Behind the Mirror

Daniel Schreber

With Wolverton - it was easier, to remember him as Wolverton - dead and Brooks free, the entirety of the time I did not spend teaching Ben how to Tune could be devoted to our primary investigation... and the man we had locked up. The man who, ironically enough, was apparently named John. I spent a good deal of time with Jack and Ben, looking through the materials David had found, listening to the recorded phone calls on the external hard drive. It was bit overwhelming, trying to look and sort through all of them to decide which were useful and which weren't, despite the notes Jack had began to take as he sorted through them. In the end, I focused on the calls with the boy with the clear tenor voice, Stu. The one that had shot himself while, it seemed, on the phone trying to reach our captive.

It was late one afternoon that I found a folder, unnamed and buried in a series of folders, filled with exactly what I needed. Calls with Stu... at first short and threatening, but later longer, more friendly, and finally incredibly sexual, and I had to turn them off, a little ashamed to have been listening to something so private.

The last call was an argument, and I could hear the desperation in both their voices, as much as our man tried to sound so in control and superior. I heard the touch of pleading as he ordered Stu to leave the house and follow his instructions, to go to a certain place to receive a new way to contact him. But the boy wouldn't hear of it, so caught up in his sorrow that he didn't hear the care in the man's voice, and accused him of only playing more games before telling him not to call again and hanging up on him.

I took off the headset and stared at the monitor of Jack's laptop for a time, reviewing the call in my mind, thinking. Finally speaking. "I'd like to go see him again. Alone."

Ben was sitting cross-legged on the bed reading through a police report. "Are you sure that's safe?"

"Just keep an eye on me," I replied with a soft smile, then glanced to Jack. "You can listen in if you like, but I won't wear -- the ear piece. I need to stay focused."

I could tell he didn't like the idea, but he nodded. "Sure. Now?"

I considered it, then nodded slowly, and let Ben walk me down to the end of the hall. "Stay safe," he said softly, more than a little concerned. "I'll be right here if you need me. Just yell."

I cupped his face to reassure him, letting him kiss me. "I will be fine," I replied with a smile. "Don't worry." Then we unlocked the door, and I went inside.

The man watched me silently as I entered. He was pale and dishevelled and looked exhausted, and I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. I perched in the other chair without moving it from where it sat in the corner by the door, half watching him, thinking. He didn't acknowledge my presence other than to watch me warily for a long moment, then turned his head away, deciding, it seemed, to ignore me.

Finally, I gave a soft sigh, and started to talk. I wasn't particularly sure what this would do, if it even did anything, but I spoke. It was Jack, oddly enough, who'd given me the idea when he'd asked me that first day if I would be willing to tell someone I hated the intimate details of my pain, were I in this man's place. And I wasn't... bit I did anyway. I told him about John, about all the things I'd told Ben - albeit much less drunkenly, and rather less emotionally - and then more, about how it had been to watch my lover grow old, to sit by his deathbed, afraid to sleep for fear of missing a second with him. Somewhere along the line I'd begun to cry softly, but I pushed onward, fishing a handkerchief from my pocket and dabbing at my tears when they grew too thick to let me see. I told him everything, what it had been like to watch him die, how he'd been so weak that he couldn't reach out to me, so I'd curled against his side, laying next to him in bed, my face pressed to white hair and arms around him, holding his hand in mine. How I'd stayed like that for ages even after his breathing had stopped and his body grown cold, sobbing until I slept, waking and sobbing again. Unable to leave, unable to face the reality of it, feeling like I was dying with him.

I spoke of two months of loneliness after his death, of arranging for his small, quiet burial with no funeral. I couldn't have stood it, and he didn't need it. I spoke of the coldness of being alone, day after day, of the way his scent lingered in our bed. I told him how the world began to slowly die as the sun grew cold without John to sustain it. How the food began to run short. And finally, how I took the small box that John had left me, the trigger mechanism, and activated the device that would destroy the city, blow up our little world, and take me with it.

When I finished, it took more than a few minutes to control myself, and I felt empty, wondering why I'd done this after all - shared so much with a stranger who meant me harm. I stood and went into the bathroom, taking off my glasses and washing my face with cool water, heart aching, cleaning my glasses carefully and putting them back on before returning to the room. I perched on the edge of the bed near him this time, and he watched me quietly, as appraising me, deciding whether or not to react to me. I let him, too tired to fight, to try and manipulate him.

"Why did you tell me all that?" he asked finally, voice low and even.

I gave a soft laugh, and a shrug. "I am not entirely sure -- myself."

"Are you trying to make me sympathize with you?"

I paused, then shook my head. "No. I don't need anyone's -- sympathy. But I have been listening to your recordings, John. Perhaps it is only fair for you to know this about me in return."

He was silent for a long moment, not giving me any reply, physical or verbal, any clue that he intended to talk. Then, just as I was about to give up and leave, he started to speak. "I didn't know that he'd called," the man named John said slowly, not making a move to look at me, staring down at the table. "It wasn't my number, just one I'd stolen, used and thrown away. I had the recording because I recorded all his calls." He wet his lips and didn't continue, but I stayed silent, watching him think, letting him chose what to say.

