Writing is Easy...

Moonlight | Silver | Part 7 | PG-13

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 15:50:28 GMT

Title: Silver
Part: 7
Author: dukesfreers
Characters: Mick, Beth, Talbot, Guillermo, Josef
Rating: PG-13
Comments: I own nothing. Comments are wonderful.

From Last time:

“Oh my God, Mick!” I exclaimed. “The list! The list is vampires!”

Mick pulled back from me as if burned. “List? There’s a list? You’re telling me there’s a list of vampires floating around out there?”

I collapsed back onto the bed, the weight of the revelation weakening my knees. “I don’t know, Mick… I just… I just have it,” I explained, lamely. “It was stuck under my door the day Emma Monaghan escaped. I… I was told, someone called me, I don’t know who. They told me to keep it a secret, but… but I can’t. Not now. I can’t when it has to do with you, not when it impacts on Beth….”

“And not when you need me to trust you in return.”

Bingo.

*************

"When did they call you? What did they sound like? Where's the list? Come on, Talbot, where is it? I want to see it!" Mick's questions came rapid fire, like rounds of ammunition out of his mouth. With every thought, with every question, he took a step closer to me, closing in on my personal space again.

If Guillermo hadn't been removing the IV's from my hands, I would have thrown them up in defense of his onslaught. "Go easy on him, man," Guillermo whined. "We don't need a relapse."

Mick scowled at the other vampire. "Don't you get it? Someone... some human has a list of all the vampires in Los Angeles." The word, 'human' rolled out of Mick's mouth on a wave of disgust that made me momentarily ashamed of my nature. "Doesn't that raise any alarms in your head?"

Guillermo shrugged. "I'm not surprised, Mick. Think of how many freshies there are. Think of all the humans like Talbot, here... like some of Kostan's financial partners... like," he paused, considering his next statement carefully, "... like Beth..." and when no fury arose in Mick, he continued. "Like Beth, who are humans involved with vampires. I mean, we like to think that we're all secretive and sneaky and shit, but we're not, man. Really, we're not."

"But..." Mick stammered, making sharp, parallel gestures with his hands, "a list."

"Listen, Mick," Guillermo smoothed out the bandage on my left hand and gave me a nod to tell me he was finished, "if it bothers you that much, go check it out," he gave Talbot a meaningful look, "I'm sure our new friend here will be more than cooperative with you."

For my own, I nodded in agreement. Whether I really wanted to protect the vampires, help St. John, or just generally get on his good side at that time I didn't know, but all I knew was that I wanted to share this secret... the bizarre secret of the bizarre list... with someone. Who better than Mick St. John?

"Where is it?" Mick rounded on me, his demeanor still harsh and demanding.

"It's... it's in my office."

Mick nodded once, a sharp toss of the head that made his hair flop down over his eyes. He shook his head back and fixed me with that goddamn stare of his. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket, and started dialing it. The call connected, he walked into the bathroom without another word, and slammed the door.

My heart pounded in my chest at the thought of giving the secret up, especially to a member of that seemingly exclusive club that comprises the mystery list. If it was excitement or fear, I didn't know, but there it was. I swallowed, waiting on the edge of the bed for Mick to come back out, and as I watched Guillermo pack his medical bag and collect the tubing, bags, and paper for the trash, the bedroom door opened, and Beth walked in, rubbing her eyes.

"Ben," she beamed. She crossed the room, holding her arms out. Instinctively, I did the same, until she was enveloped in my embrace. Christ, but she was soft and warm and probably the most comforting thing I'd experienced in the past twelve hours. She pulled back and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, which made me blush. My hand automatically went to the site of her kiss, covering it, holding it in place. "Thank you," she said, and straightened. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm fine," I replied.

She bent down and hugged me again -- at the very moment when St. John came striding back into the bedroom. Shit. Shit shit shit. I looked up, my eyes made contact with his, and he growled. Mick actually growled at me. Jesus! Beth, God bless her, pulled away from me, turned, and melted directly into his arms.

"I was just thanking Ben."

Mick bent his head down and made a show of kissing her in front of me. Asshole. He pulled away and Beth looked at me, biting her bottom lip in embarrassment. Mick kept his eyes on her, but his words were directed at me. "Meet me at my apartment in one hour," he said, his tone clipped, "and bring the list with you."

***************

Mick St. John's apartment, to the uneducated observer, just seemed like the living quarters of a very neat, very fastidious individual. Stark, basic, drab, colors accented here and there with red, spartan furnishings... not meant for comfort. His art decor consisted of strange paintings of an almost morbid nature -- the guy was obviously fascinated by death and the human condition, and rightly so.

I would describe more to you, but I honestly didn't have enough time to take in the architecture of chateau St. John. Mick met me at the door, greeting me in a not so friendly manner by holding out his hand and shaking it. "Give it to me."

There was another presence inside, and the voice that came from the living area was vaguely familiar. "Now, Mick, is that any way to treat your houseguests?"

Mick looked over his shoulder, paused for a moment, and then turned back to me, rolling his eyes with impatience. He gestured toward the living area. "Come in."

"Thanks." I said, tentatively, and then took a few embarrassed steps into the space. I couldn't help but look around, taking in everything around me as much as I could.

"Mick's apartment is very interesting, but I think we can save the three penny tour for after we conduct our business, Mr. Talbot."

I looked at the man and just blinked, my brow furrowing. I shook my head, cleared the cobwebs there, and held out my hand. "I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mister...."

The man looked down at the hand, then up to my face, then down at the hand again. He turned to Mick, a questioning smile on his face. "You didn't tell him?"

"Come on, Josef, just introduce yourself so we can get on with this."

Josef looked back at me, and cocked his head in an odd, but familiar fashion. "The young ones simply have no appreciation for manners, and certainly have no patience." He held out his hand to me, I took it, and his smile became friendly. "Josef Kostan."

My hand pulled back of its own accord, but only slightly. Kostan. The list. Vampire. I managed to hold whatever emotion, whatever fear gripped my body at the thought of touching a vampire in check. I hoped, I prayed that Kostan didn't notice my error....

... but he did. He smirked at me and carried the expression over to Mick. "You weren't kidding, Mick."

"What?" I asked, confused and near-panic.

"You're deathly afraid, pardon the pun. I can smell it on you, and damn, but it stinks. I apologize, Mr. Talbot, but you really ought to do something about that, because it's rank."

"Then it's... it's... true." I stammered, trying to hold on to some semblance of bravado in spite of Kostan's verbal abuse.

"There are many things about me that are true, Mr. Talbot, maybe if you got into some specifics I could be of more help to you." Kostan sniped.

"You're... you're a vampire."

"Well, yes. Give the lad a cookie."

I inhaled a shaky breath and clamped my mouth shut. Funny how fear works. I could actually feel the sweat start to bead up on my forehead, pool up beneath my collar, well in my fisted hands.

Kostan stepped around me, to my side, behind me, circling me like a big cat sizing up its prey. He lifted my arm, the one I'd sliced open, and raised it to his face. Part of me wanted to yank it away, fearful of a bite, but another part of me was fascinated. Kostan lowered his nose to my bandaged wound and inhaled, just as Mick had done the night before. "You weren't bitten."

Mick stepped forward. "He slashed his arm open, fed me from the wound," Mick interjected.

Josef regarded me with what I interpreted as an impressed look and a crooked eyebrow. "Brave man," he nodded slowly, pulling down at the corners of his mouth, "suicidal and stupid, but brave. Mick was very fortunate." His eyes roved up my arm to my neck. He reached up toward me with two fingers, and again, I couldn't help but recoil at the thought of a touch, but I held my ground.

His cold fingers made contact with my damaged throat and I winced with the pain. He jerked his hand back, glanced over at Mick, who squirmed and turned away. Josef peered back at me. "Oh, dear. Did Mick do this to you?"

I inhaled sharply through my nose, flaring my nostrils. I swallowed nervously and nodded as Kostan's hand rose once again to the ruined flesh on my neck. His hand hovered there for a moment, and then he turned it sideways. He squinted one eye, sizing up his hand with the marks on my skin. He squeezed the air, and a wicked grin split the features of his face.

"You should have squeezed harder, Mick." His eyes narrowed and flashed white. My own eyes went wide, and I felt my adam's apple bob up and down as I gulped for air, swallowing and breathing rapidly.

"Leave him alone, Josef." Mick stepped between Kostan and myself, holding his arms out to the side. "Back off, man."

"Oh, come on," Josef scoffed, sticking out his bottom lip in a false pout, "can't a vampire have a little fun? I mean, you won't let me play with Beth. Let me play with this one, please? Please, please, pretty please?" Kostan held his hands together beneath his chin like a petulant child.

"Maybe..." I winced, "maybe I should just... leave."

"No!" St. John whipped around and grabbed me by the shoulders. "No, Talbot. Josef... Josef is only joking, really," he glared at Kostan, "aren't you, Josef?"

I half expected Kostan to dismiss me, wave the regal hand in my direction and send me bowing and scraping out into the deep, dark, night. I expected him to snatch the list from my bag and shove me out the door, or bite my neck, or break my neck, or rip out my neck, or defenestrate me, or gouge my eyes out and eat my brains for lunch through the eye sockets, but I didn't expect... I didn't expect Kostan to put his arm around me.

I shuddered again at the contact, but Kostan kept his grip. His face was turned toward mine, and he moved his head with every movement I made to keep my eyes in sight of his. "Relax. We don't want your fear, Mr. Talbot. We want your loyalty, okay?"

I nodded.

"As long as you stay loyal to me, loyal to us," he indicated himself and Mick, "you have nothing to worry about. Trust me." He smiled, genuinely. "You can breathe now, Talbot. It's allowed. You're human. I know you need to."

The breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding exploded out my mouth. Kostan kept his grip on me. St. John, for his own, stood watching, his hands on his hips, his mouth set in a straight, determined line. I looked up at him, and he smiled. Oh, thank God but he smiled. I let out a relieved puff of breath.

"That's better," Kostan released his grip on me. "My profuse apologies for the gallows humor, Talbot. I'm over 400 years old. I need to get my jollies somehow. I promise, it will never happen again."

"Uncross your fingers, Kostan," Mick said, half-warningly. Kostan raised his hands and splayed them open on either side of his head. "Vlad's honor," he said, and then winked.

