#-completely because he wants to stamp out that feeling that darkness lurks around every corner in will's neck

[lighthouseas]

will holding mike's face when they kiss and mike holding will's neck when they kiss. that is all

[imagine-darksiders]

Haven

Chapter 4 - The Blessed Dark.

There haven't been many instances in your life where you've stopped and taken a few moments to really appreciate just how much of a blessing the darkness can be. As a child, the pieces of literature you'd hungrily consumed had all taught you that the dark is a frightening thing, a mysterious, encroaching force that hides monsters and brings nightmares to life.

Now though, having cautiously stolen through a city in the wake of a world-wide, apocalyptic event, you couldn't be more grateful for the darkness and its penchant for hiding things you don't want to see.

The maker – Ulthane – had insisted upon walking behind you as soon as your feet touched the black, crumbling tarmac, explaining that he’d feel a hell of a lot better with you in his sights at all times. Though you weren’t sure whether this was to ensure you didn’t run off again or to keep you out of danger. Either way, you had little choice but to reluctantly comply. 

Having him at your back the whole way to the museum set your nerves on edge, not only because your trust in the strange, otherworldly giant is flimsy at best, but also because you wish you could have had something to focus your eyes on. The straps of his boots, the pebbles that bounced up off the ground with every step he took. Anything to keep your attention away from the eerie, indistinct lumps that laid scattered all over the streets you passed through.

Night had obscured most of their features, and if it weren't for the moon that shone overhead, you could have quite easily pretended they were no more than piles of fallen debris, perhaps some upskittled rubble. But every now and then, you crept around a corner or through an alley, and in searching the area for any signs of danger, your eyes would happen to pass over one of those lumps and the moonlight would glint off a glassy eyeball, a mouth gaped open and frozen in place, sometimes a pale hand, reaching, stretching out to grasp for help that never came.

Each time, you reeled back and threw a hand over your eyes, assuring yourself that you hadn't just seen what you thought you saw. “Just a pile of rubble,” you whimpered through gritted teeth, “Or mannequins... a trick of the light...” 

If you started seeing them as humans, you feared your heart might just cease to beat.

But there were hundreds of them. Thousands perhaps. And it quickly became harder and harder to pretend.

“This is where I found you.”

The sudden intrusion of Ulthane's rumbling bass rips you out of a foggy haze and you leap out of your skin, suddenly aware that you’ve made it all the way back to the museum carpark. Swearing under your breath, you berate yourself for drifting off. You've no recollection of getting here, your body seemed to know where it was going, even if your mind didn't. At least Ulthane had his wits about him. You shudder to think what might have happened if he wasn't following close behind you, his head on a constant swivel, senses primed and ready to intercept any demon that tried to get too close.

The carpark you've stumbled back into is wildly different than it had been during the day because suddenly, the silhouettes of all those construction vehicles parked nearby look more like abysmal, eldritch horrors, all jagged and sharp and twisted out of shape in the dark. While the museum, you find, craning your neck back to gulp at the imposing structure, is no less daunting.

What had once been a place to learn and preserve aspects of history now stands as a silent monument to a terrible memory. You will always remember you were here the day the world ended.

“Cold?” 

Jolting, you glance up at the maker and manage to squeak out an eloquent, “Huh?”

In response, he wordlessly points down at your arms and it takes you a moment to realise you’ve wrapped them around yourself. 

“O-oh, no!” Hastily, you whip your hands back down. “Not cold...Just-”

“-Scared?”

There’s little point in trying to lie, especially when he’s giving you such a knowing look. “A...A bit,” you mutter eventually. It isn’t a total lie, at least.

A single brow slides smoothly up the giant’s forehead and remains poised there, dubiousness thick and blatant in his resounding hum. After a few seconds of subjecting you to his unwavering scrutiny, Ulthane draws himself up tall and grabs his belt, hoisting it a little higher on his hips. “You know, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about with me around, lass,” he declares matter-of-factly. 

It’s all very well him saying that, it’s another thing entirely for you to feel it. Still, all the same, you flash him a smile and offer a noncommittal, “Mmhmm,” before taking your first, tentative steps towards the museum. With your eyes kept peeled for anything that could be lurking behind upturned cars or in the still smouldering craters left by demons, you pick your way over loose rebar and head for the museum's south side. 

Along the way however, your eyes are drawn to a familiar sight.

The mouth of a concrete pipe stands several feet away, its concrete surface flecked with blood and covered in long, shallow scratches.

Behind you, your staunch sentinel catches you looking and he follows your gaze, pushing a low hum up his throat when he sees what you've spotted. “Sorry if I frightened you before,” he mutters, carefully considering the side of your face, though you're quick to turn away from him and march rigidly onwards. 

“What was that thing?” you ask softly.

Ulthane decides to let your deflection slide for now.

Scratching at the underside of his coarse beard, he waits for you to clamber through the gaping hole in the museum's wall before he replies. “S'what's called a Sufferin'. Horrible beast. Takes what's dead n' brings 'em back. Just not in any way that's good.”

“Wait-” You pause to get your bearings, squinting into the darkness of the cavernous room. “It can....what? Bring people back to life?” A semblance of hope creeps into your question and the maker's mouth screws up, hating that he'll have to be the one who stamps that little light out before it can gain traction.

“No, no, lass,” he explains softly, watching your face crumple, “It turns 'em into husks. Empty shells with nothin' in their heads but hunger.”

“...Oh...”

