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Title: the end of the world (as we know it)
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 51,562
Warnings: Highlight to read: violence, illness, involuntary vampirism.
Summary: When the vampire virus starts to develop a resistance to the Nightstalkers' Daystar weapon, Abigail is left watching helplessly as King has to fight not just for his life, but for his soul and his sanity.
Masterlist: AO3 :: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Previous Part: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Once King had finally fallen asleep again, she'd eased herself away from the warmth of his body before she could fall asleep next to him, remembering her promise to Sullivan as well as her promise to King.
She couldn't sleep, not knowing what was coming, and she was left pacing the floor, counting the steps in her head because at least that drowned out some of the screaming. She only stopped when she realised even that reminded her of King. She couldn't stop picturing his face, the expression on it when they'd been trapped in the basement together, the hunger and the fear.
She'd put Zoë to bed hours before, reading her a bedtime story the way she'd been neglecting to do recently, and that was just another lump of guilt to swallow down until it lay, like lead, in her belly. And now it was just her and too much information about an enemy they were never going to be able to fucking defeat.
If she hadn't cried herself out by now, she'd have sunk down at the table and buried her face against the rough, wooden surface in despair. As it was, all she had to cling to was her anger and she wasn't letting it go any time soon.
She couldn't. She was pissed at Sullivan, pissed at Caulder, pissed at the world. Sooner or later something had to give, and Abby was beginning to think that it was going to be her.
The words were blurring in front of her, any patterns she might have found hidden by the sheer weight the data. She needed Hedges, but Hedges was dead and gone, like Dex was dead and gone, like Sommerfield, her father, Henderson, Carruthers. Now it was just her and King left, and she was losing him, too.
She swept her hands through the useless pieces of paper littering the table top, sending them spiralling up into the air. It didn't help - the anger still pulsed through her, a snarling beast that she couldn't keep fed.
She supposed that she had that much in common with vampires, at least.
She'd still have that much in common with King.
"Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Sullivan had somehow managed to sneak up on her, although given the way she'd been silently raging she suspected that it hadn't required much stealth. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he didn't have a care in the world, eyeing the scattered remnants of her temper tantrum with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic twist to his mouth.
"Did you want something?"
Her voice was ice, savage and unyielding, and his eyebrow went up a notch, but he didn't call her on it. He had that much sense, at least, even if he didn't have enough sense to keep his distance. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and sauntered into the room, his hands pushed casually into his pockets and his shoulders slumped.
But she wasn't fooled - she hadn't missed the quick, furtive glance he sent towards the infirmary or the wariness in his eyes when he looked back at her.
"You've heard," she said flatly. It was the only explanation for him seeking her out now.
He nodded slowly, gauging her reaction. She didn't know if he'd found what he expected or not and she didn't care either. She wasn't even sure whether she should be expecting sympathy from him or not, but it still surprised her when the next words out of his mouth were: "That's not why I wanted to talk to you."
She mimicked his eyebrow raising, too pissed and heartsick to give any ground, and his jaw tensed for a moment before he let it go. It washed over him the way it wasn't washing over Abby, not when it had dug its claws in deep and was ripping her apart. His eyes took in the devastation, the scattered remnants of her research, and when he finally looked back at her his expression was considering.
"You find anything?" he asked neutrally and her jaw tensed, too wound up to take it as anything other than criticism, even if that wasn't the way he'd intended it.
It probably wasn't, to be fair to the man, but then hadn't she just been thinking how fucking unfair life was?
"Lots of death, lots of property damage, lots of bad shit going down." Even she couldn't miss the fact that her phrasing sounded a lot like King's. She curled and uncurled her fingers, consciously trying to calm herself. "How do you tell vampires killing from people just killing each other?"
Sullivan shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "When the people who are dead are missing a hell of a lot of blood," he said, but for once he didn't sound sarcastic about it. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I've got some potential leads, if you're interested."
She stared at him, wondering about his motives, why he was bringing it up now. He was still waiting for an answer and in the end she offered a tentative and noncommittal, "Okay?"
He nodded thoughtfully to himself - or at least, it seemed aimed more at himself than at her. "It's out of state," he said, and she could tell from his expression now that he knew she wasn't going to be happy about it.
"You expect me to leave King now?"
"I expect you to do your job, Whistler." His tone was uncompromising but the look in his eyes softened slightly as he added, "What else are you going to do? Sit around and watch him turn again? Do you really think he'll thank you for it?"
The observation silenced her, hitting home as hard as Sullivan had probably intended. There was no answer to his question and Sullivan seemed to realise that, pressing his advantage.
"Ask him," he said. "I think we both know the answer. And, yes, what's happening to King is a goddamned tragedy, but it's not the only one. People are still dying out there, Whistler. Sometimes our people." He stepped back, moving out of her personal space and shrugging his shoulders tiredly, looking suddenly exhausted. "A lot of times not, but innocent civilians are supposed to be the reason we doing this, aren't they? The ones we're supposed to protect?"
That was the official version, but she knew better and Sullivan must have known that. Her father had fought to avenge his first family, the family he'd actually cared about. Sommerfield fought for her dead husband, Hedges for his brother, Dex his partner. And Sullivan himself was doing this for his wife. The same story, just different endings.
Her story was different, and so was King's. But in the end it didn't look like they were going to be different enough.
"Talk to King," Sullivan repeated, studying her closely as he said it, no doubt able to tell that she was wavering. "He'll tell you the same thing I am - you're needed out there, Whistler. More than you're needed here right now, no matter what you think."
-o-
King was sleeping again when she finally made her way through to his room. She hung back for a moment, watching him. He still looked like crap, pale and sweaty, his beard dark against his washed out complexion and tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead. The skin underneath his eyes was paper thin, almost translucent, and he looked so vulnerable that it hurt her heart, love and tenderness welling up inside her and making her eyes prickle with the grief that followed hard on their heels.
He stirred, maybe able to sense her on some level, whether that level was human or not, and his eyes slowly drifted open until he was blinking blearily at her, frowning a little as he tried to gather his wits together.
And then he smiled, small and sweet but tired, so tired around the edges. "Hey," he said. His voice sounded croaky and unused, and a lump formed in her throat again, choking her when she was trying to stay positive and upbeat for him. All she could manage was a small smile back at him, one that couldn't be sweet, not when it was so broken.
The smile faded away from his face, replaced by the look of concern, worrying about her, when really he should be worrying about himself. Maybe he was too tired, too worn down to paste his normal sarcastic persona over the top of it, mute it a little and make it less obvious than he usually would, but whatever the reason, that look faded a lot more slowly than his smile had done.
"Hey," he said again, this time beckoning her towards him, an exhausted flick of his fingers that she couldn't ignore even if she'd wanted to.
She didn't want to, even if it was selfish to put this on him now.
She sat down on the chair next to his bed, ignoring the unsubtle way he shifted to make room for her on the mattress. He didn't push it, reading her mood as well as he always had, but he struggled to sit upright, messing with the pillows until he was comfortable. It gave her breathing room, which was probably what he'd intended. For someone who was usually blatant and in-your-face, he did have his subtle moments.
"Well, I'd ask what's wrong but I've got a feeling I know." He looked at her, quirking his eyebrow, and something on her face must have given her away. "Or maybe I don't."
There was the faintest hint of a question in his words, something she could ignore if she wanted to, King still reading her mood too closely for comfort. She dropped her gaze from his, suddenly wishing she'd taken him up on the offer of lying next to him. This might be easier with his arms wrapped around her, but maybe not.
"What is it?" he prompted. "Come on, Whistler. If you're going to hit me with bad news, get it all out at once. I'm kind of running a three-for-two deal here, and it's time-limited."
"There's nothing wrong," she said. Sullivan would have to do without her, she decided. There was no way in hell she was leaving King, not to go through this on his own. "I just..."
"Well, the way I see it there are three options. The first - and most likely - is that you're obsessing about Caulder cutting me off tomorrow, in which case I'd like to point out that at least one of us has to stay sane while I go cold turkey and I've kind of nominated you for the position." He quirked his eyebrow her again, inviting her to join in the joke.
It wasn't funny.
"Option number two," he continued when she stared at him blankly, "you're trying to decide what to tell Zoë. I vote we tell her she's adopted, that way she doesn't have to worry about getting any of my genes." That was a little funnier, but not by much.
"Option number three," he said blithely, "you've decided I'm far more trouble than I'm worth - and I can't disagree with you on that one, sweetheart - and you're running away with Sullivan."
That one hit too close to home, and some of that must have shown on her face because King's jaw dropped and he stared at her, speechless for a moment before he recovered himself.
"Jesus. Please tell me it's not actually that. I mean, we both know your taste in men is dubious, and I think I'm the case in point, but Sullivan? Come on!"
If she'd been in a joking mood, she'd have pointed out that his taste in women was decidedly worse than hers in men given his track record, but she couldn't even bring herself to reference Danica, not now and maybe not ever again. Instead she shifted uncomfortably, finally admitting, "It's not what you think."
King was still staring at her, stunned, and then the hurt started to blossom across his face. If she'd thought he looked vulnerable before, it was nothing to how he looked now, and it was so goddamned stupid. Did he really think...?
"Sullivan thinks he's found a nest," she blurted out and, just like that, the hurt and confusion vanished from his expression, leaving something suspiciously like amusement behind.
"Right..." he said slowly, and he was definitely mocking her now. She should be relieved about that, pleased that he felt well enough to be a smartass, and mostly she was except for a small part of her, the part that was used to his antics and therefore had the conditioned urge to smack him back down again just to keep him honest. "And this is an issue because?"
"We're losing people," she said quietly and his amusement evaporated.
"You need to go." It wasn't exactly a question. He was so smart sometimes, the times when he wasn't being a smartass, so quick to pick things up and take them to their logical conclusion.
"I should stay," she said and it sounded weak, even to her own ears. "I don't want... I don't want to leave you."