"I didn't know who he was calling," He said again, voice lower, almost dead, "But... I saw him make the call. I tried to shoot the pistol out of his hand, but... it was over before I could get a clear shot." He closed his eyes, and I saw him swallow, saw his lips shift as he fought with emotion. After a long moment, he let out a long sigh, and looked up at me. "So I did the same thing you did."

I gave my head a little shake. "Which?"

"I tidied up a few things... ran the obituary... and then I swallowed my gun and pulled the trigger. And fucking ended up here." He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Never though hell would be filled with moronic versions of myself."

"You don't know that this -- is hell," I said softly, but he rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on. You're a shrink, don't delude yourself. We're all dead, all of us. You were the only one I couldn't confirm from the records, and you've just done it. And this sure as hell isn't heaven."

"Does hell explain how Wolverton is dead?" I asked simply, and he frowned.

"Wolverton wasn't worth the air he was breathing. I would have done it myself if you hadn't locked me up here."

"But he was working with you...."

He rolled his eyes. "Please. Bob Wolverton was incredibly easy to manipulate, and I needed an extra set of hands. He was disgusting. I fully planned on killing him myself when I had no need for him anymore. Probably castrating him first."

I couldn't help but give a small smile at that, as crude as it was, and he actually smiled as he caught me. "See? You do agree with me. Drop the righteous act, doc. Tell me why you want to get out of this place, and maybe we'll talk."

I thought about that quietly for a long moment, hoping my response was what he wanted. "I would give anything to get back to him," I said, softly. "To go back in time, to do it again. I wouldn't hide what he was, I would... I would do everything in my power to -- find someone else who was able to develop -- his abilities. Even if it couldn't help him, just to -- have someone able to look after -- the city." I glanced up at him with a soft sigh. "I don't delude myself that it is possible to -- undo the past, but... if this place exists, perhaps there is a possibility. Or perhaps I only wish to -- find out how to end it -- once and for all."

He considered this, then gave a little nod. "All right. Here's my conditions. I'll take your offer from earlier - my cooperation in return for freedom in this room until you've figured out whatever it is you need to. I want to be untied as soon as one of the others can get here, and I never want to see that damn Vampire again. I also want clean clothes delivered tonight - stylish ones, please - a pizza, a bottle of wine, and whatever food I ask for going forward. I want the television back. And I want a personal oath from you, Daniel Schreber. An promise."

I nodded slowly, watching him. "Tell me what it is."

"If you cannot find a way to leave this place within 30 days, I want you to promise to put a bullet in my brain. You personally, no one else."

The thought of it made me sick, but I nodded slowly. "All right, I promise. Why me?"

"Because you have balls," he replied, with a little smirk. "And you're as batshit crazy as I am, shrink."

I gave a soft, breathy laugh, and stood. "Thank you, I suppose. I will have your requested items -- brought shortly. I will return tomorrow to -- talk more."

"And untie me?"

I nodded, moving to knock lightly on the door, which Ben answered. "Do you think that you are able -- to undo his bonds after we -- have left the room?"

He approached the man, circling him to regard the knots at his wrists, then gave a small nod. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." I gave him a warm smile, approving of the confidence in the lessons I had been giving him. "John, you will be free shortly."

He gave a little nod, and we left, locking up the door behind us. Then I watched as Ben concentrated, eyes closed and eyebrows knit slightly, silent for a long moment before opening his eyes again with a soft sigh. "It's done."

"Thank you," I said softly, reaching out to touch his face, and he smiled, slipping his arms around my waist and pressing his lips to my hair.

"Are you all right? I could hear what you were saying to him...."

I managed a little nod. "Yes... I'm just... very tired. Let's report back to Jack."

He nodded, hand warm on the small of my back as we went back to his room, finding him waiting with a little approving smile. At some point David had joined him, and was half perched on the window ledge, examining his nails. Jack stood up from the desk when we arrived. "I already sent Buckner and Nelson for the things he's asked for. We'll start with him tomorrow at ten. Meet me here at nine to prep?"

"I should look through things -- tonight, Jack - "

David looked up at us. "Dad, take Mom to bed. Jack and I have a date." I stared at him in slight confusion, and heard Ben chuckle softly behind me, and tug at my arm.

"We'll prep in the morning. Let's take it easy tonight."

I glanced back at him, then nodded slowly. It had been a long day. "All right. In the morning."

"Daniel..." I glanced back to Jack as he spoke, and he hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "Good work in there."

