Behind the Mirror

Brooks

David and I stayed out in the city for a time, stealing new clothes and discarding our old ones - apart from David's Jacket - and then searching for others. He'd worn the simple clothes of a biker for so long out of necessity, but just as he'd taught me the elegance of dressing in layers of black, I reawakened him to the joy of fashion more formal than jeans and tshirts. The fashions of whatever time we were in were rather different than what I was used to, but I quickly came to love the combinations put together on the maniquins in the darkened stores, and took full advantage of the ability to try on whatever I liked. Between the two of us we were kept busy for hours, stripping off and trying on new clothes, keeping the few articles that passed both our scrutiny and leaving the rest strewn on the floor. It didn't matter, in this word.

When we finally returned to the hotel, his motorbike carried several bags of clothing as well as the two of us. I'd found a black pinstripe fedora that I wore with a fine black vest and matching slacks, a matte silk blouse underneath - always my guilty, hedonistic pleasure - and black satin tie. He'd gone completely opposite in a pair of torn up skinny jeans, tucked into knee high platform boots that he somehow still managed to ride in. He wore layers of black tshirts with bleached out grunge patterns and text, and a ink splattered black and gray hounds tooth kerchief around the neck to complete the look, all under the long black leather jacket. "We'll have to do that again sometime," he remarked, parking the bike and swinging off, helping me off with the bags, and I agreed with a little smile. Perhaps the idea of staying with David, if it was actually possible, wasn't such a bad one after all.

There was no one manning the security door in the wee hours of the morning, but that was no concern to us. We levitated to the second floor balcony - David's hand warm on the small of my back, though I had gained decent control over my flight since he'd first turned me - and landed, heading inside. As we stepped into the restaurant however, I froze, senses tingling, the scent of Athos strong and warm. I followed David's gaze to see him seated at a table in the corner, visible enough to see us, watching us warily - and a little wearily - over a wineglass.

I glanced at David, who took my bags from me wordlessly and vanished before I could say a word. Then I made my way to Athos, taking my hat off and setting it down on the table, which held a few empty wine bottles. "May I join you?"

He continued to regard me silently for a long moment, pain all too apparent in his expression. "... you should stay away from me."

I felt a pang of sorrow immediately at his words, but didn't move to sit down without his permission. "I'm sorry that I left," I murmured softly. "I don't want to stay away from you. And I...." I swallowed hard. "If you have to leave, I - I don't want to waste the time that we have left."

He took a sip of wine from the glass in front of him, savouring it slowly, and it struck me that he'd likely been doing this since I left. "You don't want to be with me," he said again, voice a little husky from the wine, thick with emotion. "Believe me. You are much better off without me."

I bit my lip, fingers clenching the back of the chair. "Athos," I begged softly. "Mon ange. Please... just let me sit with you. Please let me talk to you."

He shuddered at the term of endearment, but gave a small nod toward the chair, in which I sat thankfully, leaving my hat on the table. For a moment, we were both silent - he sipping the wine, and I watching him, not quite knowing where to start or what to say. "Have you been here since I left?" I asked finally, and he glanced over at me, giving a small, tired smile.

"I take my drinking... seriously," he answered, mostly ignoring my question, his French still beautiful and perfect despite the drink, though a little too formal, as always.

I lowered my head a little, staring down at the surface of the table. "Do you really want me to stay away from you?"

A soft, shuddering sigh, and his voice lowered, near inaudible. "No. Never."

"Then why are you telling me that I'd be better off without you?" The words came more plaintive than I'd intended, and I wished I could behave as coolly as David. Still, the emotion seemed to have an effect on him, and he watched me with eyes that were suspiciously bright.

"You would be. I am too... cursed, Brooks. I should not and cannot continue to look for love."

"I don't understand," I said softly, shaking my head. "I won't be better off without you. I love you. Explain it to me, please. I need to know...."

He let out a slow sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. "Everyone I have ever loved has died because of me," he murmured finally, brokenly. "I went to the - to Doctor Schreber, but I didn't tell him of my past." He looked up at me blearily over the wineglass, eyes red rimmed and tired. "I don't wish to lose you, too."

I sat quietly, not reaching out to him, taking in his words. "Everyone... you mean more than just Sabine, don't you?"

He glanced away, face infused with the guilt and agony I'd caught in him so often. "Yes."

"A man?"

He shivered and looked away. "Brooks, please don't ask this of me..."

"I see," I replied simply, leaning back in my chair. Then I took one of the wine glasses from the middle of the table, blowing out the dust and wiping it clean with one of the cloth napkins before filling it from the bottle on the table, sipping the deep red liquid and letting it play over my tongue. It wasn't half bad, though on the inexpensive side. There was something about the personality of both wine and coffee that reminded me of blood and somewhat calmed the wildnesss inside, and it made it easier to talk to Athos.

"Will you tell me about it?" I asked softly, watching his blue eyes turn to me in anguish.

"It is too raw, chérubin. I cannot..."

I reached across the table to touch his hand and watched him start at the touch, barely keeping a damn on his emotions. "Please," I pressed softly. "You've helped me so much, to heal from Anne, just by being there for me. By listening to me. I'm sorry I said what I did earlier. Let me try to help you."

He looked away, but didn't pull from my touch, lifting his glass and draining it. "I seduced a married man and a fellow Musketeer," he said tersely. "His wife found out and betrayed us to our enemies. I watched him be tortured and executed for charges of adultery and sodomy. And then I followed him. And ended up here."

"...executed?" I heard the word come out in an unintentional squeek from my lips.

He looked back to me, suddenly seeming very tired. "Such things were possible in my time, when powerful men used scripture and the world's fear of god to further selfish aims. It isn't a world you would understand, chérubin."

"I'm not sure I would want to understand it," I admitted, his words a cold lump in my stomach. "I... I'm sorry, Athos."

He gave a sharp nod in acknowledgement and refilled his glass.

"Was this why you were willing to die to keep me alive?"