He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her face. "So... what? You're going to sit here and mop my fevered brow while people are dying out there? No offence, sweetheart, but that really doesn't sound like you."
"It's at least a ten hour drive away and I'd be gone at least a week. I'm not leaving you to go through this on your own." The last sentence came out more fiercely than she'd intended but he didn't back down, even if there was a brief flash of pain in his eyes before he smothered it.
"So you really are going to sit there and mop my fevered brow. Wow. I never really had you pictured as the Florence Nightingale type, not unless she was secretly a ninja. And there's a mental image that's going to be living with me for a while."
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she opened them to look at him again. "Will you take this seriously?"
"I don't take anything seriously. You should know that by now. I mean, this time tomorrow I'm probably going to be back to being a vampire and I'm still cracking wise about it. That's just how I roll. You know, tasteless and borderline obnoxious."
She gave him a long, steady look, the kind of look that had quelled him in the past and it didn't let her down this time either. He blinked at her before he glanced away, looking a little shamefaced, which just made her feel guilty.
He was right. This was how he rolled, ridiculous comments to make fun of the things that terrified him the most.
"I'm not going to leave you," she said again, more gently this time, trying to convince him that there was no way in hell she was going to abandon him.
"I think I'd prefer it if you did."
It took a second for the words to sink in, long enough for King to already be giving her an apologetic look, his mouth twisting in the way it always did when he knew he was in the wrong. Only he wasn't in the wrong this time, not really.
"Look, Abby... We both know what's going to happen tomorrow. And..." He trailed off, for once lost for words, and when he continued his voice was rough, full of suppressed emotion. "I don't want you here. I don't want you to see it and I don't want to have to worry about -"
"I can look after myself," she said forcefully.
"That's not what I'm worried about. I can't." He bit the words off, staring at her, a defiant kind of anger shining in his eyes. "You promised me you wouldn't let me hurt you. I've turned with you there once already. You think I don't want you as far away as fucking possible from me when I have to go through it again? I'll pass on the mopping the brow thing, sweetheart, especially if it means I can't hurt you or Zoë. And if it means I'll be able to look you in the eye afterwards." He swallowed. "It's going to get ugly and I'm not so sure of your affections that I want you to see me ugly." He tried to smile and failed. "I mean, Sullivan's kind of pretty. In the right light and with copious amounts of alcohol. I'd rather not take the chance."
"King..."
"Don't." His smile was definitely broken this time and his eyes were as serious as she'd ever seen them. "Just... don't, okay, Abby?"
She nodded mutely, unable to deny him this.
"Okay." He echoed her nod, a jerky, automatic response of which he seemed barely aware. "Just do two things for me, okay? First, make sure that Caulder keeps Zoë away from me. I'm serious about that. I don't..."
He trailed off again and she nodded, reaching out and fumbling for his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his when she found it.
It was the first time she'd touched him since she'd walked through the door, and that should have told her everything she needed to know about how she really felt about what the following days would bring. How he felt about it, too.
"What's the second thing?" she asked through numb lips.
"Be careful." He wasn't joking. He reached up with his free hand and stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, his touch unbearably gentle. "I'm not going to be there to watch your back, not that I was any great shakes at it the last time." His mouth twisted again, wryly this time. "But I love you, so just... be careful."
It was the first time he'd said it and she swallowed down the tears that fought to rise to the surface. His thumb brushed over her cheek again, wiping away the few that escaped, and then he cupped her cheek with his palm, anchoring her as he leaned in and kissed her.
He kept his mouth tightly closed and so did she, no chance of her coming into contact with his fangs. It was over far too quickly and then, too soon, he was pulling away, his fingers lingering for a second before they too were gone, leaving her with a bittersweet kind of sadness.
And then he looked straight past her. When she turned her head and looked herself, she wasn't surprised to see Sullivan standing in the doorway.
"I got hold of another cell in the area," Sullivan said, smart enough not to comment on the intimate moment he'd just observed. "What was left of it. They're heading to the general area. Rendezvous is in twelve hours." He paused, assessing her reaction, before he added, "If you're coming, we need to move out now."
King squeezed her fingers, a light pressure that caught her attention. The look in his eyes was serious, but he didn't have to say anything. Didn't even have to nod. She got it.
She nodded at Sullivan, rising to her feet and already making a mental list of the things she'd need to do in the hour or so before she and Sullivan headed out. Talking to Caulder was at the top of her list and checking on Zoë wasn't very far down on it. Her fingers slid out of King's and she stared down at him, unable to find the right words to say.
But they didn't need words - his expression told her everything she needed to know and everything he felt. She gave him a faint smile, finally moving away.
"Look after my girl, Sullivan," King said as she paused in the doorway, looking back at him. His tone left no doubt that he was serious. Sullivan nodded slowly, holding King's gaze for a long moment, one that stretched out before Sullivan finally looked at her, his expression still assessing.
"When do we leave?" she asked him, all business now even with the taste of King still lingering on her lips and the warmth of his fingers a sense memory on her skin.
"Give me an hour," he said. "I'll pull the kit together, give you time to do what you need to. You can check it when I'm finished if you like." His mouth curled up slightly at the corner, the only sign of approval she was likely to get from him.
She nodded, moving past him and already dismissing him from her thoughts.
Sullivan watched her go, waiting until she was out of sight before he turned back to King.
Now that Whistler wasn't there to see him, King slumped back into the pillows, his face creasing with exhaustion. He suddenly looked as sick as he actually was, only wrestling the façade back into place when he caught Sullivan watching him.
"You okay?" Sullivan asked him, partly because he felt he ought to, partly because... well, pain in the ass or not, King deserved better than this.
King didn't seem to appreciate it. His face creased further, but with irritation this time, it seemed, instead of fatigue. "Why the hell do people keep asking me that?" he groused a little petulantly. "It's a stupid fucking question."
Sullivan shrugged, unfazed and far from offended - maybe that was a sign of personal growth, not to take offence at any of the crap that came out of King's mouth. "I don't know," he said dryly. "Anyone would think they gave a shit."
King gave him a dark look, but since he didn't look right then as though he could wrestle a six-year-old and win, Sullivan ignored it. That would change, though, if Caulder was right about what would happen once he stopped administering the antivirus. If Whistler didn't do as King asked and warn Caulder to keep the kid away from him, Sullivan would. In fact, he'd warn Caulder anyway. Better safe than sorry.
But that still left the problem of King and the promise Sullivan had made to him.
"I've got something for you," he said slowly, reaching behind him and untucking his knife sheath from its normal position in the small of his back. King tracked his move, his expression turning wary when Sullivan brought it into view, and Sullivan supposed he couldn't really blame King for that. But he wasn't a cruel man - he had no intention of drawing it out and leaving King wondering if this was it. Instead he tossed the blade towards King, where it landed neatly on King's blanket-covered lap.
King hesitated before picking it up, his fingers wrapping around the hilt and drawing it free, catching the light on the silver blade. His fingertips brushed against the blade as he slid it home again, but there was no smoke curling up from the contact points, the way there would have been had he been entirely vampire, or the way there probably would be once Caulder stopped his treatment. He shot Sullivan a considering look, one that weighed him up, trying to figure him out as he tucked the sheath under his pillow.
It was a surprise to realise that he minded if King thought he had an agenda. "I made you a promise," he said gruffly. "I might not be here when you... if you need me to keep it. I figured you'd appreciate a backup plan."
It took a second for his words to sink in, and then King nodded slowly, his expression still considering, but tired now, the kind of bone deep weariness that Sullivan could get behind.
"Just don't tell Whistler I gave it to you," he said. "I'm already on her shit list. I could do without being pushed to the top." He hesitated, taking in King's exhaustion, remembering the way that the light in his eyes had died once Whistler had left the room. Before he could think better of it, he blurted out, "She loves you, you know." He had no idea why he'd said it. It was none of his goddamned business. But... maybe King just needed the reminder, so that even without her there, there was still something to fight for. "Try not to kill yourself before you have to. That would make her even more pissed and I'd rather not be on the wrong side of it."
King gave him a lopsided smile. "You're all heart," he said. "Not much in the way of spine, of course, but then I suppose nobody's perfect."
Sullivan snorted, rapidly reaching the conclusion that bonding time was over. He gave King a brief nod and then turned away, heading towards their makeshift armoury.
This time he was going to make damned sure that they were prepared.
-o-
She was gone closer to two weeks than the week she'd told King. She didn't even have time to think about him, much. Not with the daily frustration of this hunt.
The vamps they were tracking had gone to ground, and she and Sullivan were always two steps behind them, following the trail of devastation they'd left: the deaths, the families torn apart, the grief and the loss. Maybe that was why she couldn't let herself think of King very often - it was too close to home, too uncomfortable, and she'd always been good at compartmentalising.
The remnants of the other cell they'd hooked up with had a background in law enforcement and were more disciplined than the chaos she was used to, better suited to the life than Hedges had been, or Carruthers and Henderson. She watched them work, observing how they went about it, making mental notes where she needed to, filing away things she could adapt, methods she could use, and ignoring the rest.
She didn't have much in common with them, not like Sullivan did, and outside of the hunt she kept mostly to herself, staying focused and disciplined, outwardly polite but not really friendly and open. Stokes - the younger one - made the effort to get to know her, full of Texas charm and gosh-ma'am attitude, but he didn't get anywhere in a hurry, not that it seemed to bother him much.
She preferred Willows, who was older than her and a lot more cynical. There was something about the woman, though. A toughness that said she'd seen a lot, even before she'd known about the existence of vampires, and that, at the base of everything, she was a survivor.
Stokes had lost his partner, Willows her daughter. It was a familiar story, and for the first time Abby had something similar to share. But she didn't talk about King, and Sullivan didn't either. Some things were too private to put out for public consumption.