"Thank you," I said softly, though I didn't think that it was particularly warranted. Then I left with Ben, more than willing to forget about everything for a little while.

~~~~~~~~~


I spent the better part of the next few days in the room with the man named John, who was cuffed to the chair at gunpoint each morning before we began, set free for lunch, and then cuffed again in the afternoon. I wasn't completely sure that it was necessary, but I didn't take his willingness to talk as a guarantee of safety around him. He refused to speak when anyone else was in the room other than myself, so the days were spent with Jack or Ben on com in the surveillance room.

We brought the majority of the things we'd found on him into the room, laid out on the table and desk, and we began to look through them, to speak on his life, on the things that troubled him. It wasn't so different than a regular client, apart from the com in my ear and having to ignore Jack's regular insistence to push the man when I preferred to hold back, let him speak at his own pace. John did talk, now that he had decided that I was at least somewhat worthy of it. We went through his material as if he was a client who had come to me for counselling, rather than the opposite. I had to work through his rants, getting off topic, his sarcasm and bitterness, and at times he grew angry and completely refused to continue until the next day.

I didn't mind too terribly. Whenever the day ended with John, I would continue work with Ben, using one of the empty rooms on the upper floors of the hotel to guide him through focusing the paranormal abilities, to be able to move and change simple objects with his mind. It was difficult and often gave him headaches if we worked too hard, but as the days went by he slowly grew stronger, more sure of himself, and more in control.

The man named John, in contrast, seemed a little less in control each day, and though he didn't realize it he began to let me see more and more how much he'd cared for the boy he'd been stalking, the boy who had killed himself. His methods were... questionable at best, of course, and highly illegal at worst, but the emotions behind them were real.

"What would you do differently?" I asked him one day, a little more irritated than I should have been, after listening to him go off for a good fifteen minutes about the ineptitude of the New York city police force.

He looked over at me sharply. "Nothing."

"I do not think that is the case," I said with a little frown, uncrossing and recrossing my legs where I sat perched on the bed, leaning back on my arms. "I believe that if you did not -- regret, you would not be here, and speaking to me."

"You believe wrong," he replied with a little growl, turning away from me.

I sighed. "John. You said that you would talk to me, and yet whenever we approach the topic -- of Mr. Shepard, you seem to do anything in -- your power to avoid it." I sat up, leaning toward him. "You know this is something that -- you must face."

"Why? It's over and done. You're crazier than I thought if you're going to try and convince me that I can change the past."

I shrugged. "Perhaps not. Perhaps you only need to -- make peace with yourself."

"That won't happen."

I shrugged again, looking over at the table where we'd placed his things... books, files, a cell phone, police reports. The obituary, which lay unfolded. "I do not pretend to have -- the answers. But perhaps your situation would be improved -- if you could cease to regret - "

"Cease to regret?" He shot me a glare. "Don't be ridiculous. I'll stop regretting what I've done the day that you do. So don't preach to me about that unless you've learned to do so yourself."

"John, we are talking about -- you - "

"Shut up!" he shot back. "You want to know what I'd do differently? I never would have left him. I never would have stopped calling him, no matter what he said. I never would have given up on him. Don't tell me to stop regretting that, because it's not going to fucking happen!"

His phone rang suddenly, vibrating on the table, and we both looked at it in alarm. I looked back to him. "Who's calling? There is someone else -- here in the city?"

His astonishment wasn't faked. "There's no one else here. Is there a call display?"

I crossed to the table and picked up the phone, aware that Jack had entered the room behind me. I glanced down at the display and froze. ".... it says.... Stu Shepard."

I looked back to John, who had gone white as a sheet. "My personal hell," he muttered gruffly, but I could hear his voice shake. "Answer it. Please."

I glanced back at Jack, who nodded, then clicked on the phone. "Hello?"

"Um. Hi." The voice sounded as surprised as I - the same sweet tenor I had heard on the recordings, and the first voice I had heard in weeks that didn't sound like we did. I had to fight not to drop the phone in shock as he continued. "Um - I'm sorry, I didn't expect this to actually get to you. This - this is Stu. But you probably already know that."

I glanced to Jack, who whispered "Speaker phone," and I nodded.

"Hello, Stu. Just a moment." I stared at the unfamiliar device for a second, and Jack took it from me, hitting a button.

"Thank you, Stu," Jack said simply, watching John where he sat in the chair. He walked closer, perching on the edge of the bed beside him. "Why are you calling me?"

The voice on the other end of the phone gave a little helpless, trembling laugh. "I... I don't know. I guess I just - I just wanted to hear your voice one more time."

"Talk to him," Jack whispered, and John closed his eyes for a moment, and cleared his throat.

"What do you mean, one more time, Stu? What's wrong?"

The voice on the other end of the phone gave a trembling sob. "What's wrong? Oh god, everything's wrong. I suck at this. I ain't any good at doing things right, doing things your way. I've tried so hard, but I just... I can't do it, I've lost everything. You know it's been almost a year since Kelly left? 'Cause I couldn't support her, 'cause I wasn't... I wasn't the same man she married."

"She never deserved you, Stu. You know that. Not if she wouldn't stand by you when you tried to live your life honestly."

"Deserved me?" Another little helpless laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. "She was all I had. I'm not something that's worth being deserved. Maybe she's just a shallow bitch, but I loved her, and maybe we deserved each other, the way things used to be. Now I have nothing."

"Stu, you have everything. You have your whole life ahead of you - "

"To do what? To be miserable and alone? I'm not going to do that." We all heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked, and I watched the man in the chair break.

"Don't do it! Stu please - please don't do it!" The collected, superior demenor was entirely gone, replaced completely with panic. "Stu don't pull the trigger, I beg you."

"What the fuck do you care?" The voice on the phone shook with emotion. "You never fucking cared about me. You haven't called in almost three months!"

