![[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 05: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Velasquez was busy in Sommer's lab, although there was no sign of the other woman. She was probably with Zoë, given the time of day. When Velasquez heard them she straightened up from the microscope she'd been looking through, giving a low whistle when she caught sight of King's face.
"What happened?" she asked as she pulled on a pair of gloves, reaching for the antiseptic wipes.
"Frank decided to teach me to box."
"Let me guess," she said, gesturing King back towards the examining table he'd spent days strapped down to. He only hesitated for a moment before he pushed himself up onto it. "He waited until you thought it was over and then punched you in the face." She probed gently at the cut, ignoring King's wince.
"Mick been talking?"
"No." She seemed satisfied, opening one of the wipes to clean away the worst of the blood. King hissed as the antiseptic burned. "He does that to everyone first time out. Some big lesson about watching your back or some shit." She caught hold of King's chin, tilting his face so that she could get a better look. "Well, everyone but Abigail, anyway. You're lucky. This isn't going to need stitches, but it's probably going to scar."
"I hear chicks dig scars," he said. "Why not Abigail?"
Velasquez didn't answer, instead simply turning to look at Abigail, raising her eyebrows at her.
"Frank didn't train me," Abby explained quietly, not willing to elaborate. It was something else that set her apart from the rest of the team. Just like not losing anyone she'd cared for to the vamps, not going through the same shit with Frank that they had put her in the position of being not quite one of them, for all that they tolerated and, to some extent, respected her.
She expected King to ask, but he simply nodded. "Whistler," he said. "I wondered."
"He's my father," she explained, knowing what he meant. Even King, with as little as Danica had let him know, would have heard of Blade's Whistler.
"Yep," said Velasquez, busying herself with applying butterfly bandages across King's cut to pull the skin together. "The rest of us might have been drafted in, but for Abby this is by way of being the family business."
Abby shifted uncomfortably, never liking when the conversation turned to this.
"Okay," said Velasquez briskly. "You're done." She took a step back, eyeing King thoughtfully. "Get him some ice, Abby. It will help with the swelling. Now, the pair of you get out of my hair. Some of us have got work to do."
King jumped down from the table, and if he was a little clumsy about it, she was willing to put that down to the fact that he was worn out, achy and sore, not the blow to his head. He had a hard head. She'd figured that much out already.
"Thanks, Velasquez," he said, seeming perfectly happy to let Abby lead the way.
She took him through to the mess, sitting him down at the table while she wrapped ice in a small plastic bag and handed it to him to press against his face. And since she was at the refrigerator anyway, she fished out a couple of sodas and handed one to him.
"So, your dad works with Blade?" It wasn't the opening gambit she'd expected, but she should have anticipated that King would pick up on it and not let it go.
"Yes," she said, her tone leaving no doubt that she didn't welcome the conversation.
King nodded, his expression thoughtful as he pulled the tab. "Hell of a thing to have to live up to," he said. "My dad was a lawyer. Kind of expected me to join the family business, you know. Still, he had Alex and Julius to pick up that slack."
It gave her the opening to ask something that she'd been puzzling over, a thought that had been niggling in the back of her brain. "Not Hephaestion, then?"
He blinked at her, a little nonplussed, and then his face cleared. "Alexander Hephaestion," he clarified. "Julius Montgomery. And then, last and most definitely least -"
"Hannibal Joseph," she said quietly and he smiled.
"You've done your homework."
"Hedges did." He took a swig from his can while she watched him, her mind ticking over. She had to admit that she'd wondered just how much of what he'd told her in Danica's dungeon had been fabrication to deflect her. It was a relief to know that some of it, at least, had been true. "You didn't go to law school then?" she asked when he paused to look at her, more to cover herself than anything else.
"No." He tapped his thumbnail against the side of the can, not wanting to elaborate. "It was a long time ago."
That was as obvious a 'do not cross' flag as King ever flew - she'd picked that much up from Frank's never-ending interrogations. He got evasive, he got jokey and he made sarcastic comments. He just didn't come straight out and say 'I'm not going to talk about it'.
For once she was willing to respect it. It was nice, sitting here quietly without King's motor-mouth going, throwing up smokescreens to hide behind. She seldom got the time to just talk to the rest of her team when it didn't involve tactics or debriefing or, more recently, King himself.
"Mind if I ask a question?" King was watching her again, seemingly at ease, but the grip he had on his can was so tight that it was dimpling the thin metal. "I won't be offended if you say no."
She thought about it for a moment and then said, "Ask. If I don't like the question, you won't like the answer."
His mouth twitched in a smile. "I thought the reason the Whistler was with Blade is because..."
"Vampires killed his family? They did. I was born later, out of wedlock."
"Out of wedlock. That's a very old-fashioned way of putting it."
Abby shrugged, not looking at him. "Mom's family were kind of old-fashioned."
He weighed this up. She thought that he'd keep pushing it, but once again he surprised her. "Is that why you got into this? The whole 'vampire hunter' shtick?"
For a second she paused, not quite understanding how it linked into her previous remark. But then King did have a habit of leaping from conversation to conversation. "My dad, you mean? I guess."
"And everyone else?"
She hesitated; the stories weren't really hers to tell, but she knew King well enough by now to know that he wasn't likely to let it drop. Better that it come from her than he decided to go asking.
"Most people," she began slowly, "they don't even know vampires exist until their lives have been fucked up in one way or another. It's like... they're not real until they're in your face and you can't deny it any longer."
He was nodding, staring down at his can rather than looking at her, but he was listening and that was pretty much all she could ask for.
"That's what it's like for the others," she continued quietly. "They were just living their lives, getting on with it paycheck to paycheck, when all of a sudden..."
"Vampires," he said, and his eyes were distant, as though he was remembering.
"Yeah." She hesitated again, taking a sip from her own can to cover it before she decided that since she'd already begun, she might as well finish.
"Sommerfield lost her husband," she explained. King looked up, suddenly paying attention and being obvious about it. "He was a doctor, like her. A pathologist, only one night he started cutting up someone who wasn't quite dead. Dex was a cop. His partner turned out to be a familiar, and when Dex wasn't interested in being another one of their lackeys on the inside, they decided he'd be better off dead. They killed two of his colleagues, but Dex made it away. So they framed him for it." She shrugged. "Cops are still looking for him in connection with the murders.
"Mick... They killed his brother. Velasquez lost her partner. You know she was an EMT, right?"
King nodded, his eyes fixed seriously on her face. "And Frank?"
She paused, taking in a deep breath. "They killed Frank's family. His wife, two kids. The eldest was six."
King looked away, the metal of his can pinging as his grip tightened on it, things obviously falling into place for him. "But you knew they were real all along, didn't you? Vampires?"
"Yeah." There didn't appear to be any point in denying it. "I grew up knowing vampires were real, that they weren't just stories and fairytales. Mom didn't want me to know, but my dad... He's never really been one for that whole idea that ignorance is bliss."
"That's got to have been tough."
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes, uncomfortable with the idea that she needed sympathy. "Different kinds of tough," she said. And then, because she was a lot more comfortable when he was the subject of the conversation, "You still haven't told me what you studied."
He smiled, small but genuine. "No, I haven't." He watched her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face in a way that left her feeling even more uncomfortable. "Different kinds of tough," he repeated, his tone musing. "So was Velasquez right? Is this the family business for you?"
She shifted in the seat, but he obviously wasn't going to shut up about it. "My dad wanted me to have a normal life, but..."
"But when you know that vampires aren't the stuff of stories and legends, this is a normal life," he completed softly. He wasn't wrong enough to correct.
"What about you?" she asked instead, turning the conversation back to him. "Think you could go back to having a normal life?"
"You mean if Frank lets me?" He paused for a moment, as though thinking about it. And then he shrugged. "I know that vampires aren't the stuff of stories and legends," he said. "I've got nothing to go back to Canada for. Can't really roll up on my brothers' doorsteps and say, hey guys, I'm the reason Mom and Dad are dead." The muscle in his jaw tightened again, a brief moment of grief that he let go. "Not to mention, it's going to be difficult to explain exactly where I spent the last five years." He shrugged again, and this time there was a helpless, lost edge to it. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't get the whole vampire sex slave thing."
He flashed her a smile, too bright and cheerful to be real, but the conversation was making her uncomfortable again, confirming some things that up until now she'd only suspected. She got, on some level, why he needed to joke about it, but that didn't mean she liked to listen. She took another drink and his smile slowly faded, leaving something quieter and sadder behind.