"Now," Mick said, once again holding out his hand, "let me see the list, please."

"You're so polite." Josef joked, but Mick didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on my briefcase. I opened it and pulled out the black folder with the red seal. I handed it to Mick. He took it and sat down on his couch, spreading the folder on the glass coffee table. I sat beside him, and Kostan sat on the other side.

Kostan reached out and fingered the red seal. Although I had only known the man... the vampire... for a few minutes, I could tell that the shaking of his hand and the widening of his eyes were uncharacteristic of him. "When did you get this?" The shakiness translated into his voice as well. Holy crap, but he was just as frightened as I was.

In a way, I'll admit, but don't tell him this... I was thrilled by that. I mean, wouldn't you be? It was like... you freak me out, I freak you out. Ha. Gotcha. Take that, you vampire thing you.

But I digress.

"What, what is it?" Mick leaned over to peer at the seal. "What's wrong, Josef?"

Josef's fingers danced over the seal, tracing the circle embossed into the wax, the small florets and vines around the edge, and finally, the intricately carved letter "L" at the center. He pulled his hand back, as if the seal had caught fire, and sat back against the couch cushions. "Open it," he demanded.

"But... Josef... what?" Mick started, but Josef cut him off.

"Open the goddamn envelope," Kostan growled. I opened it, took the contents out and handed the list over.

Josef, for what seemed a very long time, looked down his nose at the stack of papers I held before him. He sat stiffly, his mouth slack open, and while he raised his hands, he let them hang suspended in air beneath the paper, loath to take it into his grip, as though if he touched it it would shatter the illusion that it wasn't real, that it wasn't true. That if he lay his hands upon it it would become truth.

I knew the feeling.

Josef finally took the list, but didn't flip any pages. "Mick's name is on it?"

"Yes."

Mick shifted in his seat, but remained silent.

"My name is on it?" he asked, in the same, flat, matter of fact tone.

I reached over his arm and flipped to the last page. I pointed to his name printed in Garamond font at the bottom. "Yes."

He dropped his head to his chest, and let the list fall from his fingers. The paper fanned out on the floor beneath Mick's coffee table, at Kostan's feet. He kept his head down, staring at the paper.

Mick bent down, reached over, and picked it up. He placed it back in the envelope, and pulled the entire file away from Josef. "What does it mean, Josef?" He handed the whole package to me, and nodded toward my brief case, indicating that I should put it away. "What does "L" stand for?"

"Legion." Kostan answered, his voice hollow. "Legion," he repeated, whispering.

"What in the hell's Legion?" Mick stood, obviously disconcerted by Kostan's tone. "Josef, what is going on here?"

"Your attackers were human."

Mick shook his head and creased his brow. "I think so. It happened so fast, I can't be sure."

"No, they were. I'm telling you they were." Josef stood and paced into the kitchen area. "They were humans. The Legion... they're humans."

"Why would humans have a list of vampires," I asked, scratching my head, "and how is this connected to what happened last night to Mick?"

"If they would have succeeded," Josef began, "Mick would just have been another secret statistic, another missing person... another dead vampire... who would have cared, who would have noticed?"

"I would," I offered up, weakly.

"No!" Josef barked. "In the grand scheme of things. What humans... Beth excluded, of course... would have even noticed?"

"None. But other vampires would have." Mick said, darkly.

"It was a message." Josef sneered and jabbed the air with a finger toward Mick. "You were meant as a message, man. I mean, they went so far as to try to off you with silver. They wanted us to rabbit onto them, they wanted us to know that they know how to kill a vampire."

Mick's jaw dropped. "Oh my God. They wanted us to know they knew how to kill a vampire, and...."

I cut him off. "That they wouldn't hesitate to do it." I shook my head and shrugged. "But why?"

"The Legion is not simply a group of bookish human geeks who study vampirism. They have a more sinister goal." Josef paced back to the living area.

"Forced extinction," Mick whispered.

"Close." Josef raised an eyebrow. "Try again."

Mick closed his eyes. "There are too many of us. They're frightened, trying to control our population."

"Exactly. Ten points to Gryffindor." Josef pointed and clucked his tongue.

"But there's one thing I don't understand," I pointed at my own chest, "why did they pick me? Why did they send me the list?"

Silence. And then...

"Sit down. I think I have an idea." Josef ordered. He pointed. I obeyed.

Mick folded his arms and stood watch again. Somehow, I knew I wouldn't like this. Not one bit, and just when I thought it couldn't get worse... or more surreal. It did. I mean, I crossed over from floating around in a Klee to drowning in a Dali. That surreal. Where were the melting clocks and half-horses, I didn't know, but part of me expected to grow a big curly mustache right then and there.

"Talbot," Josef said, "if I'm right, and I'm always right, they targeted you for your family connections."

I looked up, thinking, trying to piece it together. "What does my family have to do with it?" I mean, my father was a Pennsylvania steelworker and my mother a housewife. "There's nothing special about my family."

"Ever read Anne Rice?" Josef sat beside me. He leaned forward and rest his elbows upon his bent knees.

"Yeeeahhh..." I intoned, "but I don't see where this is...."

"David Talbot." Josef said.

I gave Josef an 'are you insane' look and stood up, putting distance between myself and this crazy person... vampire... thing. "He's a fictional character! Anne Rice dreamed him up and wrote him!"

"I could get Louis de Pointe du Lac on the phone if you would like me to," Josef said, flatly. "Lestat's purely fictional, though... which, if you think about it, is extremely fortunate."

"So, you're telling me, that my relative... some relative I don't even know exists, is a member of some elite bizarro-world super force team of vampire hunters, and that some weirdo writer from New Orleans wrote him into her books?" I scoffed. "Do you know how fucking weird this all sounds?"

"No weirder than the fact that vampires exist." Mick added.

He had a point. He had a very, very good point.

Josef continued. "But David Talbot....he doesn't exist, not anymore."

"What happened?" Fuck me, but as strange as this all was, I was intrigued, and here I thought nothing else could surprise me. Yeah. Right.

"He died two years ago," Josef said, sadly.

"How do you know?"

"He... he was a member of the Legion from the time he could wield a stake. But, things changed with him. He... met... some vampires, talked with them, learned what they were like, understood their needs, wants, desires... and...."

"Changed his mind?" I said. "He turned traitor, sided with the vampires, right? Is that right?"

Josef nodded slowly. "Your uncle was a very good friend of mine. He was a kindred spirit in human form, a confidante, someone I could spill my rotting guts to... and he never, not once, judged me." Josef shot a quick indiscernable look at Mick.

Mick winced and turned away, his arms crossed over his chest.

"His death must have been very hard on you." I observed.

"It was, truly it was." Josef's voice clouded over with sadness and melancholy.

"Then... how did he die? Did the Legion find out what he was doing and kill him?"

"No," Josef heaved a sigh. "I killed him."

Gotcha?

Moonlight | Silver | Part Six | PG-13

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 13:27:13 GMT

Title: Silver
Fandom: Moonlight
Part: Six
Author: dukesfreers aka iansmomesq
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mick St. John, Ben Talbot, Guillermo Gasol, Beth Turner
Comments: It's not mine.

From last time:

You love her, don't you." The words tumbled out of my mouth unbidden.

"Yes," St. John replied, still facing away from me. "I do... and she loves me."

"But," I stammered, and my inhibitions must have really been out of whack because the next words I said were, other than the bit about giving over my own blood to this guy, probably the stupidest ones I had ever uttered.

"How can she?"

His head whipped around. "What!?"

"I mean, with what you are, how can she love you?"

Have you ever regretted something you said? I did. Right at that very moment, and St. John's icy, flashing, hateful stare only served to heighten that regret. He pushed away from the door jamb and crossed the room, looming toward me in a single stride. It was all I could do but swallow and cower under his growing anger.

Oops. Oh, crap.

**********

“The fuck you mean by that?” Mick stood before me, his arms bent, fists clenched, an annoyed scowl on his face.

I cringed, bit my bottom lip, and braced for the hit that never came. “Listen, I… I didn’t mean anything by that, it just came out... I don't know, I...."

Mick pursed his lips and he relaxed, letting his arms fall to his sides. "It's okay, Talbot. Believe me, I've wondered the same thing. I still do, in fact." He looked out into the living room, his features softening as he gazed upon Beth. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes in an intricate gesture that looked as if he were scenting the air. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was. Lucky guy.

Beth stirred, turned over, and mumbled something in her sleep that sounded suspiciously like, "Mick."

Damn him. "You're not really so... I mean... I’m just… I don’t know, confused, St. John. I’m new at this, this whole vampire thing. It’s very….”

Mick gave a sad half smile. “Overwhelming.”

“Yeah.” I returned the smile. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“Believe me,” he cocked an eyebrow, “I know. Personal experience is a bitch.”

Guillermo, for his own, darted his eyes nervously between Mick and myself, looking as if he were watching a tennis match. He finally clapped his hands together, rubbed them up and down, and put on a false grin.

“Listen, guys,” he clicked his tongue and pointed, “er… I’m… going to just go and… er…,” he looked around and spotted the open bathroom. “I’m going to go clean up in there, don’t want Beth waking up to a mess, she'll freak.” And with that amusing display, the young ME was gone.

Once Guillermo had left, I put a hand to my chest and gave a little bow of my head to Mick. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just having trouble reconciling the fact that you and Beth have feelings for each other with the fact that you nearly killed me twice tonight.” I brought the hand up to my throat, probing at the flesh there. “First, you almost choked me….”

Mick cut me off with a raised hand. “I hurt you. I know. I'm sorry. I'm not... it's just... survival is an instinct that’s hard to overcome. Okay?”

I didn't let up. “… and then you almost sucked me dry.”

“I stopped,” Mick said, sadly, “well, Guillermo stopped me. I’m not used to… I’m not used to feeding on humans. I don't if I can help it. It’s too dangerous, and well, now you know why.”

“Is that why you refused to feed on Beth?”

“Yes.”

“You would have rather died than put her in danger.”

“Yes.”

What the hell... “Then why did you feed from me? What am I, expendable?”

He made a ‘tsk” sound. “You sliced yourself open and shoved your bleeding arm in front of a hungry, dying vampire.” He made an open gesture with his two hands and lifted his eyebrows.

