Being Human: Good Times, Bad Times [Hal/Cutler + ensemble] 7/8
Title: “Good Times, Bad Times”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: R
Timeline: canon divergence mid-Episode 4x08, “The War Child”
Summary: When Cutler comes to Honolulu Heights with the purpose of killing Eve, it is Hal who opens the door. And he doesn’t let him enter. From here on out, it’s either a horror show or a sitcom. Cutler is not quite certain what the difference is. [Hal/Cutler]
Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC. Epigraph and title from “I Need Some Fine Wine, and You, You Need to Be Nicer” by The Cardigans. Quote from Matthew 10:34.
A/N: The subtitle "Electric Boogaloo" [...] suggests a sequel that is ridiculous, absurd, unwanted, unnecessary, formulaic, or obscure. (c) Wikipedia.
Part 1 - Our Heroic Moments
Part 2 - Our Group Decision
Part 3 - Our Dawn of the Dead
Part 4 - Our Double Twattage
Part 5 - Our Emotional Baggage
Part 6 - Our Halk Smash
Part 7
Our Electric Boogaloo
“I had such hopes for her,” Hal goes on in a bored voice. “She was supposed to destroy the vampires, not give them free reign. We keep losing friends, killing friends because of her - and what for? What is the point?”
Annie looks smaller now, deflated, her teary eyes fixed on Hal’s hand.
“I’ve always despised the concept of the greater good,” Hal says conversationally. “It’s a little too difficult to tell apart from the greater evil.”
“You were supposed to protect her,” Annie whispers.
Hal laughs.
“Supposed to? I don’t remember having been appointed anyone’s protector. I should think I am quite the opposite. If you’ve got any doubts, let me show you something.”
He tugs the collar of his shirt down to reveal an ugly patch of burnt skin on his left shoulder. Annie’s lips tremble.
“But I don’t- Eve, she herself is the nemesis. She’s got the burn.”
Hal’s hand is back to Eve’s throat, but he doesn’t look like he is about to strangle her any minute. His fingers brush over her chest gently and he rocks her in his arms.
“If you do anything to her, the vampires won’t rise,” Alex says.
Hal glances up, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
“Open your eyes, little girl. We already have.” He takes Milo’s note off the wall and says: “I’m done believing in prophecies. I could fool myself indefinitely, but it wouldn’t change the end result. We are all monsters: you and I and even she. She should be with her own kind.”
Cutler clings to the wall, trying to stay unnoticed. Hal, contradictory as ever. What the hell is he on about? First he wants to kill the baby; now he’s evidently taking her back to Snow.
“Please don’t do this,” Annie whispers weakly.
Hal winks at her.
“Don’t wait up.”
Cutler watches him leave with a sinking feeling. Is that him? Is this the Hal Eve has warned him about? The Hal of many faces as usual. Cutler hates his sudden transformations.
Annie turns to him slowly.
“Get out.”
Her voice is cold and thick like grave dirt. Cutler asks:
“Where would I go?”
“Get out!” she yells, and he darts out of the house before she tosses him out.
Screw this. All of this. He is not a hero. He is not a fighter. Sweat, sticky and hot, covers the back of his neck. He’s had enough of this shit. The only thing he can do now is try and figure out which country will be the last to fall when Mr Snow starts his campaign and move there. Then again, knowing his luck, any place he moves to will be the first to go like bloody Alderaan.
He starts when a car nearly hits him. He wants to yell at the driver, but he recognizes the old blue Merc and thinks: really, what else is there? He walks around it and knocks on the window.
“Take me with you.”
He knocks again, to emphasize the request. Hal rolls his eyes and opens the door.
“Why?”
“Why not? They’ll kill me if I stay.”
“So don’t stay.”
Cutler sighs exasperatedly. It occurs to him that Hal is most likely mocking him on purpose. It’s just something he does when he gets bored: pushes people’s buttons.
He gets into the car. Hal may appeal to the Supreme Court if he likes.
“Listen. I think we both know that you’re the only reason I’ve been keeping up this farce. I don’t know who I was kidding.”
There goes his pride, staked and ineligible for the resurrection ritual.
“I thought you told me not to flatter myself,” Hal quips. He likes to make it seem like he’s got split personalities or something (Cutler overheard him trying to explain his “cycles” to Alex), but the truth is that the man he is so afraid of is always there, hiding in the sharp bend of his eyebrows when he flashes those superior smiles showcasing that yes, Hal Yorke is better than you.
“Well, I lied,” Cutler deadpans. “I’m a dishonest person. Sue me.” Hal gives him a half-condescending, half-dubious look that makes Cutler want to punch him. Not that he needs any additional incentive. “You’re my maker, for Christ’s sake!” Cutler snaps. “Take some fucking responsibility.”
Whether it’s his insolence that does the trick or the blatant despair in his tone of voice, Cutler doesn’t know. Hal relents and gestures at him to shut the door.
“I need your phone,” he says.
Cutler reluctantly parts with the phone and glances back at Eve who is sprawled in the backseat. He is pretty sure this is the wrong way of transporting a baby. Hal appears to have the same idea. Cutler scoops Eve up, largely against his will, and cradles her on his lap. No wonder she grows up traumatized.
“Has she really spoken to you?” Hal asks.
Cutler nods vaguely and adds:
“She’s kind of creepy. You’re creating her right now, you know.”
A steely smile flashes on Hal’s lips.
“I know.”
When they are far enough from the house, Hal dials Milo’s number and says: “I’ve got your baby if you’ve got my dog.”
Cutler flashes back to their first meeting. Hal looked like a mafia boss who got arrested for illegal gambling. The air of raw power, the sheer lack of regard for anything or anyone other that himself inspired Cutler with fear and envy, the likes of which he hadn’t known before. He catches glimpses of that man now, lurking beneath the cracked façade of the new Hal, and doesn’t know how he feels about it.
Hal listens to Milo’s reply. When he is done, he callously tosses the phone out of the car window. Cutler yelps.
“We wouldn’t want your new friend to follow us, would we?” Hal insinuates.
They arrive at the address Milo gave him in a little less than an hour. It is a two-storeyed building with tinted glass windows and a lattice over the door. A restaurant most likely. Fitting.
Milo meets them at the back door and takes them to the dining-hall. The furniture is draped in cloths of red and black velvet; Cutler half-expects to see golden tableware. The smell of flowers and fresh blood tickles his nostrils.
“You’ve made the right choice, Lord Hal,” Milo says. “I assume you’ll be wanting the werewolf back now.”
Hal casts a bored look around the dining-hall. His lip curls in vague distaste, though it is unclear whether Milo’s tone, his words or the setting are the reason.
“I shall surrender the child only to Mr Snow,” he says drily. “Where is he?”
“He’s not here,” says Milo. “But he will be. I’m sure you can-.”
“I’ll wait.”
Milo narrows his eye.
“With all due respect, sir, you are hardly a match for us without your ghosts and your werewolf.”
Cutler is both glad and resentful of not being included in the picture. He inches closer to Hal but doesn’t make an effort to bring himself forward. Hal is a big boy; he can take care of himself.
“Watch your tone with me, dog,” Hal says flatly. “I have here a few ounces of pure human blood, and I happen to be very hungry.” He flashes his fangs in a snarl.
Milo flexes his jaw but steps down. Hal orders a crib or a perambulator brought in. Cutler has to admit that watching Lord Hal rocking a baby in his arms is the strangest thing.
“We’ve got big plans for today,” Milo informs Hal. “Mr Snow might not be here first thing in the morning.”
“Then phone him and tell him to be. If he wants the War Child, he must get her himself.”
The vampires that are slowly filling the room to feast their eyes upon the miracle baby cower before Hal. Cutler feels a stab of pride mixed with jealousy. This is his maker, the man whose blood flows in Cutler’s veins; yet Cutler will never bear himself like this. He slouches whereas Hal is as straight-backed as a ballet dancer and glares when Hal is composed and regally contemptuous. He chews on his lips when he gets nervous and his hair looks like a bird’s nest half the time. He has no qualms about his appearance, but compared to Hal, he is a veritable waste of space.
Rook wants him to lead the vampires. What a joke.
A woman draped in a white fur mantlet brings a baby basket. She stares at the War Child in wonder and murmurs:
“May I at least hold her?”
Cutler snorts. Future Eve would be so flattered by all this attention.
“No,” Hal says curtly, taking the basket from her.
Milo takes them to the administrative offices in the first floor. They pass by two brawny vampires whose similar facial expressions remind Cutler of Kane. They are dragging something downstairs, something that at a closer look reveals itself to be Tom. He is battered and bruised but predictably not bleeding. He raises his head and his eyes meet Hal’s for a moment.
“Traitor,” Tom spits, wriggles in the hold of his escorts and lunges at Hal. “Traitor! How could you? You bloody traitor!”
The vampires hold him in place, heads lowered reverently before Hal but eyes burning with contemptuous distrust. Nobody here is happy to see Lord Hal back.
Hal looks Tom over, his face displaying a mixture of weariness and mild irritation.
“Why?” Tom growls. “Tell me why.”
“Life’s full of surprises, Thomas. Most of them unpleasant.”
“Hal, don’t do this.”
Hal sighs theatrically.
“Why does everybody keep saying that? Like it’s going to change something. My mind’s made up. Deal with it.”
“I was right then,” Tom snarls. “You are a dickhead.”
One of the escorts socks him in the jaw and tells him to keep his mouth shut. Tom’s lips curve into spiteful smile. He hollows his cheeks and suddenly spits blood in Hal’s face. Cutler shoves Hal aside automatically, and the blood sprays his shirt, but doesn’t reach the skin. The vampires knee Tom in the stomach. He collapses on his knees, breathing heavily.
Hal calmly hands Cutler the baby basket and takes a few steps in Tom’s direction. Cutler has no idea how he manages to look so stately in his funny old-fashioned clothes and that classy but out-of-place jacket over them. The vampires are holding Tom’s shoulders firmly, their shoes planted over his legs so that he can’t get up. Hal tilts Tom’s chin up with his fingers and wipes the blood off his mouth with a handkerchief. Tom gives him a look of pure loathing.
Hal turns away without a word and continues walking up the stairs. Cutler trots after him, afraid to look back.
“Is that okay with you?” he asks Milo because he is honestly curious why a lyco is working for the Old Ones. “You’re the same species.”
“Killing vampires seems to agree with you just fine,” Milo notes. “We all do what we must to survive.”
“Well said,” Hal comments.
Milo leaves them in one of the offices and promises to inform them when Mr Snow arrives. Cutler puts the baby basket on the desk (it’s heavier than it looks, as is Eve herself; what do they feed her? Bricks?) and drops himself on the settee by the wall. There is a small palm tree in a vat in the corner of the room. It looks plastic but it isn’t.
“Does it bother you?” Cutler asks cautiously. “What he called you.”
“Should it?”
“Tom’s your friend. Was your friend.”
Hal busies himself obsessively straightening out the stationery. Pens, rulers, scissors, paper-cutters. He glances at Nick briefly and begins sorting a batch of coloured paperclips. Green to green, pink to pink, yellow to yellow.
“What is it that you suspect me of, Cutler?”
“Nothing!”
“Don’t get me wrong. Tom is a wonderful person. But he’s a dreadful idealist. He only sees the best in people and when that image crumbles, he is left with nothing.”
“You only see the worst,” Cutler muttered. It earned him a derisive look.
“No need to reduce me to your level, Nick. I’m a realist. Look at her.” He taps his fingers on the handle of the baby basket. “Ostensibly we do all we can in the future - and yet, you see how she turns out. Ruthless, unprincipled, prepared to cross every line, to sacrifice anyone. That’s the greater good for you. I’d understand her if she’d only wanted to survive. She’d be human then.”
Cutler snorts.
“And your idea of humanizing her involves leaving her to grow up under Mr Snow’s wing?”
Hal relocates to the settee and stills, his head tilted back against the wall. Cutler expects questions or scathing remarks, reminders that Cutler doesn’t have to be here, that it’s his choice (hello, irony). After a few minutes of unbreakable silence Cutler slides on the floor and places his hands on Hal’s knees. As he trails them upwards, he is eerily reminded of Hal in the chair, spitting curses alternated with supplication. They all have monsters inside them, but Hal is the only one Cutler knows who makes such a drama out of it.
“We’ve got some unfinished business to take care of, haven’t we?” Cutler murmurs.
Hal doesn’t acknowledge him in any other way but with a slight, barely perceptible nod. Cutler’s fingers glide towards his fly, pull the zipper down. Hal’s eyes bore into him; it’s his turn to feel nervous. Hunger burns at the back of his throat. He thinks distractedly that Milo could at least offer them a decanter. And new clothes because you can’t present the most important vampire in the world with the most important baby in the world wearing rags. They should put it on the list of their demands.
Hal’s skin is hot and dry. He keeps silent, nearly prompting Cutler to ask if he’s boring him, but then a soft sigh escapes his lips, and Cutler knows that he is doing at least one thing right. In the grand scheme of things lately this is an achievement.
The silence in the room is thick, interrupted only by the quiet sounds of grudging pleasure Hal makes as Cutler’s mouth slides up and down his length. Cutler used to be rubbish at this; Hal taught him, and taught him well. He puts that skill to use now, tuning out the rest of the world, wishing to elicit a more eloquent response.
Hal’s hips twitch. He mutters something that could be a curse or an order to get a move on, which Cutler interprets as an incentive to kick it up a notch. His movements are rushed and he doesn’t bother with most of their clothes (one never knows who else might interrupt). He straddles Hal and slides onto him without further ado. He winces because the sensation is uncomfortable, and he is hungry and he hasn’t slept for centuries and it’s Hal and what’s a little pain against the realization that he does need Hal, always needed him, and this bloody revolution can go hang. But he won’t beg, not anymore.
He grips the back of the settee and rolls his hips, accommodating Hal inside. Hal’s hands are on his hips, gliding higher, fingers skimming over his ribs, nails grazing the skin. Cutler swallows a moan, knots his fingers in Hal’s hair and makes him look up. His motions become more fluid. Hal presses closer, his fist squeezing around Cutler and his teeth raking over the curve of Cutler’s throat. They are not made of glass, they can take so much more than this, do so much more than this.
Hal’s eyes are black, infinitely hungry. Cutler jerks at the onslaught of pain when Hal’s fangs pierce his skin.
He pushes Hal back, holds him at arm’s length. It’s his moment. He clenches hard around Hal, pulls his moans out of him like sore teeth. He will not let Hal reduce him back to the terrified, insecure mess he was sixty years ago. And he won’t let go of the fact that this man tossed his phone out of a moving car.
Hal gives him a smug, challenging smile. Cutler presses his lips to Hal’s, unable to look at it: it’s hauntingly familiar, and he’s only just started getting used to the new Hal, neurotic and tormented, Tom and Annie’s Hal who doesn’t get jokes and thinks that sorting the washing up liquid by types of aroma is a productive pastime.
Afterwards, Cutler feels spent but instead of languor that usually settles upon him, there is restlessness as if he’s got what he wanted only to discover that he doesn’t want it anymore. He is at a loss: he most definitely still wants Hal, he’s already established that and made peace with it. And yet, the hollow feeling persists. Cutler watches Hal go back to sorting the stationery and thinks that Hal is quite adept at deluding himself, making all those excuses about something else taking the wheel when a cycle ends.
There is only one Hal.
* * *
Cutler catches an hour of sleep. When he wakes up, Hal is dozing in the armchair and there are those much wanted new suits in underdresses hanging from the coat rack. He has no idea who brought them and why, but they are up to his standards and he changes immediately. He wishes he could see himself in the mirror. Finally he feels like himself again.
In the pale light of morning, the dining-hall on the ground floor looks like a recently cleaned up murder scene. There is no evidence left, no bodies, no blood stains, no tape, but the feeling is there. Cutler supposes it’s appropriate.
He turns on the television and watches the news. Unrest sweeps through the country as rumours of supernatural attacks intensify. Rook’s department must be overwhelmed because they don’t seem to be covering it up as effectively as they are supposed to. No one says the v-word, but it’s clear that a lot of people are thinking it. There are mentions of black eyes and crucifixes leaving burns on the attackers’ skin. The revolution advances with giant strides, it seems. Cutler gulps down nervously when the newscaster announces the upcoming live interview with the Prime Minister.
Would Snow collect the War Child first or is making his campaign official more important?
The screen ripples. Cutler braces himself for another confrontation, but the War Child merely stares at him from the telly.
“Did you help Alex to find the ring?” he asks by way of greeting.
“I did my part. I warned you, didn’t I?”
It’s no use arguing with her. Cutler admires her a little: she’s dead and she’s done more damage from the grave than he ever could.
“Do we know each other in the future? Have you got a grudge against me or something?”
“I’ve got a grudge against all vampires. It’s kind of what I’m for.”
That’s bleak, he thinks. But it’s a purpose. At least she’s got one.
“Well, you haven’t achieved anything except giving Hal a nudge in the wrong direction.”
“I’m trying to be optimistic. Defense mechanism.”
Cutler ignores the turn of phrase. He would like to ignore the entire conversation if possible but something tells him it’s their last one. Today, after all, is April 11.
“It’s stupid though,” he says petulantly. “Even if she dies, you’ve already lived. It doesn’t cancel out the things you saw and the things you did.” He doesn’t know that much about posthumous time-travel, but even if she disappears completely after the baby dies, she will still have existed at some point, if only in his and Annie’s memories. She will still have been the sum of threats and lies and truths she had told, events she had been through, lives she had taken and saved. “Do I die?” he asks. “In the future.” It’s something he has been meaning to ask her all along.
“Everyone dies eventually,” Eve says. “I think dying for something is better than because of something. To answer your question: yes, we do know each other. No, you haven’t done anything to me personally.”
The image changes back to the newscast. Cutler looks down at the immaculate, spotless floor beneath his feet and almost imagines that he can see his reflection.
He is not a doubting man. He is the man who can meticulously plan world domination one minute and turn on his entire race the next because some shriveled up mummy forgot his name. So it takes him all of thirty seconds to make up his mind.
* * *
The guard at the meat storage locker is young and impressionable and reminds Cutler of that lop-eared Welsh chatterbox - whatshisname - Dewi. His partner, he says, is on a smoke break, which is great because historical things are happening and maybe he’ll let Dewi 2.0 slip away to sneak a peek at the Old Ones later when they arrive.
There are only two people Cutler can stand listening to indefinitely: himself and Hal (in that order). He’s got a stake hidden inside his jacket; too bad he can’t use it. He smiles and nods and does his best to convince the lad they are friends now.
There is a commotion by the front door. They can’t see anything from where they are, but there comes the unmistakable clang of the lattice being lifted.
Dewi 2.0 fidgets. His partner still hasn’t returned, and there they might be opening the door for Mr Snow himself. Cutler pats him on the shoulder and urges him to go and take a look. He promises to watch over the dog. It’s just a few minutes. It can’t hurt.
Thank God for stupid and unreliable people, Cutler thinks as he opens the meat storage locker door a moment later.
It is dark and cold inside. His breath comes out in puffs of steam. He looks around, trying to find something alive among the carcasses hanging from the hooks on the ceiling.
“Tom.” What he does goes against every bone in his body. He takes out the stake and holds it in front of him. “I come in peace. See?”
From the corner of his eye, he can see something moving. Tom hobbles up to him. His fingers close around the stake - and he slams Cutler against the wall, the pointy end about to plunge into Cutler’s heart. Nick thrashes, gripped with fear, and squeezes out:
“Tom, please! I’m not your enemy!”
“What’ve you done to Hal?” Tom growls.
The thought that anyone, much less Cutler, could do anything to Hal is both laughable and flattering.
“It wasn’t me,” Cutler protests, trying to sound calm. Tom is ready to listen; hopefully, there is still time to change his mind about the staking. Cutler tells him about Future Eve’s meddling, omitting the Adam-related bits, no need to tackle that just yet.
“It don’t make no sense,” Tom says.
“Hal very seldom makes any sense,” Cutler mutters. “But look, what I see in all this is an opportunity. Snow is coming here. Maybe he’s already here. This is the chance we’ve been waiting for. We can kill him.”
“You and me?”
Cutler amends:
“Mostly you.”
“Without proper weapons? Without Annie and Alex?”
Cutler agrees that they should be here, but they’re not - they won’t be unless Call-Me-Maybe cracks - and if Snow isn’t taken care of now, then the Prime Minister is toast and the whole country, the whole world along with him. When he puts it like that, it sounds a bit ridiculous but no less scary.
“How do I know this ain’t a trap?” The tip of the stake presses harder against Cutler’s chest. “You do everything Hal tells you to, and Hal does everything Mr Snow tells him to.”
Cutler rolls his eyes.
“You’re already trapped, aren’t you? If I wanted to kill you, I’d call those Bruce Willis knock-offs that brought you here. I most certainly would not give you a weapon to kill me with.”
Tom glances at the stake in his hand. Cutler imagines dying in a room full of raw meat - definitely not his idea of going out with a bang. Fortunately, Tom seems to be inclined to give him another chance. He steps down and twirls the stake in his hand like a gunslinger in a Western.
“Thank you,” says Cutler. He smoothes down the front of his shirt automatically and inches towards the door.
“I got a thing to ask you,” Tom says. “Back at the restaurant, I know you lied about a lotta things.” Seriously? Now? “’S all right, I ain’t that slow. But there was one thing… about Allison’s parents. You said: imagine if your daughter brought you home. I imagined. I don’t think they’d like that. So that was a lie too.”
Tom’s uncanny ability to switch between the fierce vampire slayer mode and the lost puppy mode will never cease to amaze Cutler. He fumbles for words and says awkwardly:
“I told you what I thought you needed to hear at the moment. But Tom, I’ve never met her parents. I don’t know what they’re like. And even if they hate you, what does it matter? Rachel’s Dad hated me. I still married her.”
For a moment he feels really proud. That was an achievement; everything that came after was just glamour. This is why he needs this chance now. He is not Hal’s dog, he isn’t going to hide under Hal’s porch because he loves him. (He should really stop referencing every single film he’s ever seen.) Maybe he will lose Hal forever; maybe he will lose his life. But somebody will remember him - and frankly, he’s just itching to see Mr Snow’s face when his world domination scheme goes belly up.
“Let’s do this,” Tom says.
Leaving the freezer feels like walking into summer. Cutler shivers. At least he’s already dead; how did Tom not turn into an icicle?
They are met by Dewi 2.0’s esteemed smoking partner. Before he can call for reinforcements, Tom lunges at him and shoves him into the meat locker. Even with a twisted ankle and countless bruises, he moves quickly and efficiently. They slam the door shut and steal along the corridor. The lobby is full of vampires. They must be the local elite because Cutler doesn’t recognize anyone from Snow’s entourage here. Whoever they are, they successfully comprise a small but ferocious army. The prospect of getting out of this mess alive seems less and less likely.
The vampires seem to be heading to the dining-hall. Tom asks Cutler if there is any other way in. Cutler nods. There is one through the kitchen.
God forbid they get there, of course. As soon as they reach the kitchen, they are intercepted by Milo. The guy is seriously everywhere. He seems to be asking for his other eye to be removed.
“This is getting awfully repetitive,” Milo remarks.
Tom charges at him with a loud roar. This is personal. Cutler doesn’t know - and doesn’t want to know - what Milo has been doing to him. Perhaps it’s a werewolf thing. Tom seems to have been brought up with a firm inherent belief that all werewolves are friends and all vampires are enemies. Meeting both Hal and Milo must have been quite a shock to him.
The anticipated Bruce Willis clones spring out at Cutler. He barely dodges. He is unarmed, having had time to find only one stake. Tom notices that and throws Cutler his stake. Cutler barely manages to catch it, but he puts it to use promptly, ramming it into the heart of one of the Bruces with both hands.
Milo pushes Tom onto the kitchen table. Tom reaches out for the cutlery, pulls a knife from the stand and slashes at Milo. He misses; Milo swings back with a curse. It occurs to Cutler that Milo hasn’t been going for the kill all this time. Perhaps there are still some things he is not prepared to do, not even for Mr Snow.
More vampires pour into the kitchen. Tom attacks one of them and swings the knife against his throat, leaving a deep scarlet gash. The man drops on the floor, clutching at the wound. Cutler stumbles over the clothes of the first Bruce Willis; the second Bruce grabs him and bangs his head against the wall so hard that starbursts go off before Cutler’s eyes. He twists the stake out of Cutler’s grasp and presses it to the back of his neck. A restaurant kitchen is only a step up from the meat storage locker, and Cutler still isn’t too eager to die.
“Give it up, Tom,” Milo says. “We’ve got your mate cornered.”
“He ain’t my mate,” Tom says.
“Then you don’t mind if we dust him?”
Cutler grits his teeth. He would have done the same; he just didn’t expect this from Tom. In hindsight, he should have. Tom is a vampire hunter after all.
The knife falls on the floor with a loud clank. The pressure at the back of Cutler’s neck disappears. He turns around to see Tom holding his hands up. At this moment, even though things aren’t looking up, Tom is his favourite person in the world.
“You’re a traitor and a coward, is what you are,” Tom hisses at Milo. “And you’re gonna lose.”
Milo’s lips twitch as if he can’t make up his mind whether to be insulted or amused.
“You are so naïve,” he says. “Betrayal isn’t always an act of cowardice. And even so, you’re not one to lecture me about where my loyalties should lie when you yourself consort with vampires.”
“I ain’t helping no one take over the world that don’t belong to them.”
With that, Tom leaps at Milo, pushes him out of the way and charges towards the door that leads to the dining-hall. Cutler collects himself and follows him.
“Hal!” Tom shouts.
Milo catches him, wraps his arms around him, restraining him, and clamps his hand over Tom’s mouth. Cutler freezes at the sight of what is going on in the hall. Somebody is holding him in place, but he isn’t inclined to move as it is. The room is chock-full of vampires. There is no way they could even get to Snow.
“Quiet, boy,” Milo whispers to Tom. “Bear witness. This is not betrayal. It’s evolution.”
* * *
How to Cutler
Written by N. Cutler, your friendly neighbourhood saviour of babies and the failed future Overlord of Brazil
1) Be a loser.
2) Get vamped.
3) Be a loser with ambitions.
4) Deposit all your trust in the Bank of Yorke; go bankrupt in sixty years.
5) Come up with a cool plan.
6) See the plan declared uncool by someone who was born a billion years before the letters required to write the word “cool” were invented.
7) Face Heel Turn.
8) Misery and angst and woe.
9) “I’m going slightly mad.”
10) ???
11) Profit.
The complete set includes pie charts and a diorama.
* * *
Mr Snow stands in the middle of the room like a monument to himself. The tables have been moved together in a large square as if for a banquet, the seats already taken by the guests. They all devour him with their eyes.
Hal is on his knees in front of Snow, Eve resting in his arms. His head is bowed deferentially. Snow brushes his fingers against Hal’s cheek. The gesture is both patronizing and implicitly tender, almost fatherly.
“Today is the day of celebration,” he speaks in his bored, ingratiating voice. Cutler is reminded of the way Snow’s hand felt across his face. It makes him want to retch. “It is the day our brother came back into the fold. And we shall stir from our slumber. Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.”
The basics of being a pretentious wanker: always quote the Bible. Or Shakespeare. Or mix.
Cutler asks himself why he didn’t just run away when he had the chance. Maybe it’s because he is an idiot. Maybe he wanted one scheme of his to work. Maybe because he remembers the look on Annie’s face when he said Eve wasn’t her daughter.
Snow looks down at Hal and holds out his hands. Hal raises his head slowly. From where he is standing, Cutler can see his face. It’s unreadable. He moves like a zombie. Perhaps Snow does have power over him. It’s a sickening sight.
Tremors travel through the building. The big crystal chandelier on the ceiling quivers, jingling and clanking softly.
The doors fly open with such force that one of them is torn off the hinges and collapses on the floor. Some of the guests jump up, others simply look around, bewildered. The ghosts are marching in.
The guards are at the ready. Snow placates them with a lazy gesture. He seems to be quite taken by sight of Annie with her ice-blue eyes and the fierce curve of his mouth.
“Hal,” she says coldly. “Give her back to me.”
Hal doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her. Mr Snow smiles, all blackened teeth and carefully measured venom.
“Annie. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You and your people have made worthy opponents, but it’s time to cast your weapons aside. I had considered letting you keep her, but Hal here has been telling me interesting things about your household. Ghosts from the future, accidental murders. Quite an unhealthy environment for a baby to grow up in. I shall be taking her, but you are welcome to stay with us of course. There is no defender more fierce than a mother to her child. You put up a good fight, but you lost. Bow out gracefully.”
“Funny,” Hal murmurs. “I was about to give you the same piece of advice.”
He catches Tom’s eyes and winks at him. Raises his hand. Something slides out of his sleeve into his hand. A paper-cutter from the office. One swift cut, and the scent of freshly spilt blood hits Cutler’s nostrils. A sense of numb relief settles over him.
Annie screams. It’s the most blood-curdling sound he has ever heard. She falls to her knees, tears gushing from her eyes.
Snow cries out as well, and swipes Hal across the face, rage twisting his composed features. Hal drops Eve’s body. Snow pulls him up by the front of his shirt and hisses:
“Do you think this is it? Do you think you’ve got your victory, child? Look around you!”
“Actually,” Hal says, “I do. I think you’ve let that prophecy get a bit out of hand. I don’t know about you, but what I see is a room full of vampires who believe that her death is their destruction.”
Cutler has to keep himself from gaping at Hal. That is actually… a pretty good plan. Especially since Annie’s reaction confirms that the baby is the real War Child.
The guests stare at the murder scene in shock. Within a few moments, most of them scramble up on their feet and attempt to leave. Milo barks orders, which Cutler doesn’t hear. Tom breaks free and socks Milo in the mouth. The vampire guards lunge at them, fangs bared, fists raised.
Cutler wriggles out of Bruce’s grasp. A vampire flies by and tumbles down on one of the tables that collapses under his weight. Cutler picks up a long wood chip and drives it into Bruce’s heart.
“What, you’re one of the good guys again?” Alex quips.
“Let’s say I’m not incapable of doing good things,” he answers.
Chaos breaks out. Some try to run, stumbling over each other in the process. Tom punches an attacker in the mouth, knocking out his teeth, but not before the fangs rake down Tom’s skin, splitting it, and poisoned blood seeps down the vampire’s throat. The man screams and thrashes in agony.
Mr Snow’s eyes dart quickly about the room, surveying the pandemonium. He returns his attention to Hal.
“This is very unfortunate,” he says. One of his attendants hands him a stake.
Cutler is too far from them. Even if he were closer, he is hardly the type to catch a bullet for someone. Even if that someone is Hal. His insides wrench with fear.
The stake comes down.
It is a hair’s breadth away from Hal’s heart when Hal is pried from Snow’s grasp and flung aside. He lands on his back near Annie who is still petrified and whose eyes are fixed on Eve’s lifeless body. The stake slips out of Snow’s hand and turns against him. He tries to move, but Alex is holding him immobile. She moves her hand, driving the stake into his chest.
Snow jerks, inhales noisily and laughs.
“Missed the heart.”
He struggles against her, moving forward inch by inch.
“Annie!” Alex calls. “A little help here! Annie, I can’t hold him!”
Cutler makes a go for Hal. A female vampire knocks him off his feet before he can reach him. She is small and agile, which is worse than Bruce the brick shithouse. She moves quickly and assertively, making it difficult for him to block her blows. They grapple for the discarded wood chip. She lands on top of him; by a fluke, he punches her in the face. Her head lolls; she collects herself, grips a fistful of his hair and slams his head into the floor. He can feel blood trickling down his temple.
He bucks underneath her, struggling to throw her off. She grabs a hold of the wood chip and attempts to bring it down on him. He catches her wrist and bites hard, tearing the veins and the sinew out with his teeth, feeling the joints break with a wet crunch. She screams. He snatches the wood chip away from her and plunges it into her body. He misses the heart, but she seems to be sufficiently incapacitated. He pushes her off, pulls the weapon out and viciously drives it home again.
His hands tremble. He wipes the blood off his face before it obscures his vision and turns around.
The dining-hall is almost empty now. Annie remains where she is, pale, transparent, an echo of her former self. Snow is still struggling - and winning - against Alex who looks like she is about to burst into a pencil of molecules and drift away. Milo is bleeding from a gut wound on the floor, Tom standing over him. The remaining vampires are oddly indecisive.
The sound of footsteps makes Cutler turn his head towards the door.
He sees Yvonne, walking calmly towards the fray. Her face is blank. He spots Adam’s ring hanging on a cord around her neck and a set of wires wrapped around her arm. There is a small detonator clutched in her hand, and Cutler is startled by the realization of what lurks under her old-fashioned mantlet.
Alex breaks her hold over Snow with a pained gasp. He lurches forward, but his way is blocked by Yvonne.
“Run!” Alex shouts.
Cutler gets up. He looks over his shoulder to see Hal stagger after him. Mr Snow makes an effort to push Yvonne away. She cups his face with her hand, and he freezes. He stares at her like he had never seen anything more beautiful and more repulsive in his life. Cutler can only imagine how a man like Snow feels love and desire.
Her finger slides over the detonator.
Cutler cries out Hal’s name, urging him to hurry up. Something whooshes past him. Tom makes a strange gurgling noise and almost bumps into the wall, but continues running.
Cutler stops for a moment, his eyes wide with panic and fixed on Hal.
Someone grabs him around the shoulders roughly. His body jerks, and he feels like he is at once flying and falling apart. Dizziness comes over him; for a moment it is as if he doesn’t exist at all. Then he meets the hard surface of the roadside, and the deafening roar of the explosion crashes over him. Tom is sprawled on the ground, Cutler on top of him, Alex still clutching his shoulders.
She pulls away and gets up. Cutler forces himself to look back at the burning building. His vision goes double.
“Hal!” he shouts. “Hal!” He looks up at Alex and doesn’t know what he wants to hear: an explanation, words of reassurance, anything. “Where’s Hal?”
Alex’s attention is focused on the restaurant. She looks smaller somehow, paler.
“There’s no one else,” she murmurs, almost too softly for him to hear. She sounds no less shocked than he feels. “It’s just us.”
Part 8 - Our Hello-Goodbye
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: R
Timeline: canon divergence mid-Episode 4x08, “The War Child”
Summary: When Cutler comes to Honolulu Heights with the purpose of killing Eve, it is Hal who opens the door. And he doesn’t let him enter. From here on out, it’s either a horror show or a sitcom. Cutler is not quite certain what the difference is. [Hal/Cutler]
Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC. Epigraph and title from “I Need Some Fine Wine, and You, You Need to Be Nicer” by The Cardigans. Quote from Matthew 10:34.
A/N: The subtitle "Electric Boogaloo" [...] suggests a sequel that is ridiculous, absurd, unwanted, unnecessary, formulaic, or obscure. (c) Wikipedia.
Part 1 - Our Heroic Moments
Part 2 - Our Group Decision
Part 3 - Our Dawn of the Dead
Part 4 - Our Double Twattage
Part 5 - Our Emotional Baggage
Part 6 - Our Halk Smash
Part 7
Our Electric Boogaloo
“I had such hopes for her,” Hal goes on in a bored voice. “She was supposed to destroy the vampires, not give them free reign. We keep losing friends, killing friends because of her - and what for? What is the point?”
Annie looks smaller now, deflated, her teary eyes fixed on Hal’s hand.
“I’ve always despised the concept of the greater good,” Hal says conversationally. “It’s a little too difficult to tell apart from the greater evil.”
“You were supposed to protect her,” Annie whispers.
Hal laughs.
“Supposed to? I don’t remember having been appointed anyone’s protector. I should think I am quite the opposite. If you’ve got any doubts, let me show you something.”
He tugs the collar of his shirt down to reveal an ugly patch of burnt skin on his left shoulder. Annie’s lips tremble.
“But I don’t- Eve, she herself is the nemesis. She’s got the burn.”
Hal’s hand is back to Eve’s throat, but he doesn’t look like he is about to strangle her any minute. His fingers brush over her chest gently and he rocks her in his arms.
“If you do anything to her, the vampires won’t rise,” Alex says.
Hal glances up, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
“Open your eyes, little girl. We already have.” He takes Milo’s note off the wall and says: “I’m done believing in prophecies. I could fool myself indefinitely, but it wouldn’t change the end result. We are all monsters: you and I and even she. She should be with her own kind.”
Cutler clings to the wall, trying to stay unnoticed. Hal, contradictory as ever. What the hell is he on about? First he wants to kill the baby; now he’s evidently taking her back to Snow.
“Please don’t do this,” Annie whispers weakly.
Hal winks at her.
“Don’t wait up.”
Cutler watches him leave with a sinking feeling. Is that him? Is this the Hal Eve has warned him about? The Hal of many faces as usual. Cutler hates his sudden transformations.
Annie turns to him slowly.
“Get out.”
Her voice is cold and thick like grave dirt. Cutler asks:
“Where would I go?”
“Get out!” she yells, and he darts out of the house before she tosses him out.
Screw this. All of this. He is not a hero. He is not a fighter. Sweat, sticky and hot, covers the back of his neck. He’s had enough of this shit. The only thing he can do now is try and figure out which country will be the last to fall when Mr Snow starts his campaign and move there. Then again, knowing his luck, any place he moves to will be the first to go like bloody Alderaan.
He starts when a car nearly hits him. He wants to yell at the driver, but he recognizes the old blue Merc and thinks: really, what else is there? He walks around it and knocks on the window.
“Take me with you.”
He knocks again, to emphasize the request. Hal rolls his eyes and opens the door.
“Why?”
“Why not? They’ll kill me if I stay.”
“So don’t stay.”
Cutler sighs exasperatedly. It occurs to him that Hal is most likely mocking him on purpose. It’s just something he does when he gets bored: pushes people’s buttons.
He gets into the car. Hal may appeal to the Supreme Court if he likes.
“Listen. I think we both know that you’re the only reason I’ve been keeping up this farce. I don’t know who I was kidding.”
There goes his pride, staked and ineligible for the resurrection ritual.
“I thought you told me not to flatter myself,” Hal quips. He likes to make it seem like he’s got split personalities or something (Cutler overheard him trying to explain his “cycles” to Alex), but the truth is that the man he is so afraid of is always there, hiding in the sharp bend of his eyebrows when he flashes those superior smiles showcasing that yes, Hal Yorke is better than you.
“Well, I lied,” Cutler deadpans. “I’m a dishonest person. Sue me.” Hal gives him a half-condescending, half-dubious look that makes Cutler want to punch him. Not that he needs any additional incentive. “You’re my maker, for Christ’s sake!” Cutler snaps. “Take some fucking responsibility.”
Whether it’s his insolence that does the trick or the blatant despair in his tone of voice, Cutler doesn’t know. Hal relents and gestures at him to shut the door.
“I need your phone,” he says.
Cutler reluctantly parts with the phone and glances back at Eve who is sprawled in the backseat. He is pretty sure this is the wrong way of transporting a baby. Hal appears to have the same idea. Cutler scoops Eve up, largely against his will, and cradles her on his lap. No wonder she grows up traumatized.
“Has she really spoken to you?” Hal asks.
Cutler nods vaguely and adds:
“She’s kind of creepy. You’re creating her right now, you know.”
A steely smile flashes on Hal’s lips.
“I know.”
When they are far enough from the house, Hal dials Milo’s number and says: “I’ve got your baby if you’ve got my dog.”
Cutler flashes back to their first meeting. Hal looked like a mafia boss who got arrested for illegal gambling. The air of raw power, the sheer lack of regard for anything or anyone other that himself inspired Cutler with fear and envy, the likes of which he hadn’t known before. He catches glimpses of that man now, lurking beneath the cracked façade of the new Hal, and doesn’t know how he feels about it.
Hal listens to Milo’s reply. When he is done, he callously tosses the phone out of the car window. Cutler yelps.
“We wouldn’t want your new friend to follow us, would we?” Hal insinuates.
They arrive at the address Milo gave him in a little less than an hour. It is a two-storeyed building with tinted glass windows and a lattice over the door. A restaurant most likely. Fitting.
Milo meets them at the back door and takes them to the dining-hall. The furniture is draped in cloths of red and black velvet; Cutler half-expects to see golden tableware. The smell of flowers and fresh blood tickles his nostrils.
“You’ve made the right choice, Lord Hal,” Milo says. “I assume you’ll be wanting the werewolf back now.”
Hal casts a bored look around the dining-hall. His lip curls in vague distaste, though it is unclear whether Milo’s tone, his words or the setting are the reason.
“I shall surrender the child only to Mr Snow,” he says drily. “Where is he?”
“He’s not here,” says Milo. “But he will be. I’m sure you can-.”
“I’ll wait.”
Milo narrows his eye.
“With all due respect, sir, you are hardly a match for us without your ghosts and your werewolf.”
Cutler is both glad and resentful of not being included in the picture. He inches closer to Hal but doesn’t make an effort to bring himself forward. Hal is a big boy; he can take care of himself.
“Watch your tone with me, dog,” Hal says flatly. “I have here a few ounces of pure human blood, and I happen to be very hungry.” He flashes his fangs in a snarl.
Milo flexes his jaw but steps down. Hal orders a crib or a perambulator brought in. Cutler has to admit that watching Lord Hal rocking a baby in his arms is the strangest thing.
“We’ve got big plans for today,” Milo informs Hal. “Mr Snow might not be here first thing in the morning.”
“Then phone him and tell him to be. If he wants the War Child, he must get her himself.”
The vampires that are slowly filling the room to feast their eyes upon the miracle baby cower before Hal. Cutler feels a stab of pride mixed with jealousy. This is his maker, the man whose blood flows in Cutler’s veins; yet Cutler will never bear himself like this. He slouches whereas Hal is as straight-backed as a ballet dancer and glares when Hal is composed and regally contemptuous. He chews on his lips when he gets nervous and his hair looks like a bird’s nest half the time. He has no qualms about his appearance, but compared to Hal, he is a veritable waste of space.
Rook wants him to lead the vampires. What a joke.
A woman draped in a white fur mantlet brings a baby basket. She stares at the War Child in wonder and murmurs:
“May I at least hold her?”
Cutler snorts. Future Eve would be so flattered by all this attention.
“No,” Hal says curtly, taking the basket from her.
Milo takes them to the administrative offices in the first floor. They pass by two brawny vampires whose similar facial expressions remind Cutler of Kane. They are dragging something downstairs, something that at a closer look reveals itself to be Tom. He is battered and bruised but predictably not bleeding. He raises his head and his eyes meet Hal’s for a moment.
“Traitor,” Tom spits, wriggles in the hold of his escorts and lunges at Hal. “Traitor! How could you? You bloody traitor!”
The vampires hold him in place, heads lowered reverently before Hal but eyes burning with contemptuous distrust. Nobody here is happy to see Lord Hal back.
Hal looks Tom over, his face displaying a mixture of weariness and mild irritation.
“Why?” Tom growls. “Tell me why.”
“Life’s full of surprises, Thomas. Most of them unpleasant.”
“Hal, don’t do this.”
Hal sighs theatrically.
“Why does everybody keep saying that? Like it’s going to change something. My mind’s made up. Deal with it.”
“I was right then,” Tom snarls. “You are a dickhead.”
One of the escorts socks him in the jaw and tells him to keep his mouth shut. Tom’s lips curve into spiteful smile. He hollows his cheeks and suddenly spits blood in Hal’s face. Cutler shoves Hal aside automatically, and the blood sprays his shirt, but doesn’t reach the skin. The vampires knee Tom in the stomach. He collapses on his knees, breathing heavily.
Hal calmly hands Cutler the baby basket and takes a few steps in Tom’s direction. Cutler has no idea how he manages to look so stately in his funny old-fashioned clothes and that classy but out-of-place jacket over them. The vampires are holding Tom’s shoulders firmly, their shoes planted over his legs so that he can’t get up. Hal tilts Tom’s chin up with his fingers and wipes the blood off his mouth with a handkerchief. Tom gives him a look of pure loathing.
Hal turns away without a word and continues walking up the stairs. Cutler trots after him, afraid to look back.
“Is that okay with you?” he asks Milo because he is honestly curious why a lyco is working for the Old Ones. “You’re the same species.”
“Killing vampires seems to agree with you just fine,” Milo notes. “We all do what we must to survive.”
“Well said,” Hal comments.
Milo leaves them in one of the offices and promises to inform them when Mr Snow arrives. Cutler puts the baby basket on the desk (it’s heavier than it looks, as is Eve herself; what do they feed her? Bricks?) and drops himself on the settee by the wall. There is a small palm tree in a vat in the corner of the room. It looks plastic but it isn’t.
“Does it bother you?” Cutler asks cautiously. “What he called you.”
“Should it?”
“Tom’s your friend. Was your friend.”
Hal busies himself obsessively straightening out the stationery. Pens, rulers, scissors, paper-cutters. He glances at Nick briefly and begins sorting a batch of coloured paperclips. Green to green, pink to pink, yellow to yellow.
“What is it that you suspect me of, Cutler?”
“Nothing!”
“Don’t get me wrong. Tom is a wonderful person. But he’s a dreadful idealist. He only sees the best in people and when that image crumbles, he is left with nothing.”
“You only see the worst,” Cutler muttered. It earned him a derisive look.
“No need to reduce me to your level, Nick. I’m a realist. Look at her.” He taps his fingers on the handle of the baby basket. “Ostensibly we do all we can in the future - and yet, you see how she turns out. Ruthless, unprincipled, prepared to cross every line, to sacrifice anyone. That’s the greater good for you. I’d understand her if she’d only wanted to survive. She’d be human then.”
Cutler snorts.
“And your idea of humanizing her involves leaving her to grow up under Mr Snow’s wing?”
Hal relocates to the settee and stills, his head tilted back against the wall. Cutler expects questions or scathing remarks, reminders that Cutler doesn’t have to be here, that it’s his choice (hello, irony). After a few minutes of unbreakable silence Cutler slides on the floor and places his hands on Hal’s knees. As he trails them upwards, he is eerily reminded of Hal in the chair, spitting curses alternated with supplication. They all have monsters inside them, but Hal is the only one Cutler knows who makes such a drama out of it.
“We’ve got some unfinished business to take care of, haven’t we?” Cutler murmurs.
Hal doesn’t acknowledge him in any other way but with a slight, barely perceptible nod. Cutler’s fingers glide towards his fly, pull the zipper down. Hal’s eyes bore into him; it’s his turn to feel nervous. Hunger burns at the back of his throat. He thinks distractedly that Milo could at least offer them a decanter. And new clothes because you can’t present the most important vampire in the world with the most important baby in the world wearing rags. They should put it on the list of their demands.
Hal’s skin is hot and dry. He keeps silent, nearly prompting Cutler to ask if he’s boring him, but then a soft sigh escapes his lips, and Cutler knows that he is doing at least one thing right. In the grand scheme of things lately this is an achievement.
The silence in the room is thick, interrupted only by the quiet sounds of grudging pleasure Hal makes as Cutler’s mouth slides up and down his length. Cutler used to be rubbish at this; Hal taught him, and taught him well. He puts that skill to use now, tuning out the rest of the world, wishing to elicit a more eloquent response.
Hal’s hips twitch. He mutters something that could be a curse or an order to get a move on, which Cutler interprets as an incentive to kick it up a notch. His movements are rushed and he doesn’t bother with most of their clothes (one never knows who else might interrupt). He straddles Hal and slides onto him without further ado. He winces because the sensation is uncomfortable, and he is hungry and he hasn’t slept for centuries and it’s Hal and what’s a little pain against the realization that he does need Hal, always needed him, and this bloody revolution can go hang. But he won’t beg, not anymore.
He grips the back of the settee and rolls his hips, accommodating Hal inside. Hal’s hands are on his hips, gliding higher, fingers skimming over his ribs, nails grazing the skin. Cutler swallows a moan, knots his fingers in Hal’s hair and makes him look up. His motions become more fluid. Hal presses closer, his fist squeezing around Cutler and his teeth raking over the curve of Cutler’s throat. They are not made of glass, they can take so much more than this, do so much more than this.
Hal’s eyes are black, infinitely hungry. Cutler jerks at the onslaught of pain when Hal’s fangs pierce his skin.
He pushes Hal back, holds him at arm’s length. It’s his moment. He clenches hard around Hal, pulls his moans out of him like sore teeth. He will not let Hal reduce him back to the terrified, insecure mess he was sixty years ago. And he won’t let go of the fact that this man tossed his phone out of a moving car.
Hal gives him a smug, challenging smile. Cutler presses his lips to Hal’s, unable to look at it: it’s hauntingly familiar, and he’s only just started getting used to the new Hal, neurotic and tormented, Tom and Annie’s Hal who doesn’t get jokes and thinks that sorting the washing up liquid by types of aroma is a productive pastime.
Afterwards, Cutler feels spent but instead of languor that usually settles upon him, there is restlessness as if he’s got what he wanted only to discover that he doesn’t want it anymore. He is at a loss: he most definitely still wants Hal, he’s already established that and made peace with it. And yet, the hollow feeling persists. Cutler watches Hal go back to sorting the stationery and thinks that Hal is quite adept at deluding himself, making all those excuses about something else taking the wheel when a cycle ends.
There is only one Hal.
* * *
Cutler catches an hour of sleep. When he wakes up, Hal is dozing in the armchair and there are those much wanted new suits in underdresses hanging from the coat rack. He has no idea who brought them and why, but they are up to his standards and he changes immediately. He wishes he could see himself in the mirror. Finally he feels like himself again.
In the pale light of morning, the dining-hall on the ground floor looks like a recently cleaned up murder scene. There is no evidence left, no bodies, no blood stains, no tape, but the feeling is there. Cutler supposes it’s appropriate.
He turns on the television and watches the news. Unrest sweeps through the country as rumours of supernatural attacks intensify. Rook’s department must be overwhelmed because they don’t seem to be covering it up as effectively as they are supposed to. No one says the v-word, but it’s clear that a lot of people are thinking it. There are mentions of black eyes and crucifixes leaving burns on the attackers’ skin. The revolution advances with giant strides, it seems. Cutler gulps down nervously when the newscaster announces the upcoming live interview with the Prime Minister.
Would Snow collect the War Child first or is making his campaign official more important?
The screen ripples. Cutler braces himself for another confrontation, but the War Child merely stares at him from the telly.
“Did you help Alex to find the ring?” he asks by way of greeting.
“I did my part. I warned you, didn’t I?”
It’s no use arguing with her. Cutler admires her a little: she’s dead and she’s done more damage from the grave than he ever could.
“Do we know each other in the future? Have you got a grudge against me or something?”
“I’ve got a grudge against all vampires. It’s kind of what I’m for.”
That’s bleak, he thinks. But it’s a purpose. At least she’s got one.
“Well, you haven’t achieved anything except giving Hal a nudge in the wrong direction.”
“I’m trying to be optimistic. Defense mechanism.”
Cutler ignores the turn of phrase. He would like to ignore the entire conversation if possible but something tells him it’s their last one. Today, after all, is April 11.
“It’s stupid though,” he says petulantly. “Even if she dies, you’ve already lived. It doesn’t cancel out the things you saw and the things you did.” He doesn’t know that much about posthumous time-travel, but even if she disappears completely after the baby dies, she will still have existed at some point, if only in his and Annie’s memories. She will still have been the sum of threats and lies and truths she had told, events she had been through, lives she had taken and saved. “Do I die?” he asks. “In the future.” It’s something he has been meaning to ask her all along.
“Everyone dies eventually,” Eve says. “I think dying for something is better than because of something. To answer your question: yes, we do know each other. No, you haven’t done anything to me personally.”
The image changes back to the newscast. Cutler looks down at the immaculate, spotless floor beneath his feet and almost imagines that he can see his reflection.
He is not a doubting man. He is the man who can meticulously plan world domination one minute and turn on his entire race the next because some shriveled up mummy forgot his name. So it takes him all of thirty seconds to make up his mind.
* * *
The guard at the meat storage locker is young and impressionable and reminds Cutler of that lop-eared Welsh chatterbox - whatshisname - Dewi. His partner, he says, is on a smoke break, which is great because historical things are happening and maybe he’ll let Dewi 2.0 slip away to sneak a peek at the Old Ones later when they arrive.
There are only two people Cutler can stand listening to indefinitely: himself and Hal (in that order). He’s got a stake hidden inside his jacket; too bad he can’t use it. He smiles and nods and does his best to convince the lad they are friends now.
There is a commotion by the front door. They can’t see anything from where they are, but there comes the unmistakable clang of the lattice being lifted.
Dewi 2.0 fidgets. His partner still hasn’t returned, and there they might be opening the door for Mr Snow himself. Cutler pats him on the shoulder and urges him to go and take a look. He promises to watch over the dog. It’s just a few minutes. It can’t hurt.
Thank God for stupid and unreliable people, Cutler thinks as he opens the meat storage locker door a moment later.
It is dark and cold inside. His breath comes out in puffs of steam. He looks around, trying to find something alive among the carcasses hanging from the hooks on the ceiling.
“Tom.” What he does goes against every bone in his body. He takes out the stake and holds it in front of him. “I come in peace. See?”
From the corner of his eye, he can see something moving. Tom hobbles up to him. His fingers close around the stake - and he slams Cutler against the wall, the pointy end about to plunge into Cutler’s heart. Nick thrashes, gripped with fear, and squeezes out:
“Tom, please! I’m not your enemy!”
“What’ve you done to Hal?” Tom growls.
The thought that anyone, much less Cutler, could do anything to Hal is both laughable and flattering.
“It wasn’t me,” Cutler protests, trying to sound calm. Tom is ready to listen; hopefully, there is still time to change his mind about the staking. Cutler tells him about Future Eve’s meddling, omitting the Adam-related bits, no need to tackle that just yet.
“It don’t make no sense,” Tom says.
“Hal very seldom makes any sense,” Cutler mutters. “But look, what I see in all this is an opportunity. Snow is coming here. Maybe he’s already here. This is the chance we’ve been waiting for. We can kill him.”
“You and me?”
Cutler amends:
“Mostly you.”
“Without proper weapons? Without Annie and Alex?”
Cutler agrees that they should be here, but they’re not - they won’t be unless Call-Me-Maybe cracks - and if Snow isn’t taken care of now, then the Prime Minister is toast and the whole country, the whole world along with him. When he puts it like that, it sounds a bit ridiculous but no less scary.
“How do I know this ain’t a trap?” The tip of the stake presses harder against Cutler’s chest. “You do everything Hal tells you to, and Hal does everything Mr Snow tells him to.”
Cutler rolls his eyes.
“You’re already trapped, aren’t you? If I wanted to kill you, I’d call those Bruce Willis knock-offs that brought you here. I most certainly would not give you a weapon to kill me with.”
Tom glances at the stake in his hand. Cutler imagines dying in a room full of raw meat - definitely not his idea of going out with a bang. Fortunately, Tom seems to be inclined to give him another chance. He steps down and twirls the stake in his hand like a gunslinger in a Western.
“Thank you,” says Cutler. He smoothes down the front of his shirt automatically and inches towards the door.
“I got a thing to ask you,” Tom says. “Back at the restaurant, I know you lied about a lotta things.” Seriously? Now? “’S all right, I ain’t that slow. But there was one thing… about Allison’s parents. You said: imagine if your daughter brought you home. I imagined. I don’t think they’d like that. So that was a lie too.”
Tom’s uncanny ability to switch between the fierce vampire slayer mode and the lost puppy mode will never cease to amaze Cutler. He fumbles for words and says awkwardly:
“I told you what I thought you needed to hear at the moment. But Tom, I’ve never met her parents. I don’t know what they’re like. And even if they hate you, what does it matter? Rachel’s Dad hated me. I still married her.”
For a moment he feels really proud. That was an achievement; everything that came after was just glamour. This is why he needs this chance now. He is not Hal’s dog, he isn’t going to hide under Hal’s porch because he loves him. (He should really stop referencing every single film he’s ever seen.) Maybe he will lose Hal forever; maybe he will lose his life. But somebody will remember him - and frankly, he’s just itching to see Mr Snow’s face when his world domination scheme goes belly up.
“Let’s do this,” Tom says.
Leaving the freezer feels like walking into summer. Cutler shivers. At least he’s already dead; how did Tom not turn into an icicle?
They are met by Dewi 2.0’s esteemed smoking partner. Before he can call for reinforcements, Tom lunges at him and shoves him into the meat locker. Even with a twisted ankle and countless bruises, he moves quickly and efficiently. They slam the door shut and steal along the corridor. The lobby is full of vampires. They must be the local elite because Cutler doesn’t recognize anyone from Snow’s entourage here. Whoever they are, they successfully comprise a small but ferocious army. The prospect of getting out of this mess alive seems less and less likely.
The vampires seem to be heading to the dining-hall. Tom asks Cutler if there is any other way in. Cutler nods. There is one through the kitchen.
God forbid they get there, of course. As soon as they reach the kitchen, they are intercepted by Milo. The guy is seriously everywhere. He seems to be asking for his other eye to be removed.
“This is getting awfully repetitive,” Milo remarks.
Tom charges at him with a loud roar. This is personal. Cutler doesn’t know - and doesn’t want to know - what Milo has been doing to him. Perhaps it’s a werewolf thing. Tom seems to have been brought up with a firm inherent belief that all werewolves are friends and all vampires are enemies. Meeting both Hal and Milo must have been quite a shock to him.
The anticipated Bruce Willis clones spring out at Cutler. He barely dodges. He is unarmed, having had time to find only one stake. Tom notices that and throws Cutler his stake. Cutler barely manages to catch it, but he puts it to use promptly, ramming it into the heart of one of the Bruces with both hands.
Milo pushes Tom onto the kitchen table. Tom reaches out for the cutlery, pulls a knife from the stand and slashes at Milo. He misses; Milo swings back with a curse. It occurs to Cutler that Milo hasn’t been going for the kill all this time. Perhaps there are still some things he is not prepared to do, not even for Mr Snow.
More vampires pour into the kitchen. Tom attacks one of them and swings the knife against his throat, leaving a deep scarlet gash. The man drops on the floor, clutching at the wound. Cutler stumbles over the clothes of the first Bruce Willis; the second Bruce grabs him and bangs his head against the wall so hard that starbursts go off before Cutler’s eyes. He twists the stake out of Cutler’s grasp and presses it to the back of his neck. A restaurant kitchen is only a step up from the meat storage locker, and Cutler still isn’t too eager to die.
“Give it up, Tom,” Milo says. “We’ve got your mate cornered.”
“He ain’t my mate,” Tom says.
“Then you don’t mind if we dust him?”
Cutler grits his teeth. He would have done the same; he just didn’t expect this from Tom. In hindsight, he should have. Tom is a vampire hunter after all.
The knife falls on the floor with a loud clank. The pressure at the back of Cutler’s neck disappears. He turns around to see Tom holding his hands up. At this moment, even though things aren’t looking up, Tom is his favourite person in the world.
“You’re a traitor and a coward, is what you are,” Tom hisses at Milo. “And you’re gonna lose.”
Milo’s lips twitch as if he can’t make up his mind whether to be insulted or amused.
“You are so naïve,” he says. “Betrayal isn’t always an act of cowardice. And even so, you’re not one to lecture me about where my loyalties should lie when you yourself consort with vampires.”
“I ain’t helping no one take over the world that don’t belong to them.”
With that, Tom leaps at Milo, pushes him out of the way and charges towards the door that leads to the dining-hall. Cutler collects himself and follows him.
“Hal!” Tom shouts.
Milo catches him, wraps his arms around him, restraining him, and clamps his hand over Tom’s mouth. Cutler freezes at the sight of what is going on in the hall. Somebody is holding him in place, but he isn’t inclined to move as it is. The room is chock-full of vampires. There is no way they could even get to Snow.
“Quiet, boy,” Milo whispers to Tom. “Bear witness. This is not betrayal. It’s evolution.”
* * *
How to Cutler
Written by N. Cutler, your friendly neighbourhood saviour of babies and the failed future Overlord of Brazil
1) Be a loser.
2) Get vamped.
3) Be a loser with ambitions.
4) Deposit all your trust in the Bank of Yorke; go bankrupt in sixty years.
5) Come up with a cool plan.
6) See the plan declared uncool by someone who was born a billion years before the letters required to write the word “cool” were invented.
7) Face Heel Turn.
8) Misery and angst and woe.
9) “I’m going slightly mad.”
10) ???
11) Profit.
The complete set includes pie charts and a diorama.
* * *
Mr Snow stands in the middle of the room like a monument to himself. The tables have been moved together in a large square as if for a banquet, the seats already taken by the guests. They all devour him with their eyes.
Hal is on his knees in front of Snow, Eve resting in his arms. His head is bowed deferentially. Snow brushes his fingers against Hal’s cheek. The gesture is both patronizing and implicitly tender, almost fatherly.
“Today is the day of celebration,” he speaks in his bored, ingratiating voice. Cutler is reminded of the way Snow’s hand felt across his face. It makes him want to retch. “It is the day our brother came back into the fold. And we shall stir from our slumber. Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.”
The basics of being a pretentious wanker: always quote the Bible. Or Shakespeare. Or mix.
Cutler asks himself why he didn’t just run away when he had the chance. Maybe it’s because he is an idiot. Maybe he wanted one scheme of his to work. Maybe because he remembers the look on Annie’s face when he said Eve wasn’t her daughter.
Snow looks down at Hal and holds out his hands. Hal raises his head slowly. From where he is standing, Cutler can see his face. It’s unreadable. He moves like a zombie. Perhaps Snow does have power over him. It’s a sickening sight.
Tremors travel through the building. The big crystal chandelier on the ceiling quivers, jingling and clanking softly.
The doors fly open with such force that one of them is torn off the hinges and collapses on the floor. Some of the guests jump up, others simply look around, bewildered. The ghosts are marching in.
The guards are at the ready. Snow placates them with a lazy gesture. He seems to be quite taken by sight of Annie with her ice-blue eyes and the fierce curve of his mouth.
“Hal,” she says coldly. “Give her back to me.”
Hal doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her. Mr Snow smiles, all blackened teeth and carefully measured venom.
“Annie. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You and your people have made worthy opponents, but it’s time to cast your weapons aside. I had considered letting you keep her, but Hal here has been telling me interesting things about your household. Ghosts from the future, accidental murders. Quite an unhealthy environment for a baby to grow up in. I shall be taking her, but you are welcome to stay with us of course. There is no defender more fierce than a mother to her child. You put up a good fight, but you lost. Bow out gracefully.”
“Funny,” Hal murmurs. “I was about to give you the same piece of advice.”
He catches Tom’s eyes and winks at him. Raises his hand. Something slides out of his sleeve into his hand. A paper-cutter from the office. One swift cut, and the scent of freshly spilt blood hits Cutler’s nostrils. A sense of numb relief settles over him.
Annie screams. It’s the most blood-curdling sound he has ever heard. She falls to her knees, tears gushing from her eyes.
Snow cries out as well, and swipes Hal across the face, rage twisting his composed features. Hal drops Eve’s body. Snow pulls him up by the front of his shirt and hisses:
“Do you think this is it? Do you think you’ve got your victory, child? Look around you!”
“Actually,” Hal says, “I do. I think you’ve let that prophecy get a bit out of hand. I don’t know about you, but what I see is a room full of vampires who believe that her death is their destruction.”
Cutler has to keep himself from gaping at Hal. That is actually… a pretty good plan. Especially since Annie’s reaction confirms that the baby is the real War Child.
The guests stare at the murder scene in shock. Within a few moments, most of them scramble up on their feet and attempt to leave. Milo barks orders, which Cutler doesn’t hear. Tom breaks free and socks Milo in the mouth. The vampire guards lunge at them, fangs bared, fists raised.
Cutler wriggles out of Bruce’s grasp. A vampire flies by and tumbles down on one of the tables that collapses under his weight. Cutler picks up a long wood chip and drives it into Bruce’s heart.
“What, you’re one of the good guys again?” Alex quips.
“Let’s say I’m not incapable of doing good things,” he answers.
Chaos breaks out. Some try to run, stumbling over each other in the process. Tom punches an attacker in the mouth, knocking out his teeth, but not before the fangs rake down Tom’s skin, splitting it, and poisoned blood seeps down the vampire’s throat. The man screams and thrashes in agony.
Mr Snow’s eyes dart quickly about the room, surveying the pandemonium. He returns his attention to Hal.
“This is very unfortunate,” he says. One of his attendants hands him a stake.
Cutler is too far from them. Even if he were closer, he is hardly the type to catch a bullet for someone. Even if that someone is Hal. His insides wrench with fear.
The stake comes down.
It is a hair’s breadth away from Hal’s heart when Hal is pried from Snow’s grasp and flung aside. He lands on his back near Annie who is still petrified and whose eyes are fixed on Eve’s lifeless body. The stake slips out of Snow’s hand and turns against him. He tries to move, but Alex is holding him immobile. She moves her hand, driving the stake into his chest.
Snow jerks, inhales noisily and laughs.
“Missed the heart.”
He struggles against her, moving forward inch by inch.
“Annie!” Alex calls. “A little help here! Annie, I can’t hold him!”
Cutler makes a go for Hal. A female vampire knocks him off his feet before he can reach him. She is small and agile, which is worse than Bruce the brick shithouse. She moves quickly and assertively, making it difficult for him to block her blows. They grapple for the discarded wood chip. She lands on top of him; by a fluke, he punches her in the face. Her head lolls; she collects herself, grips a fistful of his hair and slams his head into the floor. He can feel blood trickling down his temple.
He bucks underneath her, struggling to throw her off. She grabs a hold of the wood chip and attempts to bring it down on him. He catches her wrist and bites hard, tearing the veins and the sinew out with his teeth, feeling the joints break with a wet crunch. She screams. He snatches the wood chip away from her and plunges it into her body. He misses the heart, but she seems to be sufficiently incapacitated. He pushes her off, pulls the weapon out and viciously drives it home again.
His hands tremble. He wipes the blood off his face before it obscures his vision and turns around.
The dining-hall is almost empty now. Annie remains where she is, pale, transparent, an echo of her former self. Snow is still struggling - and winning - against Alex who looks like she is about to burst into a pencil of molecules and drift away. Milo is bleeding from a gut wound on the floor, Tom standing over him. The remaining vampires are oddly indecisive.
The sound of footsteps makes Cutler turn his head towards the door.
He sees Yvonne, walking calmly towards the fray. Her face is blank. He spots Adam’s ring hanging on a cord around her neck and a set of wires wrapped around her arm. There is a small detonator clutched in her hand, and Cutler is startled by the realization of what lurks under her old-fashioned mantlet.
Alex breaks her hold over Snow with a pained gasp. He lurches forward, but his way is blocked by Yvonne.
“Run!” Alex shouts.
Cutler gets up. He looks over his shoulder to see Hal stagger after him. Mr Snow makes an effort to push Yvonne away. She cups his face with her hand, and he freezes. He stares at her like he had never seen anything more beautiful and more repulsive in his life. Cutler can only imagine how a man like Snow feels love and desire.
Her finger slides over the detonator.
Cutler cries out Hal’s name, urging him to hurry up. Something whooshes past him. Tom makes a strange gurgling noise and almost bumps into the wall, but continues running.
Cutler stops for a moment, his eyes wide with panic and fixed on Hal.
Someone grabs him around the shoulders roughly. His body jerks, and he feels like he is at once flying and falling apart. Dizziness comes over him; for a moment it is as if he doesn’t exist at all. Then he meets the hard surface of the roadside, and the deafening roar of the explosion crashes over him. Tom is sprawled on the ground, Cutler on top of him, Alex still clutching his shoulders.
She pulls away and gets up. Cutler forces himself to look back at the burning building. His vision goes double.
“Hal!” he shouts. “Hal!” He looks up at Alex and doesn’t know what he wants to hear: an explanation, words of reassurance, anything. “Where’s Hal?”
Alex’s attention is focused on the restaurant. She looks smaller somehow, paler.
“There’s no one else,” she murmurs, almost too softly for him to hear. She sounds no less shocked than he feels. “It’s just us.”
Part 8 - Our Hello-Goodbye