Fic: The Lies You Live Part 05/12 (Blade: Trinity, Abby/King, NC-17)

[alyse]

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 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 04: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal

-o-

For the next week or so, King was a little quieter, and a lot more co-operative. Frank spent a lot of time with him, running through what King knew about the various vamp clans, and Abby usually made an excuse to be there. No matter what Frank might be thinking and not saying, it wasn't because she didn't trust Frank. She trusted Frank with her life - like her father trusted Frank enough to steer Abby towards him - but that wasn't why. Abby formed her own opinions, made her own judgements and always had.

Maybe that was why Frank wanted her to keep away from King.

King had been right about not knowing much. Even so, some of it was new to Abby, particularly the little titbits he let slip about the frictions and tensions that had sprung up between the various clans as they jockeyed to fill the power vacuum that had sprung up after Blade took down Deacon Frost, turning his ambitions to blood and dust. She listened with a keen ear, trying to identify any weaknesses her team could exploit or operations they could disrupt, but after that first day, she didn't interfere with Frank's line of questioning. Even if Frank's line of questioning became a little more forceful, a little more desperate with each passing day.

She didn't call Frank on it - these days he was brittle and snappish, not focused and fierce, and Abby wasn't about to add to whatever stress he was under. But Frank had never been stupid; it was one of the things she most admired about him.

"You still think I'm being too hard on him?" Frank asked one day, staring at her from over his coffee mug. The steam rising up from it clouded his expression in the dim morning light, and Abby blinked at him, her eyes gritty with tiredness from another all-night session with King.

There was something in Frank's tone that had her treading cautiously. "I... don't know." It was exactly the kind of wishy-washy answer that Frank had no time for. He scowled at her, his fingers tightening around his mug until they were white knuckled.

"Spit it out," he said heavily. "You're not normally shy about sharing your opinion, Whistler. Even when it's not asked for."

The words weren't fair, but Frank didn't seem to be interested in being fair, not this morning, and even though she knew it was frustration that was driving him, it left her peevish and irritable.

"I don't see the point in going over the same ground, again and again," she said. "You think that if you get him to repeat it, you'll trip him up?"

He scowled at her. "Standard interrogation technique," he said, his tone heavily sarcastic. "Which you'd know if you weren't still so wet behind the ears."

She slammed her own mug down on the counter, and the coffee slopped over the sides, burning her fingers, which was the surest sign she could have had that she needed to get a grip on her temper. For her own benefit, she thought wryly, never mind Frank's. "Okay," she said carefully. "Maybe you'd like to share some of your vast experience." So maybe Frank wasn't the only one who could be sarcastic.

She'd crossed the line. Frank's eyebrows lowered ominously, temper flaring across his face. He soon tamped it down, getting himself back under control, but the brief loss of it worried Abby more than she wanted to admit. Frank was ice and Frank was stone. He was solid when the rest of them weren't, and the faint cracks he was letting show now were out of character. Losing control was the kind of thing Frank warned them about.

Don't get stupid, and don't get dead. That was the mantra he lived by, and the mantra he drilled into the rest of them.

She backed down, her face scrunching up apologetically, and then watched worriedly as Frank didn't react, simply taking another sip of coffee, his grip on his mug still painfully tight and the look in his eyes distant.

"What am I missing?" she asked, making sure that it didn't come out sarcastic this time.

Frank's eyes focused on her, and he snorted. "A lot," he said caustically. "You haven't noticed how he's holding things back?"

She'd noticed. King was smart, but he wasn't subtle. Every time they got close to asking him about how he'd spent his time with Danica - his time with Danica, not about Danica's plans or her clan - he clammed up or, more usually, changed the subject.

"About Danica," she said, acknowledging Frank's point. "I noticed." Only it seemed that her interpretation of that had been much more charitable than Frank's. She hadn't missed the way that King's eyes had darkened whenever Frank's questions got too close, that brief moment of frozenness before he moved on, and she had her own suspicions about exactly what it was that King was hiding.

Frank let out a soft sound of disgust. "He can't be fucking trusted," he said. "I don't know why the hell you can't see that." He gave her a hard, sharp look. "He was a vamp, Whistler. You think that Sommerfield's cure changes any of that? How many people are dead because of him? How many has he killed?"

"Three hundred and nineteen," King said, and Abby's head jerked up, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the sight of him, Mick hanging back behind him. She'd been so tired, so lost in thought, that she hadn't heard them coming, but from the look of bitter satisfaction on Frank's face, he had.

"That I remember," King continued, his face pale but set. He shrugged, but the move wasn't dismissive so much as lost, and he didn't take his eyes off Abby's face, ignoring Frank entirely. "I lost track sometimes."

"You lost track of how many people you murdered?" Frank's tone was beyond simply contemptuous. "Convenient."