When she looked back at him, he was still watching her and the unexpected warmth in his eyes had her shifting awkwardly, playing with the tab on her can so that she didn't have to look at him. She had no idea why he had to look at her like that, or what he thought he saw in her.
"Can I ask you another question? Since, you know, you seem to be in the sharing mood."
She nodded tersely, bracing herself for what was going to come, but knowing it was pointless. King seemed to enjoy confounding her expectations.
"Do you think that Frank will let me stay?" he asked, cutting straight to the chase. "Honestly?"
She stared out of the window, gathering her thoughts. "Probably. He's got nothing to gain now by killing you."
"Okay. That's... honest. A little more brutal than I was hoping for, but definitely honest."
"You did ask me to be honest," she said, trying not to be defensive about it. She was too used to speaking her mind instead of tiptoeing around things, that was the problem. "And I figured you could take it."
He gave her a wounded little pout, but there was no real hurt behind it. His eyes were crinkling at the corners, the way they did when he was amused by something and trying not to let it show.
She wasn't him - she couldn't make a joke about the things that were important. With King, it seemed that the more important something was, the more likely he was to wisecrack about it.
"He wants us to teach you how to shoot, remember?" she added, because maybe that would sound a little better. "I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't have decided that if, you know..."
"He was planning to put a bullet in my brain?" The tone was still bright and she couldn't help but feel like he was mocking her, even if it was subtle. But then he hesitated, the wounded look fading from his face to be replaced by something a little more genuine. "I get the feeling that the only reason I'm still breathing is because of you. So thank you."
She met his eyes awkwardly, still not sure what to say and thrown, once again, by his sudden switch in moods. In the end she settled on a simple, slightly stilted, "You're welcome."
He smiled at her again, slow and strangely sweet, as he leaned in closer. "And since we're in a sharing mood, I think you should know that I kind of have an inappropriate level of hero worship for you going on."
She blinked at him, and he pulled a face, an apologetic little twitch that wasn't reflected in his eyes, which stayed bright and merry.
"Well, you do keep saving my life. I think it's understandable under the circumstances."
She refused to take him at face value. "Hero worship?" she asked, amusement finally colouring her voice. "Really?"
He made a little humming sound of agreement, his eyes crinkling at the corners again.
"I should have known your eyes would turn out to be brown. You are so full of it."
He laughed, one of those rich, full ones that shook his body. "I'm hurt," he said, putting his hand on his chest. "No, really. Wounded deep in my soul."
She rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up reluctantly.
"Still full of it," she said, and his face softened slightly, his expression leaving her with that uncomfortable tight feeling in her chest.
She stared at him for a long moment, suddenly unable to think of anything to say. He leaned in towards her again, and her heart tripped a beat, but before he could say anything else, Mick came bursting through the door, a scowl settled firmly on his face.
He came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of the pair of them, his scowl settling into something more suspicious. And then he shook his head, eyeing the pair of them like he'd just scraped them off his shoe.
"Either of you fuckers going to help me cook dinner, then?" he challenged. "Don't know why it has to be my turn again anyway when I've only got one good arm."
King blinked at him. "Don't look at me," he said. "Ramen noodles is about my level of competence."
Abby slapped him on the shoulder. "So apparently there's something else we have to teach you," she said, grinning at the look he gave her.
Mick wasn't the best cook in the world, but he cooked fast and he cooked food that was at least edible, if heavy on the grease. And leaving King to his tender mercies for a while would give her time to think.
-o-
Things were a little awkward between them for the next few days, at least on Abby's side. Whatever things lingered unsaid between them, they didn't seem to bother King, or if they did, he didn't say anything about it. Which was odd given that King seldom shut up about anything. She could have avoided him if she'd wanted to, even given how small their base was, but she wasn't sure that she did.
If it was just sex, they could get it out of their systems. She wasn't averse to a casual fuck every now and then, but King...
King was complicated, and messy.
At least she had something to take her mind off it. Frank had them back to running ops, although these days he seldom came with them, letting Dex and Abby run them on their own with Mick and Velasquez running backup. Frank had his own irons in the fire, and again he wasn't sharing. He seemed to spend a lot of time working their contacts, sourcing weapons and intel. Silver didn't come cheap, but garlic only put a vamp down temporarily, and with the vamps' ranks swelling day by day, they went for the permanent solution each and every time.
Abby had stopped worrying about what he was up to. Frank knew what he was doing and she'd just have to trust in that, and trust him. Instead, she spent her free time training King, although she wasn't left to deal with him on her own. When it came to firearms, Dex was the go-to guy. He'd had fifteen years on the force and it showed when it came to sharp shooting. By the time that Dex was through with King, King was hitting the target nine times out of every ten, even if he did hold his weapon like a cop.
That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it wouldn't be the first time the team had to pretend to be someone they weren't.
Mick was a brawler, small, scrappy, and vicious even with one arm out of commission. King learned a thing or two from him, as well, even if he did tend to come away from their sessions battered and a little bloody. And Velasquez had her own twists and turns, kicks and tricks. Between the three of them, King started to cobble together a style all of his own. He was a magpie like that, if a lot less flashy than she'd expected.
But it was Abby that King paid the most attention to, both on the mats and off them.
And Abby wasn't the only one who noticed.
-o-
"You sure you know what you're doing?"
She'd been too focused on watching King shoot, and hadn't heard her father approach, especially as she hadn't been expecting to see him. She pushed her earmuffs off her head, knowing that he hadn't missed her surprise.
He didn't call her on her inattention, simply looking her up and down and coming to his own conclusions, ones he didn't share.
"Is this going to be another 'this isn't the life I wanted for you, Abby' conversation?" she asked, moderating her tone so that she hid her irritation. It must have been six months or more since she'd last laid eyes on him, and she didn't want to waste any time fighting, not when it was simply rehashing old arguments.
King fired again, the sound echoing around the range. When she glanced over at him, his eyes were narrowed, all of his focus on his target. Dex was hovering nearby, nodding approvingly, so she nodded her head towards the exit and waited for her father to precede her.
He stopped just outside the doorway, waiting until she'd shut the heavy steel doors before saying, "You look good, girl."
He, on the other hand, looked tired, dark shadows under his eyes and lines in his face that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him.
"You okay?" she asked, even though she knew he wasn't likely to answer her, at least not in the negative.
He didn't disappoint her. "I'm more worried about you, Abby."
She folded her arms, meeting his eyes calmly over the top of them. "I'm fine," she said evenly.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. "So do you? Know what you're doing? And no, I'm not talking about this life."
"Then what are you talking about?"
His face scrunched up, a sure sign that he had no patience with any games on her part, not today or any other day, come to that. "I'm talking about taking on board an ex-vamp. Are you following me now?"
"Frank signed off on it."
"Way I hear it, you didn't leave him much choice."
"That right? Anyone would think that Frank wasn't the one who made all the decisions around here."
This time when his face scrunched up it was because he was trying not to laugh. "Honey, you're a handful, I'll give you that." And then he paused for a moment, looking her over again. The look on his face was weird, almost wistful. "You get more like your mother every day," he said, and his tone was nostalgic. "She gave me hell, too."
"I'm not doing this to give you hell," she said softly.
"Then why are you doing this?"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
He chuckled darkly. "You sure about that?"
She was saved from answering when the door handle jerked in her hand. She stepped back, moving out of the way as King emerged, Dex on his heels.
Dex took one look at her father and made the smart move, bugging out of there with a nod to Whistler. King, on the other hand, had nowhere near the same survival instinct.
They probably needed to work on that.
He stopped short, eyeing her father warily. It was only when he glanced at her, confused, that it dawned on Abby that Abraham Whistler was the first person outside of her team that King had seen for months.
"You must be King." Trust her father to state the obvious.
King's expression grew even warier. "And you would be?"
Her father stuck out his hand and King took it automatically. "Abraham Whistler."
At the name, King shot another look at Abigail, his expression suddenly keenly interested. "So you'd be...?"
"Abigail's father, yes." Whistler's eyes were steady and his grip firm. There was no missing that he was assessing King. King certainly didn't miss it. Once her father had let go of his hand, King leaned against the wall, folding his arms and looking like he was settling in for a nice, cosy chat. His eyes, however, were astute and just as assessing as her father's.
If they were going to start a pissing contest, she was going to kick both of their asses.
King fired the first salvo, of course. "I was going to say Blade's Whistler, actually." He treated Whistler to a smile that had far too many teeth and far too little amusement for Abby's peace of mind.