Yeah, he had a point, but I decided to push further. “That’s not the only reason.”

Mick let a single chuckle erupt from within his chest. He sat down on the bed at a distance beside me, took a long breath, bowed his head, and sighed. “Years ago, maybe, just maybe, I would have just let myself die. I would have been stubborn enough to refuse you, I could have done it you know. But now? Now, I’m not so sure. I think, I think in spite of everything, in spite of my reluctance to feed, my aversion to death….”

“You have something to live for now.”

Mick went very still. Strangely still. Preternaturally still. I feared I'd pushed too far, that he was angry again, but after a moment, he turned his head slowly up, his eyes shining and his mouth slack. He regarded me curiously, tilting his head, looking me up and down with wonder, his gaze finally settling on my own eyes. “Yeah," he actually sounded surprised. "I guess I do.”

“Beth.”

“Yeah, Beth.” He paused. “So… thanks," he said, awkwardly. "Thank you, Ben."

Interesting. Ben. Not Talbot. Ben....

"I owe you one,” he said. He reached up to shake my hand, but I instinctively gasped and backed away. I immediately regretted it. Here he was, putting himself out there, and here I was, still treating him like an abomination. Well, he was one, wasn't he, in spite of everything? I guess I couldn't help it, the wounds were literally and figuratively still raw.

Mick pulled back, his hands flying up. “Oh! Okay, okay.”

“Sorry, sorry.” I muttered, covering my face in my hands.

“No, it’s okay,” Mick stood and took a step away. “I know the reaction well.”

“Listen.” I ran a hand through my hair. “We’re actually even. I owed you my life, you know.”

“Anders,” Mick remembered, and then added, almost as an afterthought, “he was a vampire.”

My eyes went wide. “Really?” I think I was more shocked that he told me than the information itself.

“Yeah, and by the way, I never even gave a thought to rescuing you. I was there for Beth, and you just happened to be tied to her,” he winked.

Fuck me, but St. John was growing on me, the son of a bitch.

“Fair enough.” I laughed and rubbed my head with the concussive memory. As I did, something, somewhere in the back of my mind clicked on and lit up, like a weak 40 watt light bulb. Something in the recesses of my brain connected, a trifle having to do with Anders, but I wasn’t sure just yet what it was. “Where is he now?”

“Dead,” Mick replied, matter-of-factly.

“Did you…?” I began, but Mick cut me off.

“You don’t need to know that, Talbot, so don’t ask. Don’t ask anything. Okay? You’re better off not knowing, trust me.”

Better off not knowing… right. Truer freaking words have not been spoken.

“But, I know about you,” I said, probing.

“I take my privacy very seriously when it comes to what I am.”

“What… are… are you… are you going to do anything about it?” In an instant, the companionability between Mick and I dissolved. I was suddenly thrust once again into fear for my life, and I think Mick shared that fear for me. He began pacing the room, his head in his hands, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know, Talbot,” step, step, step, turn. “I know nothing about you. I don’t know what you know or who you know,” step, step, step, turn. “I have absolutely no reason to trust you. On the other hand, I won’t kill you, and I’d never do anything to deliberately hurt you,” step, step, step, turn, stop. “But I can’t guarantee that others would feel the same. If you don’t stay away from me, you could be in a lot of danger.”

Danger… what? I didn’t hear that part. What got my attention was the fact that there were others… other vampires. Anders was a vampire. St. John is a vampire. Okay, that 40 watt light bulb? It just intensified to a 75 watter. “You’re not the only one, you’re not the only vampire.”

Mick cocked his head at me and blinked. “I just said that. Why?”

I pointed at the bathroom door. “Guillermo? Is he?”

Mick looked over his shoulder and then back at me. He nodded. “I think you know that already.”

120 watts.

It was my turn to start pacing, well, as best I could in the front of the bed with two IV lines trailing from my hands. As I walked, as I thought, I ticked off names on my fingers. “St. John,” I mumbled, “Anders, Gasol...” I poked my fingers at my forehead. “Think, Talbot, think.”

“What are you…?”

I held up a hand. “Shh. Just give me a minute.” I was in my zone. I stopped pacing and looked up at Mick. “Tell me. Emma and Jackson Monaghan, are they?”

Mick sat down on the bed and just stared at me, slack-jawed, confusion writ-large on his face. “Yes,” he replied, tentatively.

200 watts.

I resumed my walk, reciting the names as I stepped, remembering the list of names so snapshot into my photographic memory. “Keiko Sato, Logan Griffen, Donovan Shepherd, Ryder England, Dolores Maxford Whittaker, Gerald Stovsky….Josef Kostan…” I brought my hands to my head and grasped bunches of my hair.

1000 watts. “Oh my God, Josef Kostan.” 5,000 watts.

I looked up, and I know Mick saw the little hamster churning away at the wheels of my brain. He stood and grasped me by the shoulder. I didn't pull away. “Where are you getting these names, Talbot?”

“They… they’re vampires, aren’t they?” My eyes, my hands, my whole being begged Mick for a confirmation, for a sign, something. Something to make all of this make sense, because Jesus Christ, it was finally starting to make sense.

Remember what I said about being in the loop? Well, I was on the verge of the inner fucking circle and it thrilled me to no end.

Mick looked unsure, thoroughly flummoxed, yet, he answered. God love him, and I didn't think he would, but he answered. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Right? Well, it goes both ways.

“Yes. They are.”

Flashbomb.

“Oh my God, Mick!” I exclaimed. “The list! The list is vampires!”

Mick pulled back from me as if burned. “List? There’s a list? You’re telling me there’s a list of vampires floating around out there?”

I collapsed back onto the bed, the weight of the revelation weakening my knees. “I don’t know, Mick… I just… I just have it,” I explained, lamely. “It was stuck under my door the day Emma Monaghan escaped. I… I was told, someone called me, I don’t know who. They told me to keep it a secret, but… but I can’t. Not now. I can’t when it has to do with you, not when it impacts on Beth….”

“And not when you need me to trust you in return.”

Bingo.

Moonlight | Silver | Part Five | PG-13

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 12:31:20 GMT

Title: Silver
Part: Five
Author: dukesfreers
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Moonlight
Characters: Mick, Beth, Guillermo, Talbot
Comments: I own nothing.

From Last Time:

...for the second time in one night, the world around me faded to black. I faded out as Mick faded back in. Ironic, I suppose, but for me? That was enough.

*****************

Light. White and intense -- a vision that could only be described as heavenly; a lone figure at the end of a shimmering, illuminated tunnel. Undulating ribbons of white gossamer stirring beneath a pair of outstretched arms. A love, deep and unconditional I knew, could be found in that light, and I was drawn to it like a moth. I took step after step down that corridor, that blinding corridor, my arm above my eyes to shield from its brilliance, but I never seemed to get closer. It was if I was striding the wrong way down a motorized walkway, and I picked up the pace, jogged, trotted, ran -- anger and frustration building up inside me, but I could get no closer; until suddenly everything stopped, the light dimmed, I gasped for air, bent at the waist, hands on my knees.

I looked up; and I was suddenly in someone's presence.

Beth's presence.

Beth the angel in clinging yet flowing robes, bathed in light, hair all windswept curls and glowing, eyes shining blue. She reached out for me, her arms beckoning to me, bending in supplication, but I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move. I called to her, "Beth!" but she said nothing in response. She crooked a finger at me and smiled in that way she smiles when she doesn't realize how beautiful she really is, but still, I was powerless, utterly unable to go to her.

I stretched my own arms, nearly falling forward with the effort... the struggle just to reach her, but it was useless. The light was too bright; well, it was too bright for only a moment because as soon as I felt my feet start to break free, when I took that first step towards her, my heart lightening -- a darkness overshadowed everything. It started small, just blocking out a tiny corner of Beth's luminescence, but then it grew, and it, too, had wings of filmy fabric, but they were black. Black and red, and they were tattered and torn, filthy and ugly. Terrifying. I screamed, "Beth!" but the darkness kept closing in -- closing in behind her until the light was wholly obscured save that of her own glow.

The figure stood taller and loomed larger than Beth, and it laid its grimy hands on her shoulders, sullying the purity of her robes and gowns. It's face was that of nightmares -- pale, thin, skeletal with glowing white eyes and saber-tooth fangs. It laughed. The thing laughed at me, and Beth... Beth... she laughed with it. She laughed with it and she reached up and caressed the thing's face, turned her own and gave it a kiss. "Beth!" I cried out, but she just looked at me, and her countenance, too, became monstrous -- gray, wrinkled skin, decayed teeth, sunken, yellow eyes. I tried backing away, tried to run, but there was nothing I could do about it because I was once again trapped.

Trapped this time with lengths of plastic tubing upon an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar sheets. The tall, dark thing looked up at me, his eyes glowing red, and he spoke, but his words made no sense.

"I could have killed him, Guillermo." I felt a cold hand on my forehead, pushing my hair back. Everything in me wanted to swat it away, but my body was frozen.

And Beth responded, her mouth moving, but the voice wasn't Beth's. "But you didn't, and he's fine... the idiot. What was he even thinking?"

The figure laughed. "The idiot was braver than I gave him credit for. The idiot saved my life, that's what he did."

Saved my life.... With that, the entire scene fell away... thank God... replaced by a strange combination of light and darkness in a mish mash of reddish gray behind my eyes. The headache was still there and the first thought I had was that I'd kill for a Tylenol. I tried opening my eyes, but I couldn't.

I found it strange that the voices continued even though the vision had, vanished.

"So," the voice continued, "what was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Feeding fresh again. It's been a while, hasn't it, man. No wonder you nearly drained him, you're out of practice."

"It hasn't been that long. Remember Victorville?"

"That doesn't count."

The voice of the monster gave a scoffing laugh. "I'm not even going to go there, Guillermo."

Guillermo. Not Beth, Guillermo. Guillermo Gasol? I tried opening my eyes again, but again, my body would not cooperate. Fucker. I twitched my left index finger just to test myself, and felt a strange pull on the flesh on the back of the hand. I tried the same with the right, and again... sticky. Tape?

The voices again.

"So, tell me, Mick," Guillermo laughed, "what'd he taste like? He's from Boston, right? Baked beans, crab cakes, and Sam Adams?"

Mick... Mick... Oh, God.