King bit at his lip, his gaze finally slipping away from Abby's. "Danica like to play games," he said. "Sometimes she liked to make me go hungry. You get hungry enough as a vamp, you start to lose track." He paused, something akin to horror rising slowly in his eyes. "You lose track of a lot of things. Sometimes it's easier that way."

"Easier." There was a world of rage in Frank's voice, and Abby couldn't blame him for it. There was a big difference, she was finding, between being aware of something on a purely intellectual level and actually hearing those words falling from King's mouth. "You ever kill kids?" Frank continued, and she tensed up, knowing exactly where that question was coming from.

"No."

"Danica ever kill kids?"

"Sometimes."

"You ever stop her?"

King hesitated and then admitted, slowly, "Sometimes I tried. Sometimes it even worked."

"Sometimes," Frank said flatly and then he ran his hand over his face. "Jesus."

"I told you." King sounded just as tired as the rest of them. "She liked to play games. If she thought..." He trailed off, glancing again at Abby as though he hoped the some support from that direction. "I have a type," he said, "Brunette, pretty, a little cool." It was difficult not to take his meaning, not when he cast another brief glance in her direction before his eyes skittered away. "She liked to hunt ones just like that, just so she could kill them in front of me. When I stopped caring, she moved on to kids." He shrugged again, but the move was lifeless, and so was his voice when he continued. "So I stopped caring there, too. Told her that I didn't know why the hell she would pick things that weren't ripe."

Frank was watching him closely, but there was none of the lurching sense of horror and twisted sympathy in his face that Abby felt. His eyes stayed flat and cold, an old and pained fury in their depths.

"I know how she killed my parents," King said, "I know exactly how she killed my parents." His voice was flat, just like Frank's expression, but she didn't think that was down to anger, just a kind of emotional numbness. She could understand it far too easily, given how she felt just listening. "She'd have killed Dad first, made Mom watch. Then she'd have killed Mom, and she'd have done it slowly. She loved her father, hated her mother, and I watched that play out so many fucking times." His voice broke, finally, and he took in a shaky breath, rubbing the scar left on his wrist by his silver cuff with his thumb, the way he did when he was agitated. "So many times. She and her brother are seriously fucking twisted, and -"

"And it was easier to lose track," Frank interrupted, and there was no warmth whatsoever in his voice, nothing but a terrible kind of emptiness. "Easier for you."

"Yes," King said, looking straight at Frank, and to give him at least some credit he didn't try to justify himself any further. He didn't need to; the self-loathing in his voice was clear.

Frank stared at him for a long moment, and there was no reading what he was thinking now, not when his face was carved from weathered stone. He finally tore his eyes away from King's face, looking past him to Mick. "Get him out of here," he said icily. "Get him out of my goddamned sight."

Abby stayed silent when they'd gone, still reeling and feeling like it was only the counter behind her that was holding her up.

"You still think he's worth saving?" Frank asked heavily, and she blinked up at him, the memories of King asking that exact same question while he was still chained up in Danica's dungeon overwhelming her. She didn't have an answer for him, not one he would like.

Not one she was sure about, anyway.

-o-

Almost a week passed with no final decision from Frank about what to do with King, maybe because he still wasn't sure himself, his practicality warring with his desire for revenge for the things that King had done while he wasn't human. Abby wasn't sure, and she wasn't interested in sitting in on King's interrogations any longer. Her feelings on the matter, however, were irrelevant. Frank seemed to have decided that he'd got everything useful out of King anyway, which put the entire team into a kind of limbo. The inactivity chafed at her, leaving her far too much time to think, too much time to dwell on what King might have done. It made her snappy and irritable, and while Frank didn't notice - too caught up in his own feelings on the subject - Velasquez did, and she'd always been much more likely than Frank to tackle things head on, dealing with them in that bullish way she had.

She cornered Abby in the mess, and kept her there by the simple precedent pulling a chair out and pushing a cup of coffee into her hand. When it looked like Hedges was about to join them, she sent him away with a flea in his ear, turning to Abby and asking, succinctly, "Are you ever going to spill what's bothering you?"

Abby huffed out a breath, sinking down into the chair and meeting Velasquez's eyes. "Has Mick been talking?"

"About what's bothering you? No, Abby. I've just got eyes. However, if you mean about King and how many people he's killed...?"

She said it so calmly, like she'd had no problem assimilating it and reconciling it with the man she'd been treating and seemed to like.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Ah." Velasquez took a sip from her own cup, something horrible and herbal. "I thought that might be it. What, you thought he was a vegetarian vampire?" There was a wry note of humour in her voice, and that didn't help with Abby's irritation levels.

"No, but..."

"It's simple math, Whistler. Vamps need to feed at least once a week to stay healthy, and five years at fifty-two weeks a year gives..."