Whistler didn't return it, although the line of his mouth tensed fractionally. "You've heard of Blade?"
"Everyone has heard of Blade. Guy's a legend. He's about the only thing that had Danica running scared."
"Danica being?"
"Queen bitch, among her many, many other titles."
Whistler studied King for a long moment, taking in the insouciant pose, the raised eyebrow and King's general 'fuck you' attitude. "She turned you."
"Oh, she did more than that." There was a flash of something through King's eyes, and Whistler didn't miss it any more than Abby did.
Whistler nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off King. "Reilly said."
"Oh, I'm sure he did." King's eyebrows drew down in a frown for a second before he asked, "What exactly did Frank say?"
Whistler's mouth tensed again, but Abby suspected that it was more suppressed amusement than irritation this time.
"Enough."
"Ah." King actually looked chagrined for a moment. "That much?"
"All bad," Whistler added, obviously unable to resist the chance to mess with King. It seemed to be a common theme for most people who'd met him.
King nodded seriously. "I can see that. Can't say I didn't expect it."
The amusement reached Whistler's eyes. "You don't really care, do you, son?"
"Not really, no."
Whistler snorted and even that sounded amused. "You better go find Frank," he said. "Let me speak to my daughter in peace."
King cast a quick look in Abby's direction, almost as if he was checking with her that it was okay to leave her, and then he nodded at Whistler, heading off in the direction that Dex had taken. He couldn't seem to resist a last look over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.
Abby watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight and out of hearing before she turned back to her father.
He was watching her, something sad in his expression. She was used to it, although she'd never figured out whether his melancholy was down to the fact that she reminded him of the daughters he'd lost or whether it was just because he regretted never being there for her. One thing she had figured out pretty early was that she didn't much care which it was.
"I like him," said Whistler, and Abby snapped her head up, examining his face for any sign of sarcasm. "He doesn't take any shit."
Perversely, her father's praise of King simply made her irritable. "He dishes out enough," she said.
Whistler snorted again, his eyes searching her face. He was good at reading people, and too good at reading her. "I'm sure you can handle it, Abby."
There was something in his tone the caught her attention and she stared at him for a long moment. "You're leaving again," she said, swallowing down her bitterness so that it wouldn't show. She should have expected that he'd leave as quickly as he'd arrived because he was good at it. He'd done it before she was even born, and he'd been doing it ever since.
"Abby..."
"It's fine," she snapped. "I'm sure Frank will pass on any intel you give him that he thinks we ought to know."
For a second it actually looked as though he was going to argue, but then the animation faded from his face, leaving a familiar blank mask behind. "Take care of yourself, Abby. You know how to reach me if you need me."
The sharp, bitter words were on the tip of her tongue, but telling him she didn't need him, that she never had, was a child's complaint, and he'd never really known the child she'd been.
"Yes," she said, her voice emotionless. "I do."
He nodded at her again, hesitating for a moment before he finally turned on his heel and headed towards Frank's office. His limp was more pronounced than ever and a momentary regret twisted in her stomach, not helped when he turned back, staring at her as though he was memorising her face before saying, "Take care of yourself, Abby."
She nodded, but he didn't see it because he was already gone.
She headed to the gym, where there was a punching bag there with her name on it.
She lost herself in the rhythm of it: the kicks, the jabs, the punches. She kept working until her muscles trembled with fatigue, the sweat soaking her top and dripping into her eyes, stinging and burning.
She'd just delivered a roundhouse kick that had the bag swinging on its chain when King stepped up behind it and caught it, steadying it between his hands. He peered around it, a small, concerned frown creasing his brow.
"You okay?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice as well as on his face.
"I'm fine," she snapped, but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't unobservant, no matter what he liked to pretend sometimes.
"Okay," he drawled. The frown he wore smoothed out, but she wasn't stupid either. She knew him well enough by now to know that he'd only hidden his concern, not let go of it entirely. "I take it you don't want to talk about it, either?"
"No." She aimed another punch at the bag, hitting it with such force that it rocked King back a step. If it had been anyone else that would have been enough to get the message through, but this was King. Even punching him directly wouldn't have been enough for that. He simply stepped forward, bracing the bag against his body.
"Let me know if you change your mind," he said. And then he tilted his head, his eyes tracking over her face. "So that was your dad?"
She paused, fists up and ready. "Drop it."
"Drop what?" His face was a picture of innocence.
"You know what."
"Do I?" He gave her a slow smile, mischief clear in his eyes. "Maybe we should talk about it, make sure I'm clear."
With anyone else, she would have been seriously pissed, but King had a way of easing past her defences, damn him. "You have no shame, do you?"
"No. I had any sense of shame beaten out of me years ago. You wouldn't believe the kinds of things I'm completely unashamed about."
She laughed in spite of herself. He was completely ridiculous sometimes, especially now that he was waggling his eyebrows at her, inviting her to share in a joke that, under the surface, was anything but funny.
"Yes," she said, because with King it was easier to answer the questions when he first asked them. Persistent didn't even begin to cover it. "That was my father. He's the one who found Blade, he's the one who trained him. Is that what you wanted to know?"
He gave her a searching look, one that was too keen for her peace of mind. "Wasn't around much, huh?"
"Did you miss the part where I said I didn't want to talk about it?"
"No, I didn't miss it. Abby..." She hit the bag, a quick one-two that jerked him backwards again, her fists hitting the leather only inches from his face. "Okay, I get it. But if you ever want to work off that tension in a different way..."
She stared at him for a long moment, but he wasn't at all apologetic, giving her a slow, sly smile that left her in no doubt that she'd heard him correctly.
"You," she said slowly, repeating herself, "are completely shameless."
"Yeah. I thought we'd established that."
For a stupid, suicidal moment she was actually tempted. Her moment of weakness must have shown on her face, because his smile took on a slightly self-satisfied edge, something similar flaring in his eyes.
It brought her to her senses. For all that he was entertaining, she still didn't know anywhere near enough about the man - King had the knack of talking a lot and saying very little. It left her more wary than wanting.
"If I'm ever that desperate," she said, "I'll keep you in mind."
This time what flared through his eyes looked more like hurt than satisfaction, but he soon buried it under his normal insouciant charm.
"Suit yourself," he said and he managed to make it sound unconcerned. "Although, I just meant that if you wanted to spar, I'd be happy to help out. I'm not entirely sure what you meant..."
This time her glove glanced off the bag when she struck it and managed to catch him in the stomach, although by the time it hit him the momentum had dissipated and she didn't hit him anywhere near as hard as he deserved. Which had nothing to do with her pulling her punch at the last moment.
"Or not," he said, gasping breathlessly. "I can take a hint."
"No, you can't."
"No, I really can't." He grinned at her, his hand rubbing where she'd hit him. And just like that, her bad humour faded away. She shook her head at him, but she couldn't quite hold back the small smile at his antics.
He was far too good at getting past her defences, but when he slung one arm companionably around her shoulder and steered her towards the mats, she found it difficult to care.
-o-
Whatever intel her father had brought Frank, it darkened Frank's countenance for days. Even Sommerfield ended up tiptoeing around him, and Sommerfield normally didn't pay any more attention to Frank's moods than Velasquez did.
Abby wasn't stupid. She didn't miss Frank's quick looks in her direction whenever he issued an order, like he was just waiting for her to step out of line. She'd had her fill of it, even if she wasn't childish enough to complain that it was unfair. And with King more or less behaving himself these days, it wasn't as though she needed to butt heads with Frank anyway.
So she kept out of Frank's way most of the time, taking Dex out to pick off stragglers one by one rather than hitting any hard targets. It wasn't difficult to find vampires in this city - the more she fought them, the more convinced she was that they were deliberately swelling their ranks, maybe because of Blade. Whatever the reason, it kept her busy and it kept her cautious. And when she wasn't in the field, she was with King. And that meant she was usually with Zoë, too.
Zoë had taken a shine to King. Sometimes when Abby came back from the hunt early enough for Zoë still to be up, or late enough for breakfast to already be on the table, she found the pair of them huddled together, sheets of paper spread out in front of them. King wasn't a bad artist. Not a brilliant one, but good enough that she could tell what he was trying to draw.
"Draw me a unicorn," Zoë was saying one afternoon as she walked into the mess.
"What's the magic word?" King asked.
"Now?"
Abby swallowed a smile. "The word is 'please', Zoë," she chided gently.
"Oh. Draw me a unicorn, please?"
