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Fic: The Lies You Live Part 11/12 (Blade: Trinity, Abby/King, NC-17)
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. 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 10: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
She held out for almost two weeks before she finally e-mailed King, and she only caved in the end because she hadn't heard anything about him. The questions she was asking about King's whereabouts, about whether he was still out there instead of dead in some vamp's dungeon, were starting to attract attention. The wrong kind of attention. The kind of attention that could get back to Frank, and somehow she doubted that Frank would be sympathetic.
It wasn't difficult to figure out what she wanted to say. There was only one question that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant.
She checked her e-mail every day, sometimes more than once. She couldn't shake the memory of those car headlights searching the streets, knowing that the vamps hadn't been looking for her, and it worried her that King was way out of his depth, no matter what he thought. She couldn't shake the memory of the bruises on his body, either, or the faint trace work of healing scars.
But the most vivid memories had nothing to do with their fight with the vampires. The ones that kept her awake at night were all about King's touch, the way he tasted, and the way he felt.
When he didn't reply immediately, it made her snappish and irritable, imagining the worst and biting back on her impatience with the other members of her team.
It took three days for the answer to drop into her inbox, and it was only then that she felt as though she could breathe.
There was no reason for her to reply to King. It wasn't like she had anything important to say, and she'd satisfied herself that he was still alive. So, maybe she'd check if he fell off the grid again, but that was all.
Except she found her fingers clicking on the keyboard, a little more rapidly than she might have been able to do back before Hedges took her in hand, his face creasing with frustration as he watched her hunt and peck technique. And then she was hitting send before she could think better of it.
The smart thing to do at that point would have been to forget all about King, put him completely out of her mind while she did something much more productive. Which was how she ended up sitting at her laptop, pulling together playlist after playlist for her MP3 player and pretending that she wasn't waiting for a reply.
She stared at his answer for a long moment, and then pushed the lid of her laptop down before she could reply. She was in no doubt that Dex could use a sparring partner.
That, at least, wouldn't be stupid.
-o-
She fell into a routine. She'd hesitate to call it a rut, but her life had a certain rhythm to it, an ebb and flow that was familiar, if not exactly comforting.
She hunted, as she'd always done, but there were new toys for her to play with now, Hedges' ingenuity, Yavari's skill and King's money combining to produce cutting-edge weapons. Abby got to field test them, and she fell a little in love with each and every one of them: the ultraviolet arc, the retracting silver blades, and, her personal favourite, the UV arrowheads, which detonated a second or two after impact and blew any vamp in the immediate vicinity into ash and dust.
Hunting was still hard, difficult and dangerous work. She went out each night with a small smile on her face, and came back with a grin.
She kept in touch with King, too, although that wasn't something she shared with anyone else. He had his own gigs, and if she occasionally passed him Hedges' less complex plans for weapons, so that he knew what he could request from Aref Yavari, well, Hedges was none the wiser. It didn't do any harm. It couldn't. Even if Frank was right - and she was now certain he wasn't - the worst King could do with Hedges' designs was pass them on to Danica, and it wasn't like she was going to be able to come up with a defence against ultraviolet lights. Vamps had been working on that little problem for centuries, and Danica, being made, not born, didn't even have a pure blood's minimal tolerance for sunlight.
But mostly she checked her e-mail just to read the brief two-liners, the snippets of intel that King shared, the rumours and the sightings that told her he was still alive.
Still breathing and still fighting. They had that much in common.
The money King had gifted them didn't just go to weaponry. Sommerfield now had state-of-the-art DNA sequencing equipment, and Hedges had new computer systems. He'd started to do similar modelling to Sommerfield, but his models didn't contain anti-viruses or disease vectors; his work was more concerned with mapping the ebb and flow of vampire activity across the city.
He showed the outcomes to Frank, and Abby paid attention, too. It was both terrifying and fascinating to watch the coloured dots representing the different vampire clans they knew about swirl across the screen, advancing and retreating as they battled for control. Even so, she wasn't surprised to see that the blue dots representing the Talos Clan were making considerable headway, at least on Hedges' models. They were sweeping huge swathes of the city clean, and Frank's expression grew grimmer by the day.
Hedges' models also confirmed what Abby already thought and what she'd observed in the field: the number of vampires kept increasing, and most of them seemed new. The ones Abby came across most frequently now were cannon fodder: barely trained, nothing but impatient hunger, and quick to die. And no sooner did they wipe out one nest than another one popped up to take its place.
But as far Abby was concerned, a vamp was a vamp was a vamp. They all died screaming when she staked them, no matter what their affiliation. The fact that there were more of them these days simply kept her busier.
It was exhausting work. More than once Abby came back from the hunt to collapse, face-down on her bed, and fall asleep still clothed, before she'd even had the chance to shower. She wasn't the only one affected.
Sommerfield spent all of her time in the lab, working on the cure she'd used for King, but trying to turn it into a weapon. Hedges fell asleep at his workstation every night, surrounded by half built prototypes and sketches that made sense to no-one but him. They were all running on fumes, and they needed to slow down. This was a marathon, not a sprint.
This was a war.
One morning, she actually arrived back at base early enough to have breakfast and awake enough to shower. It was a novelty to have any time to herself, and she took advantage of it, pulling out her laptop and firing it up while she ate. If Frank checked in on her - and he did that rarely these days - she could always claim she was pulling together her music. He didn't approve, convinced that the beats pounding in her ear as she fought would mask the sounds of anyone else creeping up behind her. In Abby's experience, however, tuning out the sounds of battle around her allowed her to concentrate, focus solely on the vamp she was taking down. She never had the music turned up as loud as Frank seemed to think, but that was another thing she wasn't going to tell him.
But her reason for turning on her laptop now had nothing to do with choosing the right songs to compile into killing playlists. It was, of course, about King.
There were a couple of messages waiting for her when she logged in, even if he never normally e-mailed her more than once a day at most, and she clicked on the earliest one with a small smile, wondering what intel he had to share and - more importantly - how many different ways he'd try to flirt.
She stared at King's missive for a long moment, a small frown forming on her face as she puzzled out his meaning. It wasn't like King to make typos, and for a second she wondered if she'd been so keen to hear from him that she'd clicked on a spam message instead, but when she checked, the 'from' field was clearly his e-mail address.
IM had to be instant messaging. He'd tried to get her on that before, but she'd ignored his suggestion, partly because she didn't want to get so caught up in talking to him in real-time that she'd forget everything else she needed to do, or worse, have Frank walk in on her. The rest was because she knew King well enough to know he'd spend the time flirting with her outrageously and sending her semi-obscene messages.
This didn't sound like flirting, and her finger moved automatically to the icon in the system tray she'd never used. It was linked to her e-mail account - all she had to do was type in her e-mail address and password. While it did whatever the hell it needed to do to go live, she clicked on the second e-mail waiting from King in her inbox.
Abby if ur there pls get online
For some reason, the words made her blood run cold and she flicked back impatiently to the messaging system. There was something about 'adding contacts', and she tapped in King's e-mail address, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
Finally it connected her, and there was King's address, the only name listed on her contacts list.
What's wrong?
The words hung there, mocking her when King didn't respond immediately. She tried again, typing his name this time, wondering if it was a hoax, some stupid little game he was playing.
This time, however, he finally answered her.
im fine he typed, and that wasn't the question she'd asked. Just
Just? She frowned at the screen, wishing she could see his face, tell what he was thinking. You ok?
i'll live
Something cold and uncertain settled in her stomach. King?
need 2 learn how 2 duck
That feeling turned to stone, weighing her down and making her feel nauseous. Her fingers were shaking as she rested them on the keys again. How badly are you hurt?
i'll live
That's not an answer. He didn't respond right away, and that did nothing to assuage the fear she felt. King? Still no answer, even though there was a little keyboard in the corner of her screen that she thought showed he was typing. She could picture him all too clearly: grey-faced with pain, hunched over, and trying to pretend it didn't hurt.