"Because you told me to stop. Not because I didn't care." He drew a shuddering breath, shaking in his bindings. "Please, Stu. I'll call, I promise. I won't even end this call until we've worked things out. Please. I beg you."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, but it didn't look like the call had disconnected, and I hadn't heard a gunshot. Finally the voice spoke again, soft and trembling. "I really thought you cared, you know? I thought you'd keep calling no matter what. I was stupid. I know you don't care."

"I do care." The man closed his eyes. "I stopped calling because you hurt me. Because - because I was too proud to tell you that you'd hurt me. The last time I spoke to you - the night I asked you to go find what I'd left for you, when you refused...." He drew a deep breath, and let it out again, keeping his gaze focused on the phone. "When you refused, it hurt because I'd planned to meet with you that night. I thought you trusted me enough to come, and I was wrong. I wanted to take you away from everything that hurt you. I still want that, Stu."

"I don't believe you."

His voice cracked as he spoke. "Stu, I'll do anything in my power to show you I mean it. To gain your trust. I swear it. Please give me this chance, please, Stu. Don't end things. Don't give up on me."

"Why?" The voice gave a soft sob, helpless. "Why should I believe you? Why should I trust you to bring me anything but more pain? You're a fucking homicidal maniac!"

The man closed his eyes with a shudder, shaking his head helplessly. "Stu, please...."

"Tell him -- how you feel," I whispered, and his face jerked to look at me, stricken. "Tell him," I whispered again, and he closed his eyes, lips moving helplessly, silently, and drew a deep breath.

The words, when he spoke, were rough and broken and raw, and entirely true. "I'm in love with you, Stu. It's why I kept calling. It's why I couldn't kill you. You made me feel - feel something other than lonliness and hatred and superiority. Stu, I love you and I don't have anything left without you. You pull that trigger and you kill both of us. I swear it."

For a long moment there was nothing on the other end but soft, choked sobs, but finally he spoke again, voice very small. "Can you tell me your name?"

"My name is John, Stu."

Something was happening as he spoke, as I watched him. He started to become somehow... less substantial, less real. I looked up at Jack in alarm, only to find him staring at the man with the same amazement as I.

"John?" The voice on the end of the phone gave a trembling, incredulous noise. "John, I - I really need you right now."

"I know. I'll come to you, I promise. Just wait for me, wait for me to get there. Tell me how to find you and I'll come." He was growing less and less solid with each word, and his arms suddenly came free from the cuffs. He stared at his wrists in amazement for a second, then up at us, and stood, snatching up the cell phone from Jack, who made no move to stop him. "Stu, I love you. I'm going to stay on the line as long as I can, until I find you or until the battery runs out. Wait for me, all right? Don't do anything without me. I love you." He started for the door swiftly, and we watched after him. By the time he said the last words, by the time he reached the doorway, he had disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but the newspaper clipping and tapes sitting on the table.

I let out a long, shivering breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Jack... what just happened?"

He looked as incredulous as me. "I think... I think the bastard actually found a way out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack Bauer


If I hadn't seen the man named John disappear into thin air with my own eyes, I'm not sure I would have believed the shrink. It was too strange, too fantastical. But it had happened, and now he was gone. I stood, staring at the spot where he had been. "Well. I think we need to review that tape."

Daniel gave a little nod and stood, looking thoughtful. He went to join me, but stopped by the table, reaching out to pick up a piece of folded newsprint. "... Jack."

I moved back to look at the newsprint, which appeared to be a random clipping out of the classifieds. "What is that?"

"It was the obituary," he said, refolding it and slipping it into his pocket. "It seems that he has -- somehow changed his past."

We briefly discussed the merits of telling the others what had happened - Daniel for, myself hesitant but quickly convinced - it would have been impossible to hide for long, in any case - and we gathered together in the suite over coffee, everyone who was left apart from Brooks, still asleep during the daylight hours, hidden in the basement.

I let Daniel outline simply what we'd seen, throwing a few comments in on my own, and watched the others as I spoke. The concept that there was something we needed to do, something that we needed to make right in order to get home was, I think, something we'd all thought about at some point, and here was the proof. I listened to them discuss and debate the hows and whys for a time, thinking on my own situation. There was so much, so many things that I'd done and hadn't done, and I was more than a little worried that it wouldn't be possible to narrow things down to a single event that I could change like our captive had....

"I like the atonement idea," McHenry declared suddenly, rousing me from my thoughts. He leaned forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the coffee table. "And if I'm gone tomorrow, you'll know that it was a success."

"What do you have in mind?" Daniel watched him curiously, but the young cop only gave him a grin.

"You know enough that I'm sure you'll figure it out if it works, doc. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'd like to get laid sometime this century." With that, he breezed out of the room, completely ignoring David's smart ass offer to help with that last bit if it was what really bothered him.

Daniel cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed. "Well. I think perhaps this is a -- good place to start. If anyone would like my assistance, you all know where to find me. I have no intention to leave -- until everyone here has found their -- solution."

Ben glanced over at him with a little frown. "Don't do that. This is my reality, I'm last out."

I leaned forward in the armchair I'd claimed. "Look, I know most of us have formed attachments here. It was inevitable. But I don't want to see anyone holding out due to some sense of nobility. Something like this phone call we witnessed is not likely to come along more than once. If you find your opportunity, you take it."

"I know mine," Daniel said simply, surprising me. "Do not worry -- about me, Jack. Setting things right with everyone here is likely part of my -- absolution." His fingers laced with Ben's at his side, though I doubt anyone noticed it but I. "I do not doubt that this will require -- a great deal of soul searching on everyone's part. I hope we can all help each other -- with that, through the friendships that have formed."

The rest of the night was uneventful, and I somehow wasn't surprised when David took me to McHenry's room the next morning to find the air thick with a strange incense, a motley array of feathers, stones, sticks and what looked a bit like a bear claw laid out on the bed and a simple goodbye letter on the desk, addressed "to all you handsome bastards."

Part of me wished it was so easy to find my own way home.

