily.
"What's up?"
Velasquez jerked her head up, blinking at her. "Oh, hey. Nothing much." She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Our house guest's pretty much slept all day. Hasn't been any trouble."
"You're on your own?"
Velasquez pulled a face. "Mick was supposed to be with me. But he fucking flaked on me a couple hours ago. Frank finds out, his ass will be grass." She gave Abby a sharp look. "I won't be mentioning it."
That was pretty typical of Mick as far as Abby was concerned. She put her cup down on the counter, not bothering to hide her irritation. "He's an idiot," she said.
Velasquez shrugged. "Get no argument from me 'bout that," she said genially. "And you know what Frank says. If you're stupid -"
"You're dead," Abby completed with a smile.
Velasquez grinned at her, before eyeing Abby's mostly full cup greedily. Abby sighed, pushing it over. "Thanks, hon." She took a deep gulp of coffee, appreciation for the bitter taste clear on her face, and then added, seemingly at random, "Mick's been out with Frank."
"Mick's been out with Frank on a couple of cake walks."
Velasquez watched her over the rim of her cup, her face carefully bland. "Not the way Mick tells it."
Abby bit back on her irritation - and her resentment at being kept out of the field while Mick got to play - with an effort, glancing across at King so that she didn't have to look at Velasquez until she'd regained control of her temper. He was curled up on his side again, his right hand still strapped down and his left tucked under his chin. He looked almost peaceful, although the chain dangling down off the side of the bed didn't fit with that impression.
"But Dex is still pulling his weight?" she asked.
"Dex is the driver," Velasquez answered mildly. "According to Mick, Dex sits on his ass, waiting for the real work to be done. And you don't have to tell me," she shot out before Abby could do more than draw down her eyebrows and open her mouth. "I know. Mick can be an ass, God love him. But it comes from a place of insecurity."
Abby simply stared at her.
"He has a tiny penis," Velasquez explained, but she couldn't keep a straight face and the final words dissolved into laughter.
Abby's mouth turned up in a reluctant grin. "You speaking from experience?"
"Hell, no. I'm far too much woman for him, and he's nowhere near woman enough for me."
Abby finally gave in and laughed, hiding the sound behind her hand and shooting a slightly guilty look at King, worried about waking him.
"Pretty sure that one will sleep until he's dead," Velasquez said, her tone shrewd as she watched Abby closely.
"How's he doing?"
Velasquez shrugged, the move turning into another yawn. "Viral load's down," she said.
"That's a good sign, right?"
"Sure. As long as it doesn't rally again." Velasquez hesitated, still eyeing Abby too closely for comfort. "He's not your responsibility, you know?"
She wished Velasquez hadn't taken her coffee. It would have given her something to hold, something to focus on other than Velasquez's piercing gaze.
"I don't think that," she said, and it sounded weak even to her.
"Sure you don't, honey." But Velasquez didn't seem to be interested in pursuing it now that she'd made her point. Instead, she simply drained the coffee cup and set it back down on the counter. "Need me to roust Mick out wherever the hell he's hiding for you and get him to do some actual work for a change?"
"You'd better, or Frank really will have his ass." Abby scowled for a second. "Or I will."
"Better you than me, Whistler." Velasquez smirked at Abby's disgusted face and flipped a wave at her as she headed out the door.
That left her alone with King.
She caught herself staring at him again, and dragged her attention away, flushing even though there was no one there to see it. Velasquez had left Sommerfield's computer on - it was humming quietly in the corner - and she wandered over to it, scrolling through the notes that Velasquez had left just to have something productive to do. It didn't help much; she only understood five words out of every ten and King was right there and far more interesting.
She gave up, propping her chin in her hand and watching him sleep, trying - once again - to figure out what was going through his mind. He was twitching in his sleep again, his face furrowed and his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids, like he was caught in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. But it wasn't just some weird kind of compassion that finally had her pushing her chair back and heading towards him; four days of inactivity had left her bored and restless, and at least if he was awake he might want to talk to her.
