Some secrets never leave us alone

The grave had been empty, and while she’d been desperate to know, now that she had the answer, Savannah didn’t know what the answer meant. Regan had saved her the task of explaining it to Camille, but that didn’t mean the discussion was over. Savannah didn’t know what Camille’s drink of choice was, or even if Camille drank, but she’d opened a bottle of wine just in case. She’d be here any minute, so Savannah poured herself a glass, curled up on the couch with the cat, and waited. It was about ten minutes before the doorbell went off and Savannah rose to answer. “Hi Camille. Please, come in.” Her awkwardness at most social encounters was definitely not improved by this situation. “Drink?” 

Camille was certain that she was who she thought, but when she found out Savannah and Regan were going to dig up her grave a cool dread settled over her, the same as had been there when Regan had tested her DNA. She wasn’t entirely willing to discount the possibility that she was a mad woman with a mistaken identity, because the alternative explanations were even more absurd. It would be easier- and far less depressing- to be wrong. But she wasn’t, and confirmation that her remains had been dug up and dragged all the way to White Crest made her feel violated all over again, like even though she was using it her body no longer belonged to her. 

Frankly she had no idea what they were supposed to do now, but Savannah seemed eager to keep the ball rolling so Camille went over after work. The house was much cosier than Regan’s had been, Cam even managed a wobbly smile as she walked in. “Hi. Yes, a drink would be great.” She nodded at the glass in Savannah’s hand while she shrugged off her jacket, “whatever you’re drinking. I’m not fussy with wine.” Well, she had been, but it seemed silly these days. She sat down and petted the cat, saying a quiet thankyou when Savannah returned with a glass for her. “So... No body.” Camille took a sip of her drink and pressed her thumb over the pulse point in her wrist, soothed by the steady beat. “Well, not in the grave anyway.” “That answers one question but also brings up a hell of a lot more.”

Savannah wasn't the best with emotions. Most awkwardness went over her head because to her, it was just normal. This time though, it was impossible not to feel the palpable tension in the air. Savannah wasn't sure if she was more or less upset than she'd been before, but she knew this was an impossible situation regardless of what they'd found. "What's your poison?" she asked, quickly regretting her words. "Um, I mean, what's your preferred drink?" 

She could at least be somewhat relieved Camille seemed to be getting along well with Dexter. She'd heard that petting animals was good for calming nerves. Since Camille wasn't picky about her drink, she got them each a Jack Daniels and Diet Coke, returning to the living room to hand it to her. "No, no body. So..." she shrugged, exhaling heavily. "The DNA matched. You have your memories. You're not in the grave. So, it doesn't rule out that you're the same Camille, though Regan is still not fully convinced, I don't think." 

Every time she tried to talk about this Camille was thoroughly exhausted by it, whether or not she came to any kind of useful conclusions. Perhaps it was the emotional strain. Discussing your own murder was… Odd, and made her feel a bit like this was all some strange dream flashing before her eyes before her life truly ended. “I knew who I was before I knew I was meant to be dead.” Cam shares, fishing for any information that might say something. She didn’t have a scientific mind by any stretch, and most theories she’d batted around for herself were rooted in foolish fairy tales. Things that made her feel more like a hard done by princess than some experiment gone awry.

She sips her drink and sighs, nervously twisting a strand of hair around her fingers. “When I woke up I was confused, but my last memories were of the moments before I… Before Jace…” Camille waved a hand in the air, “you know. I found out what the date was and I thought I must have been drugged and kidnapped or something, but when I looked up my name…” She tried to relax back into the chair, frowning. “I’ve been wracking my brain but I can’t come up with any plausible theories. Regan thought I’d stolen her identity at first. Maybe it’s because I’m not a scientist or a cop, but my DNA matches! I’m not in the grave. Isn’t that enough?”

Savannah had put it conservatively. She was sure Regan still doubted Camille. She was desperate for another explanation, some sort of mistaken identity. Savannah was convinced otherwise. They were like two sides of the same coin. Perhaps it was good she and Camille were alone. “You might be dead, but… that doesn’t mean you’re meant to be dead,” she answered. “I’m sorry. This must be very difficult.” She hated talking like this. She felt like she sounded stilted, like she was talking to a witness and trying to get them on her side. 

“Seeing you and talking to you was enough for me,” she answered. “Regan is just… Regan.” Her heart wrenched in her chest at Camille’s story. She really couldn’t relate to how terrible this must all have been, not only going through it the first time, but waking up, reliving it, not having a life to call your own because someone else had taken it, and someone - or something - you didn’t know had given it back. “Regan said she thinks something you’re struggling with is not having a legal identity. Is that true?” 

Camille knew it might sound strange, but she really did hope she had died and been brought back. It was the only explanation that meant she was still sane. Yes, it came with a slew of its own problems and questions, but at least it didn’t paint her as an identity thief or someone whose mind had been so twisted up it had eventually snapped entirely. She didn’t want to think Jace had enough power to render her entirely mad. 

Beyond all that Camille just… Knew. She knew who she was, and even though she understood why people like Regan and Savannah would want to go out searching for proof it frustrated her no end that there wasn’t just something she could say or do that would put their doubts to rest. She shot Savannah a glare, “I’m not dead.” Cam reminded her, thumb pressing again into the pulse at her wrist. “I’m supposed to be, technically, but I… Of course it’s difficult. I have no idea what the fuck happened, or why, but I’m glad I’m here.” Regardless of the roadblocks and the inconveniences of her new life, Camille couldn’t help but be grateful for it. Not exactly the way she’d planned to get a fresh start but at least it was one. 