"Two hundred and sixty," Abby completed automatically, and Velasquez grinned at her.

"Most eat more," she said. "Especially if they're hurt. The more they're hurt, the more they need to feed. So I wasn't surprised it was that many, just that it was that few."

"You think three hundred and nineteen is a few?"

"I think he was hurt a lot." She gave Abby a keen look. "He doesn't like to be touched, did you notice that?"

She hadn't, and Velasquez smiled at her confused look. "You're about the only person he doesn't have a problem with. For some reason, he seems to trust you."

"Apparently I'm his type," Abby said dryly, and Velasquez gave her another smile, something sharp and wolfish.

"Maybe. But if you want to know the real reason I'm... not okay, but not freaked out about it, then think on this. Sommerfield is working so hard on a cure because we know that it could be any of us, at any time, who gets bitten and turned." She brought her fingers up to touch them lightly against the small, silver cross she wore around her neck, next to the St Jude medallion. "We want to believe there's salvation for us if that happens. And if I'm going to believe that for me, then I've got to believe it for King."

Abby envied Velasquez's faith, in herself as much as in any deity.

"It's not that easy," she said, and Velasquez chuckled ruefully.

"It never is, honey."

-o-

After her conversation with Velasquez, Abby decided that she might as well stop pretending that King wasn't going to be a long-term problem. She couldn't forget what he'd done, but she couldn't keep on hating him for it either, and her wariness soon faded to a kind of bemused familiarity as his vampirism settled back into being an abstract concept instead of something she had to confront on a daily basis.

It was Velasquez who also finally decided to let King outside; she'd been muttering darkly about a lack of Vitamin D, but mostly Abby got the impression that she was tired of being cooped up inside all day watching over him. While there was no doubt that Velasquez had warmed to King a little more than the others, it didn't mean that she was stupid. None of them were - they made sure that King went out with at least two of them watching over him, and that both of his guards were armed.

Abby didn't have any objections - in truth, she was a little relieved that for once someone other than her was making a decision about King, especially as Frank didn't seem in any hurry to.

King rewarded their trust by behaving himself. He stretched out in the sunlight rather than giving them grief, soaking it in like he'd missed it somewhere deep in his bones, and it was only once it had sunk into his bones that he'd feel human again. He read a lot, too, which surprised her. Anything he could get his hands on: Hedges' technical manuals; Dex's back issues of Guns and Ammo; even the dog-eared romances that Velasquez devoured, and the trashier they were the better as far as Velasquez was concerned.

So when she cornered King on the dried out and scrubby patch of grass behind their base, she wasn't surprised to find him stretched out, dozing and shirtless, a book open on his chest. He opened his eyes when she stood over him, blinking up at her, one hand coming up to shield his face from the sun.

"Hey," he said, and his voice was a little rough, like he'd just woken up. He'd needed to be careful, as unused as he was to the sun. He was starting to tan, except for the raised, white patch of skin winding its way around the inside of his wrist.

"What size shoe do you wear?" she asked, not bothering with any of the social niceties.

He blinked up at her again, and she wasn't sure why - it wasn't as though the question was a hard one.

"Um... twelve and a half," he said.

She nodded, casting her eyes over his body. It was only when she finally reached his face again, catching the amused look on it, that she realised how it could be taken.

She refused to blush, meeting his eyes calmly. "Thirty-two, thirty-four long?" she asked, adding an unrushed and only slightly sarcastic, "For the pants?" when amusement flashed through his eyes again.

"Sure," he said, and his mouth quirked in a way that was becoming all too familiar to her. "Large for shirts."

She nodded again. "Need anything else?"

"A razor, please." His smile deepened. "And underwear would be nice."

She wasn't going to rise to the bait. Much. "Boxers or briefs?"

Now his grin was in full force. "You know, the answer to that's supposed to tell you way too much about a person. Maybe I should plead the fifth - unless you think you know too much already."

She nodded once, seriously. "Thongs it is, then," she said, and he laughed, the sound shaking his entire body and making her mouth curl up reluctantly in response.

"Boxer-briefs would be fine," he said eventually, and his eyes were the brightest she'd seen them all week. "I hate having to pick my underwear out of my ass-crack."

"Now that is way too much information." She waited until his mirth had died down before adding, "I'll see what I can do."

Mick was glowering at King sullenly as she turned away and headed towards him. "Any idea how much longer we're going to have to babysit him?" he asked when she drew near, and he didn't bother to lower his voice. Abby threw a look back over her shoulder at King, but if King had registered Mick's comment - and she didn't see how he couldn't have heard it - he didn't react. Instead, he was already stretched back out on his back, holding his book up to shield his eyes from the sun as he read on.

"No idea," she said, turning back to Mick. "Why don't you ask Frank?"