She'd only taken a couple of steps towards him when he jerked upright, his body twisting as the strap around his right wrist held him down. He was making these sounds, awful gulping, gasping sounds, like he couldn't catch his breath, couldn't do anything but panic. Each time he panted out, there was a moaning edge to the sound that went right through her, making her skin prickle as though something with claws was crawling up her spine. He flailed at the strap, trying to unfasten it with his free hand, the one with nothing but a cuff and chain to hold it down, and she bolted the last few steps, heart pounding and her mouth already dry with adrenaline.
By the time she'd reached him, he'd given up on that and was tearing at his free wrist with his teeth; this close, she could smell the skin of his lips burning and she shouldn't be able to, shouldn't have that scent hitting the back of her throat. It shouldn't be that strong, strong enough to have saliva flood her mouth, sickly sweet as though she was going to join him in hurling on the floor.
She grabbed his forearm, dragging it away from his mouth, half-panicked that he was going to tear his wrist open to feed on himself, and the rest panicked that he was going to turn on her, tear her fucking throat open. She didn't reach for her gun - she couldn't, not when she needed both hands to wrestle his arm down and not when it would be child's play for him to take it off her when they were this close. But she shouted, so hard and so fierce that her throat hurt with it; what she didn't know, but she needed someone, anyone's attention.
The burning smell hadn't been King's mouth, although his lips were swollen and blistered, blood smearing them. It had come from his wrist, where the silver had burnt through his flesh so deeply that she could see bone, whatever padding they'd used having slipped free as he'd tossed and turned in his sleep.
He was still fighting her, his body convulsing as he tried in vain to shake the cuff free, but it wasn't going to work, not with it so deeply embedded. "Hold still," she yelled, her fingers frantically scrabbling for a grip on the metal. "King, just hold still, okay?"
His struggles slowed as he stared up at her, his face white with shock and his eyes bright and fever glazed, but starting to turn back to brown now, not glowing gold. "Just hold still," she said more quietly, and her voice was shaking as she finally, finally managed to grab hold. And then she was pulling it free, the cuff sliding away from his flesh with the kind of wet, sucking sound she was going to be hearing in her dreams for days to come.
"Okay, okay, I got it. Just..."
Her hands were shaking too as she stared down into the wound, and the cuff was knocking against his flesh as she struggled to hold it so that it didn't touch any part of him. Soft puffs of smoke rose from his skin whenever her grip slipped, but he didn't fight her, not now.
"I got it," she repeated, holding onto the words like a mantra. "Just hold still."
"What the hell?"
It was Mick's voice, high pitched and stressed, but she didn't turn around, all of her focus on King. "I need bolt-cutters," she snapped. "And Velasquez."
"Velasquez's gone to get some sleep."
"So wake her up!"
The words came out shrill and panicked, and Mick's steps receded rapidly, whether to do as she asked or to go find Frank Reilly she didn't know and didn't care. Her world had narrowed down to one thing - King.
He was staring up at her like she was his fucking saviour or something, eyes focused on her and lips parted as he struggled to control the pain.
"Hurts," he gasped, and the sound was raw and liquid.
"I know. I know. Just... just hold on, okay?"
He blinked up at her and then licked his lips. His eyes were still too light and flecked with gold, but the look in them was all too human.
"Okay," he murmured and swallowed, struggling to regain control of himself. "How bad?"
She licked at her own lips, echoing his move and realising too late that it gave away the fact that she was about to lie her ass off. "I've seen worse," she said weakly. "And you'll heal."
"I hope so," he said, and his body was trembling where it pressed up against hers. "That's my jerking off hand." And then he swallowed, visibly banking down the panic. "I can't move my fingers. Which, you know. Sucks."
"It's... it's deep," she said. "Tendon damage, maybe. But you're not going to lose your hand, and even if you did, vampires grow limbs back, right? Like newts?"
"Sure." He swallowed again. "Less slimy, though."
"That's a matter of opinion."
That shook a laugh out of him, and when it cracked around the edges she pretended not to notice. Instead, she cradled his arm more closely to her body, supporting it as she yelled over her shoulder, "Mick! Where the hell are you?"
"Hold your bloody horses," Mick's voice echoed behind her. "I'm here, all right?"