I watched his mouth shift, well shaped lips stained just a little from the wine. "It would have been an appropriate sacrifice. Atone for his blood on my hands - "

"Your hands?" I clenched his hand hard in mine, harder than I intended, still not accustomed to my own strength. I saw him grimace and released, but it still yanked his attention back to me. "You think it's your fault that your enemies used your love against you? Would he want that?"

He looked a little startled, as if the thought had not occurred to him. "It was my fault - "

"It was not your fault."

"Brooks, if I'd never told him how I felt..."

"Bullshit. He loved you, didn't he? Even if it meant my death, I would never regret loving someone. Never."

"It is easy to say that when you've never seen the one you love killed before you."

"It can be arranged if death is what you really want," I spat, near trembling.

He watched me quietly, then reached over to cover my hand with his. "Why are you so angry...?"

"I don't know," I replied half choking on my words. "I don't know what to think or feel. When my mother left I tried not to feel anything. Anne cracked through my walls, but left me broken. And now I love you so much that it feels like I can't contain it, and yet you speak of love with regret, as if it means nothing - "

"Love is a curse if it hurts the one you love."

"Then all love is a curse! You can't feel joy without pain. Having tried it both ways, I'll take all the pain in the world for the joy of being with you." It was true, though I hadn't realized it until I spoke it, and I fell silent, replaying the words in my head. I didn't regret Anne. It hurt to lose her... but I didn't regret her. I looked up at him through a blur of tears. "Do you regret loving me? Even if we have to leave this place? Even if it hurts?"

"No," he whispered, voice raw, emotions as close to the surface as mine.

"Then don't regret him either. He wouldn't want you to." He shivered at my words, and said nothing, looking almost chastized. I squeezed his hand again, more gently this time. "Forgive my cruel words and my temper, mon ange," I said softly. "Come to bed with me."

He nodded slowly, standing with a surety I didn't expect after so much wine, and drew me into his arms. He pressed his lips to my forehead, to each eyelid in turn, then my mouth, warm and spiced from the wine. "Je t'aime," he whispered softly. "I don't want to leave you, Brooks."

"I don't want you to leave," I murmured in reply, hands slipping up to cup his face. "But... we don't belong here. I know that now. Let me help you find your way back, and help me find mine. Let me help you find him. Change things. If an evil man can find happiness with the man he lost, why not a noble one? Why not you?"

He shivered under my touch. "Please - do not make me think on these things more tonight. I can't, I...."

I arched up to press my lips to his. There was still time before sunrise to comfort him the only way I knew how. "Come to bed with me," I murmured again, "I need to taste you." It wasn't entirely true - though I hadn't fed from Athos before our fight, feeding from David earlier had been enough to leave me sated for the evening, but it was a different kind of need I felt now.

"Of course," he murmured softly, and followed me downstairs into the darkness, into the soft luxury of my bed, where we undressed each other with careful hands, trading long, intense kisses that we both seemed to need so badly after the argument. I found myself almost trembling as I pressed my lips to his throat, covering his skin with hungry kisses. I gave in to the wildness just enough for my fangs to pierce his flesh before feeding, letting the rich taste of him spill into my mouth, hot and vibrant and alive and somehow tart from the wine. So unlike David, and yet so beautiful to me, so perfect to feel him arch and tremble against me, to feel his warmth and strength, to feel the cataclysm of emotion writhe turbulent inside him. I could feel it almost painfully at the first taste of his blood, and I found myself whimpering, pressing closer to him and wondering how so much agony could be contained in one man.

I forced myself to pull back before taking too much from him, healing the punctures before finding his mouth, wishing I could somehow take that pain from him with my kisses, with my body. At least I could grant a temporary reprieve, climbing into his lap and pressing close as we coupled, letting his fingers dig into my back, his mouth tear at mine in desperation. It was something I found I needed as much as he, after all the emotion of the evening, with the thought of losing him, and when our pleasure crested it was to wordless, shuddering cries, bodies tangled together in a tight embrace, taking comfort in our union.