She sipped her drink, not sure how to feel about the idea that Savannah and Regan are discussing her when she isn’t present. It’s not that surprising in a sense, of course they dug up her grave so they’d discuss theories about what could have happened, but talking about her personal struggles was… Well, Camille certainly hadn’t been expecting Regan to consider them. “I can’t open a bank account, or visit a doctor if I get sick, or get a proper job. I spent years studying for qualifications I can no longer use. Anything that requires an ID or a formal education beyond highschool qualifications which I can get away with lying about as my age is out of my reach. I wouldn’t be able to put my real name to any of that stuff either. It certainly isn’t helpful in my efforts to feel like a real living person.” She laughs, “I thought about asking Regan if she knew anyone who could make me a fake identity, but then I remembered she’d promised to call the police if the DNA test proved I was a criminal.” 

Savannah pursed her lips tightly, a brief moment of stiffness. She had been taught to be so deliberate, so matter-of-fact, to use her emotions to empathise with whoever she was interviewing but not to let them rule her. She couldn't help but feel them, though. Empathy and sadness made their way through her chest and wrangled at her heart, making it ache in her chest. "No, you're not dead," Savannah agreed. "You were dead. Still are, legally. But you're here. Standing in front of me." 

And therein lay the problem, as Camille was all too well aware. She swallowed, nodding. "No, don't ask Regan about that," she said, sighing. Just because Regan had dug up a grave with her, that didn't mean Regan would be open to so defiantly breaking the law. She paced a little, debating to herself whether there was a way she could pull this off legally. There was the witness protection program, but Camille wasn't a witness to anything other than her husband's crimes, and he was already in prison.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair, pushing its heavy curls away from her face. "What if I can figure out a way to get you those things?" 

Camille had not been religious for a great many years. Her parents had often had heated debates about their differing beliefs- though she would admit to admiring that they never let it get in the way of their love- and her mothers’ belief in reincarnation had been a sticking point more than once. It was one of the possibilities she considered but quickly dismissed- as far as she knew though you might remember a past life, you were not supposed to inhabit that life a second time. But this was her life, her body. She was certain of it. 

Savannah’s offer made a dangerous hope and excitement bloom in her chest- a chance for a real identity again. Camille had never expected she’d be without it to worry about it, but now it hung over her head every day. She kept telling herself to find a solution, but she didn’t have the first clue how to even start. It wasn’t exactly something you could google. 

It would never be easy to rebuild her life, but having the legal means to do things properly would be a hell of an advantage. “I’m sure this is when I’m supposed to tell you not to risk your career like that.” Camille sighed and sipped her drink, “and you really shouldn’t. But if you did, I’d be seriously grateful. Seriously. I don’t know what I could offer you in exchange but if you have something in mind go ahead and name it, I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

A knot tightened in Savannah's stomach, an unpleasant tension in her chest, as if some invisible creature had its fist around her lungs. She knew that look in Camille's eyes. That was hope. She'd put that there, and she should be happy about that, but she was deathly afraid of taking it away again. 

Norma believed it was customary to feel exhausted at the end of the work day, her co-workers constantly complained about it. However, she rarely felt that way. This was likely due to the fact that Bottomless Booty was an endless supply of chaos. Usually. Tonight had been so slow, though, that nothing of interest happened. There wasn’t even one uncomfortable happy birthday song. There was a bench nearby on her walk home and she took a seat, holding her head in her hands, trying to find the strength to get back home. She felt so drained, like she could collapse any minute. Using her powers would be a risk, a fatal one. But not using them would be just as dangerous. She sighed. Bounty hunters were a nuisance, but they could be dealt with. Starvation was something she couldn’t fight or run from if she accepted her fate. There was only one solution. Norma peeled herself off the bench and walked over towards the car stopped at the red light. She knocked on the window and the driver rolled it down. Before he could say anything at all, Norma reached out and touched his shoulder. “You want to run this light,” she said, and then pulled her hand away. The man nodded and sped off, slamming into the car in front of him. The chaos was glorious. The anger, the confusion, the strife. She could drink it up all night. But she didn’t have long. She knew it wouldn’t be long until someone was after her, like the alarm signalling her location was set off. But she needed more. Just a little more.

Then a knife went whizzing past her ear. Norma squealed and turned around to try and find what direction it was coming from. A tall, thin, but strong woman was running in her direction. Norma turned and started running away. As fast as possible. She didn’t stop. Not until she ran into someone face first. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I--” Norma was about to keep running when she realized she knew this stranger. They were not a stranger at all. “Savannah! Hello! Please assist me. We need to run now. Lets go!” she said, grabbing her arm and dragging her along with her away from the bounty hunter. Savannah had helped her against those flying monkeys, surely she could do so again. 

Savannah had almost spilled her coffee all over herself when she'd heard the skidding wheels of the car speeding away, the sickening sound of metal as it crashed. She threw what was left of her cup into the trash can, beginning to sprint in the direction of the noise. She didn't get very far though before she ran face-first into Norma. Savannah didn't know what she was about to say to Norma, but Norma cut her off with a strangeness to her desperation before Savannah could even say a word. "Wh--what? There was a--" But she never got to finish her sentence before another knife rushed through the air, making a warning whistling sound as it moved and almost giving Savannah a fresh haircut.

"Run, got it!" Who the hell was throwing knives in the middle of the street? She needed to get somewhere safe with Norma before calling it in, so she grabbed the other woman, putting feet to concrete and ducking round the corner. She didn't want to lead them anywhere there might be people crowding. Not another headless horseman situation. She turned a corner, hopping a barrier into a parking lot. At least they could use the cars as cover. "What's going on?" she gasped in a whisper. "Did you see who it was?"