Mick snorted, giving her a jaundiced look as he cradled the arm he now had in a cast to his chest protectively. His last mission with Frank hadn't gone so well, so it was hardly surprising that he wanted to avoid Frank as much as possible, having already felt the edge of Frank's acerbic tongue. More acerbic than usual giving Frank's continuing foul temper. "Trying to get my arse kicked, are you?"

She smiled at him, showing him just enough teeth. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself, Mick. And you know it."

He stared at her for a moment, and then his lips turned up in a grin, exposing teeth that weren't as white or even as King's. "Yeah, I do, love," he said, knocking his good shoulder into her. "And since you're running errands for your boy, how about you bring me back a packet of fags 'n'all, yeah?"

She rolled her eyes at him as she headed down towards the truck, sketching out a quick wave towards Dex, who'd also pulled today's guard duty. "Those things will kill you eventually, Mick."

"Sure they will," he called after her. "Just not today."

She stopped at Goodwill first, then headed for the nearest discount store for anything she couldn't get for King there or didn't want to buy used. Both places were ideal for what she needed: cheap and cheerful, and paying cash didn't attract any attention. She paid a little more for his shoes, going for some mid-range cross trainers, ones with laces since they'd be more likely to fit. They were the footwear of choice for her team: sturdy, with good grip, but comfortable and not likely to come off in a fight.

King certainly seemed appreciative, although he was more excited by the other things she'd picked up than his new shoes, tumbling the books from the bag into his lap before picking one at random and turning it over in his hands. They'd had an eclectic collection shoved onto the old bookcase at the back of the Goodwill store and she'd picked several of the more interesting looking ones.

"I figured you might be sick of romances," she said a little awkwardly, not quite sure how to deal with the warmth of the smile he shot her.

"Thanks," he said, and the same warmth was in his voice as he read the blurb on the back of the first book. "Boy meets girl tends to a get a little old." And then he looked up at her, his eyes dancing mischievously. "Sometimes."

If he was flirting, it seemed safer not to respond and so she simply nodded at him and retreated, leaving him sorting through the pile of books. She had other supplies to deal with anyway.

When she finally finished stashing everything she'd bought and went to check in with Frank, he was firmly ensconced with Sommerfield, heads bowed together as they talked. The expression on both of their faces was serious, but when wasn't Frank's face serious these days?

She nodded to Frank when he looked up and caught her eye, intending to head straight back out to relieve one of the others watching King if Frank was busy, but he beckoned her over, the move lacking his normal peremptory edge.

She went, biting down on her curiosity.

"What's up?"

Frank rubbed his hand tiredly over his face as though by doing so he'd get rid of all of the cobwebs slowing down his thought processes. He still looked tired even without the extensive sessions with King, and the weight of everything they were trying to accomplish and the full extent of the obstacles they faced had settled even more deeply into the lines on his face.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he simply said, "Sommerfield?" and the other woman's head jerked up.

"A few of the other cells have tried out the enhanced antivirus," she said, her head turning slightly as she tried to position Abby. Abby leaned back against one of the counters, letting her heel hit the cupboard door underneath it just so that Sommerfield knew where she was. "I sent the details of it through secure channels, and today we got the results back."

"And?" Abby switched her attention between the two of them, already guessing from their expressions that whatever was coming next wasn't going to be good.

"It didn't work," Frank said succinctly, but he didn't elaborate on it, leaving Abby looking at Sommerfield, waiting for her to fill the gap.

"We're one for six, so far."

"Wait, what?" Abby rubbed at her temple, hating the other woman's need to be cryptic. "When you say one for six, do you mean only one cured? And that would be King?"

"Yes and yes."

"And the other five?"

Sommerfield pressed her lips together, a brief sign of irritation that wasn't aimed at Abby. "One died after receiving only a couple of doses of the antivirus. Four survived the antivirus - it made them sick but it didn't cure them. When it became clear that they weren't going to respond, the cells in question cut their losses and staked them." Her mouth drew down in another irritated little twitch, maybe because the loss of all of that experimental data was eating at her. "Apparently their vamps weren't quite as co-operative as King."

"So... King's pretty much all we've got?"

"So far," Sommerfield corrected. "We haven't given up hope yet - a sample of six isn't exactly clinically significant. And we have no idea why it worked on King and not on them - maybe because they were older, had been turned longer. It may even have had something to do with their underlying genetic code and how susceptible it makes them to the vampirism virus in the first place, or maybe it was down to the strain of virus they were infected with - we already know that there are a number of strains circulating as the virus has mutated over the years.

"But I'm more curious about the one who died. If the reports are to be believed, that was all down to the antivirus, not someone's itchy staking finger. So if it's not going to work as a cure, maybe it'll work as a weapon."