The wine added to his exhaustion afterwards, and I curled up in his arms without complaint, warm and safe as I heard his breathing slow into sleep. My own weariness and the coming of the sunrise pulled me with him soon after, into the relaxation of dreamless darkness.

~~~~~~

Seigner d'Athos et d'Auteville

I hadn't expected Brooks to return that evening, if at all, and part of me still told myself that I wasn't worth it, that I was putting the boy through far more anguish than he deserved. Still, he had returned, and somehow stronger than I would have thought, pulling my sorrow from me with words that were somehow both gentle and passionate, and when the night was over I slept in his arms, grateful to have another chance with him.

I awoke the next afternoon - a few hours before sundown, according to the clock, and found my clothes in the faint artificial light that spilled into the safe room, dressing. I would return before sundown to be with him before he awoke, but for the time my main agenda was to find something for the headache I was unfortunately, but appropriately, nursing. A shower and clean clothes helped, as well as a light breakfast, and I returned to the hotel a good half hour before sundown, wanting to be there when he woke up.

I found David in the loading bay, meticulously polishing the chrome on his motor-cycle. He glanced up as I approached. "I checked in on him during the day. Glad to see you back, Athos."

I gave a little nod at his words. Despite the restful sleep, I still felt more than a little tired - no, drained - after the night's conversation. "David. What will happen to him?"

He gave a little shrug, straightening and turning to face me. "I offered to take him with me."

"Is that... possible?"

He shrugged again, and lit a cigarette, which I watched him do. It was such a simple thing, and yet so different from my time, when tobacco was a new, miraculous drug from the new world. A hard reminder of how much I did not belong to this world. "I don't think he really wants to. Has he told you much about his past?"

"Yes. But not how he came here. I assume something to do with the girl...."

"I think he drowned," David remarked, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. "I saw things, when I turned him. It's difficult not to. Things Wolverton did to him, and his father as well. The girl is a small part. He needs to find his reason to live again in that world." He regarded me seriously for a long moment, exhaling a long cloud of smoke. "You will help him, won't you? He'll open up to you when he won't to me."

"What makes you think that?"

"He's in love with you, of course. The boy practically worships you, Angel Musketeer." A smirk, but it wasn't said unkindly.

I gave a soft sigh, running a hand over my face and through my hair. "I'm not certain I can help myself, David. Let alone someone else."

"If you have the will to do so, things will work out," he replied with a little shrug.

"You speak with such confidence."

"I have several hundred years on everyone here," he replied, then turned to face me. "Think of helping him as that atonement you've been longing for."

I stiffened, my mind immediately jumping to conclusions. "You were listening."

"Hardly. I have no wish to draw a quarrel with you." He stepped closer to me, resting his hands on my shoulder. "I don't need to evesdrop on whatever conversations you had with Brooks last night. I've tasted you, Athos. Remember?" One finger stroked down the side of my face and over my beard, and I shuddered despite myself at his touch. His smile grew slightly. "I know your beautiful nobility, and the tortured soul underneath. I could fuck it out of you, if you wanted me to." A grin. "But I think perhaps Brooks will have better luck."

"It's almost sunset," I replied, ignoring his words and pushing away the desire they brought. "I need to meet him."

The boy nodded, eternally amused. "Call me if you need me."

Brooks was dressed when I arrived, in something similar to the fine threads I'd seen him in the night before, and he smiled at me sleepily. "Good morning."

"I'm sorry - I didn't mean to have you wake up alone...."

He shook his head, draping arms around my shoulders languidly and leaning into me. "It's all right. I woke early." His kisses were warm and sweet, but with no touch of the hunger he usually woke with.

"Do you need to feed?" I asked softly, and he contemplated it, then shook his head.

"I should be fine for now. Later." He worried at his bottom lip for a moment, regarding me, then spoke carefully, as if afraid of my displeasure. "If I go with you... will you talk to Dr. Schreber again?"

I glanced away. "I don't want to leave."

He sighed, one hand slipping to cup my face. "Don't spare the truth for my sake, love. I know you don't feel comfortable in this world. And I..." He paused, then curled closer, nestling his face against my neck. "If I must lose you, I want to know about the one who holds claim on your heart."

"You do," I murmured, pressing my lips to his hair, but thinking on his words, and what David had said about helping him. Perhaps it would leave him more open to exploring his own past, if he were to come with me. So, despite the turmoil of emotion, I agreed.

I found myself in Doctor Schreber's - in Daniel's office some time later, Brooks at my side, helping him move my documents from the file cabinet to the segment of conference room table that sat in the back of the midsized room. "I hope you don't mind if Brooks stays?" I asked him, "My English is...."

"Your English is just fine," Daniel replied softly, with a smile. "But Brooks is welcome, if you would like -- for him to be here." He picked up a small, locked box that had been sitting on top of the file cabinet. "I believe this is yours as well? There doesn't seem to be -- a key...."

"I have it," I said softly, taking it from him and setting it on the table, running my fingers over the carved surface. "His letters," I said softly, "to which I did not, for the most part, reply." It was difficult to keep from reverting to French, when it was all I spoke with Brooks, but I pressed on for the sake of the doctor. I took a seat at the table, leaving Daniel the head out of respect, and Brooks sat across from me after a moment's consideration. I stared down at the box, at the piles of documents - most tucked carefully into modern file folders. "Where would you like me to start?"

"Where would you like -- to start?" The doctor's smile was warm, encouraging. "Most have found that it is helpful to begin -- at the end. Work your way back. But if you don't think it significant...."

I gave a small nod. The end was where I most definitely did not want to start, but I couldn't deny the significance, and it was easier to follow directions. "The end, then. After my son died in battle," I said softly, "I was taken into the household of an old friend. It was the only thing that kept me from dying of grief after loosing my Nicolas...."

"You have a son?" Brooks voice, across the table, was incredulous, and I couldn't help but give a soft chuckle.

"Had. Two, the first of which died in an attempt to murder me. Sabine's son." I glanced over to find Brooks watching me with wide eyes.

"But... you aren't old enough...."

I indicated the document pile with a little nod. "I was fifty five when I died. You may check, if you like."

"But... you're not...."

"I was almost -- ninety, I believe," Daniel said quietly, and I glanced to him. "Obviously, I - we are not as such -- now. Perhaps we have returned to -- this time in our lives for a -- reason?" He gave me a soft smile. "It is something to -- consider, in any case. Please, continue."

I gave a slight nod, looking at the documents on the table, gathering my thoughts. "The man who took me in... who nursed me through my sorrow... he was one of the most noble men in all France. Highly esteemed and decorated for his service to king and country. We were... very close." I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to continue. "I had always loved him, and never allowed myself to be with him until then. We... we became lovers, but his wife discovered us. In her anger, she sought out his - our enemies, old enemies in the church, and we...." I hesitated, then summarized the agony of my last few days of life in a few words that portrayed little of how it really was. "We were executed."

Brooks shook his head. "I don't understand. You served the king. If you had done so much for the country, why would he execute you?"

It was something I was more than a little bitter about myself. "The sins we committed were toward God, not country. At the time, the king was young, new, and chose not to risk making an enemy of the church. It was too dangerous for him."