"You're a ghoul, you know that, man?"

"I've been one for forty years, Mick. Hard habit to break, and admit it. You wouldn't have me any other way."

My heart pounded in my chest, the fear rising; a combination of the memory of Mick but not Mick and the lack of control over my own body. My hands spasmed, my consciousness trying desperately to regain a foothold. I tried speaking but all that came out were incoherent choking noises.

"He's coming to, Guillermo." Relief flooded Mick's voice, and my mind.

"Let me see him." There was a flurry of movement beside me, the bed bounced once as Mick, apparently rose from my side, and again as Guillermo sat down. Cold hands explored my face, chest, arms, hands, took my pulse. Two fingers opened one of my eyes and a bright light was shone, flicked to the side, then shone again. I blinked against it and turned my head away. "Come on, Talbot," the voice encouraged, "come back to us, man."

I groaned. The same two fingers opened my other eye, again the light. Some light taps on the side of my face, fingers at my throat, pain at the touch of the tender, bruised skin, and I flinched from it.

"Talbot, open your eyes," Guillermo commanded, his face close to mine, cool breath against my cheek.

I blinked, my eyes slitting open. Another face, a blur of dark and flesh color hung over Guillermo's shoulder. "Is he gonna be okay?" I blinked again, fisted up my hands against the stickiness there. I licked my lips and my tongue felt as if it filled up the entirety of my mouth. "Hey, Talbot," a hand on my upper arm, squeezing gently, "hey, come on, wake up, man."

I moaned, as the sensations of strange, cold hands on my flesh and unwelcome voices in my ears became unbearable. I was finally able to move my hand, to flick away the invading one grasping down on my own arm. Speech came back to me, as well, albeit difficult. "Hmmmm... I'm... not. I'm.... No.... No blood, no blood, no blood, no more blood... no Beth, no, Beth, NO!" I sat bolt upright, shouting incoherently, unable to stop the pain in my throat and the ragged screams bursting forth from my chest. My breath came in gusting heaves and when I finally opened my eyes, I did so full bore, such that everything, light, color, texture, hands and faces all swam into my vision simultaneously. Yellow room. Open window. Darkness. Streetlights. Lamplight. Doors, walls, bed... a face. Vaguely familiar and then, and then, the dam broke.

St. John knelt down in front of me, and grasped me by the shoulders. "Talbot, hey... hey, man, it's me, Mick. Calm down...." Calm down. Calm down? Fuck yeah, right, calm down. My ass calm down. I whipped my hands up, screamed again, threw his arms off of me and scrabbled, quick as I could, to the side of the bed. The tape on the back of my hand caught and pulled at the hairs there. I swore violently with the pain of it and moved back to the center, pushing back against the covers and the sheets and the mattress cover with my feet until I had my body tucked in a small ball at the headboard.

I probably looked like the biggest wuss in the entire world. Wouldn't you if you were in my situation? Oh. Wait. You've never been in my situation, have you? Trust me. You'd scream like a little girl, too.

I yanked at the tubing and the clear plastic tape on one hand, and then the other, struggling to free myself from the shackles of plastic which held me in place. I cursed and swore under my breath, only allowing myself to look up for split seconds at St. John....

Who cares about this other guy, I thought, he's not going to choke me. He's not going to crush my skull with one hand, collapse my windpipe. He's not going to bite me, not going to suck my blood out, tear my throat out, rip my body to shreds with his teeth.... Jesus!

I just wanted to get as far away from that -- that thing as possible. I tugged again at the tape, hunching over, picking rapidly at the edge, muttering to myself on shallow breaths as my eyes continued to dart the room. Then, from nowhere, came a blur, a whisper of air, and without warning, I found myself on my back, my hands splayed against the sheets on either side of my head. Shit!!!

"No! Let... me... go!" I shouted.

"Talbot, for Christ's sake, will you please stop struggling!?" St. John. He was whispering. In my face... so close to my face... my neck... too close.... too fucking close. "Talbot!" He hissed through clenched teeth. Oh, God. Those teeth. He was on top of me, tented over me, his hands at my wrists, pinning me down. I tried kicking up, tried to buck him off, but the other guy, that Guillermo guy, had me by the ankles. "Come on, now...Talbot!" I kept up the struggle, pulling at my legs, pushing with my hands, trying even to reach his hands with my teeth, but it got me nowhere; nowhere other than a light head and tingling limbs. I struggled some more, but I knew... I knew my attempts had become pathetic. I grew tired, weary, unsettled, I didn't want to give up, but looking into St. John's determined face, I knew I had to.

So, I did. "Fuck you," I muttered under my breath.

St. John's grip loosened, ever so slightly. "I heard that, you know." He smiled, he actually smiled, the smug bastard. "Listen. I know, okay. I know you're... frightened of me, just please. You'll hurt yourself if you keep struggling! Okay?" Strangely, his voice was calming. I took in a deep breath and let it out, shakily. The smile remained. No hint of threat or anger, just... what was it there? Pity? Gratitude? Something, just... just not an immediate threat. If that was at all possible.

Whatever it was, it abated my fear... well, maybe not completely, but at least a little bit. "I'm going to let you go now and Guillermo here is going to check your IV's. Do not get up. Do not run, and for the love of God, stop screaming. Please." He raised his eyebrows at me, seeking an affirmation.

I nodded and blinked.

"Okay, I'm getting up on the count of three. Ready? One... two...," and on three, he raised his hands, released me and crawled slowly backwards off the bed. "There," he said, his hands still in the air, a gesture of surrender, "there. See? You're fine. I'm... I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

I sat up, slowly, not taking my eyes off St. John, my face set in a mask of determination and defiance. Fuck if he was going to knock me on my ass again.

I looked away briefly, watching as Guillermo checked me over, adjusted the IV's on my hands. There was a large gauze bandage on my right arm... I knew what that was from... and there was a smaller one in the crook of my left elbow. I looked down at it and up at Guillermo, a question in my eyes.

"Epogen," he said. "Increases your red blood cells. Just in case."

Satisfied, I nodded and turned my gaze back to St. John. I stared. He stared back, both of us scared shitless. I of him, he of my reaction to him. When Mick spoke, he sounded nervous, uncertain.

"I took... I mean, you lost about two pints of blood. You passed out. Guillermo gave you one pint already. This is the second one, and he's been giving you lactated ringers on a fast drip to keep you from getting dehydrated." He bit his lip and averted his eyes.

"Good thing you're A positive, man, or you'd have been screwed royally." Guillermo added.

Mick cringed and rolled his eyes. "Not helpful, Gasol."

Guillermo raised his hands again. "I call 'em like I see 'em, Mick."

"I'm... I'm sorry, Talbot." Mick said, his face still contorted with regret.

For my part, I just kept quiet, staring, breathing, not giving in. Strangely enough, my passing moments of silence seemed to deflate the vampire. He studied me, scrutinizing me for a short while with those intense eyes, but then, he simply closed them, bowed his head, sighed and turned away -- turned away in apparent defeat to face the French doors of what I had finally recognized as Beth's bedroom.

Beth...

"Where is she?" I demanded, probably a little too harshly.

"She's safe, if that's what you want to know." Mick replied, his voice a near whisper.

"Where?"

He opened the door and pointed. "Out there. On the couch. Asleep."

"Asleep... how could she?"

"She made sure I was okay, that you were going to be okay. She was exhausted. It was three in the morning...."

Guillermo chimed in. "Not to mention the helping hand of a dose of diphenhydramine in her water glass."

Mick looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "You drugged her?"

Guillermo rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. Give me a little credit, will you? It's no more than her taking that OTC sleep aid she keeps in her bathroom. She needed sleep. I just... helped things along."

"Check with me first before you do something like that again, okay?"

Guillermo raised his hands in surrender. "Just trying to help."

Mick smiled. "I know. It's fine... it's..." he turned back to the door, leaned against the archway, and looked out at the sleeping figure of Beth, her chest rising and falling in the natural rhythm of slumber. "... fine."

"You love her, don't you." The words tumbled out of my mouth unbidden.

"Yes," St. John replied, still facing away from me. "I do... and she loves me."

"But," I stammered, and my inhibitions must have really been out of whack because the next words I said were, other than the bit about giving over my own blood to this guy, probably the stupidest ones I had ever uttered.

"How can she?"

His head whipped around. "What!?"

"I mean, with what you are, how can she love you?"

Have you ever regretted something you said? I did. Right at that very moment, and St. John's icy, flashing, hateful stare only served to heighten that regret. He pushed away from the door jamb and crossed the room, looming toward me in a single stride. It was all I could do but swallow and cower under his growing anger.

Oops. Oh, crap.

Moonlight | Silver | Part Four | PG-13

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 02:49:56 GMT

Title: Silver
Author: dukesfreers
Fandom: Moonlight
Part: Four
Characters: Mick, Beth, Talbot
Rating: PG-13
Comments: I own nada.

From Last time:

He just stared at her. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he that much of a jackass? The seconds seemed to tick on and on and Mick just sat there, mutely, staring, blinking, not moving, not answering her, not listening to her pleas, not responding to the love Beth was obviously pouring out.

So, I did it for him, the stupid fuck.

"It's okay. Don't worry. He won't die, Beth." Beth turned and just stared. Mick looked over at me, too, probably realizing for the first time that I was actually there.

"What?" Beth's eyes went wide.

"He won't die." My words were sure and confidence was unfaltering...and where those or my next words came from fuck knows, but there they were, and they were probably the most insane, most irrational, brashest ass nine words I'd ever spoken in my entire life... or ever would speak.

"He won't die; because he'll feed on me instead."

**************

Have you ever had one of those moments when you thought... no you knew, you fucking knew that you were out of your mind? This for me, was one of them. Not only just one of them but the penultimate one of them where I was certain I'd lost my marbles.

But in the moment, I didn't care. All I saw was a man dying and a woman I cared about crying frustrated and angry tears; and there was something I could do about it.

It's like... living in the moment. Being in the situation and just letting what happens happen and allowing yourself to go on auto-pilot, damn the consequences, right? You do what you have to do when you have to do it and deal with the fallout later. I've heard that people like soldiers, emergency personnel, rescue people, ER doctors, get in this zone all the time... it's part of the job... part of the rush and thrill of it... part of what makes their careers exciting.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think such a feeling would come with the territory of a Harvard law degree.