He wouldn't have contacted her if it had been good; she got that now, and she didn't hesitate.
Where are you? No answer. Don't bullshit me. Where the hell are you?
This time when he responded, he gave her an address.
I'll be there she typed, and then she hesitated before adding Hold on and hitting send.
Sommerfield kept her infirmary well-stocked. At one point that had been Velasquez's job, but Dex did it now. She took a moment, eyeing all of the neatly labelled shelves and taking deep breaths to hold the fear and the panic down. It wouldn't help King if she rushed. However badly he'd been hurt, he was still conscious and able to contact her, which meant that she had time, and she needed to hold onto that thought.
She took bandages and tape, throwing in some sterile wipes and non-latex gloves, and then a couple of small brown bottles from Sommerfield's medicine cupboard - antibiotics and analgesics.
"You want to tell me what you're doing?"
Dex's voice startled her. She'd been so focused on gathering supplies that she hadn't heard him come in. It could have been worse; it could have been Frank.
She turned her head to look at him, trying to school her face into some blank, unrevealing mask, but she didn't need to see the concern that flashed across his face to know she hadn't managed it.
Dex eyed the supplies she'd already pulled off the shelves, his mind obviously ticking over. "How badly is he hurt?"
She swallowed, not denying it. It wouldn't do any good; Dex wasn't any dumber than the rest of them.
"I don't know. But..."
"If he called you, it's got to be worse than a scrape." That was what she was afraid of, really fucking afraid of, but Dex didn't seem interested in stopping her, or turning her in to Frank. He searched her face for a moment, and then reached up to one of the shelves she hadn't checked.
"Super Glue," he explained, handing her a tiny, white plastic tube. "Medical grade. I've seen your needlework, Whistler. I don't think you'll want to sew him up."
She swallowed, taking the tube from his hand and shoving it with the rest of the stuff in her bag.
"You can use that to seal any cuts instead of suturing," Dex explained. "Use it on the outside of the wound, not in the wound itself. And just try to be neat with it, okay? Don't stick yourself to him, although I get the feeling that advice might be a little late."
She nodded, impatient to be out of the door. But before she could leave, she had to ask, "Are you going to tell Frank where I've gone?"
"How can I tell Frank that?" he asked amiably. "You haven't told me where you're going. Just... Watch out for yourself, Whistler. I know there's no point in telling you not to go, but I'm telling you to watch your back. Just in case."
She nodded again, touched by his concern, but anything she felt was subsumed in her worry for King.
"Take the truck." He pulled the car keys out of his pants' pocket and tossed into her. "Now, get out of here."
-o-
King's bolthole this time was in a bad part of town. She guessed it made sense. From what he'd said, he had places all over the city and if he'd been hunting down by the docks, this would be his closest port of call.
She parked, making sure she locked all of the doors even though she still expected not to have hubcaps, and maybe not even wheels, by the time she got back. It seemed a small price to pay, especially as she had a feeling that Dex had jacked the truck in the first place or bought it from someone else who had.
It was still early, the sun rising sluggishly in the sky, and she kept a keen eye on the street as she rapped on the door, scanning in both directions for any sign of trouble. It took a long time for King to answer her knock, and with each passing second she grew more and more tense, more and more afraid for him. When the door finally opened with a click, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin.
King's face was grey, beads of sweat on his forehead. He stared at her dully for a moment before he stepped out of the way, leaving a gap that she guessed was the only invitation she was going to get.
He was armed. The gun was clutched in his right hand, hidden out of sight by the door, and his left hand was wrapped around his body, pressing against his right side. His shirt may have been dark enough to hide it, but the fingers of that hand were stained red with the blood seeping through the fabric.
She closed the door behind her, making sure that she slid every single deadbolt home. When she turned back to King, he'd already headed towards the interior of the building and she followed him just in time to watch him stagger, putting his hand out to steady himself on the wall.
He left a bloody handprint and her heart clenched, hard and tight, in her chest.
The room he led her to was slightly bigger than the only other bolthole of his she'd seen, but not by much. This one was a dump, too, although at least it seemed clean. There was even a kitchen counter, the surface faded into white from repeated scrubbings, presumably dating from when it had served as a family kitchen. Now the only things on it were a bowl of reddened water, a heap of bloodstained bandages, and King's laptop, still switched on and with the lid open.
King settled himself on the stool by the counter, his fingers curling where they rested on the work surface. His face was even greyer now, if possible, and all of his focus seemed to be on staying upright.
"Thanks," he said, and his voice was hoarse with pain. "For coming out."
She swallowed, aiming for jokey and knowing she was going to miss it by a considerable margin. "Well, you're about the only person I'd make a house call for."
He managed a faint smile, breathing shallowly, in and out, his focus on her seeming to fade as another wave of pain hit him.
"How bad is it?" she asked, aiming for brisk and businesslike, and making it, mostly. "Do you need a trip to the emergency room?" He shook his head, finally meeting her eyes, dark shadows underneath his.
"Danica knows I'm hurt," he said, and Abby put two and two together, not doubting his conclusion. If he thought Talos would be watching all of the local hospitals, she wasn't going to argue. He knew Danica hell of a lot better than she did. "It's not that bad."
That she did doubt. "Let me see."
She had to help him ease his shirt away from his skin and over his head. He'd made an attempt to patch himself up; there were white bandages padded over the wound, taped down awkwardly, but they were already bloodstained, and she didn't think that was a good sign.
She swallowed, keeping her fingers gentle as she peeled away the tape. In spite of her care, he still hissed in pain, his fingers clenching into a fist, and she shot him an apologetic look. He ignored it, concentrating on breathing.
He'd been knifed, and whoever had hit him had left a sharp, neat wound, almost three inches in length. It could have been a lot worse. The wound was long, but she didn't think it was that deep. He'd cleaned up the worst of the blood, but the sides of the wound still gaped a little when he moved, puckered and oozing blood.
She swallowed again, suddenly a little light-headed. She'd seen worse injuries, but there was something obscene about the way his flesh had parted underneath the blade, and something terrifying about the fact that if he'd moved a couple of inches in the wrong direction, the knife would have sunk into his guts.
"I need to seal it," she said, because talking about it helped her focus. King nodded, not looking at her and keeping his eyes away from his side. She had a feeling his acknowledgement was just for show, something to keep him focused when he was past the point of caring.
She padded up his bandages again, the ones she'd removed, and pressed them against his wound. "Hold that there," she said, waiting until he had his hands in position before she took hers away. His movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, and she scanned his face worriedly, trying to remember the signs of excessive blood loss that Velasquez had tried to drum into her.
He was conscious, and he was upright, and that was pretty much the extent of her knowledge.
She turned away, pulling what she needed out of her bag and trying to be logical and consistent about it. Panicking wouldn't help him, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. Once she'd pulled on a pair of gloves, the wipes came first, and she cleaned the area around the wound again, ignoring the way he hissed in pain, fighting not to pull away. Then there was an antiseptic spray, and she used it liberally, ruthless about it in spite of his strangled yelp and heartfelt "Fuck me!"
When it came time to seal the wound, her hands were shaking. She clenched her fingers into fists, willing them to stop. King was watching her, his expression slack and haggard. It should have made him look old; instead it made him look painfully young, and she took a deep breath, stretching out her fingers and centring herself.
"Could be worse," King said, his voice shaking almost as much as her fingers, even if he managed to crack a smile. "Could be needles."
She let out a ragged little laugh, and it helped. This time when she took in another deep breath, letting it out slowly, her fingers stilled, as steady as when she held a blade or drew back her bow.