Daniel gave a slow nod, as if it didn't completely surprise him, and opened one of the folders on the table. There were two pages - photocopies of the original documents, and I could make out the words 'ordre d'exécution' at the top of each. "These were the only pages that our -- former captive -- had on display for you. We copied them, the originals are still with Jack -- as evidence. I understood what they were, but not -- the content." He held them out to me, but I made no move to take them, so instead he set them down in the middle of the table.

Brooks reached to take them before I could stop him, eyebrows knit as his eyes darted over the top page. "Charles de Batz-Castelmore..." he read, and I winced to hear his name in Brooks' sweetly accented Parisian. "Pour y être interrogés en utilisant la veille - To be interrogated using the..." He stopped, confused, and looked up at me. "La veille? The... vigil?"

"It was," I said slowly, "a torture device." I paused for a moment, watching him. "That is all you need to know."

"I don't understand...."

"It is not for your ears," I said softly, looking away, not willing to mar his mind further with yet more knowledge of the darkness of man.

"Judaswiege," Daniel said softly, from the end of the table, though I'd almost forgotten his presence. His voice had a slight note of horror in it, but his expression betrayed nothing but concern when I turned to him. "The books are written," he said softly, "that part of the torture -- of it, was that the condemned would be forced to -- watch others suffer on it."

I closed my eyes for a moment against the horror of the memories, hands clenching the tabletop. "They are correct."

Brooks still had the paper in his hands, and looked back and forth between the two of us. "I don't understand. Judas... cradle?"

Daniel cast me a careful look. "May I? I can explain to him in -- German, if you like?"

"English is fine," I forced myself to reply, voice a little rough as much as I tried to hold back the emotion.

"All right." Daniel was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was careful, but coldly factual. "The Judaswiege was a pyramid shaped seat with a -- sharpened point. The accused would be lowered so the point -- pierced between their vertebrae, or more commonly - it was insertered vaginally or anally -- and the individual's weight would - "

"There were ropes," I said hoarsely, not looking up from the table. "To adjust the amount of pressure, how much it cut into you, or to - raise you up and then drop you... la veille was always... streaked with blood and the flesh of its victims...."

"Enough," Daniel said softly, and I heard the paper drop from Brooks' fingers across the table, hand slipping out to find mine, trembling.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, unable to find the energy to continue in English and slipping back into my mother tongue. I heard Brooks shake his head, fingers squeezing my hand a little too hard, but the lick of pain was strangely welcome. It was too easy to recall the sight, the sound of my lover's agony.... "They gained no confession from him beyond his love for me. There was nothing else for him to confess, but they wouldn't spare him, wouldn't have mercy on him. I cried and begged for them to leave him be, until they gagged me with la poire d'angoisser, and so I couldn't even tell him...." I forced myself to stop, to calm the panicked tirade of words, forcing myself to speak English again if only to try and calm myself by concentrating on the language. "He died as a result of it. And I... I was too cowardly to accept the same punishment. I used my irons to hang myself in the night."

Brooks' hand left mine, and I heard his chair pushed back. Moments later he was half in my lap, arms around me and face pressed to my hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shivering. "I didn't know. Oh god, Athos, I'm sorry...."

I pulled him closer, only half hearing his words. His weight against me was comforting, and part of me wanted nothing but to run away from this, to lose myself in him, in the dark oblivion I found with him. It hadn't been long, not long at all since my lover's death, only weeks, weeks since I'd watched him suffer, naked and humiliated, skin pale and waxy from the pain where it wasn't bruised, where it wasn't stained with the rivulets of blood that coursed his inner thighs. Only weeks since I'd heard him whisper my name so helplessly, and the images came back too easily, too fast for me to push them away. My arms clenched around him before I could stop myself, breathing hard and sharp to try and break through the vice that had closed around my chest. Brooks voice was far away, panicked and calling my name, and I latched onto it like a man drowning. I felt his hands cup my face, lips against my skin, words pleading. I drew a shuddering breath, not surprised to find myself trembling against him, to find tears on my cheeks, and I focused on him, locking memories away again. "... my apologies, chérubin."

He nodded silently in reply, somehow even more pale than normal, and didn't let go of me.

"I think we have done -- enough for the night," I heard Daniel say softly, and found him standing next to us, no doubt ready to assist if necessary. "Take some time together. If you want to take anything with you -- you may, however, I would recommend that the... official documents stay -- here."

I gave a curt nod, all too happy to try and forget that the execution orders even existed. "Destroy those copies," I managed to breathe, shuddering at the reminder. "I have no need of them to remember my fate."

Brooks' fingers stroked through my hair, still looking more than a little unsettled. "Come downstairs with me," he said softly. "Let me feed from you." There was so much unspoken in the request, and I nodded, needing it now more than ever. But we had acomplished so little....

"Would you like to bring the letters?" I asked softly, and he looked a little surprised, but nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered, then pulled away and tucked the box under his arm, and we thanked the Doctor and left.

Brooks seemed more than a little unsettled as we made our way downstairs, the box hugged to his chest with both arms a little reverently. I reached behind me as we walked, tugging undone the knot on the leather thong that hung around my neck, and held it out to him as we reached his room. He set the box down on the small table we'd brought down from one of the other rooms and perched in a chair beside it, taking the thong from my fingers by the small brass key that hung at the end. "Are you sure you want me reading these?"

"You want to know of him, yes?" I sat in the chair opposite, watching him unlock and open the box, which smelled very slightly of camphor, but more of pine. "This is everything he ever wrote to me."

He picked up the letter on top, fingers playing over the broken wax seal. "I would rather hear about him from you. I want to see him through your eyes. That won't be in letters."

"No," I said softly, regretfully. "It won't."

"You never wrote to him?"

"I... never spoke of how I felt for him." I closed my eyes for a moment, moving back through my memories. It was hard, to think of him and not remember the horror of those last days. But I pushed past them... some memories were too strong to be eclipsed even by that. "When I first saw him," I said softly, "I thought he was the most beautiful youth I had ever laid eyes on. Beauty was always - is still my undoing, I'm afraid." I gave him a soft smile, and watched him squirm a little in his seat under the subtle compliment. "He was young... younger even than you, too young for even a proper beard... perfect, porcelain skin and delicate features, locks of soft brown hair falling in curls to his shoulders... and I remember thinking that the great Botticelli must have painted his angels in the likeness of d'Artagnan...."

"I thought... his name was Charles?"

"The Compte d'Artagnan used his mother's family name, as a musketeer. It was more well known and respected. It was how I knew him, just as he called me Athos."

"I see..." He set the letter back in the box, the key down on the table next to the box, leaning back in his chair. "And you fell madly in love with him?"

I chuckled softly despite myself. "Hardly, he was brash and rude and insulted me, so I challenged him to a dual." I glanced up at him. "I had no intent to kill him, you must understand, simply flounce him, embarrass him and send him on his way. He wouldn't have survived long in my world with manners like that."

"And...?"

"Well, coincidentally on his way to dual with me, he also managed to cause offence to my two best friends, and lined them up for duals after me. He didn't know that we were all Musketeers. It was all very amusing, and we half expected him to run crying when he found out. But he proved to be a man of honor, and when the guards of the cardinal - the head of the church in Paris at the time - appeared and interrupted our dual to try and arrest us, he threw his lot in with us and fought them off valiantly, effectively marking himself as an outlaw along with us - "