They worked well together, the four of them, Stokes and Willows able to read a scene in a way she'd never thought possible. They were also still hooked into whatever local law enforcement networks they'd originated from, and that all provided valuable intel, letting them build up a picture that eventually took them away from the cities and into the heartlands, where the landscape stretched for miles, empty and open, and there was no cell phone signal.
Being cut off from base left her uneasy, not knowing what was happening with King or with Zoë. It was another reason not to think about him much, not when she was so far away and there was nothing she could do about it except get the job done so she could get the hell home. It tested her compartmentalising to its limits, but if Stokes and Willows could be professional, then so could she.
The end, when it came, was almost an anti-climax. Daystar didn't work on this nest, either, not as effectively as it had elsewhere, but it put some vamps down, coughing and spluttering, even if it didn't take them out entirely. Silver and liquid garlic extract still worked, the garlic disabling them the way it always had, and in the end they died screaming and flailing at the end of Abby's knife and her bow, consumed by Sullivan's sundog bullets, Stokes' UV grenades, and Willows' maternal fury.
It was only once the goodbyes had been said, with a hunter's trademark brusqueness - except for Stokes who couldn't stop being charming even if he'd tried - that she finally let herself think about what might be waiting for her back at base. Now it was over, she was chomping at the bit, and Sullivan for once seemed happy to accommodate her, packing the car up in record time and ignoring the way her fingers tapped impatiently against her knee.
Of course, being out beyond the sticks meant it was hours into the journey before she finally got a signal again, and once she had, it figured that Caulder wouldn't be answering his phone.
She tapped at the on-board keyboard of her cell impatiently, staring out of the windows at the vista rolling past outside, the miles of darkness with only a few specks of light in the distance, what passed for civilisation in these parts. She couldn't wait to get back to the city, any city, where the ground was familiar and they had decent take-out. She knew where she was when she was surrounded by steel and concrete, glass and brick. Those were the hunting grounds she was familiar with, not these wide-open skies that stretched on forever, only the myriad pinpricks of starlight relieving the endless black.
Sullivan glanced across at her, taking in her tension, before his eyes were back on the road again. He cleared his throat, for once deciding to say something instead of leaving her to wallow in her own fears.
"I'm sure everything will be fine."
Platitudes didn't suit him. He didn't have the face or the tone for them, the words coming out stilted instead of comforting, the way he'd probably intended. She gave him a look, one that conveyed everything she needed to about his ability to lie, and he scowled for a moment, his expression clear in the reflection on the front windscreen.
She tried Caulder again, cursing under her breath when he failed to pick up.
"You do realise it's also the middle of the night where they are, right? And we'll be there in less than six hours. Just in time for breakfast."
She gave Sullivan another look, but this time it failed to have the effect she was aiming for. He shrugged it off, reaching over to turn on the radio, the sound filling the car in spite of its low-volume.
It was country, of course, and she could just picture what King would say about that. Or maybe not - his musical tastes were eclectic to say the least.
She tried her cell again, ignoring the slightly exasperated look Sullivan shot her. Still no answer.
"Whistler -"
"The last time I didn't get an answer when I called," she said, staring out the front windscreen, "it was because King and Zoë had been taken and everyone else was dead." She didn't look at Sullivan until she'd finished talking, and when she did, his expression twisted, half in sympathy and half in frustration with her.
"Fine," he said. "But do me a favour - grab one of those cushions from the back seat, okay?" Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he rolled his eyes at her, an expression she wasn't used to seeing from him.
"If the cops pull us over, we're speeding because you're in labour, got it?"
-o-
HQ was quiet when they finally got back, the whole complex bathed in the dawn's golden light, making it look warmer and more welcoming than it usually did. Even the weeds looked pretty, soft greens and golds that she didn't stop to admire. There was no sign of life, which wasn't unexpected - the buildings around them were empty and abandoned, and they'd learnt the hard way to keep a low profile - but it didn't do anything to reassure her.
The sound of the car door slamming as Sullivan joined her on the asphalt sounded too loud in the early morning silence, but she couldn't be irritated with him for long, not when he moved to flank her, his hand dropping automatically to the weapon strapped to his thigh.
There was no sign of any disturbance as she walked up to the entrance to the building they'd appropriated, no indication of forced entry, nothing out of place. She pushed the door open slowly, and it didn't creak. Caulder must have finally got around to oiling it - she couldn't imagine anyone else bothering, and while that should have been reassuring, in her current mood, with her heart beating too fast and the tension rising within her, it wasn't.
She slid through the opening, Sullivan hard on her heels, and kept her tread light as she moved through the building, taking in the signs of occupancy - yesterday's newspaper open on the kitchen table, the dishes in the sink, the faint pulsing light of the TV in the other room and the muted sound of canned laughter.
She moved towards it, still moving carefully, alert for anything out of place, so tense she was almost vibrating with it.
Zoë was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her and a bowl of cereal clutched in her hand. Something chocolatey, the kind of thing that Sommerfield had never let her have and Abby still didn't. This door still creaked, and Zoë looked up at the sound, her small face lighting up as soon as she spotted Abby.
"Abby! We're watching Sesame Street!"
Abby grinned at her, relief flooding her system. It was only when she registered the 'we' that she realised that Zoë wasn't alone in the room.
King was stretched out on the couch, his head pillowed on his hand, with one of the couch cushions underneath that. Zoë's My Little Pony quilt was draped over him and he looked like death warmed over, pale and shivery with dark circles under his eyes. But his eyes were a deep, dark brown, not pale and washed out as they had been, and when he smiled at her, they crinkled at the corners, his whole face lighting up at the sight of her just as Zoë's had.
He was the most beautiful sight that Abby had ever seen.
"Hey," he croaked, shifting slightly on his makeshift bed so that he could look up at her. "You're back. Just in time for breakfast."
She nodded, barely aware that she was doing it, too busy just drinking the sight of him in. She tried to say something, and she was barely aware of that either, only knowing that she couldn't get the words past the lump in her throat or concentrate when her eyes were burning.
"You're... you okay?" The words stuttered out of her, filled with a fragile hope.
"I feel like I've got the flu," he said. "But it could be a hell of a lot worse." He blinked up at her, shivering again, and tried to sit up. He was moving as if every part of him ached, and she could sympathise. She'd had the flu before, and it was never pleasant. "Caulder didn't tell you?"
She shook her head mutely, still focusing on trying to breathe, not breaking down entirely in front of Zoë. He looked sick, but he looked human sick, the normal kind of sick. The kind of sick he'd get better from.
"Huh." He grimaced as he settled down again, tugging the quilt over his legs. "I thought he would have. In fact, I was pretty sure you'd hear his excitement all the way over in... What was the name of that place again?"
She shrugged, too focused on him to pay any attention to his question. "Somewhere... else," she said, and he smiled, the expression on his face moving from something amused to something warmer as she watched him.
"Hey," he said again, and she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.
He'd left a space on the couch next to him when he'd sat up, and she dropped her bag to the floor, her jacket following it as she headed towards him, settling down next to him. Her hand reached out towards him before she caught herself, half-convinced that this couldn't be real, that she'd fallen asleep in Sullivan's car and they were only half-way home. But King closed the last few inches between them, his roughly callused hand wrapping around hers.
His skin was warm to the touch, too warm to be due to anything but his fever, but his eyes weren't glazed. He knew exactly who she was, and he knew who he was, too.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, searching his face anxiously. "Are you...?"
"Human?" His eyes crinkled again. "As I ever was, I guess. It's -"
He broke off, looking past her, and she didn't need to hear the sound of boots scuffing against the floor to know that they were no longer alone. When she turned her head and looked towards the doorway, Caulder was standing there, still in his nightclothes, yawning and scratching unselfconsciously at his beard, Sullivan just behind him.
"Abigail." Caulder sounded just as glad to see her as Zoë and King, and his next words confirmed it. "It is good to have you back."
"You," she said pointedly, "need to start answering your phone."
He snorted, not at all put out by her tone, but then it took a lot to faze Caulder.
Abby, however, felt completely fazed, still reeling and still not quite able to believe that this was for real.
"You want to explain?" King asked, gesturing at himself, curled up on the couch. "The technobabble is beyond me."
Caulder nodded, looking smugly pleased. The light of scientific discovery shone in his eyes, the same light he'd had when admiring Sommerfield's handiwork. That had to be a good sign.
"As we discussed," he started, a little pompously, "I stopped administering the antivirus we had been using to treat King." Abby could only assume he meant the royal 'we', since no one else had had anything to do with treating King. "I expected that the transition to vampire would occur within twenty-four hours at most, as the antivirus gradually left his system. I knew it may not be as quick for the vampire virus to turn King as it would with the newly infected, not if some of Sommerfield's antivirus lingered in his system, but when forty-eight hours had passed and King was still running a fever -"
"Cut to the chase, Caulder," Sullivan interrupted in a slow drawl. "You can blow your own trumpet later." Abby shot him a grateful look, and he acknowledged it with the very faintest inclination of his head.
Caulder was shaking his head, not at all annoyed by Sullivan's interruption. If anything, he looked indulgent, and his eyes were sympathetic when they met Abby's. "There will be no trumpet blowing, my friend," he said. "I had very little to do with it."
She looked between them, confused.
"Apparently I'm making antibodies," King explained, leaving her very little the wiser.
Her eyes widened and she looked at Caulder for some kind of confirmation, relieved when he nodded thoughtfully. "It seems," he said gravely, "that King's body is fighting off the vampirism virus on its own. I had not heard of such a thing before, and if I had not seen it for myself..." He paused, giving her enough time for his words to sink in and start to make a strange kind of sense. "Perhaps it is because this is the second time he has been infected, leaving him, if not immune, then less vulnerable to infection than might be the case otherwise. Or perhaps it is that Sommerfield's antivirus has bought him enough time on this occasion for his body to begin to fight back, when normally the bone marrow is altered by the virus too quickly to enable it to produce the necessary antibodies."
"So..." She trailed off, trying to formulate the question in a way that made sense. "Is he... cured?"