Ulthane sighs as you kick a loose stone and listen to it skitter beneath the monstrous skeleton he'd marvelled at earlier. Once the sound fades and you've begun to trail numbly after it, brushing your fingertips along an ancient fibula, the maker's brow creases, but rather than squeeze through with you, he hurries around the front of the skeleton, meeting you on the other side of its leg and allowing himself to be led over to a set of double doors that seem barely wide and high enough for him to fit through. Determined that he won’t be bested by a few, flimsy planks of wood though, Ulthane glares them down, his frown growing by the minute. 

Oblivious to the giant's new predicament, you hastily trot through to the other side and find yourself promptly awash in the sickly green of numerous emergency lights. “We're close now,” you whisper, pointing down the hall. “The kids should be in a room just down here.”

There's no answer for several seconds, save for a grunt and then a firm thud, and finally, “Uh oh.”  

“Uh oh?” Confused, you spin around and immediately have to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent a laugh from jumping out.

Somehow, the giant has managed to wedge himself halfway through the too-small doorframe. One of his legs has made it, along with his head and forearm. The problem however, lies with his broad shoulders, their bulky girth too wide for the opening and he, in all his wisdom, has obviously tried to stuff them through at the same time instead of one after the other. What results is the rather comical sight of a poor, mahogany doorframe trying its best not to buckle around Ulthane's bulging deltoids and failing miserably.

With another grunt, he gives his arms an experimental thrust, only succeeding in getting himself even more stuck and he curses, looking down at you helplessly.

You don’t know where the courage to laugh came from. “Are – ha! Ahem, are you okay?” you squeeze out through pursed lips, stepping closer.

“Oh, I'm dandy,” the maker grumbles and strains hard against his wooden bindings once more. Suddenly, the wall all around the doorframe begins to creak and moan in protest and a loud 'snap' splits the still air and makes you flinch. There, in the plaster, right where Ulthane’s shoulders press most firmly into the door, are two, fresh cracks that have spidered outwards along the wall.

“Woah, woah! Stop!” you hiss, waving your hands in front of his face, “You're going to break it!”

Halting his efforts, he tucks his chin in and slides you a flat stare down his nose.

“Oh.” You suppose it does seem somewhat odd to want to preserve a door when the rest of the world has gone completely to ruin. “Alright, well....You’re like, super strong right? Can’t you just like, bust through?” 

He tries not to swell with pride at the unintended compliment. To be honest, that had been the first solution Ulthane had considered. He’s certainly strong enough to simply burst through with sheer, brute force, but after some more thought, he realises that while this building’s infrastructure is solid enough by human standards, any sudden stress to the foundations could potentially cause a wall or ceiling to collapse. And with you standing right below him, even ‘potentially’ is much too risky. “Oh, I could, easily,” he at last replies, “if I wanted to bring the whole roof down on our heads.” 

“Right. Best not do that then.” Chewing on your lip, you consider the giant warily for a moment before throwing your hands up in defeat. “Oh for goodness sake. Here, let me help.”

A bemused smile replaces Ulthane's frown as you step close to him and wrap your hands around the thick chain connecting his shoulder pauldron to his belt and after testing your grip, you plant your feet and give a tremendous heave backwards.

At least, it's tremendous from your perspective.

The maker, at best, feels you give the chain a gentle tug. 

Forgetting himself, his eyes soften and a fond smile sprawls out across his face. All he can do for is marvel over your sudden burst of determination and admire the way your face scrunches up with the effort as tiny, delicate knuckles turn white and your feet begin sliding across the marble floor. From this close, the dust drifting up off your hair tickles his nose when he inhales, taking up the scent of sweat and dirt that clings to your skin. 

Suddenly, he blinks. 

For the briefest moment, he's reminded of his realm - the sticky heat of the forge, the earth under his fingernails when he'd build with his hands, the salt he would taste on his upper lip after tussling with his brother.... Ulthane's eyes slip closed. By the Stone....You smell of home.

A short, sharp scream yanks him back into the present and his head jerks up just in time to see your feet slip out properly from underneath you after giving the chain another, hard pull.

Without thinking, without remembering that he's jammed inside a doorway, the maker jerks his arm forwards and twists his hand around, letting you fall harmlessly into an upturned palm. The chain you'd been yanking on had slipped from your grasp as you fell and now it clinks gently against Ulthane's chest as he stares down at you, his surprise mirrored by your own.

“Uh....Thanks,” you pant uncertainly, blinking a few times at the giant's abrupt closeness. 

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs and you get a good view of his tusks with each word, “Don’t want to exacerbate that any further.” Just then, one of his enormous fingers curls inwards to prod ever so gently at your bruised side, although you hardly notice the responding twinge his touch produces, your attention too swept up by his smokey, grey stare. You instead find yourself wondering what makes up the biology of his eyes that causes them to glow faintly in the dark corridor. And has he always smelled so strongly of leather? It quickly dawns on you that you’re staring and you balk, tearing your eyes away to focus on the wall, only to let out a breathless laugh seconds later, jutting your chin and indicating his shoulder. “Uh, hey, check it out.”

“Hmm?” He had been so busy admiring the sculpt of your face and pondering how it could only have been carved by a skilled artist that at first, your words don’t register. “What?” Tipping his head to one side, Ulthane follows your gaze. His lips part around a soft chuckle upon discovering that his shoulders are no longer stuck. “Well, would you look at that?” In moving so suddenly to catch you, he'd managed to tear an arm free of its confines, allowing ample space for the other to follow through, all without taking the ceiling down.