It was very nice that Savannah didn’t ask questions and simply decided to help Norma. Well, she asked some questions, but overall it was very convenient that she was one of the trusting humans. Maybe the other woman might even survive this ordeal. It would be a shame to have to throw her into the line of fire in order to survive. Norma hoped it wouldn’t come to that but bounty hunters were ruthless. She assumed that much was obvious but Savannah appeared to be confused. That was unfortunate, Norma had thought that she was quite smart. Perhaps she was incorrect. “Oh, that’s a bounty hunter. There’s a bounty on me and they’re attempting to murder me and collect the bounty. Do you need me to explain further?” she said between heavy breaths as they ran. They ducked behind the car and Norma did her best to peek below the car for any feet headed their way. It was very difficult to tell. “No, I didn’t. Who was it?” she asked. “Do you know them? It would be very helpful if you did.” Another knife went flying and Norma’s hands shot up to cover her ears at the deafening sound of the car window shattering. Norma glanced around and saw an alleyway between two buildings and tugged at Savannah’s sleeve before darting that way. “That ladder! We should use it!” She was too short to reach it herself, but with a boost, maybe they could climb up the strange metal ladder on the side of the building. “I would greatly appreciate your help in this matter before I’m dead, thank you.”

They didn't have time to talk, and yet, somehow Savannah always seemed to need to talk to Norma anyway. Her brain simply couldn't stop asking questions. Norma just demanded so many of them. "Why is there a bounty hunter after you?!" And why was Norma so accepting of the fact? Savannah didn't think she'd seen Norma display much of an emotion at all since she'd met her. "If you know them we can identify them, arrest them--never mind." Savannah's first priority had been to get Norma out of the street, somewhere with plenty of cover for them, but there was also lots of glass, and if her time around Regan had taught her anything, it was that glass shattered. "Careful!" She ducked as the car window sprayed tiny particles everywhere as it broke. 

Savannah pulled her gun, firing off a few warning shots, breaking a couple of car windows herself as she aimed at the assailant. She'd ducked for cover herself though, and that gave them time. "Move, let's go," she instructed, covering Norma as they made their way to the ladder. She fired off a round every time she saw the slightest bit of movement, until they reached the wall where the ladder hung. "Go, go, go. I'll give you a boost." She hoisted Norma up, then fired her gun again, buying her some more time. Another knife hit the wall near Norma’s leg. "There should be a catch at the top to release the rest of it for me." There was no way that 5'4" of Savannah would get up there on her own, but at least she had the gun.

“Because I used my pow--” Norma bit down on her tongue. Figuratively. She did not want to bite her tongue off. It would take an annoyingly long time to heal and she did not have that much time at present. “There are certain reasons that I’m aware of but cannot change at the moment so I hope that suffices for n--” Another knife came flying towards them and cut Norma’s sentence short. She had to commend this bounty hunter, they were very skilled with knives. And carried many with them at all times. 

Norma waited for the boost and when it came, she was still shocked at how high she was being thrown up towards the ladder. After letting out a bit of a shout, she pulled herself up to the next rung. It took a bit of struggling to get there, Norma was not much of an action sort of valkyrie. Thankfully, Savannah was excellent back up and used her firearm very liberally against their assailant. She rolled herself up on the top and took a second to catch her breath, screeching as another knife ricocheted off the metal railing. Yes, right, she had to work fast. “The catch and what?” she asked her companion. Neither of those words meant anything. But she was meant to release something. Likely to extend the ladder. This was not catching a fish, she knew that much. Her face scrunched up as she examined the edge of the ladder until she saw something that looked like it was meant to be manipulated and pulled the lever. The ladder dropped down and she shouted, “it worked!” She waited a second to see that Savannah made it up to the ladder rungs without issue. “Let’s go! Roof!” she said and started climbing up the stairs and ladders higher and higher. Her plan did not extend beyond the roof but she hoped her companion had more ideas. 

“Too many syllables,” Savannah said harshly as they had to duck another knife that came flying at them, hurrying Norma along and firing a few more protective shots, reloading behind the car. Reasons. Savannah would need to hear about those later, but for now she was a little preoccupied with not being turned into a pin cushion. “A clip, a lever, something to release the rest of the ladder!” Savannah’s patience was thin, as was to be expected when under fire, but thankfully, Norma released the ladder and Savannah took the opportunity to climb it like her life depended on it; because it did. A blade rushed past her leg. She felt the wind ruffle her pant leg as it whizzed through the air. Savannah climbed through the hole, catching her breath. There was no time to waste. “Here!” There was a pile of debris; metal panels and disused parking ticket machines, pieces of fencing that had been torn down from the edge of the roof last time it had been replaced, Savannah started dragging some of the lighter pieces over to guard against any flying knives, encouraging Norma to help her with the rest. 

Once they were on the roof, Norma took the random items that Savannah handed her. The thing in her hand appeared to be an old sign or something of the sort. “What am I meant to do with this?” she asked, holding it out in front of her, half ready to toss it aside. “I don’t think I need to point the way for this hunt--” The sound of clanging close behind them cut her off. Without informing the other woman, she took off running as far away as possible. Unfortunately, that was simply as far as the edge of the roof. Which was not very far at all. “Protect me!” she shouted and ducked behind the other woman. “You know how to fight! I think. You held your ground before please do so further!” A head peaked up from the edge of the roof and the assassin climbed up to face them. She had her knives ready and began to throw them. Norma screamed, keeping herself behind the other woman, holding the makeshift metal shield in front of her. The killer advanced and Norma took a step back, closer to the edge. Her balance was nothing remarkable and she found herself stumbling backwards and thought she might fall over. That would be unfortunate. She hated waking up from the near dead.