"The virus is not entirely gone from his system, not yet, and I have re-initiated treatment with the original antivirus to assist in reducing viral load so that his own immune system has every opportunity to continue to produce antibodies. But I think at this point it is simply a question of time."
"There's more." It was King's turn to sound smug, although that might have had something to do with the fact that he'd taken the opportunity while Caulder was talking to move closer to her, his shoulder now pressed up firmly against hers and their fingers intertwined. He made her wait, though, for Caulder to explain what he meant instead of telling her himself.
"We may be able to use the antibodies that King's body is producing to augment Daystar."
"Now who's a waste of resources?"
Sullivan's brow clouded for a moment at King's crowing, but then it cleared again and he gave King a rueful little smile.
"Well, it's about time you turned out to be useful for something."
King flipped him off, but the move was automatic, no hard feeling behind it.
"Now what?" Abby asked, still wrestling to assimilate what she'd been told and still too scared to truly believe that things were going to turn out okay.
King's fingers squeezed hers for a moment, comfortingly.
"At the present rate, I'm hoping that the worst will be over within a matter of weeks. He will continue to run a high temperature, cold sweats, headaches, perhaps nausea and aching muscles -"
"I've got the flu," King repeated, and Caulder frowned, opening his mouth to object as his sense of accuracy was offended. King cut him off, however, before he could say anything. "For all intents and purposes, I feel like I've got the flu."
Caulder let out an exasperated sigh, the sound suggesting that they'd had this conversation more than once while Abby had been away. But he was a smart man - he knew when it was best just to let King have his head, crack his jokes, be a smartass. He had that much in common with Abby, at least.
"The symptoms," he acceded, "will be very similar to a bad case of influenza, and other than the antivirus, the only treatment I am recommending is rest, warmth and lots of liquids."
Zoë had been listening, if not following what the adults were talking about, but she jumped in now, obviously pleased to have a contribution to make. "He gets cold," she explained Abby solemnly. "So I fetched him my quilt."
"Kind of makes up for waking me up at five a.m."
Zoë frowned. "You were already awake. I didn't need to wake you up and I could have got my own breakfast."
"Yeah, yeah," King said, waggling his eyebrows at her. "You just wanted someone to watch Sesame Street with."
"Watching Sesame Street was your idea," she said seriously, her small face solemn as she pointed out the unfairness of King's words. "I wanted to watch SpongeBob."
It was overwhelming Abby, the idea that this was it, that after everything they'd been through, all of her fears of losing King to either the antivirus or to a hunter's blade, it had come down to King fighting it off like a bad case of the flu. Maybe Sullivan got some of that, or maybe the on-going good-natured bickering between Zoë and King was more than he could take, but he tapped Caulder on the shoulder and gestured with his head that the pair of them should leave her alone with her family.
Zoë broke off from arguing with King over whether Miss Piggy or Animal was the best Muppet. "I'm glad you're home, Abby," she said shyly, and Abby gave her a shaky smile, fingers tightening automatically around King's. She hadn't been able to let go of him and he didn't seem to have any objection.
But as soon as she thought it, King finally released her hand, shifting down the couch and stretching himself out, laying his head in Abby's lap and curling his legs up so that he'd fit his frame onto the cushions. He let out a satisfied sigh when he finally settled, something soft and contented, and Abby's eyes prickled again, burning with unshed tears. She covered it by tugging Zoë's quilt over him again, smoothing it down and leaving one hand on his shoulder as she threaded the fingers of the other hand through his hair.
Touching him made it real in a way it hadn't been before, and for the first time since they'd been captured she began to believe, really believe that they'd make it through this, that everything would turn out to not just be okay, but better than okay.
"She's not the only one glad you're home," he said sleepily, reaching up to catch hold of her hand again and twining his fingers with hers. "There's only so much Sesame Street a man can take."
"Your idea," said Zoë stubbornly, wriggling around until she was sitting with her back against the couch, pressed against Abby's leg as she started to eat her breakfast again, her eyes fixed on Elmo's antics.
"Anyone would think you'd missed me," Abby said quietly, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. He snorted softly, rubbing his face against her legs like a self-satisfied cat.
"Maybe a little," he admitted. "You know, because of the Sesame Street thing." She smiled, not believing that that was it for a moment, not when his fingers squeezed hers gently, moving her hand until he had it pressed against his chest, just over his heart. "Okay, I missed you."
"Because you love me?"
The corners of his mouth curled up. "Yeah, that must be it."
"I..." She choked, the lump in her throat threatening to undo her, robbing her of all of her words and most of her self-control. He turned his head, twisting to look up at her. The look in his eyes was warm and understanding, maybe a little amused, but it let her breathe again. "I'm glad to be home, too," she said, because that was all that was needed.
-o-
Although King was finally on the mend, it took a lot longer than she'd hoped. For some reason, she'd assumed he'd shake it off once his body started to make its own antibodies. Two or three days downtime and then he'd be back to normal.
She should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing King did ever was.
His body continued to fight off the infection, but it was slow, hard going. He slept for most of the day, tiring easily even when he was awake. Caulder told her that was completely normal although how the hell Caulder could know what passed for normal in these situations was beyond her. Sometimes she thought he was making things up just to reassure her. That was when she was feeling charitable towards him.
The rest of the time she wondered whether he was simply telling her whatever he thought would shut her up.
She felt like she was in limbo - King had been right; she wasn't one for the mopping of fevered brows and holding his hand seemed pointless if he wasn't awake for long enough to appreciate it. And sitting next to him, watching him toss and turn in his sleep, simply left her feeling antsy, some part of her still half-convinced that it couldn't be real, that he couldn't be getting better. That if she turned her back for five minutes then when she turned back around the vampirism virus would have him in its grasp again.
She was restless, almost as restless as King. Once Caulder released him from their makeshift infirmary, they'd tried sharing a bed, but that hadn't worked out as well as she'd hoped. She wasn't used to sleeping next to someone, sharing their personal space, and King was still suffering from night sweats, waking up soaking wet and shivering. She felt completely useless when that happened, reduced to stripping the bed while King changed out of his damp t-shirt and sweats. The fact he still felt like shit left King grouchy and irritable, which wasn't like him at all, and the lack of sleep didn't do her mood any good either. More than once she'd had to bite back a sarcastic remark when he'd been particularly snappish, feeling shamefaced when she remembered the hell he'd spent the last few weeks going through, and what he was still going through now.
It was never like this in the movies.
She needed something to do, something to keep her active and her mind off all of the what-might-have-beens. She'd never been one for sitting on her ass, and she was chafing at the inactivity, something that obviously hadn't escaped King. Sometimes she caught him watching her, figuring it all out the way he'd always been able to figure her out.
It wouldn't have irked her so much if he hadn't seemed amused by it.
She wasn't the only one chomping at the bit. Sullivan had started to form tenuous connections with the remnants of other cells, and he was just itching to get back into the field. She couldn't blame him - it was what they did, after all. Fight vampires. Kill them. Make the world a safer place, that sort of thing. And when he told her that he thought he'd tracked down another nest, this time a little further from their current location, she was tempted. She just wasn't sure she could justify leaving King again, not when the end was in sight.
She should have known that King would have a different view when she tentatively broached the subject. She should also have known he'd find her reluctance funny. Sick or not, he could still be a complete dick when he wanted to be.
"I don't know, Abby. Far be it from me to say that your place is in the home, but..."
She stared at him blankly, her mind whirring and the guilt already rising at even suggesting that she should -
"Dick," she said succinctly when it finally dawned on her that he was mocking her. He grinned back at her, completely unrepentant.
"Seriously, sweetheart, just go. I mean, haven't we had this conversation already? Do we really need to repeat it? As long as the same caveats hold - be careful and don't get dead."
She searched his face, strangely reluctant to leave now he'd given his blessing. "Are you going to be okay?"
He had enough sense not to roll his eyes, but she suspected it had been close. "I'll be fine. I'll enjoy being a house husband for a while. I'm perfectly okay with sitting on my ass all day and watching reruns of Days of Our Lives."
She let that pass without comment - it was good to hear him cracking wise again and to see the light back in his eyes. "Make sure that Zoë eats her vegetables," she said solemnly, getting into the spirit of things. "And something healthy for breakfast - no chocolate cereal."
"Chocolate cereal is healthy. Commercials wouldn't lie to us."
He smiled at her, and her own mouth quirked automatically in response, her gaze tracing the lines of his face, committing him to memory. They never carried photos or any other kind of memento, nothing that could be traced back, either by the cops or the vampires they hunted. It was safer that way, and she knew that, but she was going to miss him. Miss them both.
Her family, and that was a scary thought.
"Do I need to give Sullivan 'the talk'?" he asked, semi-seriously. "The 'look after my girl or I'll kick your ass' talk?"
"I'm pretty sure he got that the first time you told him."
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "Couldn't hurt."
"I'm pretty sure that if you tried, he'd hurt you."
His eyes widened comically. "You don't think I could take him?"
"Right now, I don't think you could take Zoë."
"No," he said thoughtfully. "But that's only because she fights dirty."
She laughed - she couldn't help it, not when he said the most ridiculous things in the most serious of ways - and his face lit up again, happy to have made her happy. The sight sent a flood of warmth through her, something that settled in her chest and made her heart beat a little faster.
"When do you leave?" he asked when she'd finally finished laughing, going back to the business in hand. It sobered her up, a pang going through her at the thought of leaving him again.
"First thing in the morning," she said softly, reaching out without thinking to catch hold of his hand. Her fingers slid through his and his thumb stroked over her skin, almost as if he was the one trying to comfort her when he was the one being left behind. "I'll be back soon as I can," she promised.
He nodded, tugging gently on her hand until she half-rose from her seat and leaned towards him.
His kiss this time wasn't chaste or close-mouthed, and she didn't care if he tasted of cough medicine, or that his lips were a little rough and chapped when they pressed against hers. The important thing was that he was there for her to kiss.