"Okay," she said. "Don't move or you could be stuck with me. Permanently."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She didn't answer him, all of her attention on carefully squeezing the glue out of the tube, leaving a neat line just above his injury, barely a hairsbreadth from the edge. King twitched a little when she gently eased the edges of the wound together, keeping her fingers well away from the clear, sticky glue.
And then she stepped back, letting out a breath.
"How's that?"
He started to stretch tentatively, and she put her hand his shoulder to stop him from moving around and opening his injury again. "You'd better keep still until the glue's dry," she said and he nodded, sinking back down onto his stool with a sigh.
"Have you got painkillers?"
He nodded again. "Took some already. I don't think I can take any more for a while."
"What about antibiotics?"
This time he shook his head, and she fished the right small, brown bottle out of her bag, handing it to him and waiting until he took it, swallowing two of the small white pills dry.
She hovered over him silently and awkwardly, fighting against the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes, touching him just so she could feel the warmth of his skin, let it sink into her and reassure her that he was still alive the way that just seeing him couldn't. She swallowed it down, aiming for normalcy or what passed for it with them anyway. "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?" she asked, and he laughed, the sound low and raw.
"There might be some beer in the fridge. I don't know for sure. I don't tend to keep this place stocked. There should be coffee, though. No milk, I'm afraid."
Of course there wouldn't be any milk. She had a hard time thinking of King as being domestic. He didn't have a microwave either, and she ended up digging a saucepan out of the cupboard and using it to boil the water.
When she turned back to King, he was watching her again and the look on his face sent a flood of warmth through her. It wasn't just gratitude she saw, but something else, something he quickly hid, dragging his eyes away from her.
"Thanks," he said again, his voice sounding gravelly and hoarse. He cleared his throat. "For coming over, I mean. I didn't expect..."
They were heading into uncomfortable territory, and Abby folded her arms, shifting awkwardly in place. She glanced away from King, looking anywhere to avoid meeting his eyes, and her gaze fell on the laptop again.
The chat window he'd been talking to her in was still up on the screen, and she'd been in such a hurry that she hadn't signed out. He'd sent her more messages after she'd bolted for the infirmary; she could see them on the screen.
u don't have 2 come. I just needed 2 talk to u
When she looked back at King, his expression was grave, maybe even a little lost. "I got scared," he said, and his mouth twitched like he was trying to smile and not quite making it. "Stupid, huh?"
He let out a shaky breath, dropping his eyes to the floor, and this time when her heart clenched it had nothing to do with fear or with worry. She hunted on her own more often than not these days, but she had help when she was hurt, and she'd never come home and found that no one was waiting, that no one cared.
"It's not stupid," she said quietly, and he tried for another smile, this one even more broken than the last. "You scared me, too," she admitted, and she couldn't even try to smile, brush it off like he was trying to. "When I realised you were hurt and I wasn't -" She bit off the words, trying not to choke on them. "I check my inbox every day." Her voice cracked, just a little, in spite of holding onto her calm as hard as she could. "Just so I know that you're still breathing."
His eyes were fixed on her face, wide and a little wet. He swallowed, giving her a jerky nod. "Well... I've got to say that I'm glad you're here now."
She finally gave in to that ever-present urge, the need to touch him, and reached out to stroke her fingers gently along his hairline. He turned his face into her touch, closing his eyes.
"Me, too," she said, and it came out halfway between a sigh and sob. "Me, too."
-o-
She should have walked away after that, but when it came to King, she wasn't smart. She tried to keep it low key, hoping no one else on her team noticed how distracted she was, or how often she ran errands that she hadn't felt the need to run in the past. Maybe Dex noticed, but if he wondered why she was seldom around during the day, he didn't ask, and if he had any suspicions, he kept them to himself.
That didn't mean she was entirely stupid. Her first priority, as it had always been, was their war against the vampires. She still did the things she needed to - training, hunting, killing - but when she went out for a run, it was usually in King's direction. And as King's injury healed, she took a little longer to run back. Sometimes she took a lot longer.
"You know, I've never had an affair with a married woman before."
She paused in the act of pulling her hair into a ponytail and gave King an exasperated look over her shoulder.
"I'd ask what you were talking about, but I'm afraid you'd tell me."
"This." He made a little hand-waving gesture between the pair of them, Abby already up and getting dressed while King still lay sprawled across the bed. "The whole 'sneaking in and sneaking out' thing."
She raised one eyebrow at him, trying not to be distracted by the sight of him, still naked and tousled, his hair sticking up where she'd dragged her fingers through it. "Have you forgotten that Frank still wants to put a bullet through you?"
"Exactly. It's like you're married."
"To Frank?"
"I'm pretty sure that wanting to kill me fits the wronged husband archetype." He frowned. "Although that mental image is... just wrong. Disturbing, even. He's how much older than your father again?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're a dick. D'you know that?"
"Yeah, can't help it. It's genetic." She gave him a look, and a slow grin started to form on his face. "Seriously. It's hard-coded into my DNA. Or maybe that was 'have a dick'."
"I'm pretty sure it was 'be a dick'," she said dryly, amused in spite of herself. "And Frank wanting to kill you has absolutely nothing to do with..."
"Me fucking you?" he asked brightly. "Screwing you? Pounding you into the mattress on a regular basis -"
She picked up one of his pillows and slammed it into his face, cutting him off. He was laughing as he knocked it away, onto the floor.
"Is that what you call it?"
"I'd call it not regular enough. If you're looking for complete honesty here."
She rolled her eyes again, fastening her buttons and ignoring him.
"I take it there's no chance of reconciliation with old Frank, then?" he asked, reaching over to pull the pillow back up onto the bed. He plumped it up and placed it neatly on the mattress, before rolling over to rest his chin on it as he watched her get dressed.
She hesitated in the act of sliding another button through the buttonhole. "I don't think..."
"Yeah," he sighed, "I know." A brief spasm of frustration crossed his face. "It would just be a hell of a lot easier."
She looked under the bed for her shoes. "You mean you'd get nookie morning and night instead of just an afternoon delight?"
"Nookie?" He was laughing again, the bastard. "Is that what you call it?"
"What would you call it?" She knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that the question was a mistake.
"Fucking you, screwing you, pounding you into the mattress..." He grinned at her again. "Although, I have to admit that 'afternoon delight' has a certain je ne sais quoi about it."
She shouldn't encourage him, but her mouth curled up in a small smile anyway, and of course he took that as a sign that she'd be okay with him grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back down onto the bed with him again.
"Hey," he said. "How about a bit of afternoon delight?"
"I've got to go," she said reluctantly, even though she was already leaning into his touch. His palm cupped her cheek as he pulled her into another kiss, taking his time and leaving her breathless.
"Hey, you," he said when he finally pulled back, smiling at her in a way that did stupid things to her insides. "I've got a favour to ask."
"If it's sucking your dick, I've already done that once today."
He laughed again, leaning in to kiss her again, this time far too briefly. "No, although I wouldn't say no if you were offering. This request's actually serious."
She pushed herself up, staring down at him. "What is it?" she asked cautiously, and he didn't miss her reluctance, the amusement fading slowly from his face.
"I've got a job tonight," he said. "And it's a two-man job. Or... Two-person job, anyway."
"What's the job?"
"Well, Danica owns a warehouse down by the docks..."
"Which is where you managed to get yourself stabbed."
He paused, searching her face. "So you managed to figure that one out?"
"It wasn't difficult."
He gave her a faint smile. "No, it wouldn't have been for you. Yes. I knew she had the place down there. I just didn't know where, and there was more security than I expected. Which just goes to show, I shouldn't have underestimated Danica's need to protect whatever the hell she's got down there."
She let him tug her closer as he talked, her hands automatically coming to rest on his chest. "So what does she have down there?"
"Now, that's the million dollar question. I don't actually know. I just know she really doesn't want me to take a look. And since she doesn't want me to see it..."