“Cover it! Cover the hole!” Savannah got kind of abrupt when she was in task-oriented mode, especially when someone’s life was in danger. Double-especially if that life was hers. She piled as much garbage on top of the hole where the ladder was as possible, but it barely seemed to slow the woman down. She heard her breaking through and cursed, running with Norma. “God damnit.” Yes, she knew how to fight. At least decently, but she wasn’t sure it would do any good against someone who seemed to have a limitless supply of throwing knives. She lifted her gun, staring at the assassin with an unyielding gaze. “Hey, asshole, I may not have my badge on me right now, but killing an FBI agent is gonna look real fucking bad for you. What do you want with my friend?”

The assassin simply stared past her, locking eyes with Norma. “Death,” she said, and pulled one final knife, throwing it right past Savannah and directly into Norma’s chest.

“NO!” Savannah yelled. She could have shot the killer. Probably should have. Instead, she dropped to Norma’s side where the metal sheet had fallen haphazardly to the floor. She shoved it aside to get a better look at the damage. “Hey! Stay with me!” 

Norma didn’t have time to put her makeshift shield back up, she barely had time to find her balance. The knife flew and plunged straight into her chest. She groaned at the pain and clutched at the handle of the weapon. She always hated this. The pain and the dying momentarily. It was all very inconvenient. She considered just pulling the knife out and walking away, but she had to get the bounty hunter to go away. She sighed dramatically and placed the back of her hand across her forehead in a manner she had seen on the television and fell back to the ground to play dead. It wasn’t terribly difficult as the pain was rather intense. “Pull. The knife. Out. When she. Leaves,” she sputtered and whispered as she lay back. “Make her think… dead.” Norma hoped that would be enough for both of them to comprehend. She really didn’t want to wake up in the morgue. Again. 

Savannah stared at Norma in a panic as she lay dying before her eyes. There was nothing to fake. The confusion and fear was all real. She didn’t know how to react as she heard Norma’s whispers, so she just busied herself with fussing around for her phone as if to call 911. She still might, depending how this went. Luckily, the assassin seemed to want nothing to do with Savannah, deeming a kill that hadn’t got a bounty attached to it unworthy of pursuit, and she disappeared into the building presumably to walk back down through the parking garage. Once it was clear, Savannah did what Norma had said, hands trembling as she removed the knife. “Norma?!” she called. “Hey, I took the knife out. Can you hear me?!” This was ridiculous. Her bloody hands reached for her phone to call for help, just as breath sprang back into Norma’s body and she awoke again before her eyes. “Great,” she sighed, her words a mix of relieved and exasperated. “Another White Crest miracle.” And that was the kindest way of putting it.

Savannah’s ex-wife had been a huge Dracula fan. She’d even taken her to Whitby on their honeymoon so they could sit on the very bench Bram Stoker had once occupied. This town reminded her of Whitby, in some ways. It was a seaside town, although in New England rather than England itself, and it had a fascinating obsession with the Macabre. Recently, Savannah had started to figure out that there was a pretty good reason for that.

She wandered through the area she'd come to learn was (affectionately?) nicknamed Freak Alley, looking for somewhere to have a drink. She was sure someone online had told her to stay out of these kinds of places, but curiosity was her best friend and biggest enemy, so she walked right in, heading into what she assumed was a goth or punk themed bar called 'Teeth'. 

People looked at her a little strangely as she walked in. Maybe she wasn’t dressed appropriately. “Sorry, I forgot my black leather jacket and velvet top hat,” she said to one particularly gawpy patron as she took a seat at the bar, then she turned to the bartender. “Hi, I’ll have a Gin and Tonic.”

Carrington was having… A Night. Whether it was getting better or worse was still up for debate. Five of his six current clients had called that afternoon to cancel their appraisal walk-throughs, Walter - the fucking ungrateful, orchid-ruining excuse for an oversized Venus fly-trap - had nearly taken his hand off when Carrington had fed the vampire watermelon his biweekly meal. And to top it all off, someone had scratched his Aston. Which would cost an arm and both legs to have fixed. So Carrington was in dire need of a distraction. 

Which ‘Teeth’ was more than happy to provide. Carrington was currently enjoying a very good buzz - thanks to a bottle or two of top-shelf fae blood - when something… unusual yet strangely familiar caught his attention. As well as the attention of every other vampire in the room. There was a human sitting at the bar. A human that wasn’t an employee, and therefore not under the owner’s protection. So it didn’t take long for the vultures to start circling. 

The woman’s scent finally registered with his intoxicated brain about the time he finished his drink. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Tomorrow's headline was already flashing through his mind: FBI Agent Orders Gin and Tonic in Local Bar, Gets Exsanguination Instead. Of all the fucking nights…

“Hello again,” he said, slipping up beside her and ordering another bottle of blood. “How’ve you been? And why, might I ask, are you all alone in a place like this?” 

Savannah had felt several dozen eyes on her. Eyes she had chosen to ignore. The bartender looked at her like she was crazy, but shuffled off to fulfil her order. She looked at the menu on the wall behind him. None of these seemed like normal drinks. Maybe they all just had fancy names. A shiver passed down her spine as someone brushed past her in the crowd, a sixth sense she couldn’t quite explain. But when someone took the seat next to her, Savannah was relieved to see it was someone who wasn’t a stranger.

She paid and tipped the bartender as he returned with her drink. “Carrington, hello.” Nobody was looking at him strangely in spite of him wearing regular clothes as well. Perhaps she was missing something. “I’m well, thanks.” She took a sip of her drink. “A place like this? Just because I’m not covered head to toe in tattoos with painted black fingernails, doesn’t mean I can’t find these sorts of places charming,” she teased, giving him a small grin. “But you can fix the ‘alone’ part if you want.” She cocked her head at him. “Did you just order blood? Was I supposed to use a code word or something, you know, to blend in?” 