"Okay," Abby said slowly, drawing the word out to give her time to think. "So what now?"

"We keep testing." Sommerfield's face was set and determined. "Sooner or later, we'll figure out what's up and how to beat this fucker." Abby didn't doubt it, not with Sommerfield on the case. But there was another question eating at her, one that seemed slightly more urgent.

"And King?" she asked, directing the question at Frank this time.

He met her gaze calmly, although the corner of his mouth tensed up, a sure sign that he was irritated and trying to hide it. Or maybe it was worry she'd glimpsed, lurking underneath his stony façade.

"He hasn't outlived his usefulness yet. I'm not planning on doing anything hasty." He gave Abby a slightly jaundiced look, one had her raising her chin. "Just keep him out of my way or I might change my mind."

He turned back to Sommerfield, an obvious sign of dismissal that sent Abby on her way out of the door. When she cast a last look over her shoulder, Frank was listening to Sommerfield, who was back to expounding on something or other. Maybe it was a trick of the harsh overhead lights, but for the first time since she'd met him, he looked his age.

She couldn't rid herself of that image, turning it over and over in her mind as she worked her way through the base, eventually tracking King down in the mess hall where he was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. That told her that Velasquez wasn't on duty.

In fact, no one seemed to be on duty.

When King caught her looking, he raised his wrist so that she could see the edge of the handcuffs that chained him to his chair. "I'm being good," he said solemnly before giving her a faint smile that said that if he had his way, he'd be anything but.

She studied him for a moment, ignoring his raised eyebrow. While she'd been stowing supplies, he'd shaved and changed into some of the clothes she'd picked up for him. As cheap and generic as they were - grey tee and blue jeans - he looked much better in them than he had in Frank's cast-offs, less washed out and more like she suspected he had before Danica got her fangs into him.

She hesitated for a moment, and then sat down in the seat across from him.

"How are you doing?" she asked. The words came out a little stilted.

He raised his eyebrow at her again, searching her face. "I'm fine," he said cautiously. "Human, in case that's what you were wondering. Frank decided whether he's going to kill me yet?"

She flattened her fingers against the table, staring down at her hands rather than looking at him. "I think you have a reprieve," she said, which was as far as she was willing to go. Frank couldn't object to her telling King that much.

When she looked up at him again, he was watching her, his face drawn down into a slightly puzzled frown.

"Thank you," he said, although for what she wasn't sure.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, changing the topic awkwardly. It wasn't smooth, but he leaned back in his seat, still watching her closely.

"Mick went out for some 'fresh air'," he said, the air quotes he made with his free hand leaving her in no doubt as to why Mick had stepped out. "Dex really needed the bathroom, apparently."

"So he left you behaving yourself?"

"He left me behaving myself," he agreed, a faint smile playing around the corner of his mouth. "According to Mick I'm now 'fucking boring', although whether he meant me or just babysitting me, I don't know. I'm hoping he meant the latter."

"And you?"

"Me? I'm bored out of my fucking mind."

She laughed; she couldn't help it, not when he plastered a jokingly offended look on his face.

"That's not a reflection on your choice of reading matter, by the way," he added hastily. "It's not that I'm not grateful, but..."

"But you're bored out of your fucking mind?" she asked, unable to resist smiling at him.

"God, yes."

She nodded, intending to say more when Dex barrelled through the doors, still fastening his pants, and she had no idea why the men in her life insisted on coming out of the bathroom unzipped. When he caught sight of her, he slowed down, something close to relief passing briefly across his face.

"Whistler," he said, and she nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"Do you people actually have conversations?" King asked. "Or do you just meaningfully intone your names at each other? Not that I'm criticising, you understand. I'm just curious."

Dex's mouth quirked a little at the corner; Mick might think that watching King was boring, but it appeared that Dex, at least, found him amusing in a train wreck kind of way. "King," he intoned, and it took a second for King to catch on, rolling his eyes while Abby fought down an attack of the giggles. And she never giggled.

King raised his wrist, rattling the handcuffs pointedly. "Since we're back to two of you now?" he said hopefully.

Abby watched as Dex moved around the table to unfasten him. King's attention was focused on Dex now, and it gave her the chance to examine him without him noticing.

He did look a lot better than he had - the sun obviously agreed with him, as did solid food, finally. He'd filled out a little, no longer as pale and gaunt as he'd been, and his eyes were bright, paying attention to everything that happened around him, and amused by anything that caught his attention.

He turned his head and caught her looking, raising his eyebrows at her expectantly.

"Go put some sweats on," she said, coming to a decision. "Let's see if we can't do something about making you less bored."

A look of confusion settled on King's face, his gaze switching between Abby and Dex. "What exactly are you planning to do to me?"

