He
didn’t know how long he’d been there, that room with
the too-white walls, filled with softly beeping machines, overseen
through a glass wall by fleets of lab coated technicians …
It could have been weeks, months or even years ... After all, he
was immortal, more or less …
It
was the “less” part that kept him awake. He should be
dead — he had to be dead. The last thing he remembered was
dying; he was certain of it … Yet here he was, trapped in
a lassitude that sapped the very strength from his lungs, pondering
how many ceiling tiles arched over his bed.
When
he’d awoken the first time, he’d asked where he was.
Wolfram
and Hart, the tech had said.
And
then no one answered a single question after that.
Waking
up at his lawyers was a bit startling, but no more so than the fact
that it appeared they had a medical facility. He knew it was a medical
facility from more than just the needle pricks and taciturn staff.
He could smell it in the air — illness, decay, death from
passive means. It turned his apparently intact stomach, the helplessness
of his situation, knowing he was just one of maybe many in this
place.
He
was a fighter, a warrior for his cause. He’d handed out death
and destruction, plotted downfalls for centuries. And now he was
reduced to a statistic on the sheets of paper the staff carried
around. Sheets of paper that dictated his fate, he supposed, filed
away for nameless medics to comb through, seeking the tiniest details.
He
did feel better, for which he was grateful. That first moment when
light hit his eyes, he despaired of ever walking again, of being
stuck in this uncomfortable bed until he simply vanished from boredom.
Stripped of his usual attire, long hair cut and bound away from
his face, he knew he looked a rather unimpressive sight. If not
for the patchwork of tattoos covering his body, he would have looked
positively unassuming until you saw his eyes. Pathetic as he now
felt, though, he could sit up, and even wobble a bit to the padded
chair in the corner under the watchful eyes of one of the miscellaneous
utterly uninformative people that hovered over him.
People,
though not all human. Some most definitely were, but others …
he wasn’t sure he’d ever smelled things like them. They
appeared human, much as he did, but there was an aura about them
that called his Lycan form to the forefront, willing him to fight
or run.
Right
now, slow jogging was about his speed. Real demons were something
he didn’t willingly engage. Not for a fear of his own ability
to defend himself — no, it was a reluctance to tangle with
their innate evil. They were different, other, wrong. He didn’t
even have to encounter the Scourge or other ‘true’ demons
to know that.
He’d
seen what happened when the vampires he’d long ago guarded
had come up against some of the demon-vampires, the devilish ones.
It was a massacre, and while his vampires relished a good fight,
there was nothing of the soulless insanity that characterized the
fight with the demons. He’d stayed far away from them and
their ilk in the future.
Until
now of course. There were a few that watched him often, peering
through the unbreakable glass with marked disinterest. Occasionally,
though, they wandered in and looked him over, sniffing slightly.
It was more than a little unnerving. Lucian hated to be unnerved.
The
daily grind of tests and tonics began right on schedule. He snarled
and grumbled, but weak as he was, all he could really do was grouse.
With a pathetic sigh, he rolled over to face the glass again when
something caught his eye.
There
was a new face in the window, one that didn’t regard him like
an insect. Long brown hair tumbled over slender shoulders clad in
one of those universal coats. She tilted her head, scrunching up
her nose and asked something over her shoulder. Apparently she didn’t
like the answer and rolled her eyes. With a determined set to her
shoulders, she opened a side door and walked into his cell.
She
was awfully thin, long limbs mostly bare. She was wearing a ridiculous
short denim skirt and frilly shirt that just barely peaked out the
white lab coat. She moved quickly, sharply, like a bird in unfamiliar
surroundings. She fidgeted her hands before grasping her clipboard
tightly and offering him a weary, tentative smile. She smelled of
soap and sunshine, with just a faint undercurrent of fear.
His
beast reacted with hunger and he felt almost strong enough to shift.
She must have seen the unholy blue shimmer in his eyes because she
arched an eyebrow and coughed.
“None
of that now. Doesn’t do to eat the people trying to put you
back together.” She tilted her head as if trying to figure
something out then thrust out her hand. “Hi. I’m Fred,
er, Winifred Burkle. I’m in charge of your case… er,
all the cases actually.”
He
scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned at her extended hand.
It didn’t make sense for someone who was afraid of him and
what he was to offer a hand in peace. Leaning slightly forward off
his pillows he took her dainty hand in his own. It was wiry and
considerably stronger than he would have expected, with calloused
areas that spoke of time in combat.
She
met his gaze with more than a bit of humor, though the low level
fear was still there. “It says here that no one’s talked
with you about your situation. Seems they ran things differently
before, er, now.”
The
puzzled look was back as she flipped open his file. “Lucian,
is there anything you’d like to know?”
His
voice was gravelly from disuse and his throat felt scratchy. “Why
am I here?”