“That’s good to hear.” He eyed her curiously. The first time they’d met, Carrington had been absolutely certain she knew shit-all about… well… anything to do with the supernatural. It was why he’d compelled her to forget what she’d seen that night. Though things could and did change quite quickly in this town. Perhaps Savannah was one of them. Either way, Carrington’s curiosity was piqued. 

He returned her grin with one of his own, one side of his mouth slowly lifting as he realized she was serious. And if one were observant enough, they might notice that Carrington sported a set of rather sharp canines behind his lopsided smile. He likely couldn’t have put them away if he’d tried, considering his current state. But oh well. In for a penny and all that. 

“Oh, I think you’ll find the charm goes much, much deeper than just the aesthetic…” Her casual invitation earned her another slow grin. “I think I can handle that.” The asked after drink came a moment later, and Carrington’s fingers paused against the bottle. He glanced at her, trying to decide how to answer in a way that wouldn’t send her running for the hills. Finally, he settled for the truth. She was here wasn’t she? “Yes.” The word was said with a slow, almost lazy candor as he lifted the bottle to his lips. “And no. But... if you wish to blend in…” There were still several sets of eyes on them as his arm slipped idly across the back of her chair. “I could show you how.

Savannah hadn’t even finished her first drink yet, but it was clear Carrington had already had a few. She decided to drink quickly in order to catch up. She had a feeling this was going to be an interesting night. “Fae Blood,” she read from the label. “Well, that’s not very nice.” Savannah waved the bartender down, much to his irritation, and ordered a second gin and tonic and a whiskey on the rocks. “Seems I have some catching up to do.” She finished her first drink almost in one long gulp, eyeing Carrington with curiosity. 

“You’re being strange,” she said, but her tone was one of interest and intrigue. She swore she could see the strange shape of his teeth beneath the dim lights. “Blending in, how?” she asked, curious to know what he’d be showing her. “I’d like to find out.” 

Carrington was well into his cups. Which explained why he didn’t bat an eye as she read the label on his bottle, other than to give her another playful smirk. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Besides…” He leaned towards her and pointed to a tiny bit of writing on the label. “‘No Fae were harmed in the making of this willingly-donated, generously compensated, and promise-free product.’” As if that should explain everything. And maybe it did. 

“By all means.” He watched her down her drink, raising an impressed eyebrow. The sweet smell of whiskey drifted towards him, and Carrington ordered one for himself, with a shot of A-negative. “Am I?” he asked. Her continued acquiescence was slightly surprising, but Carrington didn’t mind. Not one bit. “By doing what every other human that comes into a vampire bar comes there to do…” He gave her another curious, crooked smile, eyes slightly hooded as the implications of what he was suggesting - along with his sharply pointed teeth -  made themselves unmistakably clear. “And I’d be more than happy to oblige.” His fingers drifted up her arm to ghost over the line of her neck. “Do you trust me?”

Savannah had to be dreaming. This whole thing was almost as beyond belief as everything else she’d seen in White Crest so far. The idea of a vampire bar wasn’t strange. What was strange was that he should be so brazen about it, that he should be so open, even clearly a few drinks deep. “Why would I possibly want to try that?” she asked. She wasn’t a vampire, so she could only imagine it would taste awful. “I have my own.” She downed her whiskey and lifted the second gin and tonic. This would catch up with her soon. Maybe once it did, this would feel less bizarre. 

“How forward,” she snickered, almost a little embarrassed that this situation was - dare she say it - kind of hot. A therapist would have had a field day with that. “I’m not sure I’m drunk enough yet,” she said, her breath hitching in her throat a little turning her words into something of a sigh. “But you can show me around while I get there.” She leaned into him, whispering. “And no. I don’t trust anyone. But that doesn’t mean I won’t do something foolish.”

Carrington had no reason to hide what he was. Not here. Though his track record of making good choices when partaking of fae blood - he usually avoided it for a reason - wasn’t very good. Outside these walls, however, his identity was no one’s business but his own. And a very few trusted individuals. He opened his mouth to tell Savannah that the comment had been… well, somewhat rhetorical, but his attention quickly slipped to watching the line of her throat as she downed her drinks. 

“You asked,” he grinned, letting his fingers play over the slope of her shoulder. The way her breath hitched made Carrington’s fangs ache ever so slightly, but he was more than happy to grant the request to show her around. Before he could start what would hopefully be a very short tour on the way to something far more entertaining, she was suddenly very close. Again, she managed to surprise him with her answer, and again, Carrington didn’t question it. Instead, he laughed, the sound a low, genuinely pleased hum as he turned his head to whisper, “Good girl…” into her ear. He didn’t elaborate on which of her comments he was alluding to (it was both, actually), but pulled her and onto the first leg of the grand tour. 

A good bit later, Carrington’s head lolled towards Savannah. “Are we there yet?” he asked, grinning drunkenly, fangs on full display at this point. “Or well… are you there yet? I was there… oh-” He held up two fingers for her to see. “- three drinks ago.” 

Savannah swallowed. This was bizarre in a way that somehow made sense. It would have been beyond belief if not for the fact that it was so sensible and obvious. Savannah had no scepticism left in her. Carrington wasn’t trying to hide anything. He wasn’t a stranger trying to lure her backstage. She quivered, almost embarrassed as he whispered the words in her ear. 

She decided to see where this went, no commitment one way or the other. She explored with him, danced with him, had a few more drinks with him, and gave a low laugh when he finally asked the question. “I think I’m getting there.” She swung on his arm a little as they danced, twisting herself into his arms. “Tell me something,” she said, figuring now was her best chance to get some honesty out of him. “What do you think would have happened if you hadn’t found me at the bar?” she asked. In spite of being pleasantly drunk now, her curiosity hadn’t shut off. Savannah turned back to him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Can you be gentle? Can your friends?” she used the word loosely. There were several humans in the bar. Savannah could see that now. She’d passed the human blood bags and the fang bangers that were either paid to be here or came for their own thrill and enjoyment. They seemed to be having fun, but Savannah didn’t doubt there was a seedier underbelly to all this. Accidents happened. 