But there it was. There was the moment. I opened my fucking mouth, said those nine stupid ass words, and I had to live with it. So I did.

And Mick St. John, for his part... didn't make it easy.

"You... you... are not... not g-g-going... to...," he stammered, his prior semblance of coherence and burst of energy having quickly, and frighteningly, passed.

I took two strides toward him. "I have to. I have no choice." I said, matter-of-factly. I sat down on the toilet, facing him. I leaned forward, and clasped my hands, resting my elbows on my bent knees, trying desperately and with everything I had to look unafraid.

But I was shaking in my boots, and I knew it. Mick knew it.

"You're... you're af-f-f-raid of m-m-me," he stuttered. "I... s-smell y-your f-fear." Shit, but the silver was insidious and he was going fast.

"Damn right I am, St. John." I said, lifting my chin, defiantly. "You -- are a fucking freak show and you scare the crap out of me, but for some ungodly reason, and ungodly is right, Beth loves you, and if you're stupid enough not to take what she's offering, you'd better not pass on this or she'll never forgive you;" I tilted my head and squinted at him, "and neither will I."

Was that a threat? Don't ask me. It just sounded good at the time.

For the life of me now I'm still not sure why I did it or how I got the courage up to even get anywhere near St. John... anywhere near that... that thing in the bathtub that was Mick but not Mick and dead but not dead. But I did, and as I looked closely upon Mick but not Mick he was less like the Mick part and more like the not Mick... which scared the fuck out of me, and worried the hell out of Beth.

As I looked closer, I could tell... if I didn't do something, if someone didn't do something and quickly, it wouldn't be pretty. Already the currents of the water carried small flotillas of dark, wet hair away from Mick's head. Mick's skin was nearly transparent, the wounds gaping further and seeping a foul-looking yellowish substance.

Mick's veins, arteries, and even the bones showed through in his hands, themselves cramped, trembling, and curled inward, bent at the wrist against his chest. His eyes had flushed pale again... the silver remaining to be seen in his pupils, and the white having become a sickly yellow-green. His teeth, gums, fangs and all, were bared, not the result of a facial expression, but resulting from a cascade failure of muscle tone and control.

Mick looked, for all intents and purposes, like a corpse -- like a decaying, rigor-mortised corpse -- and the very thought of it, the very sight of it made my stomach lurch.

I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat and blinked away the water in my eyes. I stood, whipped my tie from around my neck, took off my jacket, and flipped my shirtsleeves up. I sat back down and leaned forward again, leaned forward into the ghastly, skeletal, face, and now the stench, God help me, the stench of death. I fisted my hand once, twice, three times to bring the veins in my right arm to the fore, and to control the shaking. Resolved and satisfied, I set my very flesh before Mick's eyes.

He blinked, and looked up at me, imploringly. His mouth twitched and twisted slightly but it was obvious he was so far gone that he couldn't even form words, couldn't even draw breath to speak.

"Mick," I shook my wrist in front of him. "Do it. Now, before... before it's too late."

He licked his lips, looked down at my arm and then up into my eyes. He tried to reach out to me but his body obviously was no longer cooperating with his brain. His finger twitched once, twice before his entire arm convulsed in a violent paroxysm. He moaned, angrily, and Beth ... oh, Beth ... sobbed softly behind me. I turned to look at her, and she at Mick, and her face crumpled.

"Please, Mick," she said through increasing tears, "please."

Mick's sorrowful eyes met mine again, and I realized. I realized -- Mick was no longer refusing. Mick wanted to live, he wanted... he wanted to... oh, God... take my blood, but he couldn't. He was physically unable to.

This revelation sickened me, saddened me, and at the same time galvanized me; and once again I found myself giving over to that little auto-pilot place in my brain and shoving the rest of me aside. I looked up and saw what I needed -- exactly what I needed. I stood, grabbed Beth's razor from the shower shelf and bashed it against the sink. The cheap pink plastic shattered into hunks, exposing the straight edges of the twin blades.

Without stopping, I pressed the blades against the skin on my wrist... my very own wrist, and wiggled the plastic back and forth, digging the metal into my flesh; the pain flared and I winced against it, but the pain... the pain at that point was irrelevant, a non-factor, a nuisance to be ignored.

The blood welled, hot and red against my oh so human skin, and dripped down, splashing little florals upon the white porcelain of Beth's sink. Beth, for her own, took in a shocked breath and had the decency to cry out, "No, Ben!" before I did it but that, too... was irrelevant. I had reached the point of no return and had sailed clear over it.

It was then that I looked over at Mick, and Mick for his own was staring at me, or better yet, staring at what was coming out of me; my blood. His tongue darted out and he licked his cracking, dry lips again. He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared, making me wonder if he could smell the life seeping out of my arm. Resolved, I turned away from the sink, cupping my hand beneath my arm to keep the blood from gushing all over Beth's bathroom and I held my flesh, one more time, before Mick.

I felt an unexpected pride... almost a reverence in doing so. I have no idea where it came from but I felt humbled, somehow, to do this for Mick, as if I were a favorite and well-cared for lamb offered up to the slaughter -- or that my blood itself was a holy sacrifice.

Pretty cocky-assed of myself if you ask me, but regardless, there it was and there I was.

I watched, my face contorted in anticipation, as the drips of blood fell into small rivulets down Mick's bare chest, behind that strange pendant he wears, and into the surrounding water, painting it a pale pink. Mick inhaled once more, and then curled his now arthritic hands around my arm, pulling me toward his waiting mouth. I closed my eyes and braced myself for a painful impact; but found instead, and you'll never hear me admit this to anyone else -- pleasure.

And that, was incredibly weird. Mick lapped at the red flowing down my arm once and then pressed his mouth against me. His lips pulled and pushed at my flesh, his tongue coaxing the blood from beneath. Not once, not once did Mick use his fangs to pierce me, rather he let the blood flow from my sacrificial wound into his mouth. While the physical sensation of mouth on skin, was pleasurable in itself, there was also this strange feeling of -- I don't know what to call it, actually -- renewal? It can only be described as the feeling that comes with nourishing someone else, giving someone life, giving of yourself so that another might live.

Amazing.

The feeling persisted, yet it faded; as did all other sensation, actually. I lost the ability to keep upright, and felt myself slouch forward. I rest my body weight upon Mick's shoulder, which itself felt strangely warm and comforting. The hands gripping my wrist became supple and lithe again, the fingers moving in tiny waves, almost as if massaging the blood out of me. I heard small, grunting noises of satisfaction, of satiation, and somehow, those sounds made me, too, feel satisfied. The smell of death was replaced by that of clean, healthy skin and water.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall against Mick, giving in, giving over to this bizarre sweet oblivion. I heard my own heartbeat, my own breathing in my ears, and the sound was intoxicating. I noticed, but paid no mind to the background noises.

I mean, what was with Beth screaming at the top of her lungs? It was just loud and kind of annoying.

Why should I have paid any attention to the unknown male voice bellowing, "Stop! Stop, Mick!" from the bathroom doorway?

I could have cared less about the sensation of hands on my shoulders and pressure on my arm from behind me. What the hell....

What was the deal with Mick St. John shaking me, patting my face, and wailing my name over and over and over again?

Truly, none of that mattered then, and I smiled a secret smile with the knowledge that I had saved someone's life.

With that knowledge, for the second time in one night, the world around me faded to black. I faded out as Mick faded back in. Ironic, I suppose, but for me? That was enough.

Moonlight | Silver | Part Three | PG-13

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 12:06:50 GMT

Silver
Part Three

From last time:

"Mick!" I croaked... practically feeling my own face turn purple, agonizing against the pressure and pain behind my eyes and the throbbing in my temples... "Mick" was all my mouth and lungs would function to allow me to say. I felt myself being pulled forward, toward Mick, toward those frightening eyes and the not-right mouth which turned to the side and opened wider the closer he pulled me. I struggled against him, clawing at his hand and scratching at his arm, even pounding on the crook of his elbow with my fist, but all that got me was even less oxygen to my brain, and the beginnings of tunnel vision.

At that moment I realized that I was wrong. Mick was still alive. Mick actually was still breathing because two things happened. First, I felt goose bumps and a rush of air against my neck as he inhaled, and second, I heard him whisper in my ear, "Talbot...so hungry."

And then? Everything went black.

*****************

Hard. Cold. Wet. Ceramic smashed up against my cheekbone. Bathroom rug coarse beneath my fingers. Stark white porcelain. Fire in my throat. Light... oh, God, the light. Pain. Throbbing. A bastard behind the eyes.

A voice. Two voices. Two voices and a splash, another splash, a swallow, and the hollow clatter of plastic bouncing on tile. I blinked. I closed my eyes again. I listened, or at least I tried. It wasn't as if I could move yet, anyway. Fortunately for me, I had no immediate memory of where I was... or why I was there.

"... but he's had two pints already...." Okay, that was Beth Turner... but why was she here? Two pints of what... beer? Was someone drunk? Hell. Maybe she was talking about me. Sure felt that way, although I never remembered a hangover giving me a sore throat before.

Another clue. A more distant, hollow voice. A male voice. Vaguely familiar. Muffled snippets of conversation coming from the vicinity of the bathroom sink. "... needs more than two ... every twenty minutes ... silver will drain ... take enough to force ... lucky ... wounds...."

Wounds? Was I hurt? What's this about silver?

Beth again. "... you're in New York... in time... don't have any more... gave him all he brought over... gone ... across town ...." Beth's words dissolved into liquid sobs.

Okay, now I knew this wasn't about me. Beth Turner would never cry like that for me.

I lifted my head and brought my hands beneath me, giving me enough leverage to push up on my knees. Doing so brought a wave of vertigo so strong that I had no choice but to fall back to the safety and security of the oh, so cool tiles below. I groaned inwardly and tried again, pushing myself up to a sitting position, and falling back against the drywall. I scrubbed at my eyes and looked up to see Beth, her back to me, standing hunched over the sink, held up by her locked-straight arms.

The disembodied voice spoke again. "You have plenty, Beth. Think about it. You've done it before. Do it again now... it'll be enough to tide him over until I can send Guillermo. He'll be there as soon as he can... and he'll get there soon if he wants to keep his head."