A noisy exhale spews out of his nose as he places you back on solid ground and heaves the rest of his bulk into the narrow hallway. It's cramped and he has to stoop considerably to keep his head from constantly bumping against the ceiling, but it is manoeuvrable.

He raises a hand with a view to sheepishly scratch at the back of his neck, finds his elbow hits the wall, and drops it back down again. “Right,” he says, “That was...uh...”

“Kind of funny?” you dare to venture, trying to gauge his expression in the meagre lighting.

In response, the maker snorts. “I was about to say embarassin' but I reckon it's all about perspective.”

Indeed. To him, the whole ordeal of being stuck inside a doorframe while the human he rescued is present as a witness is utterly mortifying. You however, didn't just find it funny. It also came as somewhat of a relief.

To see the unassailable giant make a mistake, to blunder, to err like that....

Perhaps these makers are more like humans than you'd previously thought. Suddenly, Ulthane doesn't seem like such an unearthly stranger anymore.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you jab a thumb down the hall. “We should...probably hurry up, right?”

And just like that, the atmosphere thickens once more. Tension creeps back into your stance and Ulthane's lips tilt down at the corners, the gruff visage slipping into place as if it had never left. With a resolute nod, the maker waits for you to turn before he lumbers after you down the shadowy hallway, his eyes trained on a small, green glow at the far end.

You proceed hesitantly, jumping every time one of the emergency lights flickers and sparks, and you can't help but to notice that they aren't as bright as they'd been when you left. The fact that whoever had the wit to install battery operated ones is a minor miracle or you'd be fumbling around in pitch darkness right now, though it seems they've finally started to run out of juice. 

‘Well... I know how they feel.’

Closer and closer you creep until the vault door at last looms into view, its metal surface glowing eerily beneath the led sign nailed above it that reads ‘Caution.’ Hardly daring to breathe, you wipe your sweaty palms on your blouse and reach out, fingers stretching slowly towards the door. However, just before you can push it open, you freeze, inexplicably overcome by a sinking feeling. Darting out your tongue to nervously wet your dry lips, you stare at the tremble that's started to spread up your arm and take a bumbling step away from the vault.

“What if...What if they're-” You don't want to finish.

To your back, you hear the telltale thud of Ulthane's knee hitting the ground as he shifts. Moments later, a gentle knuckle is prodding you in the spine - perhaps as a reassurance of his presence, or perhaps to encourage you to keep going.

“Can't start thinkin' about 'what ifs' now, bonnie,” he tells you, allowing his hand to linger for a moment before pulling it away again and you can’t help but feel that it’s his way of letting you know you won’t be facing whatever lays beyond that door alone. 

Swallowing past a lump, you nod, take a steadying breath and press your shaking palm flat against the door, drawing solace from the metal's cool surface.

With agonising slowness, you push yourself against the door and it swings open to reveal the darkened room beyond, where silence is the only thing to greet you, a perfect quiet so impermeable, it makes you acutely aware of the tinnitus ringing in your ears and you have to shuffle your feet just to have something else to hear.

“Kids?” you call softly, trepidation rising with every second that passes in which you don't receive an answer. “Ashleigh? Sam?”

Nothing.

The horror of what you may have condemned these children to finally begins to sink in. Behind you, the maker’s brow furrows as you raise a hand to cover your mouth and the sight instantly has him battling down the urge to put his fist through the nearest wall, enraged at himself for not checking the area more thoroughly after he found you. More children needlessly lost, all because of him.

But then, just as your knees start to wobble, there's a rustling from deeper in the vault, somewhere too far to be illuminated by the emergency lights. Ulthane's ears perk up and a voice – small and weary – calls out, “Miss?”

Your head snaps up. You hardly dare believe you'd really heard it.

"....Archie?”

To begin with nothing more is said. Then suddenly, with the gradual steps of a cautious fawn, a shape starts to emerge from the shadows. 

Two feet clad in red sneakers appear first, followed eventually by pale, skinny legs with grazes covering both knees just below where a pair of black shorts cut off. Finally, Ulthane can make out the figure's face as it steps into the light. Wide, round glasses sit upon a freckled nose, the lenses dusty and marred with cracks that have splintered the glass, creating zigzagging spiderwebs across their surfaces.

Ulthane’s breath hitches in his throat.

He always imagined human younglings would be small, but this? He’s seen makers born bigger.

Silently, he remains crouched in the doorway, so far undetected by the minuscule boy, and observes, enraptured as you collapse onto your knees and release a cry fraught with relief. Hearing your distress, the boy staggers forwards blindly, his arms outstretched and his face crumpling before he can reach you.

“Archie, you-what happened to your glasses!” you exclaim, but your question is ignored. By the time he comes close enough for you to circle your arms around his scrawny waist, the dam has burst and he lets out a miserable sob, curling his hands into the front of your blouse and lowering himself down onto your lap.

And just like that, Ulthane’s heart soars as four more children melt out of the darkness.

You suddenly find yourself almost mowed down by Kitty and Lucia, both of whom are also crying and each girl fights for the space to loop their arms round your neck.

“Where were you!?” Kitty wails and beats her fists against your back. “You left us! You left us alone!”

At the same time, Lucia's fingernails dig like knives into the skin under your blouse but at this point, you honestly couldn't care less.