"You're going to be a gentleman and look anyway?"
"I'm always a gentleman."
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow again, smirking down at him. "Is that why you have your hands on my ass?"
"I just didn't want you to get cold."
"Is that right? Then why are you always so eager for me to take my clothes off?"
His mouth quirked upwards. "Shared body heat?" he suggested, and she shook her head, amused and not hiding it. "That a yes?"
"To sharing body heat or to watching your back tonight?"
"Both."
She chewed at her lip, considering it. Frank would have said it was a trap, but if King had intended to hurt her, he'd had plenty of opportunity and a hell of a lot of occasions when she hadn't been armed.
"Does it have to be tonight?" she asked, already figuring out the excuses she could make to Frank, even though she wasn't willing to admit to that yet.
King nodded. "The guy I beat it out of seems to think she's moving whatever she had shipped in soon. I don't think we can hang around on this one for long."
We. As though they were in this together, and as though King didn't doubt for a minute that she'd have his back.
He probably wasn't wrong on that count.
"Okay," she said eventually, not missing the relief that flooded his face before he tamped it down, adopting an insouciant look that didn't fool her for a second.
"Is that a yes to sharing body heat or watching my back?"
"Both."
He smiled up at her. Maybe it was the relief he felt, but it seemed softer this time as he reached up to gently brush back the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Come here," he said quietly, pulling her slowly down towards him. "I've got a delightful afternoon I want to share with you."
-o-
King's joking comments meant that getting back to base really did start to feel like sneaking in. It didn't help when she caught herself keeping an eye out for Frank, which was a sure sign of a guilty conscience.
The worst thing was that she really did have a guilty conscience, but not for the reasons Frank would think if he knew about it.
It was usually quiet when she eased the door shut behind her, and she tensed, listening for any signs of activity and wondering whether she'd ever reach the point where that heavy weight of dread didn't settle in her stomach whenever she couldn't see anyone immediately. But then she heard the soft, consistent sound of a basketball hitting the floor; Hedges and Dex, chilling out and finally taking a break.
She smiled to herself as she headed further into their small, cramped headquarters, popping her head around the door to say hi to Sommerfield, who - as always - was chained to her microscope and keyboard.
Sommerfield lifted her head, tilting it to the side she tracked Abby, either by sound or by scent. "Everything okay?" she asked before Abby could move away, and Abby stepped fully into the room, knowing from past experience that Sommerfield wouldn't be satisfied until she'd satisfied herself.
"Everything's fine," she said, keeping it light and breezy. "Why?"
Sommerfield let out a little snort. "I was beginning to think you didn't love us anymore," she said with her trademark sarcasm, and Abby smiled, leaning on Sommerfield's workbench.
"I'll always love you," she said. "Maybe even Dex."
Sommerfield let out another huff of amusement, turning back to her computer. "You're in a good mood today. Should I try and guess why?"
Abby shrugged even though she knew Sommerfield couldn't see it. It would probably show up in her voice, and Sommerfield was good at reading those cues in the absence of visual ones. "If you want."
"Uh huh." Sommerfield smiled to herself, the expression sly and knowing. "You should probably go and shower before Frank catches you. You smell of sex. At least tell me it was good sex."
Abby's stomach lurched unpleasantly, the guilt rising to the surface. She bit back on the explanation and the excuses; if Sommerfield already suspected who she'd been with, there was no point in confirming it. And if she didn't, there was no point in putting ideas in her head.
"Glad to see that someone's getting a booty call," Sommerfield continued, and Abby gave her a strained smile, one that was entirely wasted on Sommerfield.
"I'd better go shower," she said, and Sommerfield chuckled earthily.
"You do that, girl. And then you can tell me all about it later."
Later, as far as Abby was concerned, was right about the time that hell froze over, but she didn't say as much to Sommerfield. There was no point in borrowing trouble in advance, and she was sure she could avoid the other woman for the next year or two, or until Sommerfield forgot all about it, which was probably even longer than that.
It was just her luck to meet Frank in the corridor as he headed into Sommerfield's lab. He gave her a searching look as he passed, probably confused by her heightened colour, but she avoided his eyes and made good her escape, heading straight for the shower and hoping she didn't run into anyone else until she smelled like herself and not like King.
She hid herself in Hedges' lab for the rest of the afternoon, busying herself with waxing the strings of her bow and lubricating the cams. Hedges left her alone, recognising that she had no interest in small talk today.
She was still there when Frank found her, and he hung back in the doorway for a moment, watching her silently until she spotted him. His face was inscrutable, giving her absolutely nothing to go on, but there were dark shadows underneath his eyes and deep grooves by his mouth, which hadn't been there only a few months ago. She held her tongue, already feeling guilty before he'd opened his mouth.
"You got plans tonight?" he asked.
She nodded mutely, finally answering him when he made an impatient little 'come on' gesture. "I thought I'd head down to the docks," she said slowly, searching his face for any sign of what was going through his mind.
"Cancel it," he said brusquely, the words coming out with a hard snap, and she frowned. "I want you here tonight."
In spite of the temptation to tell Frank where he could stick his orders, she paused long enough to mull over her options, trying not to glance at the clock and wondering if it was too late for King to change his plans. Knowing King, he wouldn't change them anyway, but would simply head out without her.
"You got a problem with that, Whistler?" Frank snarled suddenly, the aggression taking her by surprise. She started to shake her head and then stopped, holding his gaze and wondering when, exactly, Frank had lost his goddamned mind.
"Do you have some intel I need to know about?" she asked, not backing down, not this time, no matter the consequences. Frank had been like a cat on a hot tin roof for far too long now, and it was about time someone called him on his shit.
"You need to know what I decide you need to know," he said and the snarl had gone from his voice. Instead, it came out deceptively calm, as though Frank had regained control of himself again, pushing everything down inside and letting nothing show on the surface, nothing but the same bone-deep tiredness she'd been seeing for weeks now, all of his fight fled.
"I need to know, Frank. If you want me to change my plans, you need to come clean with me."
His nostrils flared. "Do I now? You're on dangerous ground there, Whistler."
"More dangerous than if something's coming and I don't know about it?"
It was the way he shifted position that told her he was backing down, and she felt some of her tension ebb away.
"Nothing's coming," he said. "Nothing I know about, anyway, but I don't like leaving Sommerfield and Zoë here on their own. Not after..."
That was news to Abby. She hadn't noticed it concerning Frank before, but then she hadn't been around much recently. Maybe things had changed. "Hedges will be here," she said, judging his reaction carefully. She couldn't puzzle it out, Frank's sudden change in attitude, not unless he really did know something he wasn't sharing.
He wiped his hands over his face tiredly, and the move pulled the skin of his cheeks down, making him look more than ever like an ancient bloodhound. Except that even bloodhounds didn't look as hangdog as Frank did just then.
"Just humour me, Abby," he said. "For once."
She'd been humouring him for months, even if he hadn't realised it. She couldn't do it any longer, not when they finally had a chance to strike a blow against Danica Talos. Not when King was counting on her to watch his back.
But she nodded anyway, small and discreet because it felt less like a lie that way. Frank's mouth curled up in a small, rare smile, the genuine gratitude in his voice making her feel even more like a heel.
"Thank you," he said, and she hated herself, just a little bit, for that.
-o-
Part 12: 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. 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 10: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
She held out for almost two weeks before she finally e-mailed King, and she only caved in the end because she hadn't heard anything about him. The questions she was asking about King's whereabouts, about whether he was still out there instead of dead in some vamp's dungeon, were starting to attract attention. The wrong kind of attention. The kind of attention that could get back to Frank, and somehow she doubted that Frank would be sympathetic.
It wasn't difficult to figure out what she wanted to say. There was only one question that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant.