"I don't know how to draw unicorns," King said, looking up from his piece of paper to give Abby a smile, one that was warm and wide. There was charcoal smudged on his cheek, and as she walked past him, heading towards the coffee pot, she couldn't resist reaching out and wiping it away with her thumb.
"Yes, you do," insisted Zoë. "You drew one yesterday."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. I saw it."
King's brow crinkled. "Are you sure it was a unicorn?"
"Yes."
"Are you absolutely positive?"
"Yes!" Zoë started to paw through the pieces of paper on the table, producing one smudged sheet with a triumphant flourish. "There, see?"
"Ah," King said, glancing up to meet Abby's eyes again, his own dancing. "That's not actually a unicorn. That's just a horse with a horn."
Zoë gave him a look far older than her years. "You're silly," she said, making it sound like a pronouncement from on high.
"Well, I can't really argue with that one."
Abby couldn't either, but before she could do more than smile, Frank appeared in the doorway, summoning her with a jerk of his head. "You too, King," he added when King turned his attention back to sketching for Zoë.
King's eyes flew up to Frank's face, searching his expression for any hint of what was coming. When he didn't find anything, he looked at Abby, but she was none the wiser either. She gave him a little shrug, and he pushed his chair back from the table, following her as she hurried to catch up with Frank.
"Okay, listen up," Frank said once they'd arrived at Sommerfield's lab, where the others were waiting. Sommerfield didn't seem particularly happy about it or the number of people crowding her lab, which was understandable. "We've got some interesting intel on a blood donation facility in the lower east of the city. Not a good area - high deprivation, lots of drug users, some gang activity - and some of the local homeless have gone missing."
Mick frowned. "And we're sure that vamps are behind it?"
Frank fixed him with a steely-eyed look, obviously still pissed with Mick for his recent sloppiness. "We're not sure of anything yet, Mick. That's why we're running a reconnaissance mission." His tone was patronising, and Mick flushed.
King was nodding, his expression thoughtful. "It makes sense. Vamps don't need to worry about blood-borne diseases, and I can't imagine a legit facility targeting drug users."
"Danica ever pull something like this?"
King shook his head. "Not that I know of. She likes to think of herself as being a bit more upmarket than that," he said. "But I've heard of other clans doing it. You've got the regular donations anyway, and if you're still hungry, you've got an all-you-can-eat buffet walking in off the street."
"So what's the plan?" Velasquez asked. "We check it out, and if it turns out to be vamp, we burn it?"
Frank nodded. "Sommerfield and Hedges have something else to do. The rest of you don't need to know the details, not yet." He turned to Sommerfield. "Take Zoë with you," he said. When Sommerfield looked as though she was going to protest, he bit out, "I'm leaving King and Mick here. You want them to babysit? Really?"
"I don't mind," said King mildly.
"I fucking do," interrupted Mick. He met Frank's glare with one of his own, his chin stubbornly raised.
Frank didn't call him on it, not this time. He simply held Mick's glare until the other man dropped his eyes. And then he turned to Sommerfield again, dismissing Mick from his thoughts as though the Englishman didn't exist. "Take Zoë," he repeated.
"Are the rest of us going with you?" Velasquez asked. "For a simple reconnaissance mission?"
"Yes. It should be simple, but it won't hurt to have backup."
Velasquez nodded, but there was a thoughtful look in her brown eyes. "If it's a simple job, wouldn't it be an idea to take King out this time?"
There was a sudden, hopeful air to King's silence, but Abby could almost feel him vibrating next to her. Frank, on the other hand, wasn't anywhere near as enthusiastic about Velasquez's suggestion.
"No," he said flatly.
Velasquez wasn't willing to let the matter drop. "Why not?" she asked, her jaw jutting out pugnaciously. "You said it yourself, it's a simple recon. And you're going to have to put him in the field sooner or later."
"I've made my decision, Velasquez. Now drop it."
Dex shifted, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Velasquez may have a point, man," he drawled. "He's ready."
"I'll say when he's ready." Frank's tone was steady, but it was clear that he wasn't expecting any further argument.
He was wrong.
"With all due respect, Frank," Velasquez interjected softly, "you're not the one who's been training him. That's Dex and Abby. If Dex says he's ready..."
Frank's jaw tightened as he looked straight at Abby. There was something in his eyes, something that was as close to a plea as Frank ever got, but Abby couldn't back him up this time.
"He's ready, Frank," she said.
Frank's shoulders slumped, and Abby swallowed down the guilt. Whatever Frank's reasons, whatever lingering resentment he still had about King's actions as a vampire, there was no doubt that King was as ready as he would ever get without being tempered in the field. And Velasquez, scenting victory, added the final nail in the coffin. "Can you give us one good reason why not, Frank? Just one?"
Frank stared at her for a long moment and then said, his tone defeated, "No, I can't." The look in his eyes was distant, pained, and the guilt ate at Abby. No matter how she analysed it logically, it still felt like a betrayal.
Velasquez nodded, although she was smart enough to keep the triumph off her face. "Okay," she said gently. "It's settled, then. King goes with you, and I'll stay here with Mick."
Frank's head jerked up, something strangely desolate in his expression before he hid it. "Velasquez..."
She shrugged, her normal good humour clear in her eyes. "Like you said, Frank, this one's simple. Doesn't need five of us, and Mick's cast is about ready to come off. We can do that tonight. No arguing, okay?" She smiled at him, her expression as reassuring as her voice.
Frank gave her a long, steady look, his expression bleak, like it was suddenly dawning on him that his team no longer needed him to give them orders. And then he nodded once, abruptly. "Okay," he said. "If that's the way you want to play it. We go out tonight." He turned his head and gave King a searching look, something sharp and bitter lying underneath it. "Don't mess this up."
King, for once, played it smart. He nodded and held his tongue.
"Can you look after Zoë?" Sommerfield asked, turning her head in Velasquez's general direction.
Before Velasquez could answer her, however, Frank interrupted again. "No. Take Zoë with you."
"But, Frank -"
"It's safe or I wouldn't suggest it," Frank interrupted, "and she'll provide extra cover. No one's going to suspect a couple with a kid. And Velasquez will be busy with Mick."
For a second, it looked as though Velasquez was going to argue with him about that as well, but she must have decided that discretion was the better part of valour. She'd had today's victory, so she passed on this one and Sommerfield did likewise, although Sommerfield's face was pinched and unhappy.
Frank had drawn himself up to his full height, his face carved from granite as he waited for further dissension. When none came, he dismissed them with a quick, "All right. We head out at twenty-two hundred hours. Be ready."
They drifted out of the lab, one by one, Mick grumbling as Dex shook him gently, his fingers wrapped around the nape of Mick's neck. He leaned in towards Mick, saying something, but whatever it was, Abby wasn't close enough to hear it. She hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder to where Frank sat, his hands resting on Sommerfield's desk and his head bowed. For a second Abby felt the urge to go back, but then Frank straightened up, his expression gaunt and still with that oddly desolate look in his eyes, and took the two steps necessary to reach Sommerfield's side, presumably to discuss whatever Sommerfield's mission was tonight or maybe just to put her mind at ease about Zoë. Maybe it would help, make him feel like Sommerfield still needed him, even if it didn't seem like the rest of them did anymore.
Abby left them to it, turning on her heel and following the rest of her team.
When she caught up with them, Mick and Dex were heading towards the gym. King, on the other hand, was talking to Velasquez.
"Thank you," he said as Abby drew level with them. "I could kiss you right now."
Something clenched in Abby's belly, but Velasquez merely grinned up at him. "You're so not my type," she said.
"Too tall?" he asked. His excitement and exuberance were bubbling up, shining in his eyes and setting him bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Velasquez smiled indulgently. "Too male."
"Well, I do have a history of dating lesbians..."
Velasquez smacked him companionably on the arm, flashing a grin at Abby. "You need to calm down, boy," she said mock-severely. "Or Frank won't let you out to play tonight."
"Okay, okay." There were hectic blooms of colour in King's cheeks as he turned towards Abby, but she was still feeling guilty about Frank and unsettled at her reaction towards Velasquez. She limited herself to a nod at him as she moved past, determined to ease whatever jitters were still running through her the way that she always did.
There was a target in the yard with her name on it and a bow she hadn't used in far too long.
-o-
Part 07: 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 05: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Velasquez was busy in Sommer's lab, although there was no sign of the other woman. She was probably with Zoë, given the time of day. When Velasquez heard them she straightened up from the microscope she'd been looking through, giving a low whistle when she caught sight of King's face.