Her shiver didn’t escape his notice, but Carrington simply tucked that particular tidbit away for later. After that the evening was a blur. A pleasant one, if a bit strange. But only strange because he couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have to hide a part of himself from a human acquaintance. Whether out of fear of losing a friend, or fear for his own safety. Neither of those things had even crossed his mind this evening. Savannah was… taking it all in stride. Without any evidence of a nervous breakdown in the near future. 

So, as was the theme of the evening, Carrington didn’t question it. He simply endeavoured to take things as they came for once. Her laughter vibrated against his chest as she spun around, and he let his other hand slide around her waist, holding her against him as they danced. “Excellent…” he smiled against her ear before letting his lips drop lightly to her shoulder. He stayed there as they danced, enjoying her warmth and her scent along with his own pleasantly drunken state. “Anything…” he murmured to her query. Though when it came, the question wasn’t quite what he expected. Nonetheless, the evening had thus far thrived on honesty, and Carrington was loath to change that. 

“Perhaps nothing,” he told her quietly. “Or perhaps someone would’ve fed on you. Without your consent. Or worse.” 

Her next question didn’t have a black and white answer. She’d seen the varying degrees of human/vampire interaction around the bar. Though some things weren’t meant for public display. How could she not be curious? “In general? Yes,” he said, and meant it. “We’re all capable of being gentle. We’re not much different than humans in that sense. Some good, some bad. Most somewhere in between. ” 

Carrington dipped his head towards her shoulder again. “As for myself… I’m always gentle…” His lips - along with a barely there, feather-light hint of fangs - brushed her skin as he smiled lazily. “Unless you ask me not to be...” 

Savannah's next shudder wasn't so pleasant. Fed on. Or worse. Those certainly weren't the most desirable of outcomes. "Well, thanks for coming to my rescue," Savannah teased, her words dripping with irony. She remained close to Carrington, paying specific attention to his lack of heartbeat. His body was a little warm, perhaps from the bottles of blood he'd been drinking like light beers. If she hadn't already known already, she wouldn't have guessed he was a vampire. She'd have to get smarter about that. 

She exhaled, continuing to casually dance with him as he explained his species to her, at least in the vaguest of ways. She'd try and find out more later, she was sure, once she wasn't so very distracted by the feeling of his skin on hers and how good he smelled. "Good to know," she murmured against his jawline as he promised to be gentle. She swallowed the lump in her throat as his teeth scraped against the shell of her ear.

Fuck. She was an idiot.

Savannah could only have been more relieved if Dave had asked her to go for drinks instead of a meal, but she understood his reluctance considering the recent bar fight. There was nothing to stop them having drinks with their food, right? She hardly ever used her daily allowance for food and drink, so still reeling from her conversation with Felix, Savannah decided that fuck it; she was going to treat herself. What was the point of living in the East End and not trying out the best restaurants in the area? The FBI could foot the fucking bill. 

Savannah had called ahead to make the reservation a few nights prior, and even upon arriving, she could tell this place wasn’t her usual setting. Maybe that was why it was so appealing though. For once, she wanted to distract herself with something that wasn’t leftover Chinese food or a burger and fries. Savannah arrived first, ordering some wine while she waited for Dave to arrive, hoping he had the sense to dress for the occasion. 

Dave had been a bit hesitant about coming to the Codfather. He didn’t have the clothes for a place like this, never mind the money. But when she’d suggested this place, Dave could hardly say no to what he ate on the daily, but made fancy. He’d have to cut his food small enough that he wouldn’t need to chew with his teeth caps on, but he had plenty of practice with that. With his neatest plaid and a pair of jeans that were only scuffed and torn  at the bottom hems, he walked in to the restaurant only mildly uncomfortable, quickly smelling Savannah out through the crowd, and using her scent to lead him to her rather than sight. “Evenin’. How’ve you been?”

Rather than be judgmental about Dave’s choice of attire, Savannah found it oddly amusing. There was a sort of cheap thrill that came out of debunking everyone’s expectations. Savannah herself hadn’t dressed completely fancy; just a plan navy blue dress and a little bit of jewelry, but some of the patrons wore what could only have been the most expensive garments. She could sense the entitlement around them. “I’ve been…” she started to answer, shrugging with a vague laugh. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve been fine, but I’ve seen a lot these last few weeks. I’ve learned a lot. How about you?”

“Yeah, Jesus, sounds like you’ve had a more exciting month than me.” Well, that was likely debatable - the bruises around Dave’s neck had slowly shifted into faint shadows, but they still ached. He wasn’t moving his arm as much as normal, where the cut was still healing around carefully practiced stitches. Still, contributing to the banishment of Bloody Mary was no small thing, but he wasn’t the one being chased by witches on broomsticks. Hell. He’d almost bought a vial of Nepenthe, he had stared at it on the counter with his dealer for a long old while before deciding he didn’t want to be that kind of guy, not when he had other options.  “Been better, been worse. Fishing’s always a bit rougher in the winter, but I make do.”

“You’re not a very open person, Dave. You know that, don’t you?” Savannah ordered them each a drink, (whatever Dave wanted), a small, humorless chuckle leaving her lips. “Better and worse. Not very specific. You’re one of the closest things to a friend I have in this town, and I still know nothing about you.” She sipped her beer, shrugging. “Okay. I’ll go first. I’m from Boston. I’m from a Korean-American family, thoroughly upper middle class and very set on their kid’s achieving things. They expected me to be a doctor or lawyer, but this is close enough. I was married. Now divorced, but still keep in touch and have inappropriate conversations every once in a while. No kids. Don’t want them… No pets either, but maybe some day.” 