-o-
Next Part: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 51,562
Warnings: Highlight to read: violence, illness, involuntary vampirism.
Summary: When the vampire virus starts to develop a resistance to the Nightstalkers' Daystar weapon, Abigail is left watching helplessly as King has to fight not just for his life, but for his soul and his sanity.
Masterlist: AO3 :: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Previous Part: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal
-o-
Once King had finally fallen asleep again, she'd eased herself away from the warmth of his body before she could fall asleep next to him, remembering her promise to Sullivan as well as her promise to King.
She couldn't sleep, not knowing what was coming, and she was left pacing the floor, counting the steps in her head because at least that drowned out some of the screaming. She only stopped when she realised even that reminded her of King. She couldn't stop picturing his face, the expression on it when they'd been trapped in the basement together, the hunger and the fear.
She'd put Zoë to bed hours before, reading her a bedtime story the way she'd been neglecting to do recently, and that was just another lump of guilt to swallow down until it lay, like lead, in her belly. And now it was just her and too much information about an enemy they were never going to be able to fucking defeat.
If she hadn't cried herself out by now, she'd have sunk down at the table and buried her face against the rough, wooden surface in despair. As it was, all she had to cling to was her anger and she wasn't letting it go any time soon.
She couldn't. She was pissed at Sullivan, pissed at Caulder, pissed at the world. Sooner or later something had to give, and Abby was beginning to think that it was going to be her.
The words were blurring in front of her, any patterns she might have found hidden by the sheer weight the data. She needed Hedges, but Hedges was dead and gone, like Dex was dead and gone, like Sommerfield, her father, Henderson, Carruthers. Now it was just her and King left, and she was losing him, too.
She swept her hands through the useless pieces of paper littering the table top, sending them spiralling up into the air. It didn't help - the anger still pulsed through her, a snarling beast that she couldn't keep fed.
She supposed that she had that much in common with vampires, at least.
She'd still have that much in common with King.
"Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Sullivan had somehow managed to sneak up on her, although given the way she'd been silently raging she suspected that it hadn't required much stealth. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he didn't have a care in the world, eyeing the scattered remnants of her temper tantrum with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic twist to his mouth.
"Did you want something?"
Her voice was ice, savage and unyielding, and his eyebrow went up a notch, but he didn't call her on it. He had that much sense, at least, even if he didn't have enough sense to keep his distance. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and sauntered into the room, his hands pushed casually into his pockets and his shoulders slumped.
But she wasn't fooled - she hadn't missed the quick, furtive glance he sent towards the infirmary or the wariness in his eyes when he looked back at her.
"You've heard," she said flatly. It was the only explanation for him seeking her out now.
He nodded slowly, gauging her reaction. She didn't know if he'd found what he expected or not and she didn't care either. She wasn't even sure whether she should be expecting sympathy from him or not, but it still surprised her when the next words out of his mouth were: "That's not why I wanted to talk to you."
She mimicked his eyebrow raising, too pissed and heartsick to give any ground, and his jaw tensed for a moment before he let it go. It washed over him the way it wasn't washing over Abby, not when it had dug its claws in deep and was ripping her apart. His eyes took in the devastation, the scattered remnants of her research, and when he finally looked back at her his expression was considering.
"You find anything?" he asked neutrally and her jaw tensed, too wound up to take it as anything other than criticism, even if that wasn't the way he'd intended it.
It probably wasn't, to be fair to the man, but then hadn't she just been thinking how fucking unfair life was?
"Lots of death, lots of property damage, lots of bad shit going down." Even she couldn't miss the fact that her phrasing sounded a lot like King's. She curled and uncurled her fingers, consciously trying to calm herself. "How do you tell vampires killing from people just killing each other?"
Sullivan shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "When the people who are dead are missing a hell of a lot of blood," he said, but for once he didn't sound sarcastic about it. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I've got some potential leads, if you're interested."
She stared at him, wondering about his motives, why he was bringing it up now. He was still waiting for an answer and in the end she offered a tentative and noncommittal, "Okay?"
He nodded thoughtfully to himself - or at least, it seemed aimed more at himself than at her. "It's out of state," he said, and she could tell from his expression now that he knew she wasn't going to be happy about it.
"You expect me to leave King now?"
"I expect you to do your job, Whistler." His tone was uncompromising but the look in his eyes softened slightly as he added, "What else are you going to do? Sit around and watch him turn again? Do you really think he'll thank you for it?"
The observation silenced her, hitting home as hard as Sullivan had probably intended. There was no answer to his question and Sullivan seemed to realise that, pressing his advantage.
"Ask him," he said. "I think we both know the answer. And, yes, what's happening to King is a goddamned tragedy, but it's not the only one. People are still dying out there, Whistler. Sometimes our people." He stepped back, moving out of her personal space and shrugging his shoulders tiredly, looking suddenly exhausted. "A lot of times not, but innocent civilians are supposed to be the reason we doing this, aren't they? The ones we're supposed to protect?"
That was the official version, but she knew better and Sullivan must have known that. Her father had fought to avenge his first family, the family he'd actually cared about. Sommerfield fought for her dead husband, Hedges for his brother, Dex his partner. And Sullivan himself was doing this for his wife. The same story, just different endings.
Her story was different, and so was King's. But in the end it didn't look like they were going to be different enough.
"Talk to King," Sullivan repeated, studying her closely as he said it, no doubt able to tell that she was wavering. "He'll tell you the same thing I am - you're needed out there, Whistler. More than you're needed here right now, no matter what you think."
-o-
King was sleeping again when she finally made her way through to his room. She hung back for a moment, watching him. He still looked like crap, pale and sweaty, his beard dark against his washed out complexion and tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead. The skin underneath his eyes was paper thin, almost translucent, and he looked so vulnerable that it hurt her heart, love and tenderness welling up inside her and making her eyes prickle with the grief that followed hard on their heels.
He stirred, maybe able to sense her on some level, whether that level was human or not, and his eyes slowly drifted open until he was blinking blearily at her, frowning a little as he tried to gather his wits together.
And then he smiled, small and sweet but tired, so tired around the edges. "Hey," he said. His voice sounded croaky and unused, and a lump formed in her throat again, choking her when she was trying to stay positive and upbeat for him. All she could manage was a small smile back at him, one that couldn't be sweet, not when it was so broken.
The smile faded away from his face, replaced by the look of concern, worrying about her, when really he should be worrying about himself. Maybe he was too tired, too worn down to paste his normal sarcastic persona over the top of it, mute it a little and make it less obvious than he usually would, but whatever the reason, that look faded a lot more slowly than his smile had done.
"Hey," he said again, this time beckoning her towards him, an exhausted flick of his fingers that she couldn't ignore even if she'd wanted to.
She didn't want to, even if it was selfish to put this on him now.
She sat down on the chair next to his bed, ignoring the unsubtle way he shifted to make room for her on the mattress. He didn't push it, reading her mood as well as he always had, but he struggled to sit upright, messing with the pillows until he was comfortable. It gave her breathing room, which was probably what he'd intended. For someone who was usually blatant and in-your-face, he did have his subtle moments.
"Well, I'd ask what's wrong but I've got a feeling I know." He looked at her, quirking his eyebrow, and something on her face must have given her away. "Or maybe I don't."
There was the faintest hint of a question in his words, something she could ignore if she wanted to, King still reading her mood too closely for comfort. She dropped her gaze from his, suddenly wishing she'd taken him up on the offer of lying next to him. This might be easier with his arms wrapped around her, but maybe not.
"What is it?" he prompted. "Come on, Whistler. If you're going to hit me with bad news, get it all out at once. I'm kind of running a three-for-two deal here, and it's time-limited."
"There's nothing wrong," she said. Sullivan would have to do without her, she decided. There was no way in hell she was leaving King, not to go through this on his own. "I just..."
"Well, the way I see it there are three options. The first - and most likely - is that you're obsessing about Caulder cutting me off tomorrow, in which case I'd like to point out that at least one of us has to stay sane while I go cold turkey and I've kind of nominated you for the position." He quirked his eyebrow her again, inviting her to join in the joke.
It wasn't funny.
"Option number two," he continued when she stared at him blankly, "you're trying to decide what to tell Zoë. I vote we tell her she's adopted, that way she doesn't have to worry about getting any of my genes." That was a little funnier, but not by much.
"Option number three," he said blithely, "you've decided I'm far more trouble than I'm worth - and I can't disagree with you on that one, sweetheart - and you're running away with Sullivan."
That one hit too close to home, and some of that must have shown on her face because King's jaw dropped and he stared at her, speechless for a moment before he recovered himself.
"Jesus. Please tell me it's not actually that. I mean, we both know your taste in men is dubious, and I think I'm the case in point, but Sullivan? Come on!"
If she'd been in a joking mood, she'd have pointed out that his taste in women was decidedly worse than hers in men given his track record, but she couldn't even bring herself to reference Danica, not now and maybe not ever again. Instead she shifted uncomfortably, finally admitting, "It's not what you think."
King was still staring at her, stunned, and then the hurt started to blossom across his face. If she'd thought he looked vulnerable before, it was nothing to how he looked now, and it was so goddamned stupid. Did he really think...?
"Sullivan thinks he's found a nest," she blurted out and, just like that, the hurt and confusion vanished from his expression, leaving something suspiciously like amusement behind.
"Right..." he said slowly, and he was definitely mocking her now. She should be relieved about that, pleased that he felt well enough to be a smartass, and mostly she was except for a small part of her, the part that was used to his antics and therefore had the conditioned urge to smack him back down again just to keep him honest. "And this is an issue because?"
"We're losing people," she said quietly and his amusement evaporated.
"You need to go." It wasn't exactly a question. He was so smart sometimes, the times when he wasn't being a smartass, so quick to pick things up and take them to their logical conclusion.
"I should stay," she said and it sounded weak, even to her own ears. "I don't want... I don't want to leave you."