"What happened?" she asked as she pulled on a pair of gloves, reaching for the antiseptic wipes.
"Frank decided to teach me to box."
"Let me guess," she said, gesturing King back towards the examining table he'd spent days strapped down to. He only hesitated for a moment before he pushed himself up onto it. "He waited until you thought it was over and then punched you in the face." She probed gently at the cut, ignoring King's wince.
"Mick been talking?"
"No." She seemed satisfied, opening one of the wipes to clean away the worst of the blood. King hissed as the antiseptic burned. "He does that to everyone first time out. Some big lesson about watching your back or some shit." She caught hold of King's chin, tilting his face so that she could get a better look. "Well, everyone but Abigail, anyway. You're lucky. This isn't going to need stitches, but it's probably going to scar."
"I hear chicks dig scars," he said. "Why not Abigail?"
Velasquez didn't answer, instead simply turning to look at Abigail, raising her eyebrows at her.
"Frank didn't train me," Abby explained quietly, not willing to elaborate. It was something else that set her apart from the rest of the team. Just like not losing anyone she'd cared for to the vamps, not going through the same shit with Frank that they had put her in the position of being not quite one of them, for all that they tolerated and, to some extent, respected her.
She expected King to ask, but he simply nodded. "Whistler," he said. "I wondered."
"He's my father," she explained, knowing what he meant. Even King, with as little as Danica had let him know, would have heard of Blade's Whistler.
"Yep," said Velasquez, busying herself with applying butterfly bandages across King's cut to pull the skin together. "The rest of us might have been drafted in, but for Abby this is by way of being the family business."
Abby shifted uncomfortably, never liking when the conversation turned to this.
"Okay," said Velasquez briskly. "You're done." She took a step back, eyeing King thoughtfully. "Get him some ice, Abby. It will help with the swelling. Now, the pair of you get out of my hair. Some of us have got work to do."
King jumped down from the table, and if he was a little clumsy about it, she was willing to put that down to the fact that he was worn out, achy and sore, not the blow to his head. He had a hard head. She'd figured that much out already.
"Thanks, Velasquez," he said, seeming perfectly happy to let Abby lead the way.
She took him through to the mess, sitting him down at the table while she wrapped ice in a small plastic bag and handed it to him to press against his face. And since she was at the refrigerator anyway, she fished out a couple of sodas and handed one to him.
"So, your dad works with Blade?" It wasn't the opening gambit she'd expected, but she should have anticipated that King would pick up on it and not let it go.
"Yes," she said, her tone leaving no doubt that she didn't welcome the conversation.
King nodded, his expression thoughtful as he pulled the tab. "Hell of a thing to have to live up to," he said. "My dad was a lawyer. Kind of expected me to join the family business, you know. Still, he had Alex and Julius to pick up that slack."
It gave her the opening to ask something that she'd been puzzling over, a thought that had been niggling in the back of her brain. "Not Hephaestion, then?"
He blinked at her, a little nonplussed, and then his face cleared. "Alexander Hephaestion," he clarified. "Julius Montgomery. And then, last and most definitely least -"
"Hannibal Joseph," she said quietly and he smiled.
"You've done your homework."
"Hedges did." He took a swig from his can while she watched him, her mind ticking over. She had to admit that she'd wondered just how much of what he'd told her in Danica's dungeon had been fabrication to deflect her. It was a relief to know that some of it, at least, had been true. "You didn't go to law school then?" she asked when he paused to look at her, more to cover herself than anything else.
"No." He tapped his thumbnail against the side of the can, not wanting to elaborate. "It was a long time ago."
That was as obvious a 'do not cross' flag as King ever flew - she'd picked that much up from Frank's never-ending interrogations. He got evasive, he got jokey and he made sarcastic comments. He just didn't come straight out and say 'I'm not going to talk about it'.
For once she was willing to respect it. It was nice, sitting here quietly without King's motor-mouth going, throwing up smokescreens to hide behind. She seldom got the time to just talk to the rest of her team when it didn't involve tactics or debriefing or, more recently, King himself.
"Mind if I ask a question?" King was watching her again, seemingly at ease, but the grip he had on his can was so tight that it was dimpling the thin metal. "I won't be offended if you say no."
She thought about it for a moment and then said, "Ask. If I don't like the question, you won't like the answer."
His mouth twitched in a smile. "I thought the reason the Whistler was with Blade is because..."
"Vampires killed his family? They did. I was born later, out of wedlock."
"Out of wedlock. That's a very old-fashioned way of putting it."
Abby shrugged, not looking at him. "Mom's family were kind of old-fashioned."
He weighed this up. She thought that he'd keep pushing it, but once again he surprised her. "Is that why you got into this? The whole 'vampire hunter' shtick?"
For a second she paused, not quite understanding how it linked into her previous remark. But then King did have a habit of leaping from conversation to conversation. "My dad, you mean? I guess."
"And everyone else?"
She hesitated; the stories weren't really hers to tell, but she knew King well enough by now to know that he wasn't likely to let it drop. Better that it come from her than he decided to go asking.
"Most people," she began slowly, "they don't even know vampires exist until their lives have been fucked up in one way or another. It's like... they're not real until they're in your face and you can't deny it any longer."
He was nodding, staring down at his can rather than looking at her, but he was listening and that was pretty much all she could ask for.
"That's what it's like for the others," she continued quietly. "They were just living their lives, getting on with it paycheck to paycheck, when all of a sudden..."
"Vampires," he said, and his eyes were distant, as though he was remembering.
"Yeah." She hesitated again, taking a sip from her own can to cover it before she decided that since she'd already begun, she might as well finish.
"Sommerfield lost her husband," she explained. King looked up, suddenly paying attention and being obvious about it. "He was a doctor, like her. A pathologist, only one night he started cutting up someone who wasn't quite dead. Dex was a cop. His partner turned out to be a familiar, and when Dex wasn't interested in being another one of their lackeys on the inside, they decided he'd be better off dead. They killed two of his colleagues, but Dex made it away. So they framed him for it." She shrugged. "Cops are still looking for him in connection with the murders.
"Mick... They killed his brother. Velasquez lost her partner. You know she was an EMT, right?"
King nodded, his eyes fixed seriously on her face. "And Frank?"
She paused, taking in a deep breath. "They killed Frank's family. His wife, two kids. The eldest was six."
King looked away, the metal of his can pinging as his grip tightened on it, things obviously falling into place for him. "But you knew they were real all along, didn't you? Vampires?"
"Yeah." There didn't appear to be any point in denying it. "I grew up knowing vampires were real, that they weren't just stories and fairytales. Mom didn't want me to know, but my dad... He's never really been one for that whole idea that ignorance is bliss."
"That's got to have been tough."
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes, uncomfortable with the idea that she needed sympathy. "Different kinds of tough," she said. And then, because she was a lot more comfortable when he was the subject of the conversation, "You still haven't told me what you studied."
He smiled, small but genuine. "No, I haven't." He watched her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face in a way that left her feeling even more uncomfortable. "Different kinds of tough," he repeated, his tone musing. "So was Velasquez right? Is this the family business for you?"
She shifted in the seat, but he obviously wasn't going to shut up about it. "My dad wanted me to have a normal life, but..."
"But when you know that vampires aren't the stuff of stories and legends, this is a normal life," he completed softly. He wasn't wrong enough to correct.
"What about you?" she asked instead, turning the conversation back to him. "Think you could go back to having a normal life?"
"You mean if Frank lets me?" He paused for a moment, as though thinking about it. And then he shrugged. "I know that vampires aren't the stuff of stories and legends," he said. "I've got nothing to go back to Canada for. Can't really roll up on my brothers' doorsteps and say, hey guys, I'm the reason Mom and Dad are dead." The muscle in his jaw tightened again, a brief moment of grief that he let go. "Not to mention, it's going to be difficult to explain exactly where I spent the last five years." He shrugged again, and this time there was a helpless, lost edge to it. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't get the whole vampire sex slave thing."
He flashed her a smile, too bright and cheerful to be real, but the conversation was making her uncomfortable again, confirming some things that up until now she'd only suspected. She got, on some level, why he needed to joke about it, but that didn't mean she liked to listen. She took another drink and his smile slowly faded, leaving something quieter and sadder behind.
When she looked back at him, he was still watching her and the unexpected warmth in his eyes had her shifting awkwardly, playing with the tab on her can so that she didn't have to look at him. She had no idea why he had to look at her like that, or what he thought he saw in her.