Dex, on the other hand, was paying very little attention to King. Instead, he met Abby's eyes, a small smile forming on his face as he figured out exactly what she had in mind. His hand, large and square fingered, slapped against King's shoulder.

"You, my man, are about to get your ass kicked."

-o-

They'd turned one of the rooms at the back into a makeshift gym when they'd first moved in. The building had been a warehouse once. They slept and ate in the office portion, but in the warehouse proper the floor was flat and clear of debris, and light streamed in from the high set windows, making it as close to ideal for a training room as they were going to get.

Dex had stocked it - the equipment wasn't top notch, but like the rest of them it was serviceable and did what it needed to do.

She started King on the treadmill, assessing his level of current fitness with an experienced eye. When he started to bitch about it, she simply turned the speed up until he didn't have the breath to complain any more.

He did better than she expected - instead of flaking, he simply gritted his teeth and kept on going, pounding away until sweat darkened the back of his t-shirt from neck to waist. When it looked like his legs were finally going to give out, she moved him onto the weights, low impact and high reps. And then she had him on the mats, doing sit-ups and leg raises until his muscles were shaking.

"Jesus," he gasped when she finally let him stop, collapsing on the mat with his arms spread out. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Mick, who'd finally rolled up to watch, snorted. "I think that's Frank, mate," he said, cigarette dangling out of one corner of his mouth, his cast grubby and with Zoë's scrawls all over it.

"Hey, Whistler?" King turned his head, squinting up at her. "Do me a favour?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, folding her arms and staring down at him.

"Flip Mick off for me, will you? I'd do it myself but I really don't think I can raise my hand."

She didn't laugh, although it was a close thing. Instead, she beckoned him to his feet, and he sighed, rolling slowly and painfully onto his side and then pushing himself up with arms that still shook. "Jesus, you really are trying to kill me."

"Not yet. But give it time." Somehow he managed to raise his hand high enough to flip her off. She ignored it. "That's it for today. Tomorrow we start the real work."

King shot her a disbelieving look, his legs buckling as Dex delivered a friendly smack on his shoulder.

"Believe her, man," Dex said. "This is only the beginning of the shit she's gonna put you through."

-o-

She didn't tell Frank what they were up to, but she didn't need to. They were a small team and keeping secrets was nearly impossible, especially with Mick around. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

Frank showed up on the third day, taking in the sight of them working with King with narrowed eyes, the same frown on his face that he'd been wearing since they'd brought King back to base. He didn't say anything, watching for long moments before he turned away, but if he had any objections he didn't voice them, not to Abby, although he continued to show up every couple of days to watch silently as she put King through his paces.

She told herself that as long as he wasn't telling her directly to stop, she wasn't disobeying him. But then she also told herself that this whole thing was simply to keep King occupied and out of trouble.

It was easy to lose herself in the rhythms and routines of working out, especially with a partner as responsive as King. To give him due credit, when he put his mind to something, he worked hard at it. He was steady and focused, which she hadn't expected. She'd expected more resistance and a hell of a lot more bitching, not this single-minded intensity as he pushed his body to its limits.

She upped the stakes, moving him on to the punching bags in the corner and then onto the mats, where she demonstrated kicks and twists that he couldn't quite master. It didn't stop him, though. Every time he landed on his ass, he got back up again, his jaw set determinedly, and the more often he hit the mat, the more determined he seemed to get. He never took it personally the way that some she'd trained with - especially the men - did, and on the odd occasion when he did grow angry and frustrated, it was aimed more at himself than at Abby.

The first time he actually managed to knock her off her feet, he threw his hands up into the air and let out a whoop of triumph. She took advantage of his distraction, sweeping her legs around to send him toppling backwards, so that he landed flat on his back next to her.

He was laughing as he hit the floor, and still laughing as she sat up, staring down at him, her mouth curling up in a reluctant smile.

"Not bad," she said. "But you let yourself get too caught up in the moment. You put someone down, you'd better make sure that they stay down."

He grinned up at her as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes bright with a giddy kind of joy. It lit his whole face up, and something unfamiliar and unwelcome lurched in her chest, leaving her a little breathless. She covered it by standing up and brushing herself off, avoiding his eyes as he rolled neatly to his feet.

"Again?" he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the look on his face gleeful at the prospect. But before she had to say anything, she spotted Frank, leaning against the wall and watching again.

This time it seemed that he wasn't content just to watch; he gestured her over and she stepped away from King, torn between relief at putting some space between them and dread at whatever Frank wanted. She was conscious of King's eyes following her before Dex distracted him, stepping in neatly to take over.

Frank was watching King when she drew near to him, the look on his face considering. "How's he doing?"

"Not bad." It should have been a nice, safe topic of conversation, but you never knew with Frank, who played his cards far too close to his chest.