He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her face. "So... what? You're going to sit here and mop my fevered brow while people are dying out there? No offence, sweetheart, but that really doesn't sound like you."
"It's at least a ten hour drive away and I'd be gone at least a week. I'm not leaving you to go through this on your own." The last sentence came out more fiercely than she'd intended but he didn't back down, even if there was a brief flash of pain in his eyes before he smothered it.
"So you really are going to sit there and mop my fevered brow. Wow. I never really had you pictured as the Florence Nightingale type, not unless she was secretly a ninja. And there's a mental image that's going to be living with me for a while."
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she opened them to look at him again. "Will you take this seriously?"
"I don't take anything seriously. You should know that by now. I mean, this time tomorrow I'm probably going to be back to being a vampire and I'm still cracking wise about it. That's just how I roll. You know, tasteless and borderline obnoxious."
She gave him a long, steady look, the kind of look that had quelled him in the past and it didn't let her down this time either. He blinked at her before he glanced away, looking a little shamefaced, which just made her feel guilty.
He was right. This was how he rolled, ridiculous comments to make fun of the things that terrified him the most.
"I'm not going to leave you," she said again, more gently this time, trying to convince him that there was no way in hell she was going to abandon him.
"I think I'd prefer it if you did."
It took a second for the words to sink in, long enough for King to already be giving her an apologetic look, his mouth twisting in the way it always did when he knew he was in the wrong. Only he wasn't in the wrong this time, not really.
"Look, Abby... We both know what's going to happen tomorrow. And..." He trailed off, for once lost for words, and when he continued his voice was rough, full of suppressed emotion. "I don't want you here. I don't want you to see it and I don't want to have to worry about -"
"I can look after myself," she said forcefully.
"That's not what I'm worried about. I can't." He bit the words off, staring at her, a defiant kind of anger shining in his eyes. "You promised me you wouldn't let me hurt you. I've turned with you there once already. You think I don't want you as far away as fucking possible from me when I have to go through it again? I'll pass on the mopping the brow thing, sweetheart, especially if it means I can't hurt you or Zoë. And if it means I'll be able to look you in the eye afterwards." He swallowed. "It's going to get ugly and I'm not so sure of your affections that I want you to see me ugly." He tried to smile and failed. "I mean, Sullivan's kind of pretty. In the right light and with copious amounts of alcohol. I'd rather not take the chance."
"King..."
"Don't." His smile was definitely broken this time and his eyes were as serious as she'd ever seen them. "Just... don't, okay, Abby?"
She nodded mutely, unable to deny him this.
"Okay." He echoed her nod, a jerky, automatic response of which he seemed barely aware. "Just do two things for me, okay? First, make sure that Caulder keeps Zoë away from me. I'm serious about that. I don't..."
He trailed off again and she nodded, reaching out and fumbling for his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his when she found it.
It was the first time she'd touched him since she'd walked through the door, and that should have told her everything she needed to know about how she really felt about what the following days would bring. How he felt about it, too.
"What's the second thing?" she asked through numb lips.
"Be careful." He wasn't joking. He reached up with his free hand and stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, his touch unbearably gentle. "I'm not going to be there to watch your back, not that I was any great shakes at it the last time." His mouth twisted again, wryly this time. "But I love you, so just... be careful."
It was the first time he'd said it and she swallowed down the tears that fought to rise to the surface. His thumb brushed over her cheek again, wiping away the few that escaped, and then he cupped her cheek with his palm, anchoring her as he leaned in and kissed her.
He kept his mouth tightly closed and so did she, no chance of her coming into contact with his fangs. It was over far too quickly and then, too soon, he was pulling away, his fingers lingering for a second before they too were gone, leaving her with a bittersweet kind of sadness.
And then he looked straight past her. When she turned her head and looked herself, she wasn't surprised to see Sullivan standing in the doorway.
"I got hold of another cell in the area," Sullivan said, smart enough not to comment on the intimate moment he'd just observed. "What was left of it. They're heading to the general area. Rendezvous is in twelve hours." He paused, assessing her reaction, before he added, "If you're coming, we need to move out now."
King squeezed her fingers, a light pressure that caught her attention. The look in his eyes was serious, but he didn't have to say anything. Didn't even have to nod. She got it.
She nodded at Sullivan, rising to her feet and already making a mental list of the things she'd need to do in the hour or so before she and Sullivan headed out. Talking to Caulder was at the top of her list and checking on Zoë wasn't very far down on it. Her fingers slid out of King's and she stared down at him, unable to find the right words to say.
But they didn't need words - his expression told her everything she needed to know and everything he felt. She gave him a faint smile, finally moving away.
"Look after my girl, Sullivan," King said as she paused in the doorway, looking back at him. His tone left no doubt that he was serious. Sullivan nodded slowly, holding King's gaze for a long moment, one that stretched out before Sullivan finally looked at her, his expression still assessing.
"When do we leave?" she asked him, all business now even with the taste of King still lingering on her lips and the warmth of his fingers a sense memory on her skin.
"Give me an hour," he said. "I'll pull the kit together, give you time to do what you need to. You can check it when I'm finished if you like." His mouth curled up slightly at the corner, the only sign of approval she was likely to get from him.
She nodded, moving past him and already dismissing him from her thoughts.
Sullivan watched her go, waiting until she was out of sight before he turned back to King.
Now that Whistler wasn't there to see him, King slumped back into the pillows, his face creasing with exhaustion. He suddenly looked as sick as he actually was, only wrestling the façade back into place when he caught Sullivan watching him.
"You okay?" Sullivan asked him, partly because he felt he ought to, partly because... well, pain in the ass or not, King deserved better than this.
King didn't seem to appreciate it. His face creased further, but with irritation this time, it seemed, instead of fatigue. "Why the hell do people keep asking me that?" he groused a little petulantly. "It's a stupid fucking question."
Sullivan shrugged, unfazed and far from offended - maybe that was a sign of personal growth, not to take offence at any of the crap that came out of King's mouth. "I don't know," he said dryly. "Anyone would think they gave a shit."
King gave him a dark look, but since he didn't look right then as though he could wrestle a six-year-old and win, Sullivan ignored it. That would change, though, if Caulder was right about what would happen once he stopped administering the antivirus. If Whistler didn't do as King asked and warn Caulder to keep the kid away from him, Sullivan would. In fact, he'd warn Caulder anyway. Better safe than sorry.
But that still left the problem of King and the promise Sullivan had made to him.
"I've got something for you," he said slowly, reaching behind him and untucking his knife sheath from its normal position in the small of his back. King tracked his move, his expression turning wary when Sullivan brought it into view, and Sullivan supposed he couldn't really blame King for that. But he wasn't a cruel man - he had no intention of drawing it out and leaving King wondering if this was it. Instead he tossed the blade towards King, where it landed neatly on King's blanket-covered lap.
King hesitated before picking it up, his fingers wrapping around the hilt and drawing it free, catching the light on the silver blade. His fingertips brushed against the blade as he slid it home again, but there was no smoke curling up from the contact points, the way there would have been had he been entirely vampire, or the way there probably would be once Caulder stopped his treatment. He shot Sullivan a considering look, one that weighed him up, trying to figure him out as he tucked the sheath under his pillow.
It was a surprise to realise that he minded if King thought he had an agenda. "I made you a promise," he said gruffly. "I might not be here when you... if you need me to keep it. I figured you'd appreciate a backup plan."
It took a second for his words to sink in, and then King nodded slowly, his expression still considering, but tired now, the kind of bone deep weariness that Sullivan could get behind.
"Just don't tell Whistler I gave it to you," he said. "I'm already on her shit list. I could do without being pushed to the top." He hesitated, taking in King's exhaustion, remembering the way that the light in his eyes had died once Whistler had left the room. Before he could think better of it, he blurted out, "She loves you, you know." He had no idea why he'd said it. It was none of his goddamned business. But... maybe King just needed the reminder, so that even without her there, there was still something to fight for. "Try not to kill yourself before you have to. That would make her even more pissed and I'd rather not be on the wrong side of it."
King gave him a lopsided smile. "You're all heart," he said. "Not much in the way of spine, of course, but then I suppose nobody's perfect."
Sullivan snorted, rapidly reaching the conclusion that bonding time was over. He gave King a brief nod and then turned away, heading towards their makeshift armoury.
This time he was going to make damned sure that they were prepared.
-o-
She was gone closer to two weeks than the week she'd told King. She didn't even have time to think about him, much. Not with the daily frustration of this hunt.
The vamps they were tracking had gone to ground, and she and Sullivan were always two steps behind them, following the trail of devastation they'd left: the deaths, the families torn apart, the grief and the loss. Maybe that was why she couldn't let herself think of King very often - it was too close to home, too uncomfortable, and she'd always been good at compartmentalising.
The remnants of the other cell they'd hooked up with had a background in law enforcement and were more disciplined than the chaos she was used to, better suited to the life than Hedges had been, or Carruthers and Henderson. She watched them work, observing how they went about it, making mental notes where she needed to, filing away things she could adapt, methods she could use, and ignoring the rest.
She didn't have much in common with them, not like Sullivan did, and outside of the hunt she kept mostly to herself, staying focused and disciplined, outwardly polite but not really friendly and open. Stokes - the younger one - made the effort to get to know her, full of Texas charm and gosh-ma'am attitude, but he didn't get anywhere in a hurry, not that it seemed to bother him much.
She preferred Willows, who was older than her and a lot more cynical. There was something about the woman, though. A toughness that said she'd seen a lot, even before she'd known about the existence of vampires, and that, at the base of everything, she was a survivor.
Stokes had lost his partner, Willows her daughter. It was a familiar story, and for the first time Abby had something similar to share. But she didn't talk about King, and Sullivan didn't either. Some things were too private to put out for public consumption.