"Can I ask you another question? Since, you know, you seem to be in the sharing mood."
She nodded tersely, bracing herself for what was going to come, but knowing it was pointless. King seemed to enjoy confounding her expectations.
"Do you think that Frank will let me stay?" he asked, cutting straight to the chase. "Honestly?"
She stared out of the window, gathering her thoughts. "Probably. He's got nothing to gain now by killing you."
"Okay. That's... honest. A little more brutal than I was hoping for, but definitely honest."
"You did ask me to be honest," she said, trying not to be defensive about it. She was too used to speaking her mind instead of tiptoeing around things, that was the problem. "And I figured you could take it."
He gave her a wounded little pout, but there was no real hurt behind it. His eyes were crinkling at the corners, the way they did when he was amused by something and trying not to let it show.
She wasn't him - she couldn't make a joke about the things that were important. With King, it seemed that the more important something was, the more likely he was to wisecrack about it.
"He wants us to teach you how to shoot, remember?" she added, because maybe that would sound a little better. "I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't have decided that if, you know..."
"He was planning to put a bullet in my brain?" The tone was still bright and she couldn't help but feel like he was mocking her, even if it was subtle. But then he hesitated, the wounded look fading from his face to be replaced by something a little more genuine. "I get the feeling that the only reason I'm still breathing is because of you. So thank you."
She met his eyes awkwardly, still not sure what to say and thrown, once again, by his sudden switch in moods. In the end she settled on a simple, slightly stilted, "You're welcome."
He smiled at her again, slow and strangely sweet, as he leaned in closer. "And since we're in a sharing mood, I think you should know that I kind of have an inappropriate level of hero worship for you going on."
She blinked at him, and he pulled a face, an apologetic little twitch that wasn't reflected in his eyes, which stayed bright and merry.
"Well, you do keep saving my life. I think it's understandable under the circumstances."
She refused to take him at face value. "Hero worship?" she asked, amusement finally colouring her voice. "Really?"
He made a little humming sound of agreement, his eyes crinkling at the corners again.
"I should have known your eyes would turn out to be brown. You are so full of it."
He laughed, one of those rich, full ones that shook his body. "I'm hurt," he said, putting his hand on his chest. "No, really. Wounded deep in my soul."
She rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up reluctantly.
"Still full of it," she said, and his face softened slightly, his expression leaving her with that uncomfortable tight feeling in her chest.
She stared at him for a long moment, suddenly unable to think of anything to say. He leaned in towards her again, and her heart tripped a beat, but before he could say anything else, Mick came bursting through the door, a scowl settled firmly on his face.
He came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of the pair of them, his scowl settling into something more suspicious. And then he shook his head, eyeing the pair of them like he'd just scraped them off his shoe.
"Either of you fuckers going to help me cook dinner, then?" he challenged. "Don't know why it has to be my turn again anyway when I've only got one good arm."
King blinked at him. "Don't look at me," he said. "Ramen noodles is about my level of competence."
Abby slapped him on the shoulder. "So apparently there's something else we have to teach you," she said, grinning at the look he gave her.
Mick wasn't the best cook in the world, but he cooked fast and he cooked food that was at least edible, if heavy on the grease. And leaving King to his tender mercies for a while would give her time to think.
-o-
Things were a little awkward between them for the next few days, at least on Abby's side. Whatever things lingered unsaid between them, they didn't seem to bother King, or if they did, he didn't say anything about it. Which was odd given that King seldom shut up about anything. She could have avoided him if she'd wanted to, even given how small their base was, but she wasn't sure that she did.
If it was just sex, they could get it out of their systems. She wasn't averse to a casual fuck every now and then, but King...
King was complicated, and messy.
At least she had something to take her mind off it. Frank had them back to running ops, although these days he seldom came with them, letting Dex and Abby run them on their own with Mick and Velasquez running backup. Frank had his own irons in the fire, and again he wasn't sharing. He seemed to spend a lot of time working their contacts, sourcing weapons and intel. Silver didn't come cheap, but garlic only put a vamp down temporarily, and with the vamps' ranks swelling day by day, they went for the permanent solution each and every time.
Abby had stopped worrying about what he was up to. Frank knew what he was doing and she'd just have to trust in that, and trust him. Instead, she spent her free time training King, although she wasn't left to deal with him on her own. When it came to firearms, Dex was the go-to guy. He'd had fifteen years on the force and it showed when it came to sharp shooting. By the time that Dex was through with King, King was hitting the target nine times out of every ten, even if he did hold his weapon like a cop.
That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it wouldn't be the first time the team had to pretend to be someone they weren't.
Mick was a brawler, small, scrappy, and vicious even with one arm out of commission. King learned a thing or two from him, as well, even if he did tend to come away from their sessions battered and a little bloody. And Velasquez had her own twists and turns, kicks and tricks. Between the three of them, King started to cobble together a style all of his own. He was a magpie like that, if a lot less flashy than she'd expected.
But it was Abby that King paid the most attention to, both on the mats and off them.
And Abby wasn't the only one who noticed.
-o-
"You sure you know what you're doing?"
She'd been too focused on watching King shoot, and hadn't heard her father approach, especially as she hadn't been expecting to see him. She pushed her earmuffs off her head, knowing that he hadn't missed her surprise.
He didn't call her on her inattention, simply looking her up and down and coming to his own conclusions, ones he didn't share.
"Is this going to be another 'this isn't the life I wanted for you, Abby' conversation?" she asked, moderating her tone so that she hid her irritation. It must have been six months or more since she'd last laid eyes on him, and she didn't want to waste any time fighting, not when it was simply rehashing old arguments.
King fired again, the sound echoing around the range. When she glanced over at him, his eyes were narrowed, all of his focus on his target. Dex was hovering nearby, nodding approvingly, so she nodded her head towards the exit and waited for her father to precede her.
He stopped just outside the doorway, waiting until she'd shut the heavy steel doors before saying, "You look good, girl."
He, on the other hand, looked tired, dark shadows under his eyes and lines in his face that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him.
"You okay?" she asked, even though she knew he wasn't likely to answer her, at least not in the negative.
He didn't disappoint her. "I'm more worried about you, Abby."
She folded her arms, meeting his eyes calmly over the top of them. "I'm fine," she said evenly.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. "So do you? Know what you're doing? And no, I'm not talking about this life."
"Then what are you talking about?"
His face scrunched up, a sure sign that he had no patience with any games on her part, not today or any other day, come to that. "I'm talking about taking on board an ex-vamp. Are you following me now?"
"Frank signed off on it."
"Way I hear it, you didn't leave him much choice."
"That right? Anyone would think that Frank wasn't the one who made all the decisions around here."
This time when his face scrunched up it was because he was trying not to laugh. "Honey, you're a handful, I'll give you that." And then he paused for a moment, looking her over again. The look on his face was weird, almost wistful. "You get more like your mother every day," he said, and his tone was nostalgic. "She gave me hell, too."
"I'm not doing this to give you hell," she said softly.
"Then why are you doing this?"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
He chuckled darkly. "You sure about that?"
She was saved from answering when the door handle jerked in her hand. She stepped back, moving out of the way as King emerged, Dex on his heels.
Dex took one look at her father and made the smart move, bugging out of there with a nod to Whistler. King, on the other hand, had nowhere near the same survival instinct.
They probably needed to work on that.
He stopped short, eyeing her father warily. It was only when he glanced at her, confused, that it dawned on Abby that Abraham Whistler was the first person outside of her team that King had seen for months.
"You must be King." Trust her father to state the obvious.
King's expression grew even warier. "And you would be?"
Her father stuck out his hand and King took it automatically. "Abraham Whistler."
At the name, King shot another look at Abigail, his expression suddenly keenly interested. "So you'd be...?"
"Abigail's father, yes." Whistler's eyes were steady and his grip firm. There was no missing that he was assessing King. King certainly didn't miss it. Once her father had let go of his hand, King leaned against the wall, folding his arms and looking like he was settling in for a nice, cosy chat. His eyes, however, were astute and just as assessing as her father's.
If they were going to start a pissing contest, she was going to kick both of their asses.
King fired the first salvo, of course. "I was going to say Blade's Whistler, actually." He treated Whistler to a smile that had far too many teeth and far too little amusement for Abby's peace of mind.
Whistler didn't return it, although the line of his mouth tensed fractionally. "You've heard of Blade?"