From: huntergrl01@msnmail.com
To: hjkingvs@msnmail.com
Subject:
Tell me you're still breathing.
She checked her e-mail every day, sometimes more than once. She couldn't shake the memory of those car headlights searching the streets, knowing that the vamps hadn't been looking for her, and it worried her that King was way out of his depth, no matter what he thought. She couldn't shake the memory of the bruises on his body, either, or the faint trace work of healing scars.
But the most vivid memories had nothing to do with their fight with the vampires. The ones that kept her awake at night were all about King's touch, the way he tasted, and the way he felt.
When he didn't reply immediately, it made her snappish and irritable, imagining the worst and biting back on her impatience with the other members of her team.
It took three days for the answer to drop into her inbox, and it was only then that she felt as though she could breathe.
From: hjkingvs@msnmail.com
To: huntergrl01@msnmail.com
Subject: Re:
Anyone would think you were worried about me, Whistler.
Hunter girl? Seriously?
There was no reason for her to reply to King. It wasn't like she had anything important to say, and she'd satisfied herself that he was still alive. So, maybe she'd check if he fell off the grid again, but that was all.
Except she found her fingers clicking on the keyboard, a little more rapidly than she might have been able to do back before Hedges took her in hand, his face creasing with frustration as he watched her hunt and peck technique. And then she was hitting send before she could think better of it.
From: huntergrl01@msnmail.com
To: hjkingvs@msnmail.com
Subject: Re: Re:
I figured that way you'd know it was me.
The smart thing to do at that point would have been to forget all about King, put him completely out of her mind while she did something much more productive. Which was how she ended up sitting at her laptop, pulling together playlist after playlist for her MP3 player and pretending that she wasn't waiting for a reply.
From: hjkingvs@msnmail.com
To: huntergrl01@msnmail.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re:
Did you sign up for an e-mail address just to talk to me? I'm touched.
She stared at his answer for a long moment, and then pushed the lid of her laptop down before she could reply. She was in no doubt that Dex could use a sparring partner.
That, at least, wouldn't be stupid.
-o-
She fell into a routine. She'd hesitate to call it a rut, but her life had a certain rhythm to it, an ebb and flow that was familiar, if not exactly comforting.
She hunted, as she'd always done, but there were new toys for her to play with now, Hedges' ingenuity, Yavari's skill and King's money combining to produce cutting-edge weapons. Abby got to field test them, and she fell a little in love with each and every one of them: the ultraviolet arc, the retracting silver blades, and, her personal favourite, the UV arrowheads, which detonated a second or two after impact and blew any vamp in the immediate vicinity into ash and dust.
Hunting was still hard, difficult and dangerous work. She went out each night with a small smile on her face, and came back with a grin.
She kept in touch with King, too, although that wasn't something she shared with anyone else. He had his own gigs, and if she occasionally passed him Hedges' less complex plans for weapons, so that he knew what he could request from Aref Yavari, well, Hedges was none the wiser. It didn't do any harm. It couldn't. Even if Frank was right - and she was now certain he wasn't - the worst King could do with Hedges' designs was pass them on to Danica, and it wasn't like she was going to be able to come up with a defence against ultraviolet lights. Vamps had been working on that little problem for centuries, and Danica, being made, not born, didn't even have a pure blood's minimal tolerance for sunlight.
But mostly she checked her e-mail just to read the brief two-liners, the snippets of intel that King shared, the rumours and the sightings that told her he was still alive.
From: hjkingvs@msnmail.com
To: huntergrl01@msnmail.com
Subject: not dead yet
Just in case you were wondering. Took down two last night but I hear someone set fire to a nest in the warehouse district.
You should check those pyromaniac impulses, Whistler ;)
Still breathing and still fighting. They had that much in common.
The money King had gifted them didn't just go to weaponry. Sommerfield now had state-of-the-art DNA sequencing equipment, and Hedges had new computer systems. He'd started to do similar modelling to Sommerfield, but his models didn't contain anti-viruses or disease vectors; his work was more concerned with mapping the ebb and flow of vampire activity across the city.
He showed the outcomes to Frank, and Abby paid attention, too. It was both terrifying and fascinating to watch the coloured dots representing the different vampire clans they knew about swirl across the screen, advancing and retreating as they battled for control. Even so, she wasn't surprised to see that the blue dots representing the Talos Clan were making considerable headway, at least on Hedges' models. They were sweeping huge swathes of the city clean, and Frank's expression grew grimmer by the day.
Hedges' models also confirmed what Abby already thought and what she'd observed in the field: the number of vampires kept increasing, and most of them seemed new. The ones Abby came across most frequently now were cannon fodder: barely trained, nothing but impatient hunger, and quick to die. And no sooner did they wipe out one nest than another one popped up to take its place.
But as far Abby was concerned, a vamp was a vamp was a vamp. They all died screaming when she staked them, no matter what their affiliation. The fact that there were more of them these days simply kept her busier.
It was exhausting work. More than once Abby came back from the hunt to collapse, face-down on her bed, and fall asleep still clothed, before she'd even had the chance to shower. She wasn't the only one affected.
Sommerfield spent all of her time in the lab, working on the cure she'd used for King, but trying to turn it into a weapon. Hedges fell asleep at his workstation every night, surrounded by half built prototypes and sketches that made sense to no-one but him. They were all running on fumes, and they needed to slow down. This was a marathon, not a sprint.
This was a war.
One morning, she actually arrived back at base early enough to have breakfast and awake enough to shower. It was a novelty to have any time to herself, and she took advantage of it, pulling out her laptop and firing it up while she ate. If Frank checked in on her - and he did that rarely these days - she could always claim she was pulling together her music. He didn't approve, convinced that the beats pounding in her ear as she fought would mask the sounds of anyone else creeping up behind her. In Abby's experience, however, tuning out the sounds of battle around her allowed her to concentrate, focus solely on the vamp she was taking down. She never had the music turned up as loud as Frank seemed to think, but that was another thing she wasn't going to tell him.
But her reason for turning on her laptop now had nothing to do with choosing the right songs to compile into killing playlists. It was, of course, about King.
There were a couple of messages waiting for her when she logged in, even if he never normally e-mailed her more than once a day at most, and she clicked on the earliest one with a small smile, wondering what intel he had to share and - more importantly - how many different ways he'd try to flirt.
From: hjkingvs@msnmail.com
To: huntergrl01@msnmail.com
Subject:
if ur there turn on IM. pleawse.
She stared at King's missive for a long moment, a small frown forming on her face as she puzzled out his meaning. It wasn't like King to make typos, and for a second she wondered if she'd been so keen to hear from him that she'd clicked on a spam message instead, but when she checked, the 'from' field was clearly his e-mail address.
IM had to be instant messaging. He'd tried to get her on that before, but she'd ignored his suggestion, partly because she didn't want to get so caught up in talking to him in real-time that she'd forget everything else she needed to do, or worse, have Frank walk in on her. The rest was because she knew King well enough to know he'd spend the time flirting with her outrageously and sending her semi-obscene messages.
This didn't sound like flirting, and her finger moved automatically to the icon in the system tray she'd never used. It was linked to her e-mail account - all she had to do was type in her e-mail address and password. While it did whatever the hell it needed to do to go live, she clicked on the second e-mail waiting from King in her inbox.
Abby if ur there pls get online
For some reason, the words made her blood run cold and she flicked back impatiently to the messaging system. There was something about 'adding contacts', and she tapped in King's e-mail address, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
Finally it connected her, and there was King's address, the only name listed on her contacts list.
What's wrong?
The words hung there, mocking her when King didn't respond immediately. She tried again, typing his name this time, wondering if it was a hoax, some stupid little game he was playing.