"An outlaw? I thought you were guards for the king?"

"Yes. And then the cardinal disbanded the Musketeers as part of a traitorous scheme to claim the throne of France, and those who refused to give up their position - namely, the three of us - were marked as outlaws. The games of politics were dangerous, in my world. Men would raise and fall, and those allied with them would fall as well. But d'Artagnan proved his metal, helped us save the life of the king, and was rewarded with a position in the Musketeers. That is the story of our meeting and friendship."

Brooks had leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, watching me with a little smile. "There's more to it than that."

I nodded slowly, eyes tracing the carvings on the lid of the box as I remembered how very much more there was to things. "He came to me," I murmured softly, "The night after I watched Sabine throw herself from a cliff rather than face being executed. We were staying an inn on our way to Paris, to try and save the King... it wasn't certain if any of us would survive, and if the mission failed, we would be executed for high treason. He knew of my story, of Sabine, just as you do, and what it meant to me. I was intoxicated... but not so much that I couldn't have said no." I let out a soft breath. "I should have turned him away."

"You slept with him."

I shivered at the images of that night that were burned into my memory, at the recollection of the feel of his soft skin pressed against mine, the hunger in his kisses, the soft words of adoration he'd murmured as we made love. "Yes, and several times after, though I could never admit to him what he meant to me. In the end... it drove us apart. I retired to my estates, and he... married. You already know the rest."

"You have to fix it." I looked to find his blue eyes blazing, and he got up, standing over me. "You can't let things end like that, it's - it's too horrible."

I rose to my feet slowly, reaching to stroke my fingers over his hair. "I'm not certain there is anything I can do to change it."

"There must be. There has to be. I don't want that as an end for you," he said, half choking on his words. "I can't believe it, I won't accept it. It's not - Athos, it's just not fair!"

"Come, chérubin," I drew him to me, nuzzling his hair and nestling his lips to my throat, feeling his body tense under me, feeling a shiver of desire. I wanted it, the retreat and the solace after having to face so much pain. "Take from me," I murmured. "Let me feel your dark magic. I need you."

The shock of pain from those wicked little fangs was nothing compared to the rush that followed, the sense of connection from him as his lips pulled at me, the feel of his heartbeat resounding through me. For those few moments, I gave myself over to him entirely, mind and heart empty of everything but him, the sensation and desire that flooded my body, the feel of his lips on my skin. There was a dark kind of addiction to the oblivion, both beautiful and terrible, and I'd thought more than once of how it would be if he never stopped and simply let my soul disappear into nothingness. It was more tempting now than it had ever been, but I would never wish the resulting pain on him. I focused instead on the physical desire the act brought, on the yearning and need and hunger for him, groaning softly as he pulled from my skin to find my mouth with his, hot and tasting a little of coppery from my blood.

"My brave and noble angel...." Brooks' words whispered over my skin, and I claimed his mouth again, reminded too much of the adorations of another sweet boy too long ago. He didn't resist, yielding to my trembling kisses, fingers deftly tugging my shirt undone as I went to work on his own garments. I forced my actions to keep calm despite the whirlwind of desire his feeding had awoken in me, like it always had, breaking from his mouth to kiss along his jaw, breathing deep of his scent, of his warmth. The silk of his top whispered over his skin as I pushed it from his shoulders, leaving me feeling clumsy and hard in comparison as I stroked calloused fingers over the tender smooth skin on his chest, but he seemed to crave the rough touch, arching up into my touch with a shivering moan, his fingers clenched in my hair to encourage my affections.

I wondered, as I licked along the tendon in his neck, nipping lightly at his skin in echo of what he had done to me, if I had ever been as young, as innocent as he. Innocent, and yet not, this young Revenant, this slave to the night with his pale skin and the wildness locked behind blue eyes. He was a paradoxical package, and perhaps it was what drew me to him, what made me crave him more than I ever thought I would. Pure and dark, angelic and dangerous all at the same time, and I couldn't imagine wanting it any other way.

"Athos..." My name was a soft plea on his lips as he arched closer to me, hips arching against mine in an echoing plea for sensation, his free hand tangled in the back of my shirt. He was near shivering against me, seemingly as desperate with need as I was, and the grind of our hips was maddening to me, with as achingly hard as I'd been since he started to feed from me. I gave in to his wordless urging, kissing him harder, demanding and almost frantic as our hands made short work of the rest of our clothes.

He pulled me down on top of him on his bed, barely giving me time to slick myself with that wonderfully slick liquid before arching up against me, pale thighs pulled up around my waist. "Please," he whimpered, nipping at my bottom lip as we kissed, fingers clenching tight my shoulders. "Please, Athos... I need you...."

"Shh, chérubin... I'm yours." The huskiness in my voice betrayed my desire despite my words, and I shuddered against him as I started to rock into him carefully, breath catching at the tight heat of his body, always so unbelievably intoxicating. He rocked up against me with a shuddering cry, fingers clenched at my back as he pushed me deeper, and I found myself gasping for breath against his mouth. His encouragement, his blatant impatience was quickly tearing away the little self control that I had left, and I caught his mouth as I buried myself in him, rocking just a little, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it all. "My Brooks...."

Pale thighs tightened around me as he arched and writhed under me a little helplessly, his voice coming in whimpering cries against my mouth. "Always," he gasped, bucking up against me, breath hot against my lips. "Always always, no matter what - oh god, more - !"

"No matter what," I breathed, rocking harder into him to answer his plea. He would be, I realized, even if we parted - this sweet boy who had awakened such passion in me, who had began to make me believe again in the power of love over all else. I dropped my mouth to his neck, kissing and sucking hungrily at his sweet skin and slipping a hand between us to stroke him as my own pleasure built. It didn't take long to work him to the heights of pleasure, his body so familiar to me even beyond the many times we'd coupled, and when I felt him start to clench and shudder around me, I whispered his name and my love against his skin, pulling him to climax as the sweetest cry escaped his lips.

It was impossible to hide my continued arousal from him, and he'd hardly caught his breath before he was pushing me onto my back, straddling my hips and rocking back onto me, drawing a sharp hiss between clenched teeth at the penetration.

"Brooks - "

His hands pushed firmly at my shoulders, keeping me pinned on my back as he rocked on me slowly, leaning over to kiss me as I ceased to struggle and protest. "Shh... hold still, just lay back my love...."

My hands clenched at his hips despite myself, shuddering, resisting the urge to pull him down onto me, to buck into him hard and fast and frantic. But the pace he soon set was insistent, excruciatingly good, and before I knew it he'd pulled me to the same heights of pleasure, stealing my cries with soft kisses, curling against me as I slowly came back to myself.

"Je t'aime," he whispered, sweet words that I echoed freely and meant with all my heart. Perhaps this was what I needed to learn, to love and give of myself without restraint of fear. It was such a beautiful gift he had given me.

"Sleep," he murmured, stroking fingers through my hair and over my face, playing a little with my beard. "Rest. I will be with you."

Exhausted from emotion, from our intimacy and from the blood that he took, I had no arguments against his suggestion and let my body drift into the warmth and relaxation of a dreamless sleep.