They worked well together, the four of them, Stokes and Willows able to read a scene in a way she'd never thought possible. They were also still hooked into whatever local law enforcement networks they'd originated from, and that all provided valuable intel, letting them build up a picture that eventually took them away from the cities and into the heartlands, where the landscape stretched for miles, empty and open, and there was no cell phone signal.
Being cut off from base left her uneasy, not knowing what was happening with King or with Zoë. It was another reason not to think about him much, not when she was so far away and there was nothing she could do about it except get the job done so she could get the hell home. It tested her compartmentalising to its limits, but if Stokes and Willows could be professional, then so could she.
The end, when it came, was almost an anti-climax. Daystar didn't work on this nest, either, not as effectively as it had elsewhere, but it put some vamps down, coughing and spluttering, even if it didn't take them out entirely. Silver and liquid garlic extract still worked, the garlic disabling them the way it always had, and in the end they died screaming and flailing at the end of Abby's knife and her bow, consumed by Sullivan's sundog bullets, Stokes' UV grenades, and Willows' maternal fury.
It was only once the goodbyes had been said, with a hunter's trademark brusqueness - except for Stokes who couldn't stop being charming even if he'd tried - that she finally let herself think about what might be waiting for her back at base. Now it was over, she was chomping at the bit, and Sullivan for once seemed happy to accommodate her, packing the car up in record time and ignoring the way her fingers tapped impatiently against her knee.
Of course, being out beyond the sticks meant it was hours into the journey before she finally got a signal again, and once she had, it figured that Caulder wouldn't be answering his phone.
She tapped at the on-board keyboard of her cell impatiently, staring out of the windows at the vista rolling past outside, the miles of darkness with only a few specks of light in the distance, what passed for civilisation in these parts. She couldn't wait to get back to the city, any city, where the ground was familiar and they had decent take-out. She knew where she was when she was surrounded by steel and concrete, glass and brick. Those were the hunting grounds she was familiar with, not these wide-open skies that stretched on forever, only the myriad pinpricks of starlight relieving the endless black.
Sullivan glanced across at her, taking in her tension, before his eyes were back on the road again. He cleared his throat, for once deciding to say something instead of leaving her to wallow in her own fears.
"I'm sure everything will be fine."
Platitudes didn't suit him. He didn't have the face or the tone for them, the words coming out stilted instead of comforting, the way he'd probably intended. She gave him a look, one that conveyed everything she needed to about his ability to lie, and he scowled for a moment, his expression clear in the reflection on the front windscreen.
She tried Caulder again, cursing under her breath when he failed to pick up.
"You do realise it's also the middle of the night where they are, right? And we'll be there in less than six hours. Just in time for breakfast."
She gave Sullivan another look, but this time it failed to have the effect she was aiming for. He shrugged it off, reaching over to turn on the radio, the sound filling the car in spite of its low-volume.
It was country, of course, and she could just picture what King would say about that. Or maybe not - his musical tastes were eclectic to say the least.
She tried her cell again, ignoring the slightly exasperated look Sullivan shot her. Still no answer.
"Whistler -"
"The last time I didn't get an answer when I called," she said, staring out the front windscreen, "it was because King and Zoë had been taken and everyone else was dead." She didn't look at Sullivan until she'd finished talking, and when she did, his expression twisted, half in sympathy and half in frustration with her.
"Fine," he said. "But do me a favour - grab one of those cushions from the back seat, okay?" Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he rolled his eyes at her, an expression she wasn't used to seeing from him.
"If the cops pull us over, we're speeding because you're in labour, got it?"
-o-
HQ was quiet when they finally got back, the whole complex bathed in the dawn's golden light, making it look warmer and more welcoming than it usually did. Even the weeds looked pretty, soft greens and golds that she didn't stop to admire. There was no sign of life, which wasn't unexpected - the buildings around them were empty and abandoned, and they'd learnt the hard way to keep a low profile - but it didn't do anything to reassure her.
The sound of the car door slamming as Sullivan joined her on the asphalt sounded too loud in the early morning silence, but she couldn't be irritated with him for long, not when he moved to flank her, his hand dropping automatically to the weapon strapped to his thigh.
There was no sign of any disturbance as she walked up to the entrance to the building they'd appropriated, no indication of forced entry, nothing out of place. She pushed the door open slowly, and it didn't creak. Caulder must have finally got around to oiling it - she couldn't imagine anyone else bothering, and while that should have been reassuring, in her current mood, with her heart beating too fast and the tension rising within her, it wasn't.
She slid through the opening, Sullivan hard on her heels, and kept her tread light as she moved through the building, taking in the signs of occupancy - yesterday's newspaper open on the kitchen table, the dishes in the sink, the faint pulsing light of the TV in the other room and the muted sound of canned laughter.
She moved towards it, still moving carefully, alert for anything out of place, so tense she was almost vibrating with it.
Zoë was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her and a bowl of cereal clutched in her hand. Something chocolatey, the kind of thing that Sommerfield had never let her have and Abby still didn't. This door still creaked, and Zoë looked up at the sound, her small face lighting up as soon as she spotted Abby.
"Abby! We're watching Sesame Street!"
Abby grinned at her, relief flooding her system. It was only when she registered the 'we' that she realised that Zoë wasn't alone in the room.
King was stretched out on the couch, his head pillowed on his hand, with one of the couch cushions underneath that. Zoë's My Little Pony quilt was draped over him and he looked like death warmed over, pale and shivery with dark circles under his eyes. But his eyes were a deep, dark brown, not pale and washed out as they had been, and when he smiled at her, they crinkled at the corners, his whole face lighting up at the sight of her just as Zoë's had.
He was the most beautiful sight that Abby had ever seen.
"Hey," he croaked, shifting slightly on his makeshift bed so that he could look up at her. "You're back. Just in time for breakfast."
She nodded, barely aware that she was doing it, too busy just drinking the sight of him in. She tried to say something, and she was barely aware of that either, only knowing that she couldn't get the words past the lump in her throat or concentrate when her eyes were burning.
"You're... you okay?" The words stuttered out of her, filled with a fragile hope.
"I feel like I've got the flu," he said. "But it could be a hell of a lot worse." He blinked up at her, shivering again, and tried to sit up. He was moving as if every part of him ached, and she could sympathise. She'd had the flu before, and it was never pleasant. "Caulder didn't tell you?"
She shook her head mutely, still focusing on trying to breathe, not breaking down entirely in front of Zoë. He looked sick, but he looked human sick, the normal kind of sick. The kind of sick he'd get better from.
"Huh." He grimaced as he settled down again, tugging the quilt over his legs. "I thought he would have. In fact, I was pretty sure you'd hear his excitement all the way over in... What was the name of that place again?"
She shrugged, too focused on him to pay any attention to his question. "Somewhere... else," she said, and he smiled, the expression on his face moving from something amused to something warmer as she watched him.
"Hey," he said again, and she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.
He'd left a space on the couch next to him when he'd sat up, and she dropped her bag to the floor, her jacket following it as she headed towards him, settling down next to him. Her hand reached out towards him before she caught herself, half-convinced that this couldn't be real, that she'd fallen asleep in Sullivan's car and they were only half-way home. But King closed the last few inches between them, his roughly callused hand wrapping around hers.
His skin was warm to the touch, too warm to be due to anything but his fever, but his eyes weren't glazed. He knew exactly who she was, and he knew who he was, too.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, searching his face anxiously. "Are you...?"
"Human?" His eyes crinkled again. "As I ever was, I guess. It's -"
He broke off, looking past her, and she didn't need to hear the sound of boots scuffing against the floor to know that they were no longer alone. When she turned her head and looked towards the doorway, Caulder was standing there, still in his nightclothes, yawning and scratching unselfconsciously at his beard, Sullivan just behind him.
"Abigail." Caulder sounded just as glad to see her as Zoë and King, and his next words confirmed it. "It is good to have you back."
"You," she said pointedly, "need to start answering your phone."
He snorted, not at all put out by her tone, but then it took a lot to faze Caulder.
Abby, however, felt completely fazed, still reeling and still not quite able to believe that this was for real.
"You want to explain?" King asked, gesturing at himself, curled up on the couch. "The technobabble is beyond me."
Caulder nodded, looking smugly pleased. The light of scientific discovery shone in his eyes, the same light he'd had when admiring Sommerfield's handiwork. That had to be a good sign.
"As we discussed," he started, a little pompously, "I stopped administering the antivirus we had been using to treat King." Abby could only assume he meant the royal 'we', since no one else had had anything to do with treating King. "I expected that the transition to vampire would occur within twenty-four hours at most, as the antivirus gradually left his system. I knew it may not be as quick for the vampire virus to turn King as it would with the newly infected, not if some of Sommerfield's antivirus lingered in his system, but when forty-eight hours had passed and King was still running a fever -"
"Cut to the chase, Caulder," Sullivan interrupted in a slow drawl. "You can blow your own trumpet later." Abby shot him a grateful look, and he acknowledged it with the very faintest inclination of his head.
Caulder was shaking his head, not at all annoyed by Sullivan's interruption. If anything, he looked indulgent, and his eyes were sympathetic when they met Abby's. "There will be no trumpet blowing, my friend," he said. "I had very little to do with it."
She looked between them, confused.
"Apparently I'm making antibodies," King explained, leaving her very little the wiser.
Her eyes widened and she looked at Caulder for some kind of confirmation, relieved when he nodded thoughtfully. "It seems," he said gravely, "that King's body is fighting off the vampirism virus on its own. I had not heard of such a thing before, and if I had not seen it for myself..." He paused, giving her enough time for his words to sink in and start to make a strange kind of sense. "Perhaps it is because this is the second time he has been infected, leaving him, if not immune, then less vulnerable to infection than might be the case otherwise. Or perhaps it is that Sommerfield's antivirus has bought him enough time on this occasion for his body to begin to fight back, when normally the bone marrow is altered by the virus too quickly to enable it to produce the necessary antibodies."
"So..." She trailed off, trying to formulate the question in a way that made sense. "Is he... cured?"