This time, however, he finally answered her.
im fine he typed, and that wasn't the question she'd asked. Just
Just? She frowned at the screen, wishing she could see his face, tell what he was thinking. You ok?
i'll live
Something cold and uncertain settled in her stomach. King?
need 2 learn how 2 duck
That feeling turned to stone, weighing her down and making her feel nauseous. Her fingers were shaking as she rested them on the keys again. How badly are you hurt?
i'll live
That's not an answer. He didn't respond right away, and that did nothing to assuage the fear she felt. King? Still no answer, even though there was a little keyboard in the corner of her screen that she thought showed he was typing. She could picture him all too clearly: grey-faced with pain, hunched over, and trying to pretend it didn't hurt.
He wouldn't have contacted her if it had been good; she got that now, and she didn't hesitate.
Where are you? No answer. Don't bullshit me. Where the hell are you?
This time when he responded, he gave her an address.
I'll be there she typed, and then she hesitated before adding Hold on and hitting send.
Sommerfield kept her infirmary well-stocked. At one point that had been Velasquez's job, but Dex did it now. She took a moment, eyeing all of the neatly labelled shelves and taking deep breaths to hold the fear and the panic down. It wouldn't help King if she rushed. However badly he'd been hurt, he was still conscious and able to contact her, which meant that she had time, and she needed to hold onto that thought.
She took bandages and tape, throwing in some sterile wipes and non-latex gloves, and then a couple of small brown bottles from Sommerfield's medicine cupboard - antibiotics and analgesics.
"You want to tell me what you're doing?"
Dex's voice startled her. She'd been so focused on gathering supplies that she hadn't heard him come in. It could have been worse; it could have been Frank.
She turned her head to look at him, trying to school her face into some blank, unrevealing mask, but she didn't need to see the concern that flashed across his face to know she hadn't managed it.
Dex eyed the supplies she'd already pulled off the shelves, his mind obviously ticking over. "How badly is he hurt?"
She swallowed, not denying it. It wouldn't do any good; Dex wasn't any dumber than the rest of them.
"I don't know. But..."
"If he called you, it's got to be worse than a scrape." That was what she was afraid of, really fucking afraid of, but Dex didn't seem interested in stopping her, or turning her in to Frank. He searched her face for a moment, and then reached up to one of the shelves she hadn't checked.
"Super Glue," he explained, handing her a tiny, white plastic tube. "Medical grade. I've seen your needlework, Whistler. I don't think you'll want to sew him up."
She swallowed, taking the tube from his hand and shoving it with the rest of the stuff in her bag.
"You can use that to seal any cuts instead of suturing," Dex explained. "Use it on the outside of the wound, not in the wound itself. And just try to be neat with it, okay? Don't stick yourself to him, although I get the feeling that advice might be a little late."
She nodded, impatient to be out of the door. But before she could leave, she had to ask, "Are you going to tell Frank where I've gone?"
"How can I tell Frank that?" he asked amiably. "You haven't told me where you're going. Just... Watch out for yourself, Whistler. I know there's no point in telling you not to go, but I'm telling you to watch your back. Just in case."
She nodded again, touched by his concern, but anything she felt was subsumed in her worry for King.
"Take the truck." He pulled the car keys out of his pants' pocket and tossed into her. "Now, get out of here."
-o-
King's bolthole this time was in a bad part of town. She guessed it made sense. From what he'd said, he had places all over the city and if he'd been hunting down by the docks, this would be his closest port of call.
She parked, making sure she locked all of the doors even though she still expected not to have hubcaps, and maybe not even wheels, by the time she got back. It seemed a small price to pay, especially as she had a feeling that Dex had jacked the truck in the first place or bought it from someone else who had.
It was still early, the sun rising sluggishly in the sky, and she kept a keen eye on the street as she rapped on the door, scanning in both directions for any sign of trouble. It took a long time for King to answer her knock, and with each passing second she grew more and more tense, more and more afraid for him. When the door finally opened with a click, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin.
King's face was grey, beads of sweat on his forehead. He stared at her dully for a moment before he stepped out of the way, leaving a gap that she guessed was the only invitation she was going to get.
He was armed. The gun was clutched in his right hand, hidden out of sight by the door, and his left hand was wrapped around his body, pressing against his right side. His shirt may have been dark enough to hide it, but the fingers of that hand were stained red with the blood seeping through the fabric.
She closed the door behind her, making sure that she slid every single deadbolt home. When she turned back to King, he'd already headed towards the interior of the building and she followed him just in time to watch him stagger, putting his hand out to steady himself on the wall.
He left a bloody handprint and her heart clenched, hard and tight, in her chest.
The room he led her to was slightly bigger than the only other bolthole of his she'd seen, but not by much. This one was a dump, too, although at least it seemed clean. There was even a kitchen counter, the surface faded into white from repeated scrubbings, presumably dating from when it had served as a family kitchen. Now the only things on it were a bowl of reddened water, a heap of bloodstained bandages, and King's laptop, still switched on and with the lid open.
King settled himself on the stool by the counter, his fingers curling where they rested on the work surface. His face was even greyer now, if possible, and all of his focus seemed to be on staying upright.
"Thanks," he said, and his voice was hoarse with pain. "For coming out."
She swallowed, aiming for jokey and knowing she was going to miss it by a considerable margin. "Well, you're about the only person I'd make a house call for."
He managed a faint smile, breathing shallowly, in and out, his focus on her seeming to fade as another wave of pain hit him.
"How bad is it?" she asked, aiming for brisk and businesslike, and making it, mostly. "Do you need a trip to the emergency room?" He shook his head, finally meeting her eyes, dark shadows underneath his.
"Danica knows I'm hurt," he said, and Abby put two and two together, not doubting his conclusion. If he thought Talos would be watching all of the local hospitals, she wasn't going to argue. He knew Danica hell of a lot better than she did. "It's not that bad."
That she did doubt. "Let me see."
She had to help him ease his shirt away from his skin and over his head. He'd made an attempt to patch himself up; there were white bandages padded over the wound, taped down awkwardly, but they were already bloodstained, and she didn't think that was a good sign.
She swallowed, keeping her fingers gentle as she peeled away the tape. In spite of her care, he still hissed in pain, his fingers clenching into a fist, and she shot him an apologetic look. He ignored it, concentrating on breathing.
He'd been knifed, and whoever had hit him had left a sharp, neat wound, almost three inches in length. It could have been a lot worse. The wound was long, but she didn't think it was that deep. He'd cleaned up the worst of the blood, but the sides of the wound still gaped a little when he moved, puckered and oozing blood.
She swallowed again, suddenly a little light-headed. She'd seen worse injuries, but there was something obscene about the way his flesh had parted underneath the blade, and something terrifying about the fact that if he'd moved a couple of inches in the wrong direction, the knife would have sunk into his guts.
"I need to seal it," she said, because talking about it helped her focus. King nodded, not looking at her and keeping his eyes away from his side. She had a feeling his acknowledgement was just for show, something to keep him focused when he was past the point of caring.
She padded up his bandages again, the ones she'd removed, and pressed them against his wound. "Hold that there," she said, waiting until he had his hands in position before she took hers away. His movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, and she scanned his face worriedly, trying to remember the signs of excessive blood loss that Velasquez had tried to drum into her.
He was conscious, and he was upright, and that was pretty much the extent of her knowledge.
She turned away, pulling what she needed out of her bag and trying to be logical and consistent about it. Panicking wouldn't help him, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. Once she'd pulled on a pair of gloves, the wipes came first, and she cleaned the area around the wound again, ignoring the way he hissed in pain, fighting not to pull away. Then there was an antiseptic spray, and she used it liberally, ruthless about it in spite of his strangled yelp and heartfelt "Fuck me!"
When it came time to seal the wound, her hands were shaking. She clenched her fingers into fists, willing them to stop. King was watching her, his expression slack and haggard. It should have made him look old; instead it made him look painfully young, and she took a deep breath, stretching out her fingers and centring herself.