Dave chuckled, tilting his head in in wry acknowledgement. “I’ve been told that before.” He thanked her for ordering the drinks, watching the waiter go. “Damn. I don’t know if that says more about me or you.” He said it teasingly, but listened intently, focusing on her lips as she talked, mouthing the words subconsciously to make sure he didn’t miss any of it. He smiled at her reference to inappropriate conversations. “Alright, then. Well, I’m from Texas. We travelled around the coast when I was young, not really sticking to any sort of place. Grew up exactly as my parents expected, athletic and charming. Still am, I’d sure you agree,” Dave laughed at himself there. The sands of time had worn away most of his natural charisma. “Was married. Three sons. Haven’t really lived in one place long enough to settle down in the last couple decades. I live on what I fish and what I hunt by and large. Sometimes I sell what I catch, sometimes I help folks find things they’ve lost in lakes and shit.” Dave smiled thinly. “That help at all?” Their drinks arrived, and Dave took a big gulp of his lager with enthusiasm. The problem was that he couldn’t tell her everything. Seemed shitty to be her closest friend here when his whole life had to be a secret, when he idly wondered whether the kind thing was to get someone to take her concerning memories. 

As secretive as he was, Savannah enjoyed Dave's company. Maybe it was a fire-forged friends thing, an unspeakable feeling of kinship without rhyme nor reason, forged out of almost being human sacrificed together. "You're probably right. It does say more about me," she shrugged. "I've often focused more on my work than my relationships. Hence the divorce." She listened as he told her about himself. "Any of your sons close to my age?" she teased, shaking her head. "That right there is more about you in thirty seconds than I've learned in... weeks? Months? Time doesn't seem to exist in this town." She flipped the menu over, handing one to him. "Since you're the resident fisherman, what would you recommend? Fuck the price. I haven't spent my full FBI living allowance in weeks."

“Me too. Never been able to stick to a relationship since my first. Too distracted with other stuff.” Dave said. Too busy getting justice for his first family to be able to get justice for his second. “Hey, watch who you’re calling old,” Dave replied with a wry smile, but it didn’t last. “My sons died, decades ago. Hence the not talking about myself.” He shrugged, the wrinkles of his smiles not quite reaching his eyes. “Prefer to keep to myself. Work keeps me busy, and I’m usually out on the water in one way or another. Not much of a people person.” He flicked his eyes over the menu, looking it over. “I know these folks catch local and fresh, and the lobster in the area is good. That’s what I’ll be going for, either way.”

Oh, shit. His sons had died. Well, now she felt like a dick. “Sorry to hear that.” Savannah took a sip of her wine, as if it would cure the embarrassment of jokingly flirting with a man’s deceased children. “Okay, I won’t ask you any more personal questions until at least dessert.” She signalled the waitress over and ordered a mixed platter of starters to share and a lobster each for the main course. Savannah’s family were decently well-off, as you’d expect successful doctors to be, but she had reasonably simple tastes and rarely went all out like this. She asked Dave about generic things like fishing and hunting while they ate, keeping her promise not to delve into anything more personal. By the time their plates were clean, Savannah exhaled a massive, satisfied sigh. “Wow. I don’t even know that I have room for dessert after that. It was amazing.” It was just as well, because Savannah wouldn’t even have had time to reach for the dessert menu before the soft background music and casual conversations around them were pierced by the sound of dishes and pans clattering in the kitchen, followed by yelps and screams. 

“Me too,” Dave said, sipping from his beer with the same vigour. Talking about dead kids always put a weird vibe in the conversation, but he had the feeling Savannah would have been able to tell if he had lied too obviously, and he couldn’t maintain the same straight face talking about family as when he lied about the supernatural. As the food came, they settled into easier conversation, the kind he could do while remembering how to eat lobster the fancy human way and not the crunch-the-exoskeleton-with-your-jaw way. He managed it, and by the time they were done he was more than satisfied, he wouldn’t even have to go for more later. Dave was about to wave away the dessert, happy to watch her enjoy, when he realised that the room was reacting to something he couldn’t hear. Everyone was looking over to the kitchen, including Savannah. When someone staggered out of the kitchen with a bleeding arm, hand dangling on by just a couple inches of flesh, Dave jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag before striding over to the kitchen to see what was up, without even looking over to see what Savannah was doing. 

 Savannah’s eyes widened in horror at the sight. They got out, someone was screaming. They fucking got out! “Call 911,” she demanded of the nearest person, knowing that giving the task to a specific person was more likely to yield results than letting the whole restaurant fumble and assume someone else was going to do it. Luckily, she’d finally realised she needed to bring her gun to literally every place she went in White Crest, and she followed Dave towards the kitchens, calling after him. “Hey! Hold up. It might be dangerous! Something got loose in there.” However, danger was unlikely to deter Dave, given they’d met one another while volunteering to be human sacrificed as a ploy. The kitchen door swung on its hinges, back and forth as Dave walked through it. Savannah did the same, gasping at the sight that befell her; lobsters the size of everything from cats to Golden Retrievers, running around the room, destroying everything in sight. “I don’t think--I don’t think this is gonna help,” she said, gesturing feebly to her firearm. Where was Kaden and his harpoon when she needed him? 

Dave reached into his satchel, pulling a strange metallic device the size of his forearm. He stepped back from the Karkinoids, quickly unfolding the prongs of the trident and extending out the haft until everything clicked in securely. An imperfect weapon, but decent for driving between the chinks of a nearby Karkinoid’s armour. “No, it won’t. Get out of here!” He barked. He used the trident to fling the karkinoid across the room, looking for where the hell they’d come from. In the corner of the room was an extremely large bucket, that looked surprisingly sturdy for holding just lobsters. It had been knocked over. Unless, of course, they knew they weren’t. Dave groaned, jumping away from one little slash at his ankles. There were what, four or five? He couldn’t kill them with the trident, just whack them around. He’d be able to do more with his teeth, but if he could get them all back in the bucket, it’d be a hell of a lot easier. Dave swore, pinning down one of the nearby karkinoids with his trident while he tried to get something resembling a plan. 