Plenty of what? Do what again? I closed my eyes and bowed my head against the unceasing ache there.

"Just please... please tell him to hurry, Josef. Please." Beth lifted her iPhone and a faint 'beep' sounded as she closed the connection.

Guillermo. Josef. Gasol? Kostan? The list... St. John.

"Oh, God!!!" I turned my gaze in the direction of the bathtub and saw Mick's body sprawled within it, his oh so slack, pale, pale face and the gaping wide open, sightless white eyes, and it all came flooding back to me right then and there. I yelped and scrambled back against the door, kicking and screaming, trying desperately to get to my feet... get out of there... get the hell away from Mick but not Mick whether dead or not dead, I didn't care.

"Ben!" There were hands on my face. No, not again!!! My hands grasped at the intruder into my personal space, and I panicked anew.

"Ben, stop!" Hands on my shoulders now, shaking me... shaking sense into me. I stopped screaming, stopped shouting, the noises coming from me reducing, softening down to harsh breaths, slowing down, easing up.... I opened my eyes.

"Beth." Oh, thank God it was Beth. Thank God for Beth. "Beth...."

"Ben, it's okay. You're... safe. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I pointed, my hand shaking in tandem with the stutter in my voice. "M-m-m-m-m-Mick! He... he...."

Another hand on my face, more forceful this time. "Ben, look at me." I just kept staring at St. John. Those eyes. Christ! "Ben!" She squeezed the flesh against my cheekbones, pulling my face in line with hers. I snapped to attention, grateful to focus on something other than... that... that thing.

"Beth. Beth." I probably sounded like a broken LP, but I didn't care.

"Ben, you have to listen to me. Can you do that?"

I nodded, still shaking.

"I need you to pull yourself together. Mick won't hurt you, not any more. Not while I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise you that."

"What... why... what did he...?"

"Mick is very ill, Ben. He has a..." she paused, "...a condition, and that condition makes him very... um... allergic to silver. It can be fatal, you see. He's been injected with a lot of it, and if I don't give him what he needs to flush the silver out of his body, he will die. Do you understand that much?"

I nodded.

"I'm sorry he attacked you. I should never have left you alone with him, but his... survival instincts... are very strong. Uncommonly strong, if you catch my meaning. Mick's attack on you was no more than self-preservation. It won't happen again."

I looked over Beth's shoulder at Mick, who had begun to twitch and stir in the water. I shook my head and furrowed my brow at her, still not understanding, still not comprehending.

Did I ever tell you how much I hate being left out of the loop? Well, this was the third time in one evening it had happened. Now that I was coming back to my senses -- I was starting to get pissed off.

"Beth... he nearly choked the life out of me and.... Holy shit! Beth!" The image flashed in my brain... one that hadn't sunk in earlier but sure as hell did then. Teeth. "Jesus!" I blurted, my hand flying to my throat, "he was going to fucking bite me! Bite me on the neck! He had...." I gestured toward my mouth with two splayed fingers. As I remembered, the shock of that memory exploded in my nervous system, freezing me in that position. Only my mouth moved. "Oh my God... he has...."

And then... it dawned on me, and as it did so, the nicely ordered, normal, practical, non-fantastical world as I knew it came clattering down and smashing to little bits. There was one thing -- one tangible thing -- that could have answered all of the questions flaming in my psyche.

I searched the floor for that object... and there it was. I grasped Beth's shoulders and moved her aside. I stepped forward and peered down at the object, the strange inferno still incendiary -- searing ideas into my mind. I bent and picked it up. The two-pint plastic bottle contained a small amount of a reddish-brown residue. I swirled it. Thick. I sniffed at it. Copper pennies. I read the label.

Volunteer Donor
ABO Group Confirmed
Rh of Negative Units Confirmed
Type: A+
Whole Blood

Before I could get the words out, before I could even begin to marvel at what I'd read, Beth brushed past me and knelt in front of Mick. He stirred again, groaning with the effort. His movements looked at the same time voluntary and involuntary. He started in on a severe case of the shakes, yet his arms bent and shifted with a preternatural grace... sometimes slowly, sometimes in a blur. His eyes moved about unfocused. His mouth moved to speak, but he made no sense.

I stood there, clutching the empty bottle against my chest. Everything in me, everything I was was screaming for me to open that bathroom door and bolt the hell out of there... to go back to my little Honda still illegally parked, to go back to my sorry little apartment, back to my job, forget everything I saw, everything I heard and just go back to my normal little mundane life... but I couldn't. I couldn't budge. I was rooted and riveted to the spot and there was nothing I could do about it.

Because now... I was finally in the loop.

"Mick," Beth spoke to him in a calm, motherly tone. "Mick, it's Beth. Hey." She stroked a hand across his face, and it took everything I had to stay back, not to interfere. But I was frightened for her. Worried that St. John would choke the hell out of her, too.

Beth lifted a washcloth and wet it in the bathwater. "It's working, Mick. The bloood and the wounds are draining the silver out. Josef says you were lucky they stabbed you with silver blades, otherwise the wounds would close and the silver would have nowhere to go." She wiped carefully around the still gaping wounds in his shoulder, leg and chest, and then she turned and handed the cloth to me.

"Ben. Rinse this in the sink. We can't let the silver get in the water." She smiled at me, imploring me, obviously hoping beyond hope that I'd understand.

And I did. Somehow, I don't know how, but I did. I took it from her, did as she asked, handed it back to her and stepped away again quickly, returning to my prior spot.

"Mick," Beth stroked his face again, and then looked up at me before continuing to speak. "Mick, you need... you need more... um...." she looked up at me again as if frightened to say it.

I did it for her. "Blood." I shrugged and nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound.

She smiled. "Yeah, Mick. You need it and there's no more in the kitchen. Guillermo's on his way, but you need some now. You're going pale again and you've stopped breathing twice since you last fed."

Mick's eyes focused shakily on her. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to speak, and when he did so, the words came out muffled, but understandable.

"Can... wait."

Beth looked down at Mick's chest wound. "No, you can't. You've stopped draining. You need more to force it out."

"Have... to wait."

Beth stood up, took off her watch, and hitched her sleeves up higher. "No, you don't." She knelt back down and set her bare right arm in front of him. "Take mine. Do it."

Mick's reaction to that was not at all what I'd expected.

"No!!!" he bellowed, the word morphing into one of those strange growls I'd heard earlier. His hands flew up in front of his face, dragging water with them, splashing Beth. He kicked against the side of the tub and turned his body toward the wall, away from Beth, the force of his movement sloshing water and ice over onto the floor.

"Listen! Don't... fight me on this!" She grasped his shoulder and yanked him back, only to be met with bared teeth, white eyes and a threatening grumble. I jumped and recoiled against the door.

"Dammit, Mick!" She shook her arm in front of him again. "Don't you dare be all fucking noble about this again, or I'll shove my arm against your mouth until you have no choice but to bite down!"

"You... you wouldn't... won't... let you...." The words came out on heaving breaths. He pushed her away, obviously restraining his own force against her. "Wait... for Guillermo."

"You can't wait! If we wait, Guillermo'll get here just in time to cart your sorry ass off to the morgue!"

Mick calmed, the splashing stopped. His voice cleared, his words became more coherent. It's amazing what high emotion and strong desire can do along with a little bit of adrenaline. "I won't... I won't feed on you again, Beth. Not... like this. Could kill you. I care... love you too much to hurt you... again."

"So, even though you've done it before, you're refusing now."

"Yes."

"You're refusing to feed from me even if it means you'll die."

"Yes."

"Even though you know how much it would kill me if you did die."

He just stared at her. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he that much of a jackass? The seconds seemed to tick on and on and Mick just sat there, mutely, staring, blinking, not moving, not answering her, not listening to her pleas, not responding to the love Beth was obviously pouring out.

So, I did it for him, the stupid fuck.

"It's okay. Don't worry. He won't die, Beth." Beth turned and just stared. Mick looked over at me, too, probably realizing for the first time that I was actually there.

"What?" Beth's eyes went wide.

"He won't die." My words were sure and confidence was unfaltering...and where those or my next words came from fuck knows, but there they were, and they were probably the most insane, most irrational, brashest ass nine words I'd ever spoken in my entire life... or ever would speak.

"He won't die; because he'll feed on me instead."

Moonlight | Silver | Part Two | PG-13

Sat, 31 May 2008 14:11:34 GMT

Title: Silver
Part: Two
Author: dukesfreers
Characters: Talbot, Mick, Beth
Comments: I own nothing. CBS is stupid. Enjoy. Comments and questions more than welcome. :)

Silver
Part Two

From last time....

"Wait, Beth... what's that?" I kicked at it with my foot and then bent over, Mick's body still weighing on my back, and picked up the item. It was a spent syringe. I held it up to the light of the lamppost and studied it. A small amount of a metallic substance remained at the base of the syringe. "Mercury?"

Beth hefted Mick further on her shoulder and peered at it. "Oh, God. Oh, God, no," tears began welling in her eyes. "Come on, Ben. Please, help me get him inside, please, we have to help him or he'll die!"

I started moving, my shoulders and knees aching, as we carried Mick up the stairs and down the hall to Beth's apartment. By the time we reached her door, Beth's tears had escalated to full blown crying. "Beth, what is it? What's wrong?"

Beth pushed open the door, the force of which caused Mick's head to flop like a rag doll's back on his neck. "Silver..." he mumbled, and his head lolled forward again.

**********

Beth and I waltzed with St. John in a gruesome dance... a threesome of grisly proportions as we pushed and pulled the dying mass of human flesh through Beth's living room. We reached Beth's couch, when her legs finally gave out. She fell, rather than sat down, pulling Mick's head into her lap.

It hadn't hit me until that very moment how much she cared for him... this pretty boy of a PI. I had two choices. I could have walked away and left Beth to do whatever it was she was going to do, or I could have stayed and made myself useful. Remember what I said about owing St. John one? Well, I was about to make good on that.

I cradled his legs and set them gently on the other end of the couch. Not knowing what to do, I took a step back and pulled my phone out of my pocket again. "I know... I know he said not to, but I'm going to call 911 now, ok?"