"Everyone has heard of Blade. Guy's a legend. He's about the only thing that had Danica running scared."
"Danica being?"
"Queen bitch, among her many, many other titles."
Whistler studied King for a long moment, taking in the insouciant pose, the raised eyebrow and King's general 'fuck you' attitude. "She turned you."
"Oh, she did more than that." There was a flash of something through King's eyes, and Whistler didn't miss it any more than Abby did.
Whistler nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off King. "Reilly said."
"Oh, I'm sure he did." King's eyebrows drew down in a frown for a second before he asked, "What exactly did Frank say?"
Whistler's mouth tensed again, but Abby suspected that it was more suppressed amusement than irritation this time.
"Enough."
"Ah." King actually looked chagrined for a moment. "That much?"
"All bad," Whistler added, obviously unable to resist the chance to mess with King. It seemed to be a common theme for most people who'd met him.
King nodded seriously. "I can see that. Can't say I didn't expect it."
The amusement reached Whistler's eyes. "You don't really care, do you, son?"
"Not really, no."
Whistler snorted and even that sounded amused. "You better go find Frank," he said. "Let me speak to my daughter in peace."
King cast a quick look in Abby's direction, almost as if he was checking with her that it was okay to leave her, and then he nodded at Whistler, heading off in the direction that Dex had taken. He couldn't seem to resist a last look over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.
Abby watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight and out of hearing before she turned back to her father.
He was watching her, something sad in his expression. She was used to it, although she'd never figured out whether his melancholy was down to the fact that she reminded him of the daughters he'd lost or whether it was just because he regretted never being there for her. One thing she had figured out pretty early was that she didn't much care which it was.
"I like him," said Whistler, and Abby snapped her head up, examining his face for any sign of sarcasm. "He doesn't take any shit."
Perversely, her father's praise of King simply made her irritable. "He dishes out enough," she said.
Whistler snorted again, his eyes searching her face. He was good at reading people, and too good at reading her. "I'm sure you can handle it, Abby."
There was something in his tone the caught her attention and she stared at him for a long moment. "You're leaving again," she said, swallowing down her bitterness so that it wouldn't show. She should have expected that he'd leave as quickly as he'd arrived because he was good at it. He'd done it before she was even born, and he'd been doing it ever since.
"Abby..."
"It's fine," she snapped. "I'm sure Frank will pass on any intel you give him that he thinks we ought to know."
For a second it actually looked as though he was going to argue, but then the animation faded from his face, leaving a familiar blank mask behind. "Take care of yourself, Abby. You know how to reach me if you need me."
The sharp, bitter words were on the tip of her tongue, but telling him she didn't need him, that she never had, was a child's complaint, and he'd never really known the child she'd been.
"Yes," she said, her voice emotionless. "I do."
He nodded at her again, hesitating for a moment before he finally turned on his heel and headed towards Frank's office. His limp was more pronounced than ever and a momentary regret twisted in her stomach, not helped when he turned back, staring at her as though he was memorising her face before saying, "Take care of yourself, Abby."
She nodded, but he didn't see it because he was already gone.
She headed to the gym, where there was a punching bag there with her name on it.
She lost herself in the rhythm of it: the kicks, the jabs, the punches. She kept working until her muscles trembled with fatigue, the sweat soaking her top and dripping into her eyes, stinging and burning.
She'd just delivered a roundhouse kick that had the bag swinging on its chain when King stepped up behind it and caught it, steadying it between his hands. He peered around it, a small, concerned frown creasing his brow.
"You okay?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice as well as on his face.
"I'm fine," she snapped, but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't unobservant, no matter what he liked to pretend sometimes.
"Okay," he drawled. The frown he wore smoothed out, but she wasn't stupid either. She knew him well enough by now to know that he'd only hidden his concern, not let go of it entirely. "I take it you don't want to talk about it, either?"
"No." She aimed another punch at the bag, hitting it with such force that it rocked King back a step. If it had been anyone else that would have been enough to get the message through, but this was King. Even punching him directly wouldn't have been enough for that. He simply stepped forward, bracing the bag against his body.
"Let me know if you change your mind," he said. And then he tilted his head, his eyes tracking over her face. "So that was your dad?"
She paused, fists up and ready. "Drop it."
"Drop what?" His face was a picture of innocence.
"You know what."
"Do I?" He gave her a slow smile, mischief clear in his eyes. "Maybe we should talk about it, make sure I'm clear."
With anyone else, she would have been seriously pissed, but King had a way of easing past her defences, damn him. "You have no shame, do you?"
"No. I had any sense of shame beaten out of me years ago. You wouldn't believe the kinds of things I'm completely unashamed about."
She laughed in spite of herself. He was completely ridiculous sometimes, especially now that he was waggling his eyebrows at her, inviting her to share in a joke that, under the surface, was anything but funny.
"Yes," she said, because with King it was easier to answer the questions when he first asked them. Persistent didn't even begin to cover it. "That was my father. He's the one who found Blade, he's the one who trained him. Is that what you wanted to know?"
He gave her a searching look, one that was too keen for her peace of mind. "Wasn't around much, huh?"
"Did you miss the part where I said I didn't want to talk about it?"
"No, I didn't miss it. Abby..." She hit the bag, a quick one-two that jerked him backwards again, her fists hitting the leather only inches from his face. "Okay, I get it. But if you ever want to work off that tension in a different way..."
She stared at him for a long moment, but he wasn't at all apologetic, giving her a slow, sly smile that left her in no doubt that she'd heard him correctly.
"You," she said slowly, repeating herself, "are completely shameless."
"Yeah. I thought we'd established that."
For a stupid, suicidal moment she was actually tempted. Her moment of weakness must have shown on her face, because his smile took on a slightly self-satisfied edge, something similar flaring in his eyes.
It brought her to her senses. For all that he was entertaining, she still didn't know anywhere near enough about the man - King had the knack of talking a lot and saying very little. It left her more wary than wanting.
"If I'm ever that desperate," she said, "I'll keep you in mind."
This time what flared through his eyes looked more like hurt than satisfaction, but he soon buried it under his normal insouciant charm.
"Suit yourself," he said and he managed to make it sound unconcerned. "Although, I just meant that if you wanted to spar, I'd be happy to help out. I'm not entirely sure what you meant..."
This time her glove glanced off the bag when she struck it and managed to catch him in the stomach, although by the time it hit him the momentum had dissipated and she didn't hit him anywhere near as hard as he deserved. Which had nothing to do with her pulling her punch at the last moment.
"Or not," he said, gasping breathlessly. "I can take a hint."
"No, you can't."
"No, I really can't." He grinned at her, his hand rubbing where she'd hit him. And just like that, her bad humour faded away. She shook her head at him, but she couldn't quite hold back the small smile at his antics.
He was far too good at getting past her defences, but when he slung one arm companionably around her shoulder and steered her towards the mats, she found it difficult to care.
-o-
Whatever intel her father had brought Frank, it darkened Frank's countenance for days. Even Sommerfield ended up tiptoeing around him, and Sommerfield normally didn't pay any more attention to Frank's moods than Velasquez did.
Abby wasn't stupid. She didn't miss Frank's quick looks in her direction whenever he issued an order, like he was just waiting for her to step out of line. She'd had her fill of it, even if she wasn't childish enough to complain that it was unfair. And with King more or less behaving himself these days, it wasn't as though she needed to butt heads with Frank anyway.
So she kept out of Frank's way most of the time, taking Dex out to pick off stragglers one by one rather than hitting any hard targets. It wasn't difficult to find vampires in this city - the more she fought them, the more convinced she was that they were deliberately swelling their ranks, maybe because of Blade. Whatever the reason, it kept her busy and it kept her cautious. And when she wasn't in the field, she was with King. And that meant she was usually with Zoë, too.
Zoë had taken a shine to King. Sometimes when Abby came back from the hunt early enough for Zoë still to be up, or late enough for breakfast to already be on the table, she found the pair of them huddled together, sheets of paper spread out in front of them. King wasn't a bad artist. Not a brilliant one, but good enough that she could tell what he was trying to draw.
"Draw me a unicorn," Zoë was saying one afternoon as she walked into the mess.
"What's the magic word?" King asked.
"Now?"
Abby swallowed a smile. "The word is 'please', Zoë," she chided gently.
"Oh. Draw me a unicorn, please?"
"I don't know how to draw unicorns," King said, looking up from his piece of paper to give Abby a smile, one that was warm and wide. There was charcoal smudged on his cheek, and as she walked past him, heading towards the coffee pot, she couldn't resist reaching out and wiping it away with her thumb.