“Oh,
well, it seems that we’re treating you for some impurities
in your blood, trying to clear them up so you can leave. I think
the problem with the silver nitrate is solved, but it seems that
the limited amount of vampire blood in your system is incompatible
with the prior Lycan infection, despite the buffer blood.”
She blinked and looked up. “Interesting. I really have to
get a relevant text on microbiology or something. If we’re
going to be dealing with diseases every other week, I’m gonna
be so lost.”
“I
meant why am I here at all? I should be dead.”
Chewing
slightly on her pen cap, the young woman considered his question
carefully. “I don’t rightly know. Everybody’s
got different reasons to keep going. Angel said you’d been
deadish before, maybe you’re still kicking for the same reasons.
What kept you going then?”
“Revenge.”
The answer was simple, elegant and had consumed his existence for
centuries. It was really such an easy answer to give, though he
couldn’t shake the faint echo of despair that always came
with the memories of Sonja’s death.
Nodding,
Fred agreed, “Oh, I get revenge. It’s a good motivator.”
He
scoffed, “You. What do you, you tiny thing I wouldn’t
even waste my time eating, what do you know of revenge?”
Regarding
him with a cold ferocity he wouldn’t have thought possible
from her, she spat out, “I get revenge. I spent five years
planning how to get back to this world, and when I did I found out
that my advisor, the man supposed to help me get on with my studies,
not finagle me into a collar to make my head explode, sent me to
that hellish place on purpose. I was lower than a slave, a cow to
them, living on lichen tacos and scribbling on walls…”
She took a deep breath. “So, yes, I get revenge. Sometimes
it just needs doing.”
They
glared at each other for a heartbeat or two before Lucian’s
lips quirked up in a smirk. “So maybe you do.”
“Hmmf.”
The smile was back, but she still shuffled the papers a bit apprehensively.
“So
what are you afraid of?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but
the question spilled forth before he could stop himself. It was
so nice to have communication, real communication, again and he
found himself reaching out more than he’d done in centuries.
He didn’t know if it was a factor of his ‘rebirth’
or whether this study in contrasts had sparked something inside
he hadn’t known existed.
Luckily,
she didn’t seem offended, merely startled. “Um, what
do you mean?”
“I
can smell it, fear.”
She
rolled her eyes. “You supernatural types and your senses.
Well, I guess I’m afraid of all sorts of things. Apocalypses,
tornadoes, a taco famine are the usuals, but if you’re asking
about today?” She shrugged, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Today I’m afraid my employees will be evil. I’m
afraid that my secretary will eat me for lunch. I’m afraid
that working in the belly of the beast is just going to get me digested.”
He
blinked. Whatever he’d expected, it certainly wasn’t
that. “Er—“
Fred
waved a hand. “You’ve been out for a while. When you’re
better, I’d be happy to explain how I helped end world peace.
Until then, did you have any other questions?”
“How
did I get here? Last I remember I was…” He trailed off.
“Oh,
that. Well, your friends Selene and Michael—“
“They
are not my friends,” he growled out, body stiff with surprise.
Fred
shrugged. “Or not friends. Whatever. But they still dropped
you off close to death. Said to fix you and gave us your account
number. They must have found it in some of your papers. Anyway,
they’ll be back to check on you.” She tapped her cheek
with a thin finger. “Actually, I’d like to have some
tests run on Michael when he’s here, since he’s the
carrier for the hybrid infection now…”
Lucian
struggled upright again. “Michael? It worked? Selene’s
bite worked?”
Smiling
a faint, wry grin, Fred nodded. “Sure did. I wasn’t
here when you were, er, delivered, but he was apparently very alive.”
His
dark eyes flickered with triumph. Granted, the triumph was not really
in his body, but his theory had worked. Both sides would see a change,
just as soon as he got out of here. He bared his teeth. “Now
they will get what’s coming to them, all of them.”
Fred
looked unimpressed and continued, “Yeah, well, that’s
nice. Can you try to keep your war out of the office? Cause we’ve
got enough problems what with killing our clients, nearly being
killed by our clients, that sort of thing.”
Lucian
couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. This contradiction
was fascinating. The tiny slip of a woman sitting across from him
couldn’t possibly be in charge of anything, much less anything
at Wolfram and Hart as she had alluded. It had been a long time
since he’d been interested in anything other than his war
and revenge for Sonja. Perhaps it was time he could start living
again. After all, a whole new world was on the horizon.
A
bit disconcerted, the scientist frowned. “I’m not sure,
but it looks like you’ve only got about another week or two
worth of blood therapy and you should be able to be released for
outpatient care.” She looked up at the still smiling Lycan.
“I’ve got to get back to work, but if you need anything,
I told the nurses to contact me.” She stood, and with one
last backwards glance, was back through the door.
Lucian
looked at her retreating form, eyes glittering in the harsh light.
He nodded to himself, mind already whirling with things to be done.
And one of them, he decided, was to see that fascinating young Fred
out of her lab coat.
~Fin~
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