I looked up at Beth. Her makeup, just five minutes ago freshly done just for St. John, was now streaking in black and blue rivulets down her face. She was bent over, stroking his, her thumb caressing his slack jaw and cheekbone. After a few seconds her touch became firmer, until she was swiping at his flesh with the heel of her hand, pushing his face into strange distortions as she did so. "Beth?" I repeated.

"We have to get this off of him." She wiped her hand on his jacket and went back to scrubbing at his forehead. "All of it. It's killing him."

"Shouldn't we let the doctors...?"

Beth's head shot up and her eyes locked with mine in an eerie rerun of Mick's earlier expression. "No hospitals, Ben. He can't."

"Beth... he needs medical attention now!" Even moreso now that his skin had turned a sickly shade of gray and I could have sworn that he wasn't breathing.

"No." Beth nodded once, resolutely. "We help him here."

"Why, Beth? You're not making any sense!" I was at the point of screaming. Here we were again... a fucking mystery and I hated being outside the loop.

"Ben," she peered up at me again, her jaw set and her stare fixed. "all I can do right now is ask you to help me. I can't do this on my own, and he'll die before any other help can get here. That being said, I need to know that I can trust you, that I can trust you to do as I say and not ask questions." She looked down at Mick again, licking her lips, tears welling anew in her eyes. "Please."

I stared at her... and at Mick, my gut twisting and my brain churning with the not knowing, but for once, I put myself aside. I cared for Beth. I cared for her more than I was willing to admit, and if doing what she said meant saving St. John meant making her happy, then that's what I would do, fuck me but I would.

"What... what do you need me to do?"

Beth lifted Mick's head and squeezed her body out from beneath him. "The silver. It needs to be washed off, and then we can figure what to do from there, figure what damage has been done." She ran trembling fingers over Mick's face. "We need to get him in the bathroom."

More dance. More lifting, pushing and pulling, manuvering Mick's body left and right, squeezing through the small doorway until we got Mick situated in Beth's bathtub. Beth quickly but lovingly stripped Mick of his shirt and pants. The wounds ever present, seeping, yet again, not outright bleeding. The maroon and red of the cuts stood out starkly against his pale, almost translucent skin. His arms and upper torso looked like a map of the LA Freeway system with its blue lines spidered out everywhere.

There was still a smattering coat of silver stuck to his face and neck, some to his hands. Beth turned on the water... the cold spigot, and taking a washcloth and soap, scrubbed it off. When she was satisfied, she called to me.

"Ben, lift him out. I need to wash the tub out before we put him back in."

I did as I was told, stepping into the tub and lifting Mick beneath his armpits. As his body was slumped against mine, I couldn't resist asking. "Is he allergic to it? Is that why?"

Beth scrubbed at the tile as quickly as she could. "You could say that." She quickly rinsed out the porcelain with a cup and motioned for me to put Mick back down, which I did. Even before I could get out of the tub, Beth turned on the cold water again. "Cold. Has to be cold. Very cold." She ran her hand under the tap, and twisted her lips, unsatisfied. "Not cold enough, and he needs food."

Before I could ask, she stood and dashed toward the door, leaving the tub to fill up around Mick. "But... but why cold? Beth...he looks hypothermic... shouldn't we be warming him up instead?" I placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was dry as paper and cold as a steel girder. "He's freezing already! You'll kill him just from the cold if you do this."

She stood in the doorway and half slumped against it. "Trust, Ben. Please. Do you honestly think I'd do something to hurt Mick?"

I shook my head. "Of course not, it's just...."

"Listen, Ben. Watch him. I'll only be a second. Let me go and get some bl... what he needs, and he'll be... he'll be fine. Just... please." Beth turned and ran toward the kitchen.

So there I was, sprawled on my ass on Beth Turner's soaking wet bathroom floor, my suit jacket and shirt itself soaking wet, my hair soaking wet, and I started to shiver. I stared at Mick, my brain churning through all sorts of weird possibilities, fueled on by the steady shooshing sound of the water filling the tub. After a few seconds, when the tub was full, I turned it off and the silence became deafening.

I couldn't just sit there. I had to make myself at least feel somewhat useful. I turned and bent low over Mick, stunned by the lack of that tell-tale rise and fall in the chest signaling the breathing of a living body. Between that and the horrible gray blue pallor of his skin and lips I was sure Mick St. John was dead. "Oh, Beth..." I breathed, my heart practically exploding in my chest. I reached out to gauge Mick's temperature again when the calm and silence was suddenly disrupted.

A grumble, a growl, and a splash of water is all I remember before I found myself unable to breathe. The pain against the muscles and bone of my neck and the burn in my throat as my body fought for oxygen was nearly more than I could bear. My eyes clamped shut of their own accord, as did my hands over my own throat, only my hands didn't clasp onto my throat, they clasped onto another hand... a hard, solid, cold as marble hand that had me and wouldn't let go.

I forced my eyes open, blinking wildly, fighting to see through the tears that welled there, against the water splashing in my face. Once things did clear, I saw an arm... a ramrod straight arm connected to a bulging shoulder, connected to a neck rippled out with veins and taut cords, itself connected to a face. Mick's face, but not Mick's face. The shape was there but the color, the feral look... it was all wrong. Mick, but not Mick.

Pale. White. Iridescent. Ghostly, inhuman, with eyes not whatever color they were supposed to be, but white themselves. Silver pupils shining in the light from the bathroom sconce, purple and crimson bruising beneath... a mouth with a split lower lip and an upper lip curled in on itself to reveal a set of white teeth.

Teeth... teeth that themselves were wrong. If I had the time, the brain power, or the oxygen to think about it at that moment, I would have realized it right away. But, as I had not much time, oxygen, or as a result, brain power, all I knew was that they were wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Normal, but not normal.

"Mick!" I croaked... practically feeling my own face turn purple, agonizing against the pressure and pain behind my eyes and the throbbing in my temples... "Mick" was all my mouth and lungs would function to allow me to say. I felt myself being pulled forward, toward Mick, toward those frightening eyes and the not-right mouth which turned to the side and opened wider the closer he pulled me. I struggled against him, clawing at his hand and scratching at his arm, even pounding on the crook of his elbow with my fist, but all that got me was even less oxygen to my brain, and the beginnings of tunnel vision.

At that moment I realized that I was wrong. Mick was still alive. Mick actually was still breathing because two things happened. First, I felt goose bumps and a rush of air against my neck as he inhaled, and second, I heard him whisper in my ear, "Talbot...so hungry."

And then? Everything went black.

Moonlight | Silver | Part One | PG-13

Sat, 31 May 2008 04:04:40 GMT

Title: Silver
Part: One
Author: dukesfreers
Characters: Mick, Beth, Talbot
Rating: PG-13
Comments: I own nothing. Spoilers for Episode 16 "Sonata." Takes place two weeks later.

***********

Silver
Part One

I suppose it's just one of those mysteries in life... one of those intangible things that when they're happening you just go with it fearlessly, but when you look back on it, it scares the living shit out of you. Makes you wonder how you lived through it in the first place... what is even more frightening is realizing just how much that moment, fleeting as it seems, changed your life forever.

Case in point.

It had been two weeks since Emma Monaghan escaped from the prison transport. Two weeks since she and her husband, Jackson, disappeared off the face of the earth. No trace. No trail... just vapor. Pissed me off.

It had also been two weeks since I'd received what I'll call "the List." Black envelope. Red seal. Under my door. Very weird, very mysterious.

I'm a lawyer. I hate weird. I despise mysterious even more. When things don't make sense, they eat at me... devouring me like a ravenous child until I can put the pieces together. At the rate I was going, I thought I'd end up nothing but picked over bones on a plate before this puzzle could be solved.

See, this list? It contained names... just names... but names that were familiar, unfamiliar, divine and ridiculous. Elizabeth Bathory? Rasputin? Emperor Nero? Please... spare me the jokes. I just had a murderer, and the perfect case against her, escape right under my nose along with the chance to show my chops to the DA. I had no time for jokes. Yet... Josef Kostan, the entrepreneur? Guillermo Gasol down at the ME's office? Emma Monaghan, my escaped suspect, her husband, Jackson? Somehow... seeing those names made me take this list a bit more seriously. Even moreso... the final name on the list. Mick St. John.

St. John was a cocky, asshole PI, and a thorn in the side of the police department and my predecessor, Josh Lindsey, rest his soul. Couldn't have waited even a week before he started in on Lindsey's girlfriend, Beth Turner. What a dick. Yeah, yeah, I know... I've read the files, you don't have to tell me. St. John dredged up a prime witness for Lindsey... and worked his ass off to save Lindsey's life, but what good did that do? He rescued that Jacob kid... even saved my life. Yeah, I supposed I owed him twice over.

Didn't mean I had to like him.

But this list... St. John... I tried figuring it out. I made lists... start with what you know, right? I made charts, St. John in the middle, with tendrils and lines, dots and dashes branching out from his name... connections to Kostan, Gasol, Monaghan, Griffen... still nothing came to me. I Googled. I used Lexis, checking name after name, corporation after corporation. Nothing. I started writing down observations, listing notes about those photos of St. John walking away after getting barrelled over by a car... how St. John restrained Emma Monaghan just as she was about to rip me to shreds... about how he and that other guy rescued Beth and me from that plastic surgeon, Anders. Anders... yet another name on that list.

What was the connection? It had to be there. I just wasn't seeing it.

I even questioned Beth about it on the sly, asking her conversational questions about St. John, his friends, trying to make it sound as if I was the friendly boss making chit chat about her weekend, her dates with Mick... nothing. Beth Turner, I have learned, is one squirrelly woman. I only wish I'd have known her before she got involved with St. John, then I'd know if it was her nature... or if she was hiding something. Somehow, I guessed it was the latter.

Two weeks later and I'd finally decided to toss it in, give it a shot. I had no idea if St. John was at the center of this list, or if that was just my own brain placing him there. I know whoever sent me the list told me it was for my eyes only... but they never said I couldn't talk about it... ask about it....

So, while driving home from the office one Friday night, I decided to do just that. I don't know what it was... maybe it was the fact that I was in close proximity to Beth Turner's place. I passed by it on my route to and from work every day. Whatever it was, it made me pick up the phone and dial St. John's cell number.

The phone rang and clicked over. "St. John."

I pulled over to the side of the road. No idea why but my heart leapt into my throat at the sound of his voice. What the hell did I have to be nervous about? "It's... it's Ben Talbot."