He was, and for once he'd listened to her. He had a pair of bolt-cutters dangling from one hand, although he was making no attempt to move any closer.
"Okay," she said, positioning herself so that she was as out of the way as she could get and still keep the cuff from contacting King's skin any more than necessary. "You'll need to cut it in two places..."
"Are you fucking mental?" Mick spat the words out, fast and furious. "No way am I letting him go. How about I use them on his fucking neck instead?"
"How about I use them on your balls?" she hurled back. "Assuming you can find them."
He scowled at her, the expression ugly and feral on his face, but before he could reply, Velasquez hurtled through the doorway, her eyes heavy-lidded and her hair wild. Frank was hot on her heels.
"Jesus," said Velasquez as she took in the sight before her. She thinned her lips, moving around the other side of the bed so that she could get a good look at King's wound.
"Anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?" Frank cut to the chase as usual.
"The cuffs need to come off," Velasquez said briskly. Abby shot her a grateful look, but Velasquez ignored her. "Now would be good, before it eats all the way through his wrist." Velasquez looked up, meeting Frank's eyes and, whatever wordless exchange took place, Frank huffed out a breath, reaching across to snatch the bolt-cutters from Mick.
Mick gave them up without a fight, although he did stare at Frank, open-mouthed, for a moment before his jaw slapped shut. He took a step back, folding his arms and glaring at all and sundry over the top of them, but given that he wasn't in a position to be an ass any more, Abby dismissed him from her thoughts and turned her attention back to King.
"Okay," said Frank. "You're going to have to give me some room to move, Whistler. Up or down - your choice."
She couldn't figure out what he meant, not at first. Not until she compared the depth of the bolt-cutter blades against the thickness of the cuffs. She caught her lip between her teeth, considering her options for a split second before she turned King's arm over, pressing the back of it down against the top of the table.
It pushed the cuff against his skin, trapping the silver between his flesh and the table, and he yelped out a high-pitched "Fuck me!" that had her wincing in sympathy. But it gave Frank room to manoeuvre, catching the top of the cuff between the blades and snapping it in two places so that Velasquez could pull them apart and away.
King was panting heavily as he pulled his wrist back, cradling it against his chest as he let out soft, pained gasps. Velasquez pulled on some surgical gloves but when she reached for his arm, he jerked away from her, his face white and drawn and the look in his eyes shell-shocked. Abby reached for him, running on instinct now, and he let her catch hold of his forearm and gently ease it down so that Velasquez could examine it.
"Anyone want to tell me what happened?" Frank asked as he shoved the bolt-cutters in Mick's direction again. Mick took them with a scowl.
"What's to understand?" King bit back on a moan as Velasquez's fingers poked at his wound, a little less gently than she may have done had he been human. "Fire burns, so does silver." It seemed that King was back to being a sarcastic pain in the ass, even if each word was bitten out, his face tight with pain.
Frank straightened up, managing to loom over King without taking a step closer.
"Fine," King said, flinching again as Velasquez continued to poke and prod, and avoiding Frank's eyes. She could understand why when he was still strapped down by one wrist, forcing him into a supine position, driving home just how vulnerable he was. He still looked shocky, paler even than his vampire nature could account for, and there was an unpleasant grey pallor to his skin, shock or sickness or both. "I woke up to find my wrist on fire."
"And it just woke you up? You didn't notice until it was halfway through your wrist?" Frank sounded dubious, and when he put it like that, Abby couldn't blame him for having doubts.
King tried to shrug, one shouldered, but that was obviously a mistake; he froze halfway through the movement, pulling his injured wrist closer to his chest. "I was asleep," he said, and he sounded deflated now, obviously struggling, as though he'd used up all of his energy being sarcastic in Frank's general direction. "I don't..."
"We keep him sedated," Velasquez interrupted quietly, and King's expression stilled, the look in his eyes telling Abby clearly that he hadn't known that. It left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable, despite the fact that keeping him sedated made sense.
"Do you think you could not do that?" King asked, not looking at Velasquez and avoiding Abby's eyes, too. "Or at least, you know, take the fucking silver off first."