~~~~


Brooks


Athos fell asleep quickly, and it was a relief for me to see his face carefree and relaxed. I curled with him for a time, enjoying the warmth of his embrace, listening to his breath come slow and deep. Eventually I wiggled out from his arms carefully, tucking the blankets around him with a little smile before cleaning up and finding myself new clothes. Then, placing a soft kiss to his hair, I went back upstairs into the hotel.

Finding David was the easiest way to find what I was looking for. I hadn't spoken to the man named Jack Bauer more than a handful of times since my arrival, and never without David's presence - he was so possessive of the man that I'd quickly decided that it wasn't worth risking the possibility of David's anger by talking to Jack alone. Fortunately I found them in the second floor lounge at the pool table, passing a bottle of Jack Daniels, appropriately, back and forth between the two of them as they played.

David sensed my approach before I was close enough to make myself known and met me at the door of the lounge, lips brushing mine in greeting. He was wearing white today, surprisingly, like an inversed version of the outfit I'd seen him in the night before, right down to clunky white knee high platforms with silver buckles, his shirt and torn skinny jeans branded with artful newsprint and paint splatters. It made me wonder if he'd embraced the fashion of every era he'd lived in as easily as he did now. "How about a drink, little one?"

I hesitated, then took a pull from the bottle he'd handed me, coughing a little, to Jack's amusement. I passed it on, and the older man drank, watching the two of us together. He was difficult to read by both my human and non human senses, but he had an air of strength to him, or experience, and hidden passion, and I could see why David was so fond of him.

"I hear you two were in to see the shrink," David was saying, sighting along the cue on the table. "That work out all right?" He took the shot, frowning as the cue ball missed its intended mark and sent a few stripes clattering randomly around the table. I wouldn't think him the type to play badly on purpose, so perhaps Vampirism gave no advantages to pool.

I nodded slowly, thinking back on it. "It was... something to think about. But... David, I don't think he'll try to go back unless he knows I'm all right...."

I heard Jack give a soft snort. "That seems to be the flavour of the month around here."

I glanced up at him. "And you're saying you wouldn't do the same?"

"David can take care of himself," Jack said, voice low and even, but I could sense a care behind it that didn't need to be put into words.

David chuckled softly, chalking his pool queue. "He means I'm alpha male."

"That's not what you said last night," Jack remarked dryly, and calmly sunk another solid. I smiled despite myself. I didn't know and definitely wouldn't ask who submitted to who in bed, but I had a feeling that no matter which way it went, David still called the shots.

David flipped him the bird casually, lighting a cigarette as Jack took another shot. "How about you, liebling? Have you thought about what we talked about?"

I leaned against the table with the ashtray on it, watching him. "I... I'm not sure, David. I like the idea of staying with you... you've been very kind to me. I just think maybe it might be easiest for everyone if I go home...."

"Hey." He reached out his free hand to touch the side of my face. "Don't think for a moment that I don't want you. It's no trouble for me. I want you to pick what makes you happy, decide what you want to do with your life."

I bit my lip and stared down at the table, suddenly feeling nervous, and the ideas that I'd run through so many of times in my head seemed somehow silly and trite. "I... I don't know what I want."

"That's not what your heart says," he replied softly, fingers trailing through my hair. "Tell me, mon cher."

I drew a slow breath. "I think... I think I want to find my mother." There was a warm feeling of relief that came with saying the words, and I looked up to find him smiling approvingly.

"Will it make you happy, little one?"

I hesitated again. "I think so. I hope so. I just... I need to know, David. He wouldn't ever tell us why she left, where she went, or...." I stopped. "For all I know she could be dead. I just... I never tried to find out what happened. I need to know it for myself.

David gave a slow nod, and didn't move to take his turn, taking a long drag on the cigarette instead. "And when you find her? What then?"

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "Maybe I can get to know her, maybe not. But I have enough money of my own to take care of myself. I think I just want to set up somewhere out from under my father's thumb and live life for myself. I could do photography. Meet people."

My sire was smiling, looking more than a little fond at my words, then looked back to the pool table. "Jack."

"Mm?"

"That nifty computer program you got access to that you said was used to hunt terrorists... can that find out stuff on people who don't blow things up? Regular people?"