~~~


Seigner d'Athos et d'Auteville


The first night Brooks had stayed with me, when he and David had so completely seduced me, had been beautiful. We'd talked far into the night, conversations like we'd always had before, but these were punctuated with gentle touch, with soft kisses and affection that made his eyes shine with happiness. Eventually we showered together, passions rousing to a beautiful, tender union, and he'd let me come with him to the safe room David had set up for him in the hotel basement, a small corner of luxury tucked away from any trace of sunlight.

It seemed to be a template for things to come, though David didn't join us again - not in bed, at least. I became nocturnal with Brooks, and David was usually present when the boy awoke with the setting sun, guiding him through feeding before leaving us to intimacy. His youth, David explained, caused greater hunger than a Revenant of David's age, but the daily feedings didn't seem to harm me overly much as long as I found dinner soon afterwards.

When the man we had been keeping prisoner disappeared, when it became apparent that there could be and was a way out of this place, we didn't speak on it. Still, he seemed to cling a little more closely to me whether he realized it or not, and I didn't discourage it. If he was to go home, I wanted as much of him as I could, while I could.

A few days after the prisoner's disappearance and McHenry's subsequent exit, I finally made my way to the scholar's office - psychiatrist, they called him - sitting down with the collection of materials I had previously identified as mine. Records, scrolls, and letters... written words I had read so many times, some that I had committed to heart, though it wasn't any less painful to see them all again, to be reminded of my sin, and the consequences.

Still, the longer I stared at them, and the more Doctor Schreber tried to ease my thoughts from me with gentle words, the more I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Perhaps this was about recompense, but I didn't deserve it. And the closer he got to the matter of my death, the less I understood his words, lost to my own sorrow.

Finally, his light touch to my hand broke my from my revive, and I looked up at him with a start to see him sigh softly. "Athos. Let's conclude for the day. Come back to me when you wish to -- speak more... but please do not feel obligated to -- push things. The process will be different for -- all of us. I will work with you at -- your pace."

I took in the words, still not as comfortable with English as my native French, but the doctor kept a formality that was closer to the English I was familiar with that made him easier for me to understand than many of the others, even with his strangely placed pauses for breath. "Thank you," I replied softly. "I apologize for... my difficulty. This is not something that I am familiar with doing."

"I understand," he replied with a soft smile, patting my hand again gently and standing, tucking my things away in a locked drawer. "Please contact me whenever is -- easiest for you."

I thanked him again, leaving the room and moving through the halls slowly, contemplating. The guilt that I felt so acutely, that I had tried so hard to push away and bury since my arrival here had resurfaced in full force, and I found myself wondering if I should even attempt to find my way back to my world. Staying in this one, however, made me more than a little uneasy - the technology, the way things worked were all difficult to me, but at least I didn't have to live in a world without....

"Why are you talking to him?"

The voice behind me interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to find the boy who had become my lover, a mixture of hurt and anger in his eyes. "Brooks?"

He was at my side in an instant, faster than any human could have moved, but the emotion was the same. "Why are you talking to the shrink?"

I watched him quietly, trying to pick my words carefully. "Brooks, we all have to. It's either him or Jack. I prefer the shrink at this point."

"Have to? We don't have to do anything, who's forcing us?" The anger strengthened. "You know why they want us to talk to him? You know what they're trying to do? They want to fucking send us back."

"I know," I said softly, and his face crumpled. When I tried to reach for him, though, he jerked his arm from my touch.

"Why? Why do you want to leave? Why are you leaving me?"