"The virus is not entirely gone from his system, not yet, and I have re-initiated treatment with the original antivirus to assist in reducing viral load so that his own immune system has every opportunity to continue to produce antibodies. But I think at this point it is simply a question of time."
"There's more." It was King's turn to sound smug, although that might have had something to do with the fact that he'd taken the opportunity while Caulder was talking to move closer to her, his shoulder now pressed up firmly against hers and their fingers intertwined. He made her wait, though, for Caulder to explain what he meant instead of telling her himself.
"We may be able to use the antibodies that King's body is producing to augment Daystar."
"Now who's a waste of resources?"
Sullivan's brow clouded for a moment at King's crowing, but then it cleared again and he gave King a rueful little smile.
"Well, it's about time you turned out to be useful for something."
King flipped him off, but the move was automatic, no hard feeling behind it.
"Now what?" Abby asked, still wrestling to assimilate what she'd been told and still too scared to truly believe that things were going to turn out okay.
King's fingers squeezed hers for a moment, comfortingly.
"At the present rate, I'm hoping that the worst will be over within a matter of weeks. He will continue to run a high temperature, cold sweats, headaches, perhaps nausea and aching muscles -"
"I've got the flu," King repeated, and Caulder frowned, opening his mouth to object as his sense of accuracy was offended. King cut him off, however, before he could say anything. "For all intents and purposes, I feel like I've got the flu."
Caulder let out an exasperated sigh, the sound suggesting that they'd had this conversation more than once while Abby had been away. But he was a smart man - he knew when it was best just to let King have his head, crack his jokes, be a smartass. He had that much in common with Abby, at least.
"The symptoms," he acceded, "will be very similar to a bad case of influenza, and other than the antivirus, the only treatment I am recommending is rest, warmth and lots of liquids."
Zoë had been listening, if not following what the adults were talking about, but she jumped in now, obviously pleased to have a contribution to make. "He gets cold," she explained Abby solemnly. "So I fetched him my quilt."
"Kind of makes up for waking me up at five a.m."
Zoë frowned. "You were already awake. I didn't need to wake you up and I could have got my own breakfast."
"Yeah, yeah," King said, waggling his eyebrows at her. "You just wanted someone to watch Sesame Street with."
"Watching Sesame Street was your idea," she said seriously, her small face solemn as she pointed out the unfairness of King's words. "I wanted to watch SpongeBob."
It was overwhelming Abby, the idea that this was it, that after everything they'd been through, all of her fears of losing King to either the antivirus or to a hunter's blade, it had come down to King fighting it off like a bad case of the flu. Maybe Sullivan got some of that, or maybe the on-going good-natured bickering between Zoë and King was more than he could take, but he tapped Caulder on the shoulder and gestured with his head that the pair of them should leave her alone with her family.
Zoë broke off from arguing with King over whether Miss Piggy or Animal was the best Muppet. "I'm glad you're home, Abby," she said shyly, and Abby gave her a shaky smile, fingers tightening automatically around King's. She hadn't been able to let go of him and he didn't seem to have any objection.
But as soon as she thought it, King finally released her hand, shifting down the couch and stretching himself out, laying his head in Abby's lap and curling his legs up so that he'd fit his frame onto the cushions. He let out a satisfied sigh when he finally settled, something soft and contented, and Abby's eyes prickled again, burning with unshed tears. She covered it by tugging Zoë's quilt over him again, smoothing it down and leaving one hand on his shoulder as she threaded the fingers of the other hand through his hair.
Touching him made it real in a way it hadn't been before, and for the first time since they'd been captured she began to believe, really believe that they'd make it through this, that everything would turn out to not just be okay, but better than okay.
"She's not the only one glad you're home," he said sleepily, reaching up to catch hold of her hand again and twining his fingers with hers. "There's only so much Sesame Street a man can take."
"Your idea," said Zoë stubbornly, wriggling around until she was sitting with her back against the couch, pressed against Abby's leg as she started to eat her breakfast again, her eyes fixed on Elmo's antics.
"Anyone would think you'd missed me," Abby said quietly, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. He snorted softly, rubbing his face against her legs like a self-satisfied cat.
"Maybe a little," he admitted. "You know, because of the Sesame Street thing." She smiled, not believing that that was it for a moment, not when his fingers squeezed hers gently, moving her hand until he had it pressed against his chest, just over his heart. "Okay, I missed you."
"Because you love me?"
The corners of his mouth curled up. "Yeah, that must be it."
"I..." She choked, the lump in her throat threatening to undo her, robbing her of all of her words and most of her self-control. He turned his head, twisting to look up at her. The look in his eyes was warm and understanding, maybe a little amused, but it let her breathe again. "I'm glad to be home, too," she said, because that was all that was needed.
-o-
Although King was finally on the mend, it took a lot longer than she'd hoped. For some reason, she'd assumed he'd shake it off once his body started to make its own antibodies. Two or three days downtime and then he'd be back to normal.
She should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing King did ever was.
His body continued to fight off the infection, but it was slow, hard going. He slept for most of the day, tiring easily even when he was awake. Caulder told her that was completely normal although how the hell Caulder could know what passed for normal in these situations was beyond her. Sometimes she thought he was making things up just to reassure her. That was when she was feeling charitable towards him.
The rest of the time she wondered whether he was simply telling her whatever he thought would shut her up.
She felt like she was in limbo - King had been right; she wasn't one for the mopping of fevered brows and holding his hand seemed pointless if he wasn't awake for long enough to appreciate it. And sitting next to him, watching him toss and turn in his sleep, simply left her feeling antsy, some part of her still half-convinced that it couldn't be real, that he couldn't be getting better. That if she turned her back for five minutes then when she turned back around the vampirism virus would have him in its grasp again.
She was restless, almost as restless as King. Once Caulder released him from their makeshift infirmary, they'd tried sharing a bed, but that hadn't worked out as well as she'd hoped. She wasn't used to sleeping next to someone, sharing their personal space, and King was still suffering from night sweats, waking up soaking wet and shivering. She felt completely useless when that happened, reduced to stripping the bed while King changed out of his damp t-shirt and sweats. The fact he still felt like shit left King grouchy and irritable, which wasn't like him at all, and the lack of sleep didn't do her mood any good either. More than once she'd had to bite back a sarcastic remark when he'd been particularly snappish, feeling shamefaced when she remembered the hell he'd spent the last few weeks going through, and what he was still going through now.
It was never like this in the movies.
She needed something to do, something to keep her active and her mind off all of the what-might-have-beens. She'd never been one for sitting on her ass, and she was chafing at the inactivity, something that obviously hadn't escaped King. Sometimes she caught him watching her, figuring it all out the way he'd always been able to figure her out.
It wouldn't have irked her so much if he hadn't seemed amused by it.
She wasn't the only one chomping at the bit. Sullivan had started to form tenuous connections with the remnants of other cells, and he was just itching to get back into the field. She couldn't blame him - it was what they did, after all. Fight vampires. Kill them. Make the world a safer place, that sort of thing. And when he told her that he thought he'd tracked down another nest, this time a little further from their current location, she was tempted. She just wasn't sure she could justify leaving King again, not when the end was in sight.
She should have known that King would have a different view when she tentatively broached the subject. She should also have known he'd find her reluctance funny. Sick or not, he could still be a complete dick when he wanted to be.
"I don't know, Abby. Far be it from me to say that your place is in the home, but..."
She stared at him blankly, her mind whirring and the guilt already rising at even suggesting that she should -
"Dick," she said succinctly when it finally dawned on her that he was mocking her. He grinned back at her, completely unrepentant.
"Seriously, sweetheart, just go. I mean, haven't we had this conversation already? Do we really need to repeat it? As long as the same caveats hold - be careful and don't get dead."
She searched his face, strangely reluctant to leave now he'd given his blessing. "Are you going to be okay?"
He had enough sense not to roll his eyes, but she suspected it had been close. "I'll be fine. I'll enjoy being a house husband for a while. I'm perfectly okay with sitting on my ass all day and watching reruns of Days of Our Lives."
She let that pass without comment - it was good to hear him cracking wise again and to see the light back in his eyes. "Make sure that Zoë eats her vegetables," she said solemnly, getting into the spirit of things. "And something healthy for breakfast - no chocolate cereal."
"Chocolate cereal is healthy. Commercials wouldn't lie to us."
He smiled at her, and her own mouth quirked automatically in response, her gaze tracing the lines of his face, committing him to memory. They never carried photos or any other kind of memento, nothing that could be traced back, either by the cops or the vampires they hunted. It was safer that way, and she knew that, but she was going to miss him. Miss them both.
Her family, and that was a scary thought.
"Do I need to give Sullivan 'the talk'?" he asked, semi-seriously. "The 'look after my girl or I'll kick your ass' talk?"
"I'm pretty sure he got that the first time you told him."
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "Couldn't hurt."
"I'm pretty sure that if you tried, he'd hurt you."
His eyes widened comically. "You don't think I could take him?"
"Right now, I don't think you could take Zoë."
"No," he said thoughtfully. "But that's only because she fights dirty."
She laughed - she couldn't help it, not when he said the most ridiculous things in the most serious of ways - and his face lit up again, happy to have made her happy. The sight sent a flood of warmth through her, something that settled in her chest and made her heart beat a little faster.
"When do you leave?" he asked when she'd finally finished laughing, going back to the business in hand. It sobered her up, a pang going through her at the thought of leaving him again.
"First thing in the morning," she said softly, reaching out without thinking to catch hold of his hand. Her fingers slid through his and his thumb stroked over her skin, almost as if he was the one trying to comfort her when he was the one being left behind. "I'll be back soon as I can," she promised.
He nodded, tugging gently on her hand until she half-rose from her seat and leaned towards him.
His kiss this time wasn't chaste or close-mouthed, and she didn't care if he tasted of cough medicine, or that his lips were a little rough and chapped when they pressed against hers. The important thing was that he was there for her to kiss.
-o-
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