Savannah’s eyes widened in awe as Dave pulled what appeared to be a giant fork from his satchel. What kind of dinner had he thought they were going for? “I’m not--no!” was all she could answer when he told her to leave, and not having a trident to hand, she could only make do with spraying the creatures back with a fire extinguisher to give herself enough room to climb up on top of the counters. Rest in peace to this place’s hygiene rating, but that was the least of their problems right now. Dave was holding his own, and she gazed on, shocked and impressed, but they couldn’t just keep up this avoidance tactic forever. God, she was going to have so many words with the manager after this. “What do you want me to do?!” she asked. Should she call Kaden? No. They’d be lobster food by the time he even got here. 

Dave tongued the covers off his teeth, his fangs descending. He moved spryly on his feet. “I want you to leave,” he growled, words not forming as easily around his canines, although he was careful not to show his teeth to Savannah. “They’ve got to get back in the barrel.” One of the karkinoids swung its giant claws for Savannah, and Dave moved with a feline reflex, grabbing it by the tail and hurling it across the room into the barrel. That was one, but the karkinoids were looking for freedom, and the two of them were the only thing holding the rest of the world from the karkinoids.

“I can’t leave!” Savannah called back to him. His voice was almost guttural. They’d kill her before she even got to the door, and she couldn’t just leave Dave to fight the things by themselves. “Why the barrel? Just--kill them!” As if it was that easy, or that obvious. There had to be some kind of weapon in here, something they used in the event of this ever happening or to get the things in there to begin with. Then she saw it, or rather, them. There were a pair of catchpoles on the wall. One for each claw. “There!” she yelled, pointing. “We can get them restrained!” 

“How do you propose I do that?” Dave snapped back, clambering onto a bench to avoid being snipped at. Instead the claw of the karkinoid cut right through the steel drawers underneath the counter, and the rest of it began to groan as that support was taken out of the picture. This wasn’t his sturdy trident, it was his back up in case of emergency. In the water, this would be piss easy, but while they weren’t fast moving on land, nor was her, and it wasn’t so easy to get his jaw around them here. “Can we?” He repeated, following the line she was pointing at. “Great,” he growled, before jumping over to another counter, and then dropping back down to the floor heavily, rubbing his knee before grabbing the poles, throwing it across the room to Savannah. That was just enough time for a Karkinoid to pinch the flesh of his calf and cut into it deeply. With a roar, Dave caught its tail, picked it up - it was only cat sized - and with his teeth crunched through the red exoskeleton and tore off its pincer, before throwing it onto a counter where the hot top was still on, and it struggled to get off the heat. He checked whether his leg could hold his weight, before looking up to Savannah. They each had a catchpole to deal with the other two. 

“I don’t know!” Savannah answered. Somehow this situation made her even more frantic than the mermaid. At least with Kaden, they had come prepared. “I’ve never killed a giant lobster before.” It wasn’t as if they could boil them until their shells were nice and soft. The catchpoles were all they had to work with. Dave quickly took care of one, though Savannah couldn’t fail to notice the rip in his pants and the blood dripping from his wound when she turned back towards him after grappling with her own. She tried to keep her grip steady around the handle as the lobster struggled to break free. “I think we know why our meal was so filling,” she said, using the pole to edge the creature back towards the huge barrel it had escaped from. “Keep the other one back,” she instructed as she struggled with the creature, clearly less practiced in this area than Dave. 

Dave has killed giant lobsters before, as Savannah called them. But not like this, not in an enclosed space, not with his back up Trident that wasn’t very secure, not while above ground in his human suit. Definitely not, while trying to hide his true identity from an FBI agent. Every time he shifted his weight or tried to step away or towards one of the karkinoids, his leg threatened to give away underneath him. He nodded as Savannah told him to keep control of the Karkinoids that she wasn’t pushing towards the barrel, but even the split second he took to read her lips was enough to get another deep gash on his leg. Yelling, Dave kicked the lobster. He’d aimed for the joints of its exoskeleton. It bounced against a nearby table, stuck on its back for a second. Dave grabbed a nearby counter to take his weight off his leg. Jesus, fuck, that hurt. If nothing else, he was relieved that he hadn’t tried to dress up for today. With the Trident he pinned the Karkinoid in place, And managed to get the Catchpole that he was holding over one of its pincers. The other pincer sliced right through the table and a flurry of pots and pans clattered to the floor, along with a large piece of salmon that had been prepared earlier. Grimacing, Dave used the Catchpole to drag it over to the barrel and drop it inside.

It was incredibly frustrating to not be able to use her gun in this situation. She wished she had Kaden's harpoon or the other tools he was sure he had access to. "Shit, shit, shit--" Savannah repeated frantically under her breath as she tried to wrangle the creature, to get it under control. It was evident that Dave was badly injured, maybe not in ways that would cause permanent damage, but certainly enough to impair him in this encounter. She narrowly missed being grabbed by the one she was wrangling and finding herself in a similar situation. 

Dave fought to get the creature back in the tank, and Savannah did the same. Once they were done, she let go of the catchpole, not even caring that it fell into the pot with them, and then she pulled the lid back on, sealing them inside. She collapsed onto the ground in the pile of recently fallen pots and pans. "Are... Are you okay?" she gasped, eyes widening as she saw the extent of the blood on his leg. "I'll call an ambulance..."