There was a moment of silence, and I could hear a car door slam. "What do you want?" came the terse question.

I sighed. "I just need ten minutes, St. John. Can you... can you meet me somewhere, for a beer maybe?"

Silence again, and the sound of keys jangling. "I repeat, Talbot, what do you want?"

Somehow I knew this wouldn't be easy. "Listen, I just have... I have this... case... I'm working on, and I need your expertise on it. Need to hire you to do some work for me. I know you helped Lindsey before, so you're no stranger to the DA's office."

Silence.

I leaned forward and draped my arm over the steering wheel. "St. John?"

"You're lying, Talbot. I'll ask you one more time and then I'm hanging up. What do you want?"

"Wait! I'm not... I'm not lying. I just... you're the only one I can ask about this, ok? I just... fuck... I just need your help. Please. It's... it's important... to me." There... playing the personal angle. I could only hope it worked.

"Can we do this tomorrow?" And, it did. "I'm almost to Beth's place and... What the... NO!!" Mick's calm voice morphed instantly into an angry, panicked scream. I pressed my ear to the phone, trying to figure out what was happening.

"St. John? St. John, are you okay? Mick!" The only response was a sharp clatter... the phone being dropped, I guessed... other voices... male voices... Mick's voice... sounds of fist on flesh, a sickening squelch, a thud... and then... I still can't describe it properly... an otherworldly, keening growl. "Holy shit!" I tossed the phone into the passenger seat, and slammed my car into gear. I turned left across three lanes of traffic down Beth's street and caught St. John's green Mercedes in my headlights. But that wasn't all.

My car screeched as I pulled into the driveway, and I threw the gear in park. I dashed out and bellowed at the top of my lungs. "Stop! Stop! Police!"

Two men... two men in black hooded sweatshirts and balaclavas looked up at me, one wielding a long blade. I knew they'd run. I didn't care about that... not now at least, but before they did, the one on the right brought the blade down... looking at me all the while, the eyes menacing. He screamed... something in a foreign language, and plunged the blade down, down into a body... a body which doubled up, wailing in pain, falling over to the side with the blade protruding from its chest.

"No!" Not caring whether the men were still armed, I ran, full out toward them. As expected, they dashed away and clambered into a black van. A black van that peeled off and away... a black van with no license plate, no identifying marks... a blur of red... damn, but that was the least of my worries. I knelt down and turned the body over... Mick. Damn it all but it was St. John, and he was in bad shape.

And that was putting it mildly. There was not one, but three knives sticking out from his body. One in his chest, one in his leg, and another smaller one in his bicep. It was strange, too... but his hands and part of his face were covered in some sort of metallic powder... or paint... I couldn't tell what, but at that point I had it all over me, as well.

I ran back to my car, grabbed my cell phone and came back to Mick's side. "St. John," I said, patting him on the face, "Mick. Listen, you're going to be okay. I'm going to call for an ambulance and..."

"No!" Mick grasped me around the wrist with a grip so tight I thought he'd crush my bones together. "No... no hospital. Can't. Won't. Beth," he croaked, "call... call Beth."

"But you're..."

His eyes opened wide in pain and anger... and I could swear I saw them flash white for a split second. "Damn you, Talbot, do... as... I say...call Beth." he grit his teeth and winced in pain. After a moment he let me go and his head fell back onto the concrete. "Please."

I did, and moments later, Beth was by his side. I stood up and backed away, just watching the scene, feeling detached from everything.

"Take... take them out, Beth."

Without a word, Beth moved over Mick and wrapped her hands around the larger blade protruding from Mick's solar plexus.

"Stop!" I screamed. "If you do that, he'll bleed out... you don't know what's injured in there. You could kill him!"

Beth looked at me and then down at Mick. She let go ever so slightly, and then readjusted her grip. "No!" I lurched forward to stop her, but she pulled, upwards, and flew backwards with the force of the blade coming out of Mick's chest. Mick bellowed with the pain of it, his eyes flying open and his entire body arching off the ground. His arms and legs flailed for a sickening moment, and then he collapsed back, eyes closed... losing consciousness.

I looked down at his body... at the gaping open wound. The gaping open wound that was red, raw, and bloody, exposing the cracked-in-half bone of his ribcage, but ... did not gush blood. I bent down and pulled Mick's jacket aside, inspecting the damage, and while I did so, Beth pulled the other blades from Mick's body. Again, angry maws of wounds, but no bleeding.

"Beth... why... why isn't he...?"

"Forget that now, Talbot, just help me get him upstairs." Beth bent low and draped Mick's arm around her shoulder. She looked up at me expectantly, and I followed suit. As I rose with Mick's dead weight around me I saw something else on the ground.

"Wait, Beth... what's that?" I kicked at it with my foot and then bent over, Mick's body still weighing on my back, and picked up the item. It was a spent syringe. I held it up to the light of the lamppost and studied it. A small amount of a metallic substance remained at the base of the syringe. "Mercury?"

Beth hefted Mick further on her shoulder and peered at it. "Oh, God. Oh, God, no," tears began welling in her eyes. "Come on, Ben. Please, help me get him inside, please, we have to help him or he'll die!"

I started moving, my shoulders and knees aching, as we carried Mick up the stairs and down the hall to Beth's apartment. By the time we reached her door, Beth's tears had escalated to full blown crying. "Beth, what is it? What's wrong?"

Beth pushed open the door, the force of which caused Mick's head to flop like a rag doll's back on his neck. "Silver..." he mumbled, and his head lolled forward again.

Moonlight | Reversal of Fortune | PG-13

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 16:17:35 GMT

Title: Reversal of Fortune
Author: dukesfreers
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Moonlight
Characters: Beth/Mick
Warnings: None. Unless you hate AU fics. :)

Notes: Just a one-shot for now, very much alternate universe, based on a photo of Alex O'Loughlin from Comicon with those cute rectangular black glasses he wears, and another of Sophia Myles with fangs. :) Just a mild what-if. I don't own Moonlight.

~~Reversal of Fortune~~

Beth Turner stumbled, the muscles in her legs quickly losing their ability to flex and pull and function properly to carry the rest of her body up the steps to her apartment building. In fact, when she finally reached her door, Beth instantly became aware of the cascade failure of said rest of her body. The tendrils of pain, stemming not only from the wound, but now, the poison, were unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her breathing, shallow. Her vision, darkening. The fouled blood in her veins pushed and pulled through rapidly dying blood vessels, and the sound of her own pulse was like kettle drums in her ears.

In spite of numbed fingers, she managed to get the key in her door, turn the knob, and push it open, half stumbling, half shuffling over the threshold, her now disobedient body finally coming to rest -- kneeling as if in prayer in front of her couch. She let her arms fall open, carrying with them the flaps of her coat, and the containers of precious liquid held within. The, for lack of a better word, antidote. That which would neutralize the poison and restore Beth Turner to at least an immediate semblance of living.

She clawed at one of the containers, her now curled fingers fighting against plastic to make the tiniest of openings. When the precious fluid began flowing, she held the container up, as if worshiping it. She started panting, opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish to allow the fluid to salve her tongue and throat. Her hands clutched at the vessel, pushing the antidote, moving it faster into her mouth, and she swallowed mouthful after mouthful like a starving child. Such was her desperation, that all other sensory input was shut off to her. Unavailable.

Until there was a voice, a very familiar, adored, yet, at this time, unwanted voice -- behind her -- coming from her doorway.

"Beth? Oh, thank God I found you!"

Beth froze, her eyes darting to the side, every muscle in her partially renewed body on full alert. She allowed the container to slide from her mouth, some of the precious fluid falling in rivulets down her chin and over her hands.

"You just took off again. One minute you were there, and the next you were... gone...." The voice trailed off. "Beth, are... are you okay?"

She listened intently, her eyes still darting about. She hunched her shoulders, burrowing her arms beneath her body, lowering her head, drawing into herself -- hiding. She listened to the footfalls, as the source of the voice stepped gingerly across the threshold of her apartment. Beth sucked in an as yet painful breath, swallowed, and begged, "Please leave." Her own voice was muddled in her ears, and she knew the lack of facial muscle control likely made her speech unintelligble. "Please. I... I'm a mess...I don't want you... to see me... like this."

More footsteps. The figure, as it crossed into the room, cast shadows on the wall, on the couch, on the cushions such that Beth knew it was now standing in front of her. She looked up quickly, and seeing him there, immediately turned around and curled herself into a ball on the floor.

"Beth..." he sighed, his voice shaking. "You're... you're scaring me. Please, talk to me." She felt him move to kneel beside her, felt the air rustle around her, even felt him pushing his glasses back onto his nose as was his habit. She shot her hand out to the side to stop him.

Too close. So close. Not now. Please, not now.

The pain was, thankfully, abating, but Beth's body was still wracked with uncontrollable shakes and shudders and tremors. The small amount of liquid was enough to keep her from death, but not enough to relieve the pain. Her hands twitched and quivered, and she knew... she knew she wouldn't be able to run. She knew she wouldn't be able to hide. She knew she wouldn't be able to keep him away. "Don't look at me, please, Mick."

Mick didn't listen. Damn him. He knelt beside her, reached out, his own hand trembling, and pushed aside the curtain of wet, matted, blonde hair shrouding Beth's face....

"Oh my God!" He sounded, Beth thought, terrified, repulsed, yet... yet he didn't back away. He didn't run. He didn't scream. He didn't show disgust. Only... only, concern, tinged with curiosity. "What... what happened to you?"

Beth kept her face turned away, but she knew. She knew the game was up. She knew he'd find out what happened. Where she was. Who she was. What she was. Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she turned to Mick and stared him full in the eye, knowing full well what she looked like, knowing full well the gruesomeness of it, the unnaturalness. Yet again, Mick St. John didn't react as she'd expected.

Although he gasped, his eyes widened, and his skin turned two shades paler, he remained calm. "Your eyes.... What... what are you?"

Another wave of pain deluged her, causing her muscles to react violently. But that wasn't the end of it. She was, once again, baptized in emotional anguish, her worst fear come true when she was at her lowest, most vulnerable, weakest.

Having no other choice, Beth gazed at Mick plaintively, and replied in the only way she could.

"I'm a vampire."