"Of course. I'm not sure it can cross realities, but we can give it a try." He rounded the pool table to stand by us, setting the bottle of jack next to the ashtray. "You want to take a look now? See if we can find the information you're looking for?"

I paused, then shook my head slowly. I wanted Athos with me, not knowing what I would find. I needed his strength and encouragement, but more than that... I had a rather justified fear of a magic phone call or something that would send me back the way they said it had to our captive. I couldn't leave without Athos there. "Is tomorrow evening all right? I don't want to interrupt any... plans...."

David chuckled, ashing his cigarette and leaving it leaning on the side of the glass tray. Then he left to take his shot, expertly sending two stripes into the corner pockets at once as if to make up for the dismal show previous. "I'll come find you when we're up and dressed. Unless, of course, you'd like to come and have a bite to eat with us?" His voice lowered just a touch, but I could feel the invitation in it, a shuddering note of desire that thrummed through my body. "Athos would be more than welcome to come with you." He gave a toothy smirk, and for a moment, the wildness inside me surged, yearning to break free and take what it wanted.

"I - I should be fine, thank you," I forced myself to reply, to calm, to remind myself sternly that I'd already fed tonight. "We'll be fine. Thank you."

David shrugged, but didn't seem offended. "As you wish. Your loss."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jack told me, not seeming at all phased by David's actions or my refusal. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," I said, thanking him and leaving before David could tease me any further.

Athos was still asleep when I returned to the room, warm and peaceful. I regarded him fondly for a short moment, then I perched on the empty half of the bed with the carved pine box and started to look through the letters he'd let me bring downstairs, finding the oldest at the bottom of the box and started to read through them. It was a little different - more formal and elaborate and flowery than I was used to reading in my French, but my mind grew accustomed to the patterns of speech without too much difficulty, and before long I had read through them all.

The picture painted in the letters, one sided as they were, was of an Athos very different from the sweet angel I had at my side, who took such gentle care of me, keeping me safe and treasuring me with whispered words of adoration. Even though it was as he had told me, it was hard to imagine an Athos so cold. Or perhaps it was not, the talk we'd had in the restaurant, and our prior argument, had hinted to me the coldness Athos could achieved when he pulled back in fear. The coldness that had taken him far from the man he loved. I frowned a little as watched him sleep. I'd always been amazed, a little dazed by the strength he exuded, the elegance and chivalry from another time. It hadn't been at all difficult to fall in love with him for it. And perhaps a small part of it was his buried melancholy, and that he'd rescued me so valiantly, but it was was his strength that I loved. It was hard for me now to reassure myself that he'd listen to the words and encouragement of a mere boy. But I couldn't stand the thought of his story ending so tragically, or the thought of a life spent without love. In that moment, I knew that I wouldn't, couldn't bare to leave without being sure that he could and would change his past.

He stirred, stretching in bed and looking up at me a little sleepily. "I'm sorry, chérubin, I didn't mean to sleep...."

"It's all right." I gave him a soft smile, fingers stroking over his face, over bearded cheeks, again thinking it was very handsome on him and enjoying the feel of it under my fingers. It was hard to imagine wearing one as he did, looking like Athos -but I loved it on him. "I was reading... I hope you don't mind."

He shook his head slowly, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, ignoring for the moment his lack of clothes. "No, no... it's why I brought them. What do you think of him?"

"Do you want the truth, or do you want me to be nice?" He quirked an eyebrow, so I curled against him, nuzzling along his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. "He loved you very much. He sounded wonderful. And you, mon ange, were a damn fool."

He gave a soft, sad chuckle against my mouth. "I can't argue with any of those points, I'm afraid."

"You can change it."

He watched me with a soft smile. "You have such faith in me, chérubin."

"Can I read you something?" I asked softly, and when he nodded, reclaimed the letter I'd set aside, unfolding it carefully.

"My Dear Athos," I read aloud softly, resting the letter against my knees, which I pulled up almost to my chest. "I pray my letter finds you safely arrived to your estates. My greatest sorrow was to see you leave, to watch you walk away without the goodbye I ought to have given you. My anger at your departure was uncalled for, and I regret our quarrel more than words can say. Forgive me my unkind words, and my anger, I beg of you.

"My heart has left Paris with you. Surely you must know this by now. The words I have spoken so often to you, written to you, have never been false. I am sure that my words, my oaths and declarations must have been part of what pushed you to leave, but I cannot apologize for them: I love you, now and forever.

"Athos, My dearest friend and comrade, my confidant. I cannot turn away without requesting one last time - nay, begging - for you to reconsider your retirement and our separation. I know that my love for you has not been in vain, that it has not been one sided. I know that together we can face any obstacle we may encounter, if you will but reconsider and return to me. When I met you, I told you that my dream was to serve nobly as a Musketeer. That has become an untruth. My dreams now involve only being by your side, whatever path in life you choose, whenever you go.

"I do not wish to conform to societies expectations, but I fear that if I am left here without you I will have no choice but to marry, to play out this life as an impostor, a shell of a man pretending to be whole when his heart is ripped in twain. Please do not make this come to pass. If the eyes that looked on me with love did not lie - if the lips that caressed my skin in wordless worship prayed true - if you love me, if you honor me, come back to me.

"My heart is and always will be yours. I await your reply in hope and good faith,

"Your D'Artagnan."

There was raw pain, regret, in his eyes when I looked back to him, and I set the letter aside again, curling closer to him. "You never replied to him."

"No," he said, hoarsely. "I couldn't. I was... a coward. I left Paris because of him, he speaks truth. I wanted him to have a normal life with someone who deserved him, someone who - "

"Someone who turned him over to his enemies to be tortured and executed?" I asked softly. "Athos, I think... I think you need to reply to this letter. This one specifically. Before he marries the bitch, so there's no one to put you in danger."

He sighed softly. "It was so long ago...."

"Maybe it wasn't. You're not old anymore, you told me that, and the doctor said maybe it's for a reason. Maybe this is when you needed to act, to fix things. You love him still, don't you?"