"Brooks...." I gave a soft sigh. "This place is not a natural state of being, we can't remain here. We are not meant to be - "

"Natural?" He cut me off incredulously. "Meant to be? What the hell does that make me? You think this is natural? You think this is meant to be?"

I closed my eyes against a shudder of sorrow. "Brooks, please...."

"Please? Please what? You made me this, you promised to give your life for mine and now you're leaving me?" He was half in tears now, from rage and sorrow. "I mean nothing to you?"

"It's not like that, chérubin - "

"Don't call me that. Don't fucking call me that! You're just going to fuck me and leave, you're just like the others!"

Others? "I care for you."

"Bullshit you care for me. You just brought me here so you could fuck me. You should have fucking left me." He turned, heading for the stairwell, and I tried to keep up.

"Brooks please - where are you going?"

"Why the hell do you care?" he shot back, vaulting the stairway rail and dropping down to the bottom, disappearing from sight.

I stepped back into the hallway with a shudder, fingers digging into my palms as I clenched my fists in an effort to channel the emotional pain into sorrow.

"What happened?" I glanced over to find David at my side in his habitual black garb, hair almost white against it, watching me through ice blue eyes full of knowledge.

"... he became angry at me for speaking with Daniel. It seems I am abandoning him."

"Mm." He folded his arms across his chest. "Aren't you?"

I closed my eyes for a moment. "David, we don't belong here. You know that as well as I."

He shrugged. "Perhaps not. Perhaps we do. A kind of purgatory. A punishment for what we've done. Regardless, I can't fault him for feeling abandoned. I'm not certain he can return to his life as he is now. Whether or not you wish to stay here, we are both responsible for him. If you won't take that responsibility, then stay away from him."

"What can I do, David? Tell me. Stay here in this godless world that I don't belong in?"

"God is an excuse for people who will not take responsibility for their lives," He spat. "You think long and hard about your honor, Musketeer. Until then, stay the hell away from him." He pushed past me into the stairwell, dropping down through the middle as Brooks had done, leaving me to myself and my pain.

Think long and hard. I started down the stairs to the second floor, to the restaurant without a second thought. He was right - there was no honor in perverting, in ruining a boy as I had done. As I had done twice. Even in this place, my mistakes were the same.

The bar, when I entered, was empty. But all I needed was a bottle and a quiet table in the corner. It was all I could ever do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brooks


I'd reached the loading bay and was contemplating David's bike when I heard his voice behind me. "Touch it and die."

I turned in fury. "I wasn't going to."

"Of course not." He was calm, like he always was, and it infuriated me even more.

"Look, if you followed me just to boss me around, then fuck off. I'm not staying here any longer and I don't need you to take care of me."

He gave a soft sigh, arms folded across his chest. "Twenty four hours."

"What?"

"That's about how long you'll have until your insides start eating themselves with hunger. And then you'll frenzy, and kill the first warm blooded thing you come across. That will be one of them. Do you want that on your conscience?"

I turned away with a shudder, hating him for being right. "I'll be all right."

I heard a soft growl behind me. Then before I could react, he'd thrown me onto the back of his bike, climbing on himself and starting it, and we roared out of the bay at top speed and onto the streets.

I clutched at him in panic. "David - where the hell are your helmets?"

"You think we fucking need them?" he yelled back, voice torn from his lips by the wind. "Don't be a pussy. And don't get too comfortable back there, I'm kicking you off in a moment." We wove through the evening traffic easily. Then, before I could react, he spun off the road and onto the sidewalk, gunning for the approaching bike dealership and driving straight through one of the plate glass windows. I gave a yell of alarm and ducked behind his back, but the window fell into pebbles of glass that bounced off us with little damage, and we skidded to a halt inside.

"Get off," David told me. "Grab one of these. We're going for a ride."

I did so, feeling a little dazed as I looked around. They were all sport bikes, sleek and shiny and new and very different from the antique I was used to riding. I could feel David's eyes on me, so I picked a black one with electric blue detailing, swinging up onto it and starting it, getting a feel for it as I rode it over to him. He gave a little appreciative nod, gunning his engine, and then took off, calling back over his shoulder. "Follow me."

If I'd thought David had been reckless with me on the back of the bike, he drove twice as recklessly now, speeding through the streets without any regard for other vehicles or traffic rules. I followed him without question, trying to push away fear and do as he did without question, dodging cars and running lights. Finally he drove up the pedestrian approach to the Brooklyn Bridge and coasted to a stop half way across, swinging off his bike and hopping up onto the railing, walking out along the iron beams to the edge of the bridge to look down into the river, perfectly balanced. I watched him for a moment, then joined him, feeling the wind coming off the water whip at my hair and my clothes, cutting through the black silk of my shirt. It would have been cold, were I still human, but instead it was vibrant and refreshing. Alive.