"Could be worse," King said, his voice shaking almost as much as her fingers, even if he managed to crack a smile. "Could be needles."
She let out a ragged little laugh, and it helped. This time when she took in another deep breath, letting it out slowly, her fingers stilled, as steady as when she held a blade or drew back her bow.
"Okay," she said. "Don't move or you could be stuck with me. Permanently."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She didn't answer him, all of her attention on carefully squeezing the glue out of the tube, leaving a neat line just above his injury, barely a hairsbreadth from the edge. King twitched a little when she gently eased the edges of the wound together, keeping her fingers well away from the clear, sticky glue.
And then she stepped back, letting out a breath.
"How's that?"
He started to stretch tentatively, and she put her hand his shoulder to stop him from moving around and opening his injury again. "You'd better keep still until the glue's dry," she said and he nodded, sinking back down onto his stool with a sigh.
"Have you got painkillers?"
He nodded again. "Took some already. I don't think I can take any more for a while."
"What about antibiotics?"
This time he shook his head, and she fished the right small, brown bottle out of her bag, handing it to him and waiting until he took it, swallowing two of the small white pills dry.
She hovered over him silently and awkwardly, fighting against the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes, touching him just so she could feel the warmth of his skin, let it sink into her and reassure her that he was still alive the way that just seeing him couldn't. She swallowed it down, aiming for normalcy or what passed for it with them anyway. "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?" she asked, and he laughed, the sound low and raw.
"There might be some beer in the fridge. I don't know for sure. I don't tend to keep this place stocked. There should be coffee, though. No milk, I'm afraid."
Of course there wouldn't be any milk. She had a hard time thinking of King as being domestic. He didn't have a microwave either, and she ended up digging a saucepan out of the cupboard and using it to boil the water.
When she turned back to King, he was watching her again and the look on his face sent a flood of warmth through her. It wasn't just gratitude she saw, but something else, something he quickly hid, dragging his eyes away from her.
"Thanks," he said again, his voice sounding gravelly and hoarse. He cleared his throat. "For coming over, I mean. I didn't expect..."
They were heading into uncomfortable territory, and Abby folded her arms, shifting awkwardly in place. She glanced away from King, looking anywhere to avoid meeting his eyes, and her gaze fell on the laptop again.
The chat window he'd been talking to her in was still up on the screen, and she'd been in such a hurry that she hadn't signed out. He'd sent her more messages after she'd bolted for the infirmary; she could see them on the screen.
u don't have 2 come. I just needed 2 talk to u
When she looked back at King, his expression was grave, maybe even a little lost. "I got scared," he said, and his mouth twitched like he was trying to smile and not quite making it. "Stupid, huh?"
He let out a shaky breath, dropping his eyes to the floor, and this time when her heart clenched it had nothing to do with fear or with worry. She hunted on her own more often than not these days, but she had help when she was hurt, and she'd never come home and found that no one was waiting, that no one cared.
"It's not stupid," she said quietly, and he tried for another smile, this one even more broken than the last. "You scared me, too," she admitted, and she couldn't even try to smile, brush it off like he was trying to. "When I realised you were hurt and I wasn't -" She bit off the words, trying not to choke on them. "I check my inbox every day." Her voice cracked, just a little, in spite of holding onto her calm as hard as she could. "Just so I know that you're still breathing."
His eyes were fixed on her face, wide and a little wet. He swallowed, giving her a jerky nod. "Well... I've got to say that I'm glad you're here now."
She finally gave in to that ever-present urge, the need to touch him, and reached out to stroke her fingers gently along his hairline. He turned his face into her touch, closing his eyes.
"Me, too," she said, and it came out halfway between a sigh and sob. "Me, too."
-o-
She should have walked away after that, but when it came to King, she wasn't smart. She tried to keep it low key, hoping no one else on her team noticed how distracted she was, or how often she ran errands that she hadn't felt the need to run in the past. Maybe Dex noticed, but if he wondered why she was seldom around during the day, he didn't ask, and if he had any suspicions, he kept them to himself.
That didn't mean she was entirely stupid. Her first priority, as it had always been, was their war against the vampires. She still did the things she needed to - training, hunting, killing - but when she went out for a run, it was usually in King's direction. And as King's injury healed, she took a little longer to run back. Sometimes she took a lot longer.
"You know, I've never had an affair with a married woman before."
She paused in the act of pulling her hair into a ponytail and gave King an exasperated look over her shoulder.
"I'd ask what you were talking about, but I'm afraid you'd tell me."
"This." He made a little hand-waving gesture between the pair of them, Abby already up and getting dressed while King still lay sprawled across the bed. "The whole 'sneaking in and sneaking out' thing."
She raised one eyebrow at him, trying not to be distracted by the sight of him, still naked and tousled, his hair sticking up where she'd dragged her fingers through it. "Have you forgotten that Frank still wants to put a bullet through you?"
"Exactly. It's like you're married."
"To Frank?"
"I'm pretty sure that wanting to kill me fits the wronged husband archetype." He frowned. "Although that mental image is... just wrong. Disturbing, even. He's how much older than your father again?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're a dick. D'you know that?"
"Yeah, can't help it. It's genetic." She gave him a look, and a slow grin started to form on his face. "Seriously. It's hard-coded into my DNA. Or maybe that was 'have a dick'."
"I'm pretty sure it was 'be a dick'," she said dryly, amused in spite of herself. "And Frank wanting to kill you has absolutely nothing to do with..."
"Me fucking you?" he asked brightly. "Screwing you? Pounding you into the mattress on a regular basis -"
She picked up one of his pillows and slammed it into his face, cutting him off. He was laughing as he knocked it away, onto the floor.
"Is that what you call it?"
"I'd call it not regular enough. If you're looking for complete honesty here."
She rolled her eyes again, fastening her buttons and ignoring him.
"I take it there's no chance of reconciliation with old Frank, then?" he asked, reaching over to pull the pillow back up onto the bed. He plumped it up and placed it neatly on the mattress, before rolling over to rest his chin on it as he watched her get dressed.
She hesitated in the act of sliding another button through the buttonhole. "I don't think..."
"Yeah," he sighed, "I know." A brief spasm of frustration crossed his face. "It would just be a hell of a lot easier."
She looked under the bed for her shoes. "You mean you'd get nookie morning and night instead of just an afternoon delight?"
"Nookie?" He was laughing again, the bastard. "Is that what you call it?"
"What would you call it?" She knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that the question was a mistake.
"Fucking you, screwing you, pounding you into the mattress..." He grinned at her again. "Although, I have to admit that 'afternoon delight' has a certain je ne sais quoi about it."
She shouldn't encourage him, but her mouth curled up in a small smile anyway, and of course he took that as a sign that she'd be okay with him grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back down onto the bed with him again.
"Hey," he said. "How about a bit of afternoon delight?"
"I've got to go," she said reluctantly, even though she was already leaning into his touch. His palm cupped her cheek as he pulled her into another kiss, taking his time and leaving her breathless.
"Hey, you," he said when he finally pulled back, smiling at her in a way that did stupid things to her insides. "I've got a favour to ask."
"If it's sucking your dick, I've already done that once today."
He laughed again, leaning in to kiss her again, this time far too briefly. "No, although I wouldn't say no if you were offering. This request's actually serious."
She pushed herself up, staring down at him. "What is it?" she asked cautiously, and he didn't miss her reluctance, the amusement fading slowly from his face.
"I've got a job tonight," he said. "And it's a two-man job. Or... Two-person job, anyway."
"What's the job?"
"Well, Danica owns a warehouse down by the docks..."
"Which is where you managed to get yourself stabbed."
He paused, searching her face. "So you managed to figure that one out?"