"Yes," he whispered, voice a little raw, and I slipped to straddle his lap over the comforter, stroking my fingers through long strands of golden hair, letting my forehead rest to his.

"I'll help you," I told him softly. "I want you to find him again."

He shook his head slowly. "I won't leave you. Not without knowing that you are safe, and happy."

I hesitated, then gave a soft smile. "We'll figure things out together, then. Just promise me that... when everything is all worked out... you'll go back to him?"

He lowered his eyes, then gave a tiny nod, pulling me closer and pressing his lips to my hair. "Thank you, mon chérubin."

~~~~~

Jack Bauer

By the time I was finished going through various databases and public records with Brooks, he had every address on record for his mother since she'd left his house, as well as that of every living relative. David gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek as he saw them out, looking thoughtful. He smirked as he caught my questioning look. "Just thinking that it would have been fun if I'd been able to talk them into staying."

"I'm not enough for you?" I joked lightly, logging off of my laptop. I didn't expect the seriousness of his reply as I turned back to him.

"You're more than enough, Jack," he said, perching on the edge of the room's armchair in front of me, folding his arms across his chest. "Enough that I rather wish I could take you with me. I have thought about it." He chuckled softly. "Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately, I don't think our lives would be all that compatible in the real world, even if I turned you."

I gave a slow nod. "I don't think you'd find me bloodsucker material."

He laughed at that. "No. You're far too noble and kind hearted, my warrior. But it doesn't stop me from wishing I could be a little bit selfish."

"What about your Wendy?" I asked, and he glanced away.

"The funny thing about Peter Pan as a fairy tale," he said after a moment, "Is that Wendy leaves Neverland and goes back to her family. Wendy grows up, and Peter forgets all about her. Not really the traditional happily ever after, is it?" He gave a soft, mirthless laugh, staring out the window into the night. "I'm not certain that my Wendy will stay with me no matter how I play it. But I'm going back for my boys. I was reckless and proud, and they died because of it. I won't let that happen a second time."

I nodded slowly, not surprised by the more paternal side of David that he usually hid. "I can respect that. What will you do differently?"

He drew his legs up onto the chair, ankles crossed and knees leaning against the arms, resting on them. "Hard call, JB. I guess I'd love the kid as a human, and let him come to me of his own will. Make sure he knew what he was getting into before offering my blood. Maybe he'd refuse it. Maybe I'd have to survive damaged pride and a broken heart. Better than loosing my boys, though." He was silent for a long moment, contemplating this, then looked back at me. "How about you, lover?"

"What about me?"

"Your Wendy. Have you thought at all about it?"

I glanced away at his words, mind going back to the matter I'd been agonizing over for the past few days. Truly my only regret, when it came to the life I'd lived, was him. "I've thought a little too much about it, I think," I admitted.

David quirked an eyebrow. "Too much?"

"The more I think, the more I feel like I don't deserve to make things right."

"Perhaps," he said amicably. "But think of it this way. Does he deserve to have things put right?" He watched me quietly, then leaned forward to catch one of my hands between both of his. "What was his name, Jack?"

"... Tony," I replied after a long moment, my voice more rough than I expected, and it started me a little. "There was... there was so much he did for me, so much he risked for me, and I... threw it all away.

"Was it really that bad?"

I gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Yeah. Oh yeah, it was. And the more I think about it... the more parallels I see between our lives. Everything he did was to protect or revenge the ones he loved. He made bad choices on how to carry it out, but...." I sighed, leaning back in the chair, thinking about it more. "The woman who killed my wife... she was a goddamn traitor, and when I finally had the opportunity, I emptied an entire clip into her. She'd killed at least five people in my office in under ten minutes, tried to kill my daughter... but she was down, incapacitated. I didn't have to hill her... but I did anyway. It was pretty damn close to cold blooded murder, and Tony helped cover for me. He was there for me when Teri died - my wife - when no one else was. Never judged me for the revenge I took on the woman who murdered her, like a damn vigilante. He always came to my side when I asked, no matter what it took, no matter how dangerous it was." I let out a long sigh, fixing my eyes on a point on the ceiling as the memories streamed through my recollection.

David's voice was soft, appreciative. "Sounds like he was a hell of a thing, Jack."

"Yeah." I ran a hand over my face wearily as I straightened, pinching the bridge of my nose against stress and regret, trying to collect myself. "But when he betrayed me, I didn't even stop to think why. It just hurt too fucking bad. I'd spent five years believing he was dead, and then he showed up out of nowhere working against me. Played me every which way, and I... god, I didn't even know which way was up. Five years, and I hadn't even known he was still alive. I should have been with him. Should've helped him instead of judging him. I stopped him from taking revenge on the man who killed his wife and son. I fucking shot him. Sent him to prison for it, as far as I know." I tried to laugh, but choked on it. "I should have helped him, David."

"There's your angle, then."

I glanced up. "What?"

He rose to his feet fluidly, straddling my lap, arms slipping up around my shoulders. "Go back. Do things right the second time. This all seems to be about the people we've loved, and wronged. Don't you think?"

I stared at him for a long moment. It seemed so simple, in theory. Help Tony. In practice, it was a nightmare even to try and consider where to start. When I'd left - or died - Tony'd been arrested for high treason against America. I wouldn't be able to do anything about that. But if I was able to go back earlier.... "I'd have to get access to a lot of resources... come up with a number of possible scenarios, contingency plans... get to Tony outside his mercenary group as well as getting to the men we need to aprehend...."

"I'll help if I get to wear your secret agent badge." His smirk was incorrigible, and I chuckled, grabbing it out of the pocket of my discarded jacket and handing it over.

"Knock yourself out."

I liberated my materials from Schreber's room, and we spread them out over the conference table, going over papers and e-databases I hacked my way into. By the time we fell into bed just before dawn, I had a number of possible one-man operations outlined was feeling dangerously optimistic. Perhaps it wasn't so impossible after all.
~~~~~~~