"Do we still need the silver?" Abby asked quietly, directing her question at Velasquez, who might be reasonable about it, instead of Frank, who wouldn't, not when it came to the perceived safety of his team. "Given that you said his... viral load was dropping, so it may not even be effective for much longer?"
Velasquez looked straight at Frank, biting at her bottom lip as she mulled it over. And then she shrugged, a move she pulled off far more effectively than King had.
"Fine," Frank bit out tersely, gesturing at Mick to hand the bolt-cutters over again. He made short work of the other cuff; Dex's handkerchief fluttered to the ground, job done. Somehow Abby didn't think he'd want it back.
Once the silver had gone, the tension finally eased out of King, leaving him boneless and hollow-eyed on the bed. It drove home to Abby just how on edge he'd been, at least while awake. In spite of his obvious pain, his eyes were slowly drifting shut, the exhaustion or sedation dragging him down again. He was fighting it every step of the way, but he was losing.
"Whistler..." Frank's voice gave nothing of what he was thinking away, but when Abby looked up at him, he nodded his head towards the door. When he was sure she'd got the message, he jerked his chin at Velasquez.
"Sedated or not," he said, "you keep him strapped down."
Velasquez tipped him a salute, but King tensed up again, his eyes flying open and fixing on Frank. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something - argue or beg, and either looked likely - but as she watched, the animation drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaky. He pulled his arm into his body, cradling it protectively as though that was going to be enough to stop Mick and Velasquez from tying him down again, and his expression was resigned.
It sent another unwelcome surge of sympathy for him through her, tightening in her throat. In a moment of weakness, she let her fingers come to rest his arm. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, as though he was going to care one way or the other. As though she was going to be any less wary or any gentler with him than her team mates.
The fact that he actually looked grateful left a sour taste in her mouth. Her fingers slipped away from his skin and she followed after Frank silently.
Frank was waiting for her out of sight and out of earshot. She figured that she was in for an ass-kicking given the stupid risk she'd taken. Frank was not a fan of stupid risks, but Frank also liked to have the element of surprise on his side. "Hedges has found something," he said, gesturing towards Hedges' little cubby hole, leaving her off-balance and struggling for something to say, the words of apology she was busy pulling together dying on her lips.
Hedges wasn't expecting them judging by the way that Frank's arrival flustered him, but maybe that was simply the effect that Frank had on him all of the time; Abby didn't know Hedges well enough yet to be able to tell.
Frank wasn't in a cooperative mood. He simply leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching Hedges hawkishly and not elaborating on whatever it was that he wanted Hedges to share. That left Hedges' eyes darting between the pair of them, clearing his throat nervously.
Abby felt some sympathy for him. Frank was difficult to get used to the best of times, and since they'd taken King on board, Frank had not been at his best. "What have you got?" she asked, not missing the way that Hedges' eyes darted towards Frank again before he answered her.
"Well, it turns out that none of the newspapers native to Vancouver actually have online news archives, yet, although one of the biggest now has a web presence." He was babbling, as he did when he got nervous - she'd already gathered that much about him. What she hadn't figured out yet was how to deal with it. All she could do was mimic Frank, leaning against his desk, folding her arms and giving him an impatient little head nod. "So we're back to old fashioned detective work, trawling through microfiche. And by 'we', I mean not me, since I couldn't exactly haul ass up to Vancouver for something that might not pan out." He smiled nervously, but she didn't return it. She didn't need to know the how, just the what, and Hedges' smile soon faded.
Frank finally decided to step in. "Just tell her what you've got, Hedges."
"Okay." He wiped his hands on the legs of his pants. "We started five years ago, in Vancouver, and we were right. Or rather, you were right. Here..." He started to dig through the pile of loose papers on his desk, which tottered precariously. Only Abby slamming her hand firmly down on the top of it prevented it from collapsing onto the floor.
"Right," Hedges muttered, adding a belated, "Thanks.
"Okay, to start with, this is an article from the Vancouver Sun, July 1997." He thrust one of the sheets of paper he'd dug out at her and she grabbed it instinctively. It turned out to be a fax, the previous day's date at the top. "That's our first piece of the puzzle..."
She scanned the page, taking in the salient points as quickly as she could, and then started at the top again, reading it more slowly this time.