"You did good," David said, glancing over at me with a little smile. "I'm very pleased with you. You could be one of my boys, I think. At least if I could get you over the squeamishness about killing." He chuckled softly, starting to walk along the very edge of the rail, leaning out to avoid the wires of the bridge, dropping one foot playfully below the rail as he did. "But I don't really think you want to be, do you?"

I followed him, keeping hold of the wires, feeling rather less sure of myself than he was. Large bodies of water still made me more nervous than I cared to admit, and even though I knew that both David and I could change a fall to flight easily, my human fears were deep seated and not easily set aside. "Doesn't matter, does it? I am what I am, now."

"Maybe. Maybe not. The shrink has some interesting ideas about that. Would you go back to your old life, if you could? As you were before?"

I continued to follow him slowly until we reached one of the stone bridge towers. I stayed in the corner on the beam, watching him step out without hesitance to balance easily on the stone ledge. "There isn't much there for me, David," I said finally, frankly. "My father and my older brother both think I'm insane. The one person I loved - who said they loved me - took off to Europe and left me behind. I go back and I grow up to become a mortgage broker or something. At least here I have some measure of freedom."

David had stopped on the corner of the tower, looking down at the river, and turned back to me. "I don't know what your definition of freedom is. This place might as well be a prison. We're tied to these men for substanance - can't travel, can't party, can't meet people, can't kill. I have no intention to stay here, my little one."

I felt his words slice through me, cold and cruel, and froze. "So you're leaving me, too."

"Brooks." He walked back to me leaping easily from the stone back to the metal truss regardless of the risk it would be to a human, and turning to face me. His hands came up to cradle my face, tingling where they touched me, and I couldn't help but remember the taste of his blood, and how good it felt to feed from him. "You are my child, and I'm not leaving you. But I won't stay here."

I shook my head slowly under his touch. "I don't understand."

"Who is to say that you can't come to my world? You have my blood in your veins. Don't underestimate that power. If it's something that you want, we will find a way." His thumb traced my lips, and I shivered despite myself, lips parting to his touch, pushing back the red-tinged hunger that rose up inside me the whisper of his flesh. I wasn't surprised when his lips replaced his thumb, a warm caress, a teasing swipe of the tongue. "Ah, little one... still so young. Always hungry."

I kept my eyes closed, feeling the ache in me grow with his words, pulse throbbing loud in my ears, blood rushing hot through my veins. "David...."

"Shh..." his voice was reassuring, protective as he'd always been, like an older brother. The kind of older brother I'd always wanted mine to be, though I sure as hell would never have done this with Cleveland, kiss him the way David was kissing me, drawing me to him, the taste of his lips and tongue just a tease to what I craved, what I needed so badly. He'd pressed me up against the stone behind me before I knew it, bare inches from the drop into the dark water, but I wasn't thinking about falling anymore, or the traffic that roared by us. It was all I could do to hold back the hunger, the wildness inside me that David called the Hunter. He kissed yearningly along my jaw, but all I felt was the ache, caught up in the scent of him, the thud of his pulse that I could hear as clearly as my own. Then his teeth trailed over my throat, the two sharp points that had pierced me so often, and my fingers clenched hard in the back of his coat.

"Please - !"

"Feed," he whispered, and that was all the permission I needed, groaning as I let the darkness take over, sinking my fangs into his throat as his did to mine, pulling hard at the hot, rich substanince that rushed from him over my tongue. There was never pain to it like he'd told me that humans would feel a the hands of the Hunter, only pleasure, intense and bright and complete, my nerves tingling with the rush of his blood, eclipsing everything around me but him, his body warm and hard against me, mouth pulling at my neck, swallowing, feeding as greedily as I was. The relief, the taste of the blood was almost orgasmic - perhaps in a way it was, and it certainly brought the same kind of connection as sex, and no small amount of physical desire.

He pulled from my neck with a groan, tongue swiping against it, and I forced myself to do the same, healing the punctures left by my fangs and letting the monster fade into the background, sated for now. The rest of me was no more sated than he, however, and I yielded to the heat of his kisses without hesitation, tasting the sweet darkness of my own blood in his mouth. It was easy, natural to yield and respond to his desire and his demands, grinding back against him as he pressed me to the cold stone at my back, arousal pressed hard against my thigh through his jeans, his hands stroking restlessly over the thin silk of my shirt, his open jacket whipping around us in the wind. I slipped my fingers up under his t-shirt to stroke his skin, groaning as he palmed my erection through my pants, his free arm snaking tight around me. "Oh god, David...!"

He gave a low, appreciative chuckle against my mouth, tugging my jeans open and slipping his fingers into my shorts to stroke me, and I fumbled to return the touch, the inevitable end to whenever he let me feed from him. This time though, he nipped at my bottom lip and pulled me away from the stone with him, voice throaty against my mouth, the timbre sending a shudder down my spine. "Let's go for a ride."

"Now?" My mind reeled at the words, and I tightened my fingers around him a little, feeling almost mindlessly aroused and wondering how he could even contemplate something other than sex. "Please don't - "

"Not going to stop," came the soft interruption, accompanied by a low chuckle, and our feet touched down on the walkway beside his bike, though I hadn't realized we were moving. He glanced to it with a smirk, then back to me, eyes dark and promising, and I quickly realized his intention. "You won't be disappointed."