With two children buried into your shoulders and one actively trying to burrow his way inside your chest, you glance up to see the last few – Sam and Ashleigh – standing nearby. They, like the others, had rushed towards you, yet something has caused them to freeze in their tracks, their stares fixed on a point above your head. Haunted, exhausted expressions shift swiftly through confusion, dawning horror and finally, their eyes burst open wide and abject terror sweeps everything else away. You soon realise that they've just spotted what their classmates haven’t, but before you can tell them not to scream, Ashleigh's jaw drops open and she lets out a shriek so piercing, the others yelp and jerk away from you to look back at her.

Shaking his head with a gentle frown, Ulthane instinctively tries to extend a hand through the door, his fingers skirting past you and continuing on towards the diminutive girl, who gives off another screech and falls onto her backside in her haste to scramble further into the vault. Swallowing, the maker retracts his hand, glaring at it accusingly as if it were the sole reason for her fear. 

“Guys, no! It's okay!” You reach out to try and coax Sam back towards you but he remains rooted to the spot, staring silently up at the door. It's at that point Kitty, Lucia and Archie finally whirl about and look up as well, frantic to see what has their friends so badly frightened. It doesn't take long for them to find it. Realising that this is quickly getting out of hand, you stumble to your feet and spread your hands out, fingers splayed. “Don't!-”

But it's too late.

Kitty immediately sees the enormous figure crouched in the doorway and leaps from you while Archie and Lucia grab your sleeves and begin to pull you with all their might, away from Ulthane. “Run!” Archie yells, at the same time as Lucia shrieks, “Monstruo!”

You have to wince on Ulthane's behalf at that one. Although not his native language, you're fairly certain he doesn't need a translator to figure out what he'd been called.

Ulthane Blackhammer has been hurt many a time in his exceedingly long life. He's been burnt, shot at, beaten up by his own brother, taken a blade to the back more times than he'd care to admit. Yet that right there, being called a monster by a human child somehow hurts his chest worse than any blow he's ever received. Crestfallen, the maker tries to school his face into steely indifference but ends up failing miserably.

Pulling out of the kids' grasps, you once again hold out your hands in a placating gesture. “He is not a monster, he's a...a...” Frowning, you twist your head over a shoulder to look at the giant. Even with the measly light, you can see him avert his eyes and press his lips together tightly in what you assume is an effort to hide the fearsome tusks behind them. “He's one of the good guys,” you murmur at last, prompting the maker to raise his head a little and glance at you. Maybe it's your imagination or a trick of the light, but you could swear a troubled grimace darkens his features at your words. Before you can dwell on it further though, Lucia – arguably the bravest of the gathered students – stops back-peddling and gulps instead, venturing, “Is – Is he gonna eat us!?”

“What!? No, of course not!” You suddenly hesitate, looking back at the maker again. “Are you?”

Ulthane's nostrils flare as he scowls, offended by your doubt. “No!”

At his unexpected growl, the kids gasp and retreat further, prompting the giant's frustration to evaporate like water off a scorching pavement. Heaving out a great sigh, he says, far more gently, “No, lassie, I'd never hurt any of you.” He casts his eye over each human, trying his damnedest to convey complete and utter harmlessness – a difficult task for someone so much more vast than any human who ever lived. 

The children don’t seem in the least bit convinced by his sincerity.

Both the maker and yourself lock eyes for a second. Neither of you know how in the world you’re going to broach the subject of leaving. Something in the kids’ faces tells you they'd all raise a few objections about going anywhere with this strange giant, even if you say it's safe.

“Right, well. There you have it. He won’t eat you, Lucia.” Brusquely, you clap your hands together, anxious to get moving. Any longer on your feet and you may just up and die of exhaustion on the spot. 'No time for that though,' you tell yourself, somewhat bitterly, 'safety first, then sleep.'

Forcing your body to stand tall, you level a somber but weighty look at the five children, the duty you've set yourself staring right back through frightened, bleary eyes. It settles heavily on your shoulders. “Listen to me, I know you're all scared, but we can't stay here.”

“Why not!?” Kitty contests and stamps her foot. She always did try to disguise her fear with anger.

“Because we don't have any food.” Raising a hand, you start listing things off on your fingers. “There's no more water, this door – this whole building - isn't going to keep us safe for long!...But Ulthane-” Here, you pause to share a meaningful glance with the maker. “-Ulthane knows somewhere we can stay. Somewhere safer than this museum.” 

Ashleigh squeaks, looking horrified at the mere suggestion. “We’re going with him!? But, he's so-”

“Big? Yeah, I know,” you chuckle humourlessly and earn a harrumph from the man behind you, though his grumbling falls silent when you continue, “But big doesn't always mean bad. He won't hurt you, I promise.” You really hope that’s a promise he doesn’t end up breaking for you.

Oblivious to your innermost concerns, Ulthane feels a weight lift off his chest, pleased that you seem to be coming around enough to finally start trusting him. He just wishes he had half of Eideard’s know-how when it comes to dealing with younglings.

For some time, none of children move or say a word. They simply glance among one another, Ashleigh clutching onto Sam's hand like he'll disappear if she lets go, Archie cowering behind Lucia and trying to make sense of the scene behind his cracked glasses whilst the latter looks torn between believing you and believing the stories she'd read as a young girl – of ferocious giants that stomp around and terrorise humans, gobbling them up whenever they get hungry. At her side, Kitty is desperately trying to jut her chin up at Ulthane in an attempt to appear brave, despite how her limbs tremble and her face is streaked with salty tears. 