"Yes, you do," insisted Zoë. "You drew one yesterday."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. I saw it."
King's brow crinkled. "Are you sure it was a unicorn?"
"Yes."
"Are you absolutely positive?"
"Yes!" Zoë started to paw through the pieces of paper on the table, producing one smudged sheet with a triumphant flourish. "There, see?"
"Ah," King said, glancing up to meet Abby's eyes again, his own dancing. "That's not actually a unicorn. That's just a horse with a horn."
Zoë gave him a look far older than her years. "You're silly," she said, making it sound like a pronouncement from on high.
"Well, I can't really argue with that one."
Abby couldn't either, but before she could do more than smile, Frank appeared in the doorway, summoning her with a jerk of his head. "You too, King," he added when King turned his attention back to sketching for Zoë.
King's eyes flew up to Frank's face, searching his expression for any hint of what was coming. When he didn't find anything, he looked at Abby, but she was none the wiser either. She gave him a little shrug, and he pushed his chair back from the table, following her as she hurried to catch up with Frank.
"Okay, listen up," Frank said once they'd arrived at Sommerfield's lab, where the others were waiting. Sommerfield didn't seem particularly happy about it or the number of people crowding her lab, which was understandable. "We've got some interesting intel on a blood donation facility in the lower east of the city. Not a good area - high deprivation, lots of drug users, some gang activity - and some of the local homeless have gone missing."
Mick frowned. "And we're sure that vamps are behind it?"
Frank fixed him with a steely-eyed look, obviously still pissed with Mick for his recent sloppiness. "We're not sure of anything yet, Mick. That's why we're running a reconnaissance mission." His tone was patronising, and Mick flushed.
King was nodding, his expression thoughtful. "It makes sense. Vamps don't need to worry about blood-borne diseases, and I can't imagine a legit facility targeting drug users."
"Danica ever pull something like this?"
King shook his head. "Not that I know of. She likes to think of herself as being a bit more upmarket than that," he said. "But I've heard of other clans doing it. You've got the regular donations anyway, and if you're still hungry, you've got an all-you-can-eat buffet walking in off the street."
"So what's the plan?" Velasquez asked. "We check it out, and if it turns out to be vamp, we burn it?"
Frank nodded. "Sommerfield and Hedges have something else to do. The rest of you don't need to know the details, not yet." He turned to Sommerfield. "Take Zoë with you," he said. When Sommerfield looked as though she was going to protest, he bit out, "I'm leaving King and Mick here. You want them to babysit? Really?"
"I don't mind," said King mildly.
"I fucking do," interrupted Mick. He met Frank's glare with one of his own, his chin stubbornly raised.
Frank didn't call him on it, not this time. He simply held Mick's glare until the other man dropped his eyes. And then he turned to Sommerfield again, dismissing Mick from his thoughts as though the Englishman didn't exist. "Take Zoë," he repeated.
"Are the rest of us going with you?" Velasquez asked. "For a simple reconnaissance mission?"
"Yes. It should be simple, but it won't hurt to have backup."
Velasquez nodded, but there was a thoughtful look in her brown eyes. "If it's a simple job, wouldn't it be an idea to take King out this time?"
There was a sudden, hopeful air to King's silence, but Abby could almost feel him vibrating next to her. Frank, on the other hand, wasn't anywhere near as enthusiastic about Velasquez's suggestion.
"No," he said flatly.
Velasquez wasn't willing to let the matter drop. "Why not?" she asked, her jaw jutting out pugnaciously. "You said it yourself, it's a simple recon. And you're going to have to put him in the field sooner or later."
"I've made my decision, Velasquez. Now drop it."
Dex shifted, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Velasquez may have a point, man," he drawled. "He's ready."
"I'll say when he's ready." Frank's tone was steady, but it was clear that he wasn't expecting any further argument.
He was wrong.
"With all due respect, Frank," Velasquez interjected softly, "you're not the one who's been training him. That's Dex and Abby. If Dex says he's ready..."
Frank's jaw tightened as he looked straight at Abby. There was something in his eyes, something that was as close to a plea as Frank ever got, but Abby couldn't back him up this time.
"He's ready, Frank," she said.
Frank's shoulders slumped, and Abby swallowed down the guilt. Whatever Frank's reasons, whatever lingering resentment he still had about King's actions as a vampire, there was no doubt that King was as ready as he would ever get without being tempered in the field. And Velasquez, scenting victory, added the final nail in the coffin. "Can you give us one good reason why not, Frank? Just one?"
Frank stared at her for a long moment and then said, his tone defeated, "No, I can't." The look in his eyes was distant, pained, and the guilt ate at Abby. No matter how she analysed it logically, it still felt like a betrayal.
Velasquez nodded, although she was smart enough to keep the triumph off her face. "Okay," she said gently. "It's settled, then. King goes with you, and I'll stay here with Mick."
Frank's head jerked up, something strangely desolate in his expression before he hid it. "Velasquez..."
She shrugged, her normal good humour clear in her eyes. "Like you said, Frank, this one's simple. Doesn't need five of us, and Mick's cast is about ready to come off. We can do that tonight. No arguing, okay?" She smiled at him, her expression as reassuring as her voice.
Frank gave her a long, steady look, his expression bleak, like it was suddenly dawning on him that his team no longer needed him to give them orders. And then he nodded once, abruptly. "Okay," he said. "If that's the way you want to play it. We go out tonight." He turned his head and gave King a searching look, something sharp and bitter lying underneath it. "Don't mess this up."
King, for once, played it smart. He nodded and held his tongue.
"Can you look after Zoë?" Sommerfield asked, turning her head in Velasquez's general direction.
Before Velasquez could answer her, however, Frank interrupted again. "No. Take Zoë with you."
"But, Frank -"
"It's safe or I wouldn't suggest it," Frank interrupted, "and she'll provide extra cover. No one's going to suspect a couple with a kid. And Velasquez will be busy with Mick."
For a second, it looked as though Velasquez was going to argue with him about that as well, but she must have decided that discretion was the better part of valour. She'd had today's victory, so she passed on this one and Sommerfield did likewise, although Sommerfield's face was pinched and unhappy.
Frank had drawn himself up to his full height, his face carved from granite as he waited for further dissension. When none came, he dismissed them with a quick, "All right. We head out at twenty-two hundred hours. Be ready."
They drifted out of the lab, one by one, Mick grumbling as Dex shook him gently, his fingers wrapped around the nape of Mick's neck. He leaned in towards Mick, saying something, but whatever it was, Abby wasn't close enough to hear it. She hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder to where Frank sat, his hands resting on Sommerfield's desk and his head bowed. For a second Abby felt the urge to go back, but then Frank straightened up, his expression gaunt and still with that oddly desolate look in his eyes, and took the two steps necessary to reach Sommerfield's side, presumably to discuss whatever Sommerfield's mission was tonight or maybe just to put her mind at ease about Zoë. Maybe it would help, make him feel like Sommerfield still needed him, even if it didn't seem like the rest of them did anymore.
Abby left them to it, turning on her heel and following the rest of her team.
When she caught up with them, Mick and Dex were heading towards the gym. King, on the other hand, was talking to Velasquez.
"Thank you," he said as Abby drew level with them. "I could kiss you right now."
Something clenched in Abby's belly, but Velasquez merely grinned up at him. "You're so not my type," she said.
"Too tall?" he asked. His excitement and exuberance were bubbling up, shining in his eyes and setting him bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Velasquez smiled indulgently. "Too male."
"Well, I do have a history of dating lesbians..."
Velasquez smacked him companionably on the arm, flashing a grin at Abby. "You need to calm down, boy," she said mock-severely. "Or Frank won't let you out to play tonight."
"Okay, okay." There were hectic blooms of colour in King's cheeks as he turned towards Abby, but she was still feeling guilty about Frank and unsettled at her reaction towards Velasquez. She limited herself to a nod at him as she moved past, determined to ease whatever jitters were still running through her the way that she always did.
There was a target in the yard with her name on it and a bow she hadn't used in far too long.
-o-
Part 07: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
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Kind of want to smack Whistler Sr. a little, but he approves of Hannibal, so hence the little part.
I get the feeling back that Abby and Hannibal are back to dancing around one another and it's got the same vibe as the beginning and holy crap I am so much in love with this.
SO MUCH in love with this.
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He's still a controlling ass on occasion, though ::g::