He nodded. "You doing all of his training?" She nodded, swallowing when Frank switched his attention from King to her, his gaze piercing and hawk-keen. "You think that's a good idea?"

"You don't think it's a good idea to keep him busy?"

"That's not what I asked, Whistler." He'd switched his attention back to King, and she stared at his profile, trying to read him and failing.

"I don't see anyone else stepping in," she said, and it was difficult to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

He didn't miss it, turning his head to give her another one of those looks, the ones that always made her feel like he could see straight inside her, dig out everything that she was trying to hide in all of those hidden nooks and crannies that never saw the light of day.

She looked at King instead; it was easier, even given the way that King kept glancing at them, his worry slipping around the edges of the unconcerned mask he'd plastered on his face. If she could see it, she doubted that Frank would miss it, but for now Frank seemed more interested in her.

"I wasn't asking that either, Whistler."

"So what were you asking?" There was no hiding the defensiveness this time, and she moderated her tone, keeping it even when he looked at her again, more sharply. "You've lost me."

Frank turned to face her full on, not seeming to care that King was watching them closely now, paying very little attention to the moves that Dex was trying to demonstrate.

"He's male and he's got, what? Eight inches on you? And maybe sixty, seventy pounds?"

It was a good job King wasn't close enough to hear. There was no way in hell he'd pass up the chance to comment on the eight inches remark, and Frank wouldn't be amused by it.

"Are you saying I can't take him?" She bit back on anything else, not bothering to hide her irritation. She knew that Frank Reilly could be a scary bastard when the situation called for it, but then so could she.

Frank snorted. "I'm saying you've got a different build, Whistler. You're female; your centre of gravity is lower." He reached out and poked her in the chest, hitting her breastbone hard enough to rock her on her feet. As she took an inadvertent step back, steadying herself again, she caught sight of King out of the corner of her eye taking a step towards them before Dex grabbed his arm to stop him.

Frank ignored them, leaning in towards her. "You're smaller and faster. And you're sneaky. You try and teach him how you fight, he's going to struggle. Maybe he'll actually pick it up, turn it into something he can use, but it's not going to be the best or most efficient way for him."

He was right. She should have seen it before, but she didn't have to tell Frank that she got it now. He saw it in her eyes and nodded a little, turning back to King.

King was still watching them, a frown crinkling his brow and the look his eyes flat and hard. Dex was still trying to get him to focus, but the attention King was paying him was desultory at best.

"What sports did you play?"

It took King a second to realise that Frank was talking to him, or maybe it just took a second for him to decide whether or not to answer the question. "Soccer," he said eventually. "Hockey. Lacrosse. A little basketball." He paused for a second and then added, "Curling." She wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be a joke or not, but from the way that Frank's lips thinned, he wasn't amused.

"You ever box?" Frank asked, and his tone made it clear that he expected a straight answer.

King shook his head mutely, casting a quick look in Abby's direction, maybe - as stupid as it seemed on the surface - for reassurance.

"I asked you, not Whistler." The words cracked out like a whip, and King jerked his attention back to Frank, his eyes wary.

"No, I've never boxed."

Frank nodded, like he hadn't expected any other answer. "You know how to throw a punch?"

"I've thrown one or two," King admitted cautiously.

"And Whistler's had you using the bags, right?"

King nodded.

"But do you know how to take a punch?"

The animation drained from King's face, leaving behind something ice smooth and opaque behind. "I've taken one or two," he said, and his tone was dry.

Frank nodded again. His eyes weren't exactly sympathetic, but they weren't as icy as they had been. "Danica, right?" he asked, and King nodded fractionally.

"Girl has a temper," King said, and the words were light, airy, like he was simply discussing what colour clothes she liked to wear or how she did her hair. Only the guarded look in his eyes said different.

Frank limited himself to a simple, "Vampires tend to." He stared at King for a moment before appearing to make a decision. "Put your fists up," he said, taking a step forward.

King took an instinctive step back, and she didn't miss the distrustful look that blossomed across his face.

Frank stopped, his expression not giving anything away. He was used to his orders being followed by the people under his command, and whether Frank liked it or not, King was easing his way into that position. "Hands up," he said and although his voice was quiet, it carried a lot of power.

King's hands came up, curling loosely into half-hearted fists. He was still watching Frank, judging his reactions, trying to get a bead on him and not having much success. When Frank lunged forward, King jerked back again, his face flushed. But his fists came up, even though his positioning was off.

Frank walked around him, assessing and cataloguing as always. King's muscles tensed with every step Frank took, his shoulders hunching when Frank moved out of his line of vision, almost as though he was anticipating a blow and trying to ready himself for it.

Abby folded her arms and watched them. She was familiar enough by now with Frank's methods to know that King wasn't in any serious danger. Not yet.