It occurs to you, not for the first time, that you are way out of your depth. For goodness sake, you're just the art technician! You're only supposed to tidy up after the class, wash paint brushes and mind the lessons if their teacher has to pop out to the main office! By your very nature you aren't an authority figure to these kids. Not quite their teacher, not quite their friend....

A weary sigh blows past your lips and you slowly lower yourself onto one knee, mirroring Ulthane's stance. “Do you guys trust me?” you ask out of the blue.

Caught off guard by your question, the children all recoil and glance uncertainly amongst one another, the same question entering all of their heads at once. 

Do they trust you?

You who allowed Ashleigh to seek refuge in the art room during lunch where she could be left to read her books in peace. Or when Kitty had come storming in one day like a roiling tempest, itching for a fight and you'd grabbed some acrylic paint, a large canvas and told her to attack it with everything she had. The mess was hell to clean up but she'd left that class with a tranquil smile on her face and a sprinkle of blue in her hair.

And then there's Archie, who'd crumpled to nothing in your arms one afternoon and wept into your shoulder. He wouldn't tell you what had happened. He wouldn't say a word, and eventually, you gave up asking and simply held him close, telling him that it would all get better soon.

Every child in this room, for one reason or another, has had something happen that drew them down into the underbelly of the school where the art room waited and in it, they always found you.

Maybe it's because you aren't their teacher, not really. You like them, you liked most of the students and you never tried to hide that for the sake of preserving some inflated sense of pride.

After another few seconds of quiet contemplation, all five of them look back at you. The decision seems to be unanimous. Cautiously, they nod their heads. 

“Then trust me now,” you breathe, on the brink of begging, “We have to get out of here. And like it or not, Ulthane is our best chance for survival.”

To the maker's surprise, that single, unassuming question appears to do the trick. Almost right away, the younglings start edging closer and you smile, stretching out a hand and offering it to Archie, who squints at it for a second before he plucks up the courage to lean forwards and grasp it in his own. 

Giving the boy’s fingers a light squeeze, you turn to Ulthane. “Okay, I think we're ready. We'll follow you out.”

In seconds, the maker’s stomach twists with worry - ‘No, not worry’ - he stubbornly corrects himself, but rather, something more along the lines of anticipation as he realises that in order to get these younglings back to the Tree, they’re going to have to leave the museum and venture out into the wild and dangerous city beyond. 

It has to be done, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. In truth, he fears what might happen if something goes wrong and one of the humans is injured, what will he do? Will he be able to hold it together and get the survivors back to the tree or will he be consumed by the desire to tear their attackers to pieces? That desperation, that primal instinct to protect the young is already clawing raggedly at his insides, leaving an uncomfortable, squirming sensation in his gut that won’t be shaken loose no matter how much he wills it away. 

Determined not to let his agitation known, he screws one eye shut as he hoists himself back onto his feet and twists about, his proportions large and awkward in the confines of the hall. Like you though, he's eager to get the children out of that cramped room and somewhere he can actually see them and get to them if they're in danger or worse, hurt.

The second he moves, Archie’s hand clamps down around yours, though you can understand the boy’s trepidation when Ulthane’s spine is to you, leaving you with an uninterrupted view of the gigantic hammer that he's slung across his back. All you can do is turn to the kids and offer them what you hope is a reassuring grin. “Okay, here we go. Does everyone have all their things?” You can't imagine there'll be much use for sketch books and pencil cases in this situation, but you aren't about to tell them to leave their only worldly possessions behind. After having to wait for Sam and Kitty to dash back and retrieve their discarded rucksacks, you lead the gaggle of children out and into the hallway, dragging Archie by the hand with the other four following almost toe to heel.

At the set of double doors that open out into the main room, you slow everyone to a halt as Ulthane bends himself down to squeeze through.

“Try not to get stuck again, okay?” you warn him, failing to hide a smirk when he swings his massive head around and grumbles at you lowly for a second before he ducks through to the other side, this time without a hitch.

One ear trained on the footsteps pattering along behind him and one listening out for trouble, he cuts straight across the main hall, his head periscoping this way and that until he focuses in on the collapsed entrance you’d used to get inside. Dimly, he wonders if you’d be more willing to accept a lift from him this time around? 

All of a sudden, a shadow skitters across the opening, moving fast and low like some insect crawling about between the bricks and rebar.

In a flash, Ulthane jerks to a halt and throws his arm out protectively, stilling you and the children in your tracks.

“What!?” you hiss, “What is it?”

There's no response from the maker at first, he's too busy raising his head to sniff at the air, nostrils twitching. Then, quite abruptly, he drops his sights to the gap in the wall and peels his lips back over formidable, gleaming teeth. “Trouble,” he growls, low and threatening, but before you can ask him to elaborate, he takes several, measured steps backwards, shuffling his enormous boots towards you until you're forced to back up with him or risk getting a nudge from his iron-plated heel.

To say you're perturbed by the sudden change is a gross understatement. “Ulthane, what are you doing!?”

Once again, he doesn't reply, and instead reaches up to wrap his fingers around the handle of his war-hammer, swinging it into both hands, the weapon's bulbous head casting a vast shadow over your little group. Behind you, several pairs of eyes widen in horror and you feel a tug on your shirt sleeve as someone latches on. “Miss? What's happening!?” It sounds like Sam. All you can do is shush the children as you're continuously herded backwards by an increasingly bristling maker.