I considered the idea for a moment, fighting against conventions. It was a hell of a bike.... "You've done this before."

"Of course." He laughed, as if it was something as normal as eating breakfast. Then he pulled back and straddled the bike, revving the engine, jeans still undone, erection pale against the darkness of his clothing. "Come on, little one."

It wasn't an order, but I complied in any case, tugging my pants and boxers enough to free myself entirely before carefully moving to straddle his lap, feet on the crash bars behind him for support. David gave a soft noise of approval, catching my mouth again as he arched up against me just a little. He left the bike in neutral, but the vibrations from the engine were almost maddening in my heightened state, and before I knew it, I was writhing against him helplessly, arching up into the hand he'd freed to curl around both of our lengths, stroking firm and slow. "Oh god, David...."

His mouth roamed hungrily along my throat and jaw, nipping at my earlobe. "Let me fuck you."

I drew breath in a soft hiss at the suggestion, at his sharp nip to my neck. I couldn't claim that I'd never thought about sex on a bike, or sex with David. "Dangerous..." I tried to protest, giving a soft whine as his fingers pulled away, returning moments later slick with lube to stroke over both our erections.

"Not for us," he replied, voice low and throaty and promising. His hands were already tugging at my pants, the Hunter's claws rending the black denim and white cotton so that I might as well have been wearing chaps. "I won't let you get hurt. You know you want it."

I did, and I wanted him, far more than I'd ever admitted despite the intimacy we'd shared because of what we were. And as much as I'd tried to cover it with anger, my disagreement with Athos had left me hurt and vulnerable. I needed David's care. "Please," I whimpered, and heard his soft noise of approval as I tried to brace myself against the bike, to arch up and ride him.

His arm slipped around my hips to help support me and hold me steady, his voice low. "Let go of gravity, just a little, just the way I taught you. It'll be easier. And hold on tight to me."

I followed his words, and did find it much easier, shifting to rock onto him, fingers clenching hard at his back through his coat at the penetration, at the shudder of pleasure and ache that thrummed up my spine compounded with the slight rev of the engine. We were moving before I knew it, wind whipping at hair and clothing, the bridge passing by in a blur as I began to rock on him, closing my eyes and burying my face in his hair. "God, David...!"

"That's it," he gasped, words only half audible over the wind and the roar of the bike. "God, you're tight. Feel so damn good, little one... just what you needed, isn't it? Just let go."

It was a little frightening, and very overwhelming at first, despite his promise not to let me get hurt. I still wasn't completely used to the feeling of weightlessness that the power of his blood allowed me, but as we moved I managed to adjust to it, needing him too badly to do anything but. The thrill of it was more intense than I could have ever imagined, riding him hard and fast as the bike sped through the streets, the world around me a blur beyond the powerful throb of the bike under us, his body against me and lips on my skin. I'm sure my grip on his shoulders was hard enough to bruise, but he seemed oblivious to it, nipping and sucking at my earlobe and the soft skin just under it, urging me on with his voice and words. I was faintly trembling as I rocked harder onto him, finding just the right angle to send hot sparks of pleasure through me with each thrust. "David - !"

He bucked just a little under me, and I felt the bike surge forward - hopefully intentionally, but it sent another surge of adrenaline through my veins, mixing with passion and desire and the aftermath of bloodlust to pull me quickly close just from riding him. I cried out helplessly against his hair, tightening around him as I rode the edge of climax, barely able to keep from tearing his coat as everything crested, pleasure rushing hot through my veins with his blood as I came, hard and hot and vibrant. I heard his breath catch, heard him gasp my name and spill inside me, shuddering against me with a throaty cry, biting at my neck.

I felt the bike slow as I clung to him, eyes closed and gasping for breath, body shivering with the aftershocks of pleasure and more than a little relief that we were finally stopping. I felt the engine shut off, felt the bike settle onto its centre stand, David's arms coming up around me, dropping soft kisses to my face.

"That was wild," I found myself murmur, and David chuckled, low and throaty.

"Told you it would be." He smiled against my skin, fingers stroking up and down my back. "Might as well take advantage of what we are, yes?"

I chuckled softly, relaxing more against him under his touch. "I never really thought about 'ease of sex on a motorbike' being a perk of vampirism."

"No?" His voice was light and teasing. "Just wait until you've spent more time with me, then." He kissed me softly before wriggling out of his coat and draping it around my shoulders, then helping me off the bike, refastening his clothes. I slipped my arms into the jacket appreciatively, glad that we had somehow ended up in a shopping district. "I think we both need new clothes," he said with a smirk, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me toward a mens wear store.

I leaned into his embrace with a soft sigh of relief, letting my body bask in the aftermath of intimacy. It still troubled me, to think about the future, to think about Athos, but with David at my side it felt like things perhaps weren't quite so bad after all.

~~~~~