"It wasn't difficult."
He gave her a faint smile. "No, it wouldn't have been for you. Yes. I knew she had the place down there. I just didn't know where, and there was more security than I expected. Which just goes to show, I shouldn't have underestimated Danica's need to protect whatever the hell she's got down there."
She let him tug her closer as he talked, her hands automatically coming to rest on his chest. "So what does she have down there?"
"Now, that's the million dollar question. I don't actually know. I just know she really doesn't want me to take a look. And since she doesn't want me to see it..."
"You're going to be a gentleman and look anyway?"
"I'm always a gentleman."
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow again, smirking down at him. "Is that why you have your hands on my ass?"
"I just didn't want you to get cold."
"Is that right? Then why are you always so eager for me to take my clothes off?"
His mouth quirked upwards. "Shared body heat?" he suggested, and she shook her head, amused and not hiding it. "That a yes?"
"To sharing body heat or to watching your back tonight?"
"Both."
She chewed at her lip, considering it. Frank would have said it was a trap, but if King had intended to hurt her, he'd had plenty of opportunity and a hell of a lot of occasions when she hadn't been armed.
"Does it have to be tonight?" she asked, already figuring out the excuses she could make to Frank, even though she wasn't willing to admit to that yet.
King nodded. "The guy I beat it out of seems to think she's moving whatever she had shipped in soon. I don't think we can hang around on this one for long."
We. As though they were in this together, and as though King didn't doubt for a minute that she'd have his back.
He probably wasn't wrong on that count.
"Okay," she said eventually, not missing the relief that flooded his face before he tamped it down, adopting an insouciant look that didn't fool her for a second.
"Is that a yes to sharing body heat or watching my back?"
"Both."
He smiled up at her. Maybe it was the relief he felt, but it seemed softer this time as he reached up to gently brush back the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Come here," he said quietly, pulling her slowly down towards him. "I've got a delightful afternoon I want to share with you."
-o-
King's joking comments meant that getting back to base really did start to feel like sneaking in. It didn't help when she caught herself keeping an eye out for Frank, which was a sure sign of a guilty conscience.
The worst thing was that she really did have a guilty conscience, but not for the reasons Frank would think if he knew about it.
It was usually quiet when she eased the door shut behind her, and she tensed, listening for any signs of activity and wondering whether she'd ever reach the point where that heavy weight of dread didn't settle in her stomach whenever she couldn't see anyone immediately. But then she heard the soft, consistent sound of a basketball hitting the floor; Hedges and Dex, chilling out and finally taking a break.
She smiled to herself as she headed further into their small, cramped headquarters, popping her head around the door to say hi to Sommerfield, who - as always - was chained to her microscope and keyboard.
Sommerfield lifted her head, tilting it to the side she tracked Abby, either by sound or by scent. "Everything okay?" she asked before Abby could move away, and Abby stepped fully into the room, knowing from past experience that Sommerfield wouldn't be satisfied until she'd satisfied herself.
"Everything's fine," she said, keeping it light and breezy. "Why?"
Sommerfield let out a little snort. "I was beginning to think you didn't love us anymore," she said with her trademark sarcasm, and Abby smiled, leaning on Sommerfield's workbench.
"I'll always love you," she said. "Maybe even Dex."
Sommerfield let out another huff of amusement, turning back to her computer. "You're in a good mood today. Should I try and guess why?"
Abby shrugged even though she knew Sommerfield couldn't see it. It would probably show up in her voice, and Sommerfield was good at reading those cues in the absence of visual ones. "If you want."
"Uh huh." Sommerfield smiled to herself, the expression sly and knowing. "You should probably go and shower before Frank catches you. You smell of sex. At least tell me it was good sex."
Abby's stomach lurched unpleasantly, the guilt rising to the surface. She bit back on the explanation and the excuses; if Sommerfield already suspected who she'd been with, there was no point in confirming it. And if she didn't, there was no point in putting ideas in her head.
"Glad to see that someone's getting a booty call," Sommerfield continued, and Abby gave her a strained smile, one that was entirely wasted on Sommerfield.
"I'd better go shower," she said, and Sommerfield chuckled earthily.
"You do that, girl. And then you can tell me all about it later."
Later, as far as Abby was concerned, was right about the time that hell froze over, but she didn't say as much to Sommerfield. There was no point in borrowing trouble in advance, and she was sure she could avoid the other woman for the next year or two, or until Sommerfield forgot all about it, which was probably even longer than that.
It was just her luck to meet Frank in the corridor as he headed into Sommerfield's lab. He gave her a searching look as he passed, probably confused by her heightened colour, but she avoided his eyes and made good her escape, heading straight for the shower and hoping she didn't run into anyone else until she smelled like herself and not like King.
She hid herself in Hedges' lab for the rest of the afternoon, busying herself with waxing the strings of her bow and lubricating the cams. Hedges left her alone, recognising that she had no interest in small talk today.
She was still there when Frank found her, and he hung back in the doorway for a moment, watching her silently until she spotted him. His face was inscrutable, giving her absolutely nothing to go on, but there were dark shadows underneath his eyes and deep grooves by his mouth, which hadn't been there only a few months ago. She held her tongue, already feeling guilty before he'd opened his mouth.
"You got plans tonight?" he asked.
She nodded mutely, finally answering him when he made an impatient little 'come on' gesture. "I thought I'd head down to the docks," she said slowly, searching his face for any sign of what was going through his mind.
"Cancel it," he said brusquely, the words coming out with a hard snap, and she frowned. "I want you here tonight."
In spite of the temptation to tell Frank where he could stick his orders, she paused long enough to mull over her options, trying not to glance at the clock and wondering if it was too late for King to change his plans. Knowing King, he wouldn't change them anyway, but would simply head out without her.
"You got a problem with that, Whistler?" Frank snarled suddenly, the aggression taking her by surprise. She started to shake her head and then stopped, holding his gaze and wondering when, exactly, Frank had lost his goddamned mind.
"Do you have some intel I need to know about?" she asked, not backing down, not this time, no matter the consequences. Frank had been like a cat on a hot tin roof for far too long now, and it was about time someone called him on his shit.
"You need to know what I decide you need to know," he said and the snarl had gone from his voice. Instead, it came out deceptively calm, as though Frank had regained control of himself again, pushing everything down inside and letting nothing show on the surface, nothing but the same bone-deep tiredness she'd been seeing for weeks now, all of his fight fled.
"I need to know, Frank. If you want me to change my plans, you need to come clean with me."
His nostrils flared. "Do I now? You're on dangerous ground there, Whistler."
"More dangerous than if something's coming and I don't know about it?"
It was the way he shifted position that told her he was backing down, and she felt some of her tension ebb away.
"Nothing's coming," he said. "Nothing I know about, anyway, but I don't like leaving Sommerfield and Zoë here on their own. Not after..."
That was news to Abby. She hadn't noticed it concerning Frank before, but then she hadn't been around much recently. Maybe things had changed. "Hedges will be here," she said, judging his reaction carefully. She couldn't puzzle it out, Frank's sudden change in attitude, not unless he really did know something he wasn't sharing.
He wiped his hands over his face tiredly, and the move pulled the skin of his cheeks down, making him look more than ever like an ancient bloodhound. Except that even bloodhounds didn't look as hangdog as Frank did just then.
"Just humour me, Abby," he said. "For once."
She'd been humouring him for months, even if he hadn't realised it. She couldn't do it any longer, not when they finally had a chance to strike a blow against Danica Talos. Not when King was counting on her to watch his back.
But she nodded anyway, small and discreet because it felt less like a lie that way. Frank's mouth curled up in a small, rare smile, the genuine gratitude in his voice making her feel even more like a heel.
"Thank you," he said, and she hated herself, just a little bit, for that.
-o-
Part 12: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
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