Hedges leaned over her shoulder, or rather around it given that he wasn't much taller than her. "He was out drinking with friends. They took three days to report him missing - they... I think they thought he'd scored." He frowned, as though the idea of 'scoring' was an alien one. Or maybe it was just the 'friends' that threw him. And then he seemed to give himself a mental shake, snapping back to the present and giving Abby his full attention.
"He was a student?"
"Yep," Hedges confirmed. "University of Chicago. Grad student, I'd guess, although it doesn't spell that out and doesn't say what in - I'm going to hazard a guess at Frat Boy.
"Anyway, you'll notice it took a while for the Vancouver papers to pick it up. I guess it must have been a slow news day. The article's very much 'local family still searching for missing son' rather than anything concrete." He twitched another smile at her, clearing his throat nervously again. She nodded and didn't protest when he reached out and plucked the sheet of paper from her hand; she had what she needed from it.
"Okay, moving on," Hedges said, riffling through his small bundle of papers. "Birth certificate - luckily he was born in Vancouver, so that wasn't too difficult. His middle name's Joseph, by the way." He waved the facsimile of that under her nose but pulled it away again before she could do more than glance at it. "We got a copy of the old style certification so, you know... there's an address. Not sure if his family is still there thirty years later, but..."
He trailed off, glancing between Abby and Frank. Abby kept silent, and once again Frank was keeping his own counsel.
"The police report might be a bit difficult to get hold of," Hedges continued, and this time his smile was more like a wince. "We...er... don't exactly have many friends in the local cop shop, never mind Chicago. But I'll keep trying. See if we can't figure out more of what happened to him."
"We know what happened to him, Hedges," Abby said quietly.
"He ran into Danica Talos," Frank added. When she glanced across at him, his face was drawn down into a frown.
"If King gives us intel on her, will we be going after her next?"
Frank stilled for a moment, his expression torn before it smoothed out, everything sinking back below the surface. "Any ideas you have about that, Whistler, forget them. The Talos clan are way beyond our pay grade, at least for the time being. So let's not go picking fights with the big boys and girls until we've taken out the ones who are more our size first, okay?"
She wasn't happy with the answer, but she knew Frank well enough to know it was going to be all she'd get. She settled on nodding at him slowly, just to acknowledge his point while she turned Hedges' new information over in her mind and tried to it fit what she knew of King. It didn't, not yet, but that didn't mean she was going to discard it.
And there was one important piece that did fit.
"He was telling the truth," she said quietly, and Frank grunted, not entirely in agreement.
"Some of it, probably," he said. His eyes were piercing as he held her gaze. "Five years is a hell of a long time, Whistler, especially when he's been in the clutches of someone like Danica Talos. Who the hell knows what she's had him doing, or what he's done without her asking. Don't get too hung up on trying to save him.
"Five years is a hell of a lot of people fed on. He's still breathing. They aren't. Think on that before you start baking him a 'welcome back to humanity' cake."
Franks tone had been measured, no slam intended by his words, but they stung anyway, probably because there was more than a grain of truth in them.
"Um..." Hedges was back to darting looks between them, obviously not wanting to get caught up in whatever undercurrents he thought he could see. "Do you want me to keep digging?"
Frank's eyes stayed locked on hers for long moments before he finally looked away to acknowledge Hedges.
"Yes," he said simply. "Anything you find, no matter how insignificant you think it is, you let me know straight away." He turned back to Abby and raised his eyebrow at her. "Haven't you got some babysitting to do?"
-o-
Part 04: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
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ALL I CAN HEAR IS "...with ladies!" and I am giggling. (And I get Frank, I do, I TOTALLY get it, and on the other side of it, I'd be just as wary as him and just as pissed, but holy crap do I want to smack him a little. I feel guilty for admitting it, but do I EVER. And yet, yes, he's RIGHT to be wary and, ugh, still)
I am going to be up until the crack of dawn reading this aren't I? Not a complaint, btw, I am totally, totally okay with this.
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Poor Frank - he's trying so hard to keep his people safe, and he can't trust King because of that, but he doesn't trust his people to be able to keep themselves safe either.