The sound of pebbles being knocked loose snags your attention and you squint through the colossal legs in front of you, spotting movement in the gap as something stalks inside the museum. Its shape is difficult to make out, but whatever it is stands upright on two legs and the top of its spine curves over, painfully contorting the figure's stance into something misshapen and crooked. But at a glance, it could almost pass for a....

“Wait a minute,” you murmur, furrowing your brow and planting your free hand on the maker's boot, calming him down a fraction, “Wait just a minute, is that a-!?” All the breath leaves your lungs as you excitedly smack your palm against his ankle. “Ulthane! It's alright! It's just another human!” The idea that someone else could have survived this nightmare is almost too much for you, sending your head in a dizzy spin for a few seconds. 

To your dismay however, Ulthane doesn't seem so pleased. “That's no human, lass,” he says out the side of his mouth.

“What? Of course they're human, look at them!”

At the sound of your voice, the figure's head snaps in your direction and it freezes, as if it were no more than a statue, no movement, no sound, just the moonlight at its back and the sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh blowing in with the night's wind.

“A-aren’t they?” Just like that, you curse yourself for praising the darkness outside. Being unable to clearly see what’s about to tear your apart is maddening.

Letting a dangerous breath hiss through his teeth, Ulthane backs you up another few metres until your backside hits something solid and you jump, twisting about to see that you and the kids have been corralled up against the circular reception desk.

“Remember what I told you about the Sufferin'?” he asks suddenly without taking his eyes off the creature, “About how they take what's dead-?”

You cast your mind back even as a cold tendril of dread winds around your chest. “-And bring them back...Oh, god.”

In poetic conjunction with your sudden realisation, the creature blocking your exit throws it head back and unleashes a howl so chilling, Archie lets go of your hand to cover his ears while the others let out startled bleats and begin to cry. The sound of their fear hardens your resolve and, without warning, you whirl about and grab the closest child – who happens to be Lucia – underneath her arms, hoisting her up on top of the ringed desk.

“Get behind there!” you bark, indicating the space inside before leaning down to get Sam.

Unbeknownst to you, the maker standing to your rear is slowly working himself into a bloodthirsty frenzy. Of course...Of course the very thing that crawled through that opening just had to be one of the swarm, an undead member of the very species he’s currently trying to save. Though small and relatively weak by themselves, when a group of them get together, they can become as deadly and tenacious as any demon. And that’s the thing about the swarm. There’s never just one. Hence the name. 

Every single muscle in Ulthane’s hefty body is wound tighter than a coiled spring in anticipation of a fight, and all because behind him, there are six humans - six, innocent, petrified humans who never asked for any of this to happen, five of whom are small enough to be engulfed in the palm of his hand. This new world is unkind to small things. They can't protect themselves, so they have to be protected.

Up ahead, crawling through the rubble and dust like an oversized cockroach, is a threat - a threat to his charges. Unfortunately, it isn't the only one of its kind.

As he feared, another shadow flits along the ground and he has to tear his eyes off the first figure to see a second emerge into the museum's makeshift entrance. Then another appears, and another....and another...

Your voice cracks above the snaps of teeth and scrabbling of long fingernails on the marble floor. “Ulthane!?” 

“I see ‘em,” he growls, the blood in his veins reaching boiling point.  

One of the human younglings lets a sob escape their throats and it serves as kindling for the fiery rage that blazes in Ulthane's chest. 

“So! You bastards want a taste of human, eh!?” he jeers suddenly, eliciting snarls and growls from the aggressors. They slither closer, their hunger for a fresh meal curtailing their wariness of his immense hammer. Teeth bared and feet planted squarely between you and the swarm, Ulthane puffs his chest out, and you can't help but to be reminded of a bird fluffing itself up to try and ward predators away from its chicks. 

“Well then,” he continues and a dark smirk creeps onto his face, “You're goin' to have to go through me first.”

[bellemorte180]

Wanderlust Chapter Six

Mystic Falls made Klaus feel as though he was on the set of some random Hallmark Movie that wanted to glorify the southern United States. There was nothing wrong with the town specifically but everything that surrounded it felt that a carefully crafted production. Having met Carol Lockwood, Klaus was not surprised that the woman who ran the town would be equally as superficial as the town itself. While it was peaceful and charming, the forest that surrounded it added character, Klaus could not help but see darkness lurking in every corner.

Although, if Klaus was being honest with himself, that could be due to his cynical nature rather than the town itself. Then again, the town did have similarities to the small English village he had grown up in. Perhaps that was the reason why small towns held such a distaste for him. The exterior always seemed to be ideal and yet Klaus was very much aware about what went on behind closed doors.

Despite all his reservations on small towns, he had to admit that most held hidden gems that big cities lacked. Fell’s Creamery was one of them. Marcel was a man with a sweet tooth and while the easiest place to get good take out was the Mystic Grill, it did not take long for Marcel to scope out the ice cream parlor; turning up at the station or their motel after hours with a milkshake. So, as he strolled through the town square with Caroline, allowing her to sort out her thoughts, and she mentioned she was craving ice cream, Klaus took her to the only place he knew in town.

He had her sit down at one of the outdoor seating areas, that had a perfect view inside the parlor and went inside to order the vanilla milkshake with whipped cream and cherry on top that she requested; ordering a coffee flavored one for himself. His eyes never left Caroline, who waited patiently outside; desperately trying to ignore the stares she was getting as the townspeople passed her. With milkshakes in hand, Klaus stepped out into the warm June air and sat down across from Caroline.