"Your stance isn't bad," Frank admitted, moving around to face King again. He reached up and shoved King in the chest, hard with the flat of his hand - harder than he had Abby, but King had distributed his weight between his legs, one offset from the other, so that while he swayed backwards, he didn't stumble, all of the work that Abby had already done with him paying off that much at least.

Frank nodded to himself again, and if it wasn't quite approving, it wasn't disapproving either. "Could be better, but it'll do.

"Now, bring your hands up and into your chest. No, like this." He reached out and jerked King's arms to where he wanted them. "You're leaving yourself open. Too damned easy to get over or under them." He demonstrated, sliding his fist neatly underneath King's arms and smacking it into King's stomach. It wasn't as hard as it could have been because he pulled it at the last minute but King still dropped his guard, one hand coming to press against the place Frank had hit. But as soon as Frank stepped closer, King pulled back hands back up, curling them into fists again to block him.

Frank nodded, and this time it was approving, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Better," he said. "You've got the reach, but you need to keep your fists in when you're not using them. Jab and pull back, but don't lock your elbow. You need to be able to absorb the impact without damaging your joints."

The wary look had faded from King's face. His eyes were focused on Frank's, that same single-minded intensity in them as when he trained with Abby.

"Jab," Frank said, and King did, a quick back and forth that ended up with him guarding his body again, his eyes still watching Frank.

He was taking this seriously, thank God. No smart ass remarks and no jokes.

"Like this." Frank demonstrated with a quick one-two that was all coiled power.

King repeated the move, sloppily. But then, before Frank could comment, he did it again, a little more smoothly, his eyes flying to Frank's face to check his reaction.

"Okay," Frank said, taking a step back and looking King up and down again. Dex was doing the same, his gaze less assessing than Frank's, more approving. Mick had drifted in as well, and he'd settled against the wall, his foot braced against it and his expression disgruntled as he watched. "It's a start, but you need to work on it. Now, listen up..."

King's hands lowered as he listened intently, not interrupting.

"You're going to get hit. No matter how good you are at throwing punches, someone's going to get past whatever defences you throw up, and you need to roll with it." Frank snapped out his fist, aiming for the right side of King's face. He missed, but only because King's head snapped to the side, Frank's fist grazing his ear. "Like that. Momentum. If you move in the direction that the blow's travelling, it doesn't hit as hard."

"Simple physics," said King, but it wasn't mocking, more as though he was simply reiterating what Frank had said and letting Frank know he was paying attention. His dark eyes were fixed on Frank's face, serious and focused.

"Yeah. And no one fights by the Marquis of Queensbury's rules. More likely than not, your opponent will be trying to kill you. So they'll use knives, guns, even their goddamned teeth if they think it will help, and in some cases that's the worst." He didn't need to tell King that, but for once King's self-preservation instincts had kicked in and he didn't point it out. "They won't play fair, got it?"

King nodded, the tension in his frame easing as Frank lowered his hands. Frank waited until he'd relaxed and then twisted, sweeping his leg out to knock King off his feet.

King landed on the mat, hard, but this time he wasn't laughing when he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"That means you expect the unexpected. Don't think that because your build is more suited to boxing that the shit that Whistler taught you can just be forgotten. Got that, too?" King nodded, sensibly keeping silent. "Good."

He reached down to help King to his feet, and Abby winced, knowing what was coming next.

King was halfway up when Frank aimed his fist at his face the second time, and this time he didn't miss, the blow glancing off King's cheek and splitting the skin.

King fell to the mat again, and this time when he looked up at Frank there was anger smouldering in his dark eyes.

"They won't play fair," Frank repeated. "And they won't play nice." He offered King his hand again, but King didn't take it, tilting his head and giving Frank a look that spoke volumes. Frank treated him to a little half-smile, no amusement in it, just a kind of bitter satisfaction. "You can't trust anyone, King. Anyone could kick you in the teeth when you're down, and a hell of a lot of bastards will enjoy doing just that. You need to get that, too."

He stepped away, turning towards Abby as he did so. Thankfully King had the sense not to aim the kick at Frank's ass he was obviously considering.

"Keep working with him," Frank said, casting a look back to where King was still spread-eagled on the mat, his fingers wiping the blood away from his face. "And teach him how to shoot straight."

With that as his parting shot, he stalked out.

Dex ambled towards King. "Need a hand?" he asked, matching his words with an offer.

King didn't take it, giving Dex a look instead that clearly said he wasn't falling for the same trick twice and Dex was an idiot if he thought he would. Dex let out a deep chuckle, stepping back with a smile as King's fingers continued to gently explore the tender spot on his cheekbone. "Suit yourself, man."

"We'd better get Velasquez to check that out," Abby said quietly. When she offered King her hand, he took it, letting her pull him to his feet.

-o-

Part 06: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal