Fic: The Lies You Live Part 12/12 (Blade: Trinity, Abby/King, NC-17) [FINISHED!]

[alyse]

Title: The Lies You Live
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Highlight to read: violence, implications of past torture and sexual abuse, potential triggers for suicidal thoughts and actions.

Notes: This is the extended, higher rated director's cut version of the story. The original (non-sexy, rated 15!) version can be found here. Also, there is fabulous art by skylar0grace here.

Summary: Hunting is in her blood and in her bones, but when Abigail Whistler's path crosses that of a smart-mouthed vampire who seems perfectly happy to die, she's left questioning everything she thought she knew. While her team work to cure Hannibal King of his vampirism with an experimental antivirus, she finds herself warming to their captive in spite of her reservations, and when their actions turn out to have devastating consequences, Abby's loyalties are left torn.

Masterlist: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal

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Part 11: dreamwidth :: livejournal :: insanejournal

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Making the decision to defy Frank was the easy part; the hard part was going to be living with it. Abby's heart was in her throat as she drove to the docks, a constant sense of low-level nausea that dragged her mood down and made the night stretch out endlessly in front of her.

She parked out of sight, well away from the main road that led down to the warehouse complex, pulling some branches around to cover her bike. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do, and her bike was far enough back from the road to ensure no one would find it unless they were looking. And if they were looking that closely, the bike would be the least of her worries

She hiked back to the main road, taking the time to look around, on edge for any sign of danger. The docks were to the east of her, about a mile or so downriver. Even at this time of night they were busy. She could see the lights on the cranes and hear the distant whirr of machinery as they loaded and unloaded the vast ships berthed in each dock. Semis rumbled out of the gates every so often, heading towards the city and beyond.

From up here, it could've been a child's play set, made from bolts and Legos, but appearances were often deceptive. There could be vamps down there in the darkness, cutting a swathe through dockworkers and sailors alike. The docks were ideal ports of entry for more than just cargo - not all vamps were wealthy enough to afford private jets, but the dark of a ship's hold would serve for those that weren't and had itchy feet. It had done for Dracula, after all, at least if Bram Stoker was to be believed.

The warehouses themselves were quiet on the surface. Abby stayed hidden and watched for several minutes, but she only spotted a single security guard wandering past, doing a slow circuit of the complex and paying very little attention to his surroundings. The dog that accompanied him was more of an issue, but judging by the way the man kept bending down and ruffling its ears, the thing was more pet than watchdog. She still made sure to stay downwind of it, just in case.

She watched until the pair of them retreated behind a building, counting the seconds until they'd be out of hearing range as well as out of sight, and trusting that King's timings were accurate when it came to the guard's routine.

She still hesitated even when they were out of sight, and she knew why. Until she actually climbed the fence and met up with King, she wasn't technically disobeying the letter of Frank's law, even though she'd been violating the spirit of it for months. There would be no turning back at that point - even if Frank never found out, Abby would know, and that knowledge would eat at her.

But she was wasting time; she took a deep breath and hit the fence at a run, the chain-link clattering as she clambered up it. At the top, she took another quick look around, double checking that the guard was still out of sight. When he didn't reappear, she swung her legs over and dangled by her fingers, stretching as far as she could before she finally let go and hit the ground.

King had marked their rendezvous point on the plans he'd had and she'd memorised it once he'd finished distracting her. She oriented herself, keeping to the shadows as she darted towards the relevant building where she was supposed to meet him.

King was already waiting for her. He rose up suddenly out of the darkness, startling her. "You're late," he whispered. "Thought you weren't going to make it for a while there."

"Frank," she said succinctly, and King grunted, all of his attention on the building opposite.

"You seriously need to divorce that man," he said, one of those thoughtless little asides of his that irritated and amused her in equal measure.

"And run away with you, I suppose?" she asked dryly.

He glanced over at her, his teeth flashing briefly in the darkness, white and even. "You could do worse."

"I could do better, too." He snorted. "That it?" she asked, scanning the building as her fingers sorted quickly through her backpack, finding and neatly stowing various items on her body.

"Yeah. I've been here for a while. Nothing going in and nothing going out. No signs of activity at all."

She paused, studying him. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I don't like the fact that very little is happening. Especially after last time." He shifted position, staying low and out of sight, and she knew he was remembering the feel of a knife sliding into his flesh.

"You think it's a trap?"

He shrugged again. "It doesn't feel like one, but what do I know? I'm the guy who gets stabbed. But even if it is, maybe springing it is the smart thing to do."

She gave him a look that spoke volumes.

"Okay, maybe springing it isn't the smart thing to do, but I'm all out of options. Okay, maybe not options, but definitely patience, and that pretty much amounts to the same thing."

She tuned him out for a moment, staring at the building opposite as though it would provide answers simply because she needed them. "No one's around," she said.

"I think I just said that."

She thought hard, running through the alternatives. "It's only life," she said eventually. "What are we worried about?"

He flashed her another grin. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Whistler."

"I thought it was the sex."

"That, too."

Now it was her turn to snort, changing the subject to get him back on track. "You ready?"

King took in a deep breath, the amused look disappearing from his face as he stopped clowning around and became all business. "I'm ready. Let's do this."

The security lights were bright, and that made crossing the hundred yards between their shelter and the building they'd been watching interesting, if interesting had been redefined as completely fucking terrifying. She moved fast and kept low, following hard on King's heels, her heart beating furiously in her chest and the adrenaline surging through her. She gloried in it, her fingers tingling and her breath catching in her throat.

King had learned a few tricks, things she hadn't taught him, and he didn't handle his gun like a cop any more. He'd learned how to pick locks, too, but it was nothing like in the movies, a couple of jiggles and the padlock falling open. It was a couple of minutes of being exposed, feeling far too vulnerable until it opened with a soft click and the pair of them eased inside.

She'd come armed with a flashlight, something compact with a tightly focused beam. King's was larger and squatter, the beam spreading more widely, but together they cast enough light for them to move rapidly through the building, King checking off the location markers as they went.

"It's up ahead," he murmured eventually, shining his light in front of them. "My source said it was in Section 6B."

He meant what he'd beaten out of his source, but Abby wasn't going to argue his word choice. Instead, she followed in King's wake, not missing the eagerness in his stride.

She didn't miss the way that his shoulders slumped when section 6B turned out to be empty, either.

"They must have moved it," she offered in consolation. For a second his face twisted and she could almost hear the words he didn't say. He bit them back, though, and she had to respect his self-restraint, particularly given how difficult he usually found it.

"Or it was never here in the first place," he admitted. There was a snappish bite to his words, but when he caught her looking at him he pulled an apologetic little face. "I was so fucking sure..."

She got it. It wouldn't be the first time a hunt had gone awry; it wouldn't be the last. Hunters like her and King wore disappointment like they wore their scars; cutting deep and showing on the surface.

"We need to go," she said, and he nodded, visibly pulling himself together and becoming all business again. She drew her weapon and he matched her move, the pair of them heading back the way they'd come, but even more alert now. The fact that the tip-off had been wrong had her on edge, but she still slowed her steps despite the increased danger they were in.

"What if your source was wrong about where it was?" She played her light over the boxes they were passing. "Maybe even just by a few lots?"

King also slowed her steps, matching her pace. "You mean it could be around here somewhere?" He shone his light one of the boxes, reading the side. "Maybe, but I'm pretty sure we don't have time to search them all."

"It would help if I had an idea of what I was looking for."

He hesitated, biting at his lip as he scanned another box. And then he dragged his attention back to her. "Statuary, maybe," he said. "Reliefs, stone carvings, that kind of thing."

She stopped short, staring at him, and it took him a second to realise. "We're here looking for artwork?" Okay, maybe she sounded a little pissed, but she didn't think she could be blamed for that under the circumstances. King had absolutely no idea what this little jaunt could cost her.

"No, we're looking for archaeological artefacts."

She blinked at him, turning the phrase over in her mind. "While I'm sure some girls would be turned on by the geek speak," she said, "how about explaining that in plain English?"

"Archaeological artefacts -"

"I know what archaeological artefacts are, King. I did finish high school and I own a dictionary. What I don't understand is what Danica wants with this stuff and why we're risking our necks to find it before she gets her hands on it."

He huffed out a breath, but he wasn't being a dick about it and that was the only thing that stopped her from kicking his ass. He opened his mouth then stopped abruptly, closing it again as she fought against the urge to tap her foot impatiently. "How much do you know about Mesopotamia?"

"About as much as you know about getting to the point."

He grimaced, accepting her criticism. "Well, vampire lore says that's where they originated from, the Near East. Thousands of years ago. Danica's been collecting little mementos, little slices of vampire history. She thinks it'll tell her more about the origins of the vampire race."

"And that's important because?"

"That's the one thing I haven't quite figured out yet. But I've got my suspicions."

They were too exposed here. That was the only reason she started moving, not because she'd stopped fighting the urge to wring his neck. He fell into step with her, but she noticed he was smart enough to stay out of arm's reach. "And those suspicions would be?" she asked deceptively mildly.

He shot her a slightly wary look. "Blade's the only Day Walker, right?"

"As far as we know."

"A creature of myth and legend..."

"I'm pretty sure he's flesh and blood, King," she said dryly. "Given that he shares a crib with my dad."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved off her objection. "The point is that there were already legends about Day Walkers before Blade was even born." He frowned for a second. "Or made, whatever. So if Blade's the first Day Walker, where did the legends come from?"

He was starting to get interesting, or at least interesting in a way she hadn't anticipated, and that didn't involve him being naked. "You think that ancient vampires were Day Walkers?" she asked and he gave her an approving smile.

"I think Danica does. And you have to admit, it makes sense."

"Does it?"

"Pure bloods survive longer in the sun than vampires who were born human and turned." She nodded, acknowledging the point as he continued. "And some of the younger vamps, some of those who were made, not born, will kill a pure blood and drink his blood - or her blood for the equal opportunity assholes among them - to give them some measure of protection."

"I've heard the rumours," she said. "Deacon Frost tried it, and from what I've heard it worked as long as he used SPF 1000."

King nodded, still lost in thought, and it was a good thing she was watching where they were going.

"So, the older the vamp, the further up the vampire family tree they are, the more protection they seem to have from the sun."

It clicked into place. "She's looking for a Day Walker."

King nodded again, shooting her another one of those approving looks. She should kick his ass for that, but she had to admit that it warmed her a little inside.

"I think so, yes. And if I get my hands on her little scribblings before she does, I might be able to figure it out before she does, too."

"And how are you going to do that?"

She thought it was a perfectly valid question, so she had no idea why King stopped and gave her a look that was sheepish at best.

"I did mention the fact that I speak ancient Sumerian, right?"

She stared at him blankly, for once actually shocked beyond words.

"Well, when I say speak... Nobody's actually spoken it for thousands of years, so my pronunciation is probably way off, but I can read it. More or less."

"You speak ancient Sumerian?" It was surreal, and he looked sheepish again, grimacing awkwardly. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"No, I'm good." He started off again, and she had to trot the first few steps to catch up with him, still shaking her head in amazement.

"How come you speak ancient Sumerian?"

He gave her a little sidelong look, one that seemed slightly embarrassed. "My master's was in Ancient Near Eastern History. I was working on my Ph.D. in Cuneiform Studies when -"

"Wait! You have a master's degree?"

He looked offended, but she knew him well enough by now to know that was just an act. If it had been lighter in here, she was sure that she would have seen his eyes crinkle up the way they did whenever he was pulling her leg.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Whistler. You're dating a genuine scholar."

It was the casual reference to dating that stopped her dead in her tracks, and King carried on for a few steps before he realised. He turned back to face her, frowning slightly in the light of her flashlight.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden tripping of her heart and get back on track. "So, what are the odds that Danica Talos managed to turn the one guy who might be able to help her with this little quest of hers?"

She'd meant that maybe King had been targeted, but the blood drained from King's face, his expression turning stricken. He couldn't meet her eyes, looking away as his tongue licked at his lips, a nervous little twitch that she was all too familiar with.

Her chest tightened, a familiar feeling of dread building in her again.

"Abby, I -"

They'd been stupid. They'd stopped paying enough attention to their surroundings, so when a figure rose up out of the darkness, swinging something long and thin at King, it took them both by surprise. It caught King high in the chest and he went down with a grunt of pain, his flashlight clattering across the floor and sending crazy beams of light around the room.

Abby levelled her weapon, using her own flashlight as a guide to aim. She was about to pull the trigger when Frank stepped into the beam. She lowered her gun again automatically, her heart tripping frantically. Frank didn't look good; the flashlight caught the crags and cracks in his face, casting elongated shadows over his features. It made him look otherworldly, full of ancient fury and hate, and his eyes, when they met Abby's, were dark with anger.

She had no doubt that his anger was aimed at her, but the hate was all for King. It froze her on the spot as Frank tossed the crowbar he'd been carrying onto the floor, where it fell with a clatter as he drew his own weapon, aiming it straight at King. That shocked Abby out of her immobility and she stepped forward with an involuntary cry.

"Frank! Don't!"

Frank's face twisted, his expression strangely grief-stricken as well as furious. She felt her chest lurch again, something hard and bitter forming just below her heart, grieving and guilty. She kept her weapon down, pointing it towards the ground instead of at Frank, in spite of her instinctive need to protect King, and took another step closer, her expression pleading.

"Frank, please, you don't want to do this."

"How could you be so fucking stupid, Whistler? He's working with Danica."

She shook her head mutely, desperately searching for the words that would convince him otherwise. "No, we -"

"There are vamps on the way, Whistler. The same vamps who killed Velasquez and Mick. How the fuck could you forget about them and... and...?"

Frank's finger tightened on the trigger and Abby darted forward two or three steps, only stopping when Frank glared in her direction, his gun hand twitching ominously.

"Don't you fucking touch her," King growled, drawing Frank's attention back to him. "You keep the fuck away from her." He'd pushed himself up onto his knees, leaning heavily on the box behind him to keep himself upright. One arm was wrapped around his ribs and there was blood on his face where his cheek had scraped against the floor.

"If I were you," Frank said, his voice freezing, sending tendrils of ice down Abby's spine, "I'd be more worried about myself."

King subsided, sinking down onto the floor and watching Frank warily. But he wouldn't be King if he could keep his mouth shut. "So, what's the plan, Frank? We all sit here until the cavalry arrives?"

"Shut the fuck up," Frank spat. "Abby might not be able to see what a fucking disaster you are, but I see you. I see you for what you really are, you piece of shit."

King was still watching him closely, but there was an edge of anger in his gaze now, something that told Abby that he was tired of Frank pushing him around. He'd been a vampire once and maybe he hadn't been able to shake off some of that arrogance yet, some of that innate knowledge that no matter what hurt you, short of silver you'd heal. But Abby was all too human. She knew too damned well what a bullet could do, and what it would do to King.

"Frank." She modulated her tone, keeping it calm and steady even though her fingers were shaking, the gun jittering in her hand. "Don't do this, please. King hasn't done -"

"King's the reason they're dead."

Frank's words were flat and lifeless, and he was right. She knew he was right. But King being the reason for their deaths didn't mean he was to blame, even if Frank couldn't see that. Even if King couldn't.

King's gaze dropped away from Frank's, his arm still wrapped gingerly around his ribs. But Frank seemed to have lost interest in him, at least for the moment. All of his attention was focused on Abby, like he was trying to convince her, like convincing her was all that mattered, mattering more than killing King.

"Don't you see, Whistler?" he said, and it almost sounded like he was pleading. She'd never heard that tone in Frank's voice before. He ordered; he didn't beg. It threw her, rendering her silent. "If it hadn't been for King, Velasquez and Mick would still be alive. He's spent the last five years in Danica Talos' pocket. What the hell makes you think that's changed?"

She glanced at King, meeting his eyes briefly before he looked away again, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"It doesn't matter what he did before," she said quietly. "He's trying to take Danica down now, and I'm going to help him. We both owe Velasquez and Mick that, Frank."

"You're going to help him in spite of everything?" Frank's expression was bitter, his eyes bottomless pits of grief in the torchlight. "Just like that? Jesus. He must be a really good fucking lay."

Maybe it was her sudden start that clued him in to just how close to the mark he was, but when that realisation struck, his face grew slack, betrayal in every harsh, haggard line. His hand jerked up again, aiming his gun squarely at King, and King's head snapped back, a brief, momentary flash of fear crossing his face before he brought it under control again, meeting Frank's eyes grimly.

Abby brought her own gun up, training it on Frank. It broke her fucking heart and her hand was shaking so badly that she didn't think she'd hit him even if she could pull the trigger, not even at this close range. But she couldn't pull the trigger. Not on Frank.

"Don't," she pleaded again, and it came out weak and quavering, not the firm command she needed if she was to have any chance of getting Frank to listen to her. To listen to reason.

"After everything I've done, everything I've tried to do to keep you safe, you want to go after Talos. You're going to get yourself killed, Whistler. You're going to get yourself fucking killed. Over him."

After all he'd done.

"That's my call." There were tears in her eyes, welling up until Frank's outline blurred. She couldn't look at King, not now, not when she was ripping Frank apart for him. Not when Frank didn't deserve that, and not when King didn't deserve what she was doing for him either.

"You know he sold us out, Whistler." Frank's voice dropped to something low and persuasive, something that slid the blade a little deeper, cutting into her until she bled inside.

"Danica was looking for him, Frank," Abby said, and she hated the tone in her voice, the one that was begging Frank for reassurance. She wasn't a child; good or bad she had to live with her decisions. But still, she couldn't help it, not entirely. Not when Frank was standing there, and she was betraying him more with each passing second.

It still didn't stop her, and that was the worst betrayal of all.

"You don't know that King betrayed us. You can't be sure. She could have found him... Could have found us. On her own." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed the sob that was on the verge of breaking free, steadying her gun with both hands because the weight of it was almost too much to bear.

"How?" Frank asked, his voice intense and his eyes burning like coals in his too white face. "You're supposed to be smart, Whistler, so tell me. If he didn't sell us out, then who the hell else did?" His expression twisted again, crumpling up into something old and bereft, paper-thin. "Who else, Whistler? Tell me that."

There was something in his eyes, the same grief and guilt she'd seen there for months. The grief and guilt she'd thought was there because Frank felt responsible.

Frank was responsible. The certainty of it settled on her like a heavy weight, almost bringing her to her knees.

"You," she whispered, the word spilling out of her like life's last breath. "You sold us out."

The expression on Frank's face smoothed out and he straightened up, meeting her eyes calmly now; the more the weight of that knowledge settled on her, the straighter he stood, and his expression was full of a strange kind of satisfaction. She had the sudden, irresistible idea that he was actually proud of her, and he couldn't have twisted the knife any more deeply if he'd tried.

"That's why you wanted King to stay behind with Mick," she continued, all of the cards - all of those little bits and pieces about the whole situation that had nagged and frustrated her over the last few months - finally falling into place. "You knew Danica was coming because you'd told her exactly where to come. I thought you'd just spotted something we hadn't seen that night, but you already knew we had to go in hot."

Frank was staring at her, his expression still bitterly proud, and she wanted to scream, to shake him, to beg him to tell her that she was wrong.

But she didn't do any of those things, and he didn't deny any of her accusations.

"That's why you insisted that Sommerfield and Hedges take Zoë with them. You didn't want to be responsible for the murder of a six-year-old." Frank's face twitched, the first sign of a crack he'd shown since she started to put two and two together and come up with an answer she wasn't sure she could live with. "But Mick... Mick was disposable. You couldn't leave King there on his own, not without questions you weren't going to answer, so you needed to leave someone behind with him. And Mick was perfect for that, wasn't he? He was just a waste of space as far as you were concerned, and fuck you for thinking that.

"But Velasquez... God, Velasquez..."

"Velasquez wasn't supposed to be there," Frank said, his eyes never leaving her face. His voice was gravelly, hoarse, as though the words had been forced out of him, like magma under pressure, slipping through the cracks. "But she insisted, and I couldn't..."

"And you couldn't talk her out of it, not without all of those questions you didn't want to answer."

Frank swallowed, regret written all over his face. It was too little, too late, and it was killing her. "I tried to talk her out of it," he said as if he hadn't heard Abby, as if anything else Abby said now just wasn't important. "But she was so fucking stubborn and I couldn't see a way out."

Frank's outline blurred as the tears rolled down Abby's face. "And in the end it didn't matter if King was there or not. Danica would still win, wouldn't she? She'd just have to wait until you turned King out onto the streets for her to find." She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Just tell me why, Frank. What was so fucking important that you sold us all out to a goddamned vampire?"

Frank stared at her for a long moment before he finally answered, and his tone of voice was as gentle as it had ever been with her. "I told you, girl. Danica Talos is way out of our league. We didn't stand a chance against her, not then and not now. But if we played it smart - if I played it smart - stuck to the little leaguers, the vamps who weren't aligned to her, let her think she owned me, that would buy us the time we needed to plan, to recruit, to build. We'd be ready for her someday, and King was supposed buy us that time." He smiled, something hard in it, something as unyielding as stone underneath the guilt and grief, the terrible triumph in his eyes. "But Danica was wilier than I thought, and it turned out King was just too fucking stubborn. He just wouldn't give in, wouldn't roll over and die like he was supposed to." He raised his weapon again, holding Abby's gaze the whole time as he aimed at King. "I knew he was going to be trouble the first time I laid eyes on him."

This time Abby's hands didn't shake as she pointed her gun straight at Frank's head.

"Don't." King's voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a knife. He wasn't looking at Abby; he was watching Frank, a pitying look on his face.

Frank turned his head slowly, his face bleak and bordering on blank. "You going to beg me for your life now, boy?"

King's expression didn't waver as he looked Frank straight in the eye. "Fuck you," he said. "I don't give a fuck about me, but don't make Abby shoot you. After everything you've done, you owe her that much."

The corner of Frank's mouth turned up in a slight, contemptuous smile. "You really think she's going to do that? You think she'll shoot me and save you?"

"Yes." There was no doubt in King's voice, nothing but complete certainty and absolute faith in his eyes when he glanced over at Abby. "I know she'll save me. That's what she does. She's stopped you shooting me before and she'll stop you this time. So don't make her kill you, you selfish son of a bitch. She's got to live with everything else you've done and I'll kill you my fucking self if you try and make her live with that, too."

The smile faded from Frank's face, leaving something confused and broken behind as he stared at King, and as King stared back. And then Frank smiled again, something almost human in it. "You know, I think you might be right. I'm sorry."

The last words were aimed at Abby, not King, and they caught at her attention, slowing her reaction. Frank sounded so sincere, like he really meant it, and there was something peaceful in his expression as he turned back towards Abby and jammed his gun underneath his chin.

She screamed as he fired, the back of his head exploding into a red mist. The gunshot echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else as her heart shattered and the tears streamed down her face. The image of Frank slumping down to the floor, limp and lifeless as his blood pooled on the floor, would haunt her for the rest of her days.

"Abby!" King's voice was urgent and it finally snapped her out of her daze. She blinked at him, her vision still clouded with tears, and he slowly swam into focus again. "We need to get out of here. Now!"

He was right, and that knowledge finally got her moving, darting to King's side to help him to his feet. She didn't look at Frank's body again - she couldn't and keep on going.

"How long until the guards head back in this direction?" she asked, trying to focus and steadying him as he finally made it upright, grunting in pain. "King!"

He glowered at her, sweat beading his forehead again. "Doesn't matter," he said. "They'll have heard the gunshot." Maybe not, if they were lucky, but they couldn't count on luck. And even if, by some miracle, the walls and the wind had masked the sound, Frank had said something about vampires headed in their direction. She was willing to believe that Frank had played it straight about that, if nothing else.

"Can you make it over the fence?"

He grunted again, stumbling slightly as she urged him forward, faster and faster until they broke into a trot. She'd have preferred a sprint, but it was fairly obvious that Frank's blow had at least bruised King's ribs, if not cracked or broken them outright, and she had no intention of leaving King behind.

"Might need a leg up," King wheezed. "But I'll make it."

She knew he would - Frank hadn't been wrong about him being a stubborn little shit.

They hit the outer door to the warehouse at something close to a run, King's arm still curled around his ribs. His face was grey and tight in the outdoor security lights, and he left it to Abby to draw her weapon, trusting her to watch his back as he grimly made his way to the perimeter fence. He was halfway there when the first security guard appeared, his weapon raised as he yelled for King to stop.

King obeyed, slowing his steps; Abby didn't, barrelling into the helpless guard and sending him flying with a roundhouse kick. She slammed her foot down on his arm, and when he let go of his weapon, another kick sent it spinning off into the darkness. He tried to push himself upright again, and only the weapon Abby pointed in his face stopped him. The fear that flashed across his face as he tracked the barrel of the gun left her feeling sick, and she took out some of her fear and frustration out on him, punching him in the side of the head hard enough to put him down, at least for long enough for them to get away.

King was already moving again, stubbornly heading for the fence and clambering up. When she reached him, all she could hear was a constant litany of fucks as he focused on pushing past the pain. When he'd made it over, he hung from the top for a second before dropping, landing with a strangled yelp that had her wincing in sympathy as she scrambled over and landed beside him.

"Remind me not to do that again," he gasped, straightening up with an effort. She had to fight the urge to help him, but helping him would mean taking her eyes off the warehouse complex behind them and missing any signs of pursuit. Instead, she kept her weapon drawn, positioning herself between King and danger.

"Okay," King said, grabbing hold of her free hand and dropping his keys into them. "We need to get the hell out of Dodge, and you're driving."

-o-

King had a new truck, something large and ridiculous that suited his personality. It took both of them to wrestle her bike into the back of it, King cursing the entire time. Once she'd jumped into the driver's seat, she headed straight for base. If King had any objections, he didn't voice them, instead slumping back in his seat and watching her face in the street lights as they flashed by.

It was early, not far past midnight despite everything that had happened, and the roads were still humming. It took everything Abby had to keep to the speed limit and not attract attention when every impulse was screaming at her to hit the gas, the feeling of dread growing slowly with every passing mile.

"Can you phone ahead?" King asked, wincing slightly as he shifted position into something that might be more comfortable.

She shook her head. "I didn't -" Her voice cracked. "I left my phone. I didn't want Frank to figure out where I was."

King nodded, switching his attention to staring out of the windshield. "Danica might not know that Frank's dead yet," he offered, like that was supposed to be a consolation. She got what he was saying - that even if Frank had let slip to Danica where his team were based now, she'd need time to organise an attack - but it did nothing to ease the fear tightening her throat. She already knew that Danica was ruthless and scarily smart. She couldn't bet everything on the chance that Danica, for once, would stop long enough to think things through.

Screw the cops. She slammed her foot down on the gas and tore through the city, heedless of the traffic cams. It was King's car and if he'd been stupid enough to register it legally, he'd just have to be the one paying the tickets.

She didn't even relax when they pulled up outside the dark, squat building that served as their headquarters now. She spilled out of the truck, leaving the door wide open as she surged towards the entrance. She drew her gun as she went and left King to make his own way in behind her.

Her first yell drew Hedges out of his workroom, rubbing his eyes like he'd fallen asleep in there again. His eyes widened noticeably when he spotted King limping in behind her.

"Wait, what's he -"

"Find Dex," she snapped as she headed past him, cutting him off before he could get the rest of the question out. "Now!"

Hedges fled, casting one last, confused look back at King.

Sommerfield had obviously already heard Abby's approach because she emerged from her lab, her body tense and her expression watchful. "What's wrong?" she asked, feeling her way along the wall towards Abby.

Abby ignored the question, her throat too tight to answer. She didn't want to have to say it more than once - it was going to be difficult enough to say the first time. Instead she switched the second most important thing on her mental list. "Where's Zoë?"

"Bed." Sommerfield's face was pinched, tight with the fear that she was holding back. "What's wrong?" she asked again.

"Get her up." She kept her voice slightly softer than when she'd been talking to Hedges, but only slightly. "Now, Sommer."

Hedges reappeared, Dex hard on his heels, and Dex stopped short, eyeing King coldly. She suspected that the only reason that Dex wasn't already in King's face was because King was obviously in no condition to pose a threat. He'd wrapped his arm across his chest again and was moving even more slowly and carefully than he had been back at the docks. Either his condition had worsened, or he was making himself appear as unthreatening as possible, at least until he knew which way the wind was blowing.

With King, that was a distinct possibility, but even that didn't appease Dex entirely.

"What's he doing here?"

"We need to leave, now," Abby said, once again ignoring the question. "We're compromised."

Dex's head snapped towards her. "He shows up and all of a sudden we're compromised? What a fucking coincidence. Does Frank know you've taken up with him again?"

"King didn't sell us out." She rubbed at her face tiredly, heartsick and not bothering to hide it. "Frank did."

Sommerfield let out a soft, wounded sound, but when Abby turned towards her, the expression on Sommerfield's face was grieving but not surprised.

Hedges, on the other hand, looked thunderstruck, shaking his head over and over again as though by denying it, it would suddenly stop being true. "That can't be right," he said. "Frank would never -"

"Frank did." Her tone left no room for argument, and she held Hedges' gaze until he had no choice but to look away. "He admitted it, Hedges."

Dex's expression was brooding as he turned her revelation over in his head. "Where is Frank now?" he asked. "Man should get a chance to give his side of the story."

She didn't know how to break it to them gently, which only left brutal. "Frank's dead."

It hit Dex hard, his eyes widening and his body jerking as though the blow was a physical one. "How?" he demanded, his voice rough and raw with grief. Dex had been with Frank for years. Frank had found him and Frank trained him. However hard Abby was finding this, Dex would suffer more.

But even knowing that, she couldn't answer his question; the words caught in her throat and refused to make it past her lips. In the end, it was King who answered.

"Killed himself," he said. "Blew his brains out right in front of us when Abby..."

"When I figured out it was him, confronted him with it," Abby said harshly, and King's fingers twitched towards her, an automatic gesture of comfort that he quickly suppressed. "But we can talk about it later. Right now we need to move."

The shock was fading from Dex's face, leaving something resigned but focused behind. "How long do we have?"

Abby shook her head, a mute sign that she had no idea, and Dex seemed to fold in on himself a little.

"Where are we going?" Hedges interrupted. "If Frank -" He swallowed. "I mean..."

She'd already considered and dismissed the options they'd had lined up already. That left only one choice.

She turned to King. "You said you had boltholes all over the city, right?" He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. "You got anywhere big enough for all of us?"

He frowned thoughtfully, his eyes growing unfocused for a second as he worked his way through all of the alternatives. And then he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I've got somewhere. It's a fixer-upper, but it will work."

She nodded, turning away from him to look at the rest of what was left of her team, her family.

"Okay, people," she said. "Get ready to move out in twenty."

-o-

The site King had in mind was an old, abandoned barge on the river, just north of the city's manufacturing district. The traffic to and from the shabby factories would mask most of their movements, but they were still far enough away not to attract too much attention. And even if their neighbours did start asking questions, she had no doubt whatsoever that King would have believable answers lined up, given his gift of the gab and mastery of the art of bullshitting.

She and Dex did a circuit of the structure while Hedges stayed with Sommerfield in the truck, Zoë dozing against Sommerfield's side and Sommerfield's arm wrapped protectively around her daughter. King accompanied them as far as the walkway connecting the barge's mooring to the riverbank. She wasn't sure if it was Dex's obvious wariness and barely disguised discomfort with King's presence, or King's own aching ribs that kept him there, waiting for them to come back.

Their options right then were limited, but even if they'd had the luxury of time, Abby was pretty sure that they couldn't have come up with anything better than this. The barge was defensible, made of thick steel and separated from the land by a removable gangplank, and its position was ideal. By the time she was ready to leave Dex and make her way back to King, Dex was already muttering about security measures and escape routes. Since that was the type of thing that made Dex happy, she left him to it and headed to where the others were waiting.

"Home, sweet home," she told Sommerfield, smiling at Zoë and getting one of the Zoë's trademark serious looks in return. "It has potential. I think we'll take it."

King disappeared an hour or so before daylight, and she guessed that he'd headed back to whatever bolthole he was currently using. She didn't see him go and he didn't say goodbye, but just like he'd had faith that she'd save him, she had to have faith that he'd come back. She had other things to focus on - there was a lot to do, things that King couldn't help them with, not when he had his ribs strapped tightly up and was moving like an old man. Hedges had commented on it more than once, earning himself more than one obscene gesture from King in return.

It was growing lighter when Abby finally took a break, stepping out onto the deck and heading towards the front of the boat. She was pretty sure there was a real name for it that she was missing, and she was just as sure that if King ever came back, he'd take great delight in telling her what it was. At the moment, however, she was too tired to care. Frank's death still weighed heavily on her mind, and that made it difficult to think about anything else.

She crossed her arms and rested them on the railing, staring out across the water and listening to the sound of the river lapping against the side of the boat. It wasn't the rain, but the sound was still soothing and she lost herself in it for a moment. The sky was starting to lighten in the east, the still-hidden sun tinting the clouds with a rosy hue, not the vivid red that warned of a storm - Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning - but something softer, peaceful. She closed her eyes, feeling the breeze rising from the river brush gently against her face. It still held the night's chill, but there was no doubt that morning was on its way.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him. The rhythm of them was already familiar enough that she didn't even open her eyes.

"Is there a name for this part of the boat?" she asked as the footsteps first slowed and then came to a stop beside her.

"The bow," King said, leaning against the railing next to her. "Or maybe the prow, if you're talking about the pointy part." She opened her eyes, turning her head to look at him. He looked tired, faint traces of pain still on his face, but he was alive and awake enough to quirk his eyebrow at her when she kept staring at him, examining his face in the light spilling through the forward windows.

"How do you know this stuff?"

"I read a lot," he said, turning to face the river.

"You read trashy romance novels."

He shrugged, giving her a half smile. "And in that vein, I've also seen Titanic."

She laughed softly, closing her eyes again and turning her face into the breeze. "No 'King of the world' moments, okay?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. But I do have a car, just in case you feel like a steamy interlude."

She smiled, still keeping her eyes closed. The air stirred around her and it brought the sounds of early-morning - the faint tooting of far-off boats, and the sound of machinery as the factories came to life - with it.

"You okay?" King asked softly, and she opened her eyes.

"Still alive," she said and again that was probably the wrong choice of words given what had happened.

King nodded, still watching the water flow past. He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and produced a bottle of beer, cracking it open for her before handing it to her. She wasn't surprised to read the label and find out it was Canadian.

"It's a little early for this, isn't it?"

King shrugged, pulling out a bottle from another pocket for himself. "Or a little late," he said. "I suppose it depends on how you look at it."

He had a point, but then she could say that about most things.

She clinked her bottle against his and then swallowed a mouthful of beer. It went down easier than she'd expected. "I keep thinking..." she said before trailing off. She half expected King to come out with a witty remark, something about that being dangerous, but instead he turned his attention from the river to her, watching her seriously. She licked at her lips. "About Frank," she said, and he nodded.

"Understandable under the circumstances."

"It's..." She swallowed, all of that panic she'd been holding at bay bubbling up to the surface. She took another sip of beer to hide it, push it back down again. "I don't think I can do this," she said, pushing the words out as quickly as possible so that they wouldn't stick in her throat and choke her. "If Frank couldn't make it..."

King was still watching her seriously. "You're a hell of a lot stronger than Frank Reilly," he said.

She shook her head, her eyes stinging. "He was strong," she insisted. "And if I hadn't heard it myself, I would never have believed that he could... If Frank could fail like that, when he has twenty years more experience than me..."

"And Danica had two hundred years more than Frank." King shrugged, his face lost in thought as he took a swig from the bottle in his hand. "Maybe Frank took that first step down that slippery slope himself, but I'm pretty sure that Danica gave him a good, hard shove to send him the rest of the way."

She knew he was trying to help, but the thought didn't make Frank's betrayal any easier to bear, and she gulped back on the sob that wanted to escape. She'd shed enough tears for Frank Reilly. Too many.

But then King wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a rough hug, and that did make it easier to bear, just a little. He was warm and the fabric of his shirt scratched against her face as she burrowed into him, finally letting go. The storm, when it came, was full of fury, but it soon blew over, leaving her exhausted and limp in its wake.

"Bad night," she said when she'd gathered enough composure to speak, although her voice was still rough and broken.

King snorted, his fingers stroking up and down her spine in an oddly comforting way. "Now that's a fucking understatement."

She pressed herself closer to him, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent, which was even more familiar than the sound of his footsteps. Musk and fresh salt sweat, warm cotton and cool leather. She was tired, so tired, and it would be so easy to let him keep on holding her, lean into him and just doze for a moment while the world went away.

Too easy, and she'd never been one for the easy option instead of the right one. There was still too much to do, too much to think about, and it would be better for her to do it now, while she was still numb.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said and his voice rumbled through him. She could feel the vibrations of his body as he held her. "But in case you're wondering, those rumours about me are completely untrue."

She smiled, not so much amused by his comment as simply glad that he was there. But this was something she needed to know, no matter the consequences. "Did you know it was Frank? Who sold us out?"

There was a pause before King pulled back far enough to peer down at her, his expression sympathetic. "No," he said gently. "I just knew it wasn't me."

She nodded. Maybe it was weak of her, but instead of stepping away like she should have done if she was sensible, she sank back into the warmth of his body, closing her eyes as he squeezed her gently. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For doubting you."

"Sometimes," he said, "I think you have more faith in me than I do. Actually, I don't think that. I know that."

She didn't answer the question he wasn't quite asking. Instead, she simply listened to the sound of his heart, each beat serving to reassure her that he was still alive.

"If Frank had tried to hurt you again," she said, "I'd have killed him."

She didn't miss the sudden tension in his frame or the way it ebbed away again, nor did she miss how his arms tightened fractionally around her as he swallowed, suddenly and awkwardly.

"You do seem to have this habit of saving me," he said. "You probably want to work on that."

"No. I really don't."

"Right." There was a catch in his voice, something anyone else would have missed. She didn't call him on it, any more than she called him on it when he rested his cheek on her hair for a moment, his breath stirring her hair. "I suppose everyone needs a hobby. But you know, that's why I -"

He bit the words off, but he didn't need to complete it; she knew what he'd been about to say.

"Have an inappropriate amount of hero worship for me?"

He laughed softly against her hair, and she didn't think she imagined the kiss she felt him press there. "I think that by now it's entirely appropriate."

His heart was beating slightly faster. Pressed up against his chest, she could hear it, and she raised her head to look at him, her own heart starting to race, too, when she saw the look in his eye. He reached up and gently brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, easing it behind her ear, and his fingers lingered there for a moment before his palm cupped her cheek. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers.

He tasted of beer and hope, and she parted her lips, deepening the kiss as she slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

When she broke away from him, he kept her close, tucking her under his chin again and wrapping his arms around her. It worked; she wasn't cold any longer, not with King's warmth right there, and for the first time since Frank's death she felt a measure of peace.

"If you have anything else you want to tell me, now's the time," she said quietly, rubbing her cheek against his chest. "Because after what happened with Frank, I really don't care about all the stupid things you think you've done that you don't want me to know about." He stiffened, like he was still afraid of her reaction in spite of what she'd said, even after all of this time and everything they'd been through. Together. "King," she said gently, lifting her head to stare into his face. "Spill."

Maybe it was the gentleness that finally got through to him, because he let go of her, and she let him go. He moved a couple of steps away and took a deep swig of beer before he faced her again.

"Okay," he said, and his voice shook a little. "So, I picked up this Betty in a bar. You know that much already. She had this tattoo on her wrist, just a little thing, looked a little bit like cuneiform, you know, if you prettied it up a bit or just had about two thousand years of linguistic drift. It was one of the first things I noticed about her. Well, that and the really tight skirt she was wearing..."

It wasn't difficult to put the pieces together, not when she understood King now. "You told her what it was, or what you thought it was."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, but there was no amusement in it. "It's stupid, but I was just... I was showing off. I was trying so hard to make an impression, and all I managed to do was hang a sign on my chest that said 'all-you-can-eat buffet'."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You think that's why she took you? Because you could read cuneiform?"

"Well, I can't think of any other reason." His tone was bitter.

"I can think of several," she said, and he rolled his eyes a little. "You're good-looking, you're funny, and you're smart, even if sometimes you're too damned smart for your own good."

She was no good at this - the compliment came out a little stilted and she expected some smartass remark from King in response, but he stayed silent, his eyes watchful. There was something lurking in the depths of them, something close to a desperate kind of hope.

It freed her tongue, in spite of her awkwardness. "You can't blame yourself, King. You didn't ask for it. Any of it. Maybe you're right and she would have picked someone else, but maybe she'd still have picked you and just killed you instead. You can't live in a world of what ifs."

He took another slow swallow of beer, still watching her. "Did you read that in a fortune cookie, Whistler? Because it's really profound."

She studied him for a long moment, saying nothing, and he finally raised one eyebrow and smirked at her, apparently unable to take the silence any longer.

"So, you think I'm good-looking?"

She hummed noncommittally. "I'm not sure about the beard."

He grinned suddenly, and this time he seemed genuinely amused. "I like the beard. Makes me look older, and since my birth certificate has me at five years older than I actually look, that isn't a bad thing. The beard's non-negotiable."

"Really?" She returned his smirk with interest, taking a long, deep pull from her bottle, and he actually looked indecisive for a moment before mock-scowling at her.

"Mean," he muttered, picking at the label on his bottle. That gesture was familiar, too, the clearest sign she could have of the fact that something was still bothering him.

"What is it?"

He glanced back at her, seeming surprised that she'd noticed he was still holding back, and the indecision hadn't faded entirely from his face. Nor had the sympathy, and it was the latter that caught her attention.

"Since tonight is the night for revelations," he said, and there was a strange kind of seriousness underneath his jokey tone, "there's something else you probably need to know." Once, that might have worried her, put her on edge and made her doubt him; now she simply watched him and waited calmly. Whatever it was, they'd deal with it.

"Come here," he murmured, biting at his lip and reaching for her. She went, sliding back into his arms as though she'd never been away. Maybe having her that close helped, or maybe he was just braver than he thought, because he finally admitted, "If you hadn't come when you did, if you'd offered me the cure two, maybe five, years down the line, I wouldn't have taken it." His voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper, dark with shame and a weird kind of hopelessness. "I was just... I was so fucking tired of fighting her. I don't think I could have kept it up. I just kept on losing, and the more I lost, the more I lost myself. Sooner or later, I'd have drunk the fucking Kool-Aid, so when I say that you saved me, Whistler, I'm not fucking exaggerating, okay?"

His tone was deadly serious, none of his trademark flippancy in it, and she whispered a brief okay against his chest, fighting the temptation to wrap her arms around him and never let him go. Apart from everything else, it wouldn't do his sore ribs much good, and there was enough bewildered pain in his voice that she didn't want to add even one iota more to it.

"It's not that Danica sucks the life out of you, Abby. It's that she sucks everything else out of you, too. Reaches deep inside and takes hold of every little bit of hope, everything that makes you 'you', and rips it all away until there's nothing left. Nothing but her."

He wasn't talking about himself, she realised. At least not entirely, and his next words confirmed it.

"If you can't forgive Frank, then I don't know how the fuck you'll ever forgive me. The things I did when Danica had me were a hell of a lot worse than anything Frank could have dreamed up."

She wasn't convinced, but she knew she'd never convince him. Instead she limited herself to a nod, pressing her cheek more firmly against his jacket.

"He was a good man once," she said, because she could offer that much, at least, to King. "And I'm sure he set out to do the right thing."

"Yeah, I'm sure he did. The road to hell, and all that..."

It was an apt descriptor, especially when she remembered how much Frank had aged over the last few months. Abby was pretty sure, now that she thought about it, that Frank had already been living in hell.

But she couldn't think about Frank any more, not without completely breaking down, and the front of King's shirt was already damp.

"Are you staying?" she asked softly instead, and that was the only other question she was interested in. It didn't feel like a question; it felt like a request.

"My stuff's in the back of my truck," he admitted, and she smiled even though he couldn't see it. "If nothing else, I'm sick of ramen noodles and Dex is a pretty decent cook."

"I'm glad," she said and he squeezed her again, pressing another kiss against her head before he loosened his grip and stepped away again, a little more reluctantly this time. His fingers rested in the small of her back for a moment before they dropped away.

"What now?" he asked and she didn't think the question was just about whatever it was that was going on between them.

She leaned against the railings again and thought about it, watching the early morning mist curling up as the sun rose over the horizon, painting the sky with hazy pinks and golds.

"We keep going. We keep fighting. We kick Danica Talos' ass."

"That's a good plan," he said. "Short, simple, and to the point. I like it."

She smiled and took another drink of beer. The bottle was almost empty; when she finished it, there'd be a lot of things waiting for her to do. And a team that would need her to hold them together.

King was watching her, a small smile playing around corners of his mouth. When she caught his eyes, he lifted his bottle, tilting it towards her in a small toast. "To the Night Stalkers," he said.

She stopped in the act of taking another drink, the bottle still pressed against her bottom lip. "Oh no," she said. "We are not calling ourselves the Night Stalkers."

He pouted, but his eyes were dancing, his amusement clear in every line of his body. "Every gang needs a cool name," he said. "Somehow I don't see us as the Scooby gang, and Buffy is already taken."

She gave him a look.

"Oh, come on, Whistler. You know it makes sense. They're Night Walkers. We hunt them, so that makes us Night Stalkers."

"No," she said firmly.

He grinned, throwing his arm around her shoulders and tucking her up against his side. "We can talk about it later," he said expansively, and she had a feeling that it was going to be a very long, very repetitive conversation. But she couldn't find it in her to care, not when King smiled down at her, his eyes softening when she smiled back. It felt natural to settle into his embrace, and she wrapped her arms gently around his waist, watching as the sun rose on a brand new day, one where King would be right beside her.

-o-

Epilogue
Two Years Later

Abby had to admit that Blade was impressive; she'd seen vampires pull some pretty slick shit before, but a half-vampire jumping from a fifth floor window and landing without a scratch was new, even for her.

Even King was impressed, not that anyone else would have been able to tell from the never-ending stream of consciousness he kept up all the way back to the Honeycomb Hideout. She left it to King to introduce the team to Blade while she watched Blade's reaction, assessing him the way that he was judging the rest of them.

"We call ourselves the Night Stalkers," King said, and Abby smiled.

The End

-o-

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