“I keep asking myself, why me?” Caroline whispered. “You know, that was something I asked myself lot when I was in high school. Everyone always wanted Elena and yet I tried so hard. I was head cheer captain and yet Elena always got the praise. I became Miss Mystic Falls and yet Elena was the one with the dashing date that everyone gushed over. It always felt that Elena had one leg up over me. I was everyone’s back up when they could not have her. I was Bonnie’s Elena backup for the longest time. I was Matt’s homecoming date sophomore year because Elena dumped him. I was Damon’s punching bag because Elena was dating Stefan. Hell, the only person who ever seemed interested in me was Tyler and we all saw how that ended. And now the one time I actively don’t want someone’s attention, they seem fixated on me.”

“The man who did this is sick, Caroline. His obsession has nothing to do with you but everything to do with his fixation with staying in Mystic Falls.” Klaus whispered, watching her take a long sip of her milkshake. “He was looking for anyone who would not stay. He feels like this town is his home and those living here belong to him. The mere thought of someone wanting to leave, it causes him to do these awful things in order to keep what he views as his close.” Klaus leaned in closely and took her hand into his. “But I want you understand something. You do not belong to him. Nothing you did caused this. You are beautiful, brave and so full of light that even a monster like him cannot stamp out.”

“Thank you.” Caroline’s voice was low as she peeked at him slowly through her long lashes. Their hands were still linked together; a habit that the both of them was forming but one that neither were willing to break. “It seems like you have this ability to understand him. To understand why he does this.”

“I’ve been at this job for a long time.”

“And yet you’re planning on leaving?” Caroline asked and Klaus just nodded. He sipped at his own milkshake and gazed around the town; not willing to meet Caroline’s eyes. “You told me that you stuck with this job because you were punishing yourself. Why? What could be so bad that you do a job so horrible in order to punish yourself.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” Caroline gave him a small smile. He knew that she was trying to distract herself from the fact that she was being stalked by a man who wanted to eventually kill her; but he could tell that was genuinely curious about him. Klaus found that he wanted to confess his darkest secrets to her; a feeling he rarely had. The only person who he shared such confidences was Marcel and that was due to long hours on the job together.

“I told you when I was fifteen that I almost died.” Caroline nodded, remembering his words from the day before. “I…there was an altercation I was involved in. I was beaten very severely; to the point that I almost died. I did not realize what happened until days later when I woke up in the hospital.”

“What happened to the person who did this to you?”

“He is serving life in prison. He thought he killed me. It came as a nasty shock when the detectives told him that I was alive.” Klaus chuckled with a humorless tone. “I blamed myself for a long time. He ruined so many lives that I thought because his rage was directed at me, that it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t.” Caroline gave him a tight squeeze of his hand. She knew that there was so much to the story that she did not know. She would not press him for more than he was willing to give but she wanted him to know that he could trust her.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“The day your case came across my desk, I was going to turn in my resignation. Then I saw your picture and your bright blue eyes changed my mind. One more case.” Caroline’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly; her eyes sending him looks of gratitude that Klaus wondered if he deserved. “And I’m thankful I choose to take it.”

“Me too.” Caroline smiled at him; and then looked at their clasped hands. Her cheeks flushed red slightly and it was a beautiful thing to see. In that moment, Caroline did not seem hurt or scared, but instead there was a spark of something in her eyes. Something about Caroline made him want to be better and do better. “If we’re sharing secrets, can I tell you one?”

“Of course.” Klaus echoed her earlier words to her. He smiled lightly as he watched Caroline bit her lip, wavering back and forth with the decision in her head. Klaus was eager to hear what she would have to tell him. He wanted to know every ounce of her that it consumed his mind. Klaus wanted to spend every waking moment he had in this town with her but knew that he couldn’t; not if he wanted to keep her safe.

“I’m glad you came.” The words came out in a whisper and the tint of her cheeks burned red again. “That day you showed up at my hospital room, you made me feel safe. You give me hope that I’m not going to die. After everything with Damon and Tyler and with what happened, I was sitting in that hospital wondering if there were any decent men in the world. And then you came in and held me. When you say you will find him, I believe you. There is something about you that makes me believe that you’re trustworthy.” She gripped his hand tighter. “Is it wrong that I just want to be around you? Not just because you make me feel safe, but because you’re you?”

“No.” Klaus said in a low voice, terrified that it would break. Hearing her confess that she trusts him and has feelings for him made him feel lighter than he had in months. Her smile and the just joy she brought to a room, even in her darkest moments of despair, made Klaus as though he was breathing for the first time after drowning in the deepest parts of the ocean. “Because I feel it too.”

Suddenly the rest of Mystic Falls fell away. Klaus could no longer hear the chatter of the families beside them and the laughter from the other patrons. All he could feel was the grip of Caroline’s hand and the look of complete trust on her face consumed him. He thought back to the moment they almost kissed and he knew that if there was not a table between them and prying eyes around them, Klaus would pour every ounce of his desire into her.

“Caroline!” The pair jumped apart and they look up to see Elena walking towards them. Klaus felt Caroline tense at the sight of her old friend. Klaus pulled his hands away from Caroline’s and leaned back into the uncomfortable iron chair as Elena approached them. “Hey. How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” Caroline bit out and Elena nodded, running her hands through her long brown hair. Out of habit, Klaus began to examine her. She was thin and lanky; her long brown hair loose around her shoulders. Her clothes were a pair of blue scrubs and a tank top that he assumes she wore under a scrub top. She must have come back from her residency at the training hospital at Whitmore. “What do you need?”

“Can we talk?”

“I’m really not up for that right now Elena.” Caroline’s eyes shot towards Klaus. Elena spied him for the first time and nodded, probably drawing the conclusion that Caroline was discussing what had happened. While Elena would not be wrong, Klaus knew that so much more was happening between them; but he had no desire to share that moment with Elena, having little to no respect for the woman. “I just need time.”

“Right. Of course.” Elena swallowed; nodding. Klaus could tell that he last thing she wanted was to accept Caroline’s position of time. She wanted to speak with Caroline, not because she was concerned about her friend but because she needed forgiveness for herself. “I’m staying with Aunt Jenna and Uncle Alaric right now. If you want to talk, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.” Caroline turned her gaze from Elena to Klaus. “Can you take me back to the police station?” Klaus gave Caroline a simple nod and the two of them stood, grabbing their milkshakes as they went. Klaus lead her from the creamery, and he could not help but look over his shoulder. Elena had sat down at their table, with her head bent and shaking. It wasn’t until later that night, as Klaus laid in his uncomfortable motel room bed, that he wondered what would cause a friend to betray another in such a manner. Especially to someone like Caroline.

The following morning, Sean O’Connell arrived in Mystic Falls to claim the body of his sister. While both Marcel and Klaus had spoken to him over the phone, neither one expected him to come to town until the investigation was over. However, he stated that he needed to see his sister and neither man could fault him for that.

He was a clergyman with tall with broad shoulders, blonde hair and sad blue eyes that tore at Klaus. His appearance seemed gaunt and haggard; as though he had not eaten in weeks. As Sean stood over the body of his sister, Klaus could see something break in the man. Cami laid on a metal table, her blonde hair slick back and was lifeless. Her body was cold, eyes shut, and her skin had a blueish tint to it from the morgue’s freezer.

“Cami. What happened to you?” Sean’s voice broke, tears slipping down his cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed his sister on the forehead. Klaus placed his hand on his shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze. He led Sean out of the morgues room, knowing that they couldn’t linger there much longer. Out in the morgue’s hallway, Sean’s knees gave out and his back hit the wall; he slid down to the ground, unable to go any further.

Klaus walked to Sean’s other side and sank down beside him; letting the man’s tears fall. Klaus could only sympathize with Sean’s grief. He could not imagine what it would be like to gaze upon the dead body of his sister. Klaus’s mind wandered to Rebekah and the mere thought of seeing her cold dead body on a slab, nothing more than an empty shell, tore at his soul. If Sean needed to stay on that cold tile floor for a moment or several, Klaus would sit there with him.

“Tell me about Cami.” Klaus asked in a gentle voice. There was not much he could be able to learn from Sean that he didn’t already know, since Sean had not left Boston in years, but he could see the need for Sean to speak to someone; anyone. “What was she like?”

“Self-righteous but deep down, she was a good person.” Sean snorted and Klaus was taken aback slightly. “I loved my sister dearly, but she could be hard to be around sometimes. Cami always wanted to psychoanalyze people. She wanted to fix them, even though I told her that some people do not need fixing. She was studying to be a psychologist and was just finishing up medical school. She was coming to Boston to celebrate.” Sean shook his head. “I’m sorry, you must think me awful for describing my sister in such a way.”

“Not at all. I have a little sister who is best dealt with in small doses.” Klaus gave him a warm smiled. “Do you know why she drove through Mystic Falls?” Klaus asked, thinking about the route to Boston. While Cami would have had to drive through Virginia, but Mystic Falls was slightly out of the way. “Why did she not just fly?”

“I tried to convince her too, but she wanted to make a trip out of it. She made a list of small towns she wanted to see along the way.” He shook his head. “We grew up in New Orleans and she wanted to settle somewhere less…. busy? I guess. I tried to convince her to move to Boston, but she said she wanted the small-town life. I guess Mystic Falls was on her list to check out.”

“Did you know she would be stopping here?”

“No. I should have asked what towns she was looking at, but I didn’t.” Sean rested his head against the wall and Klaus could see the self-loathing at work behind his sunken face. “When she didn’t arrive in Boston on the day she said she would, I must have called her a thousand times. Her phone was shut off. I filed the missing person’s report but something inside me knew that she was gone. I prayed and prayed for her safety, but it just wasn’t enough. I should have called her sooner. Maybe she would still be alive.”

“Listen to me. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do this. You are not responsible for your sister’s death.”

“Who is?”

“We are working on it.” Sean nodded darkly and huffed in irritation. His jaw clenched and Klaus could see the anger taking root. Sean was looking for someone to blame. Klaus could not blame him; time after time, families where left with no answers no one to aim their anger towards. “I promise you that I am doing everything I can to find who hurt Cami.”

“And what if it was your sister?”

“Honestly?” Klaus asked and Sean nodded. He studied the other man; the man whose belief in a higher power was shaken and may never be repaired. Klaus could not help but compare Sean with Pastor Young. The first was broken beyond repair at the loss of his sister while the latter pretended as though April had stopped being his daughter long before her death. “I’d probably kill the bastard.”

“Right.” Sean stated absentmindedly. “When can I take her home? I want to give her a proper service. I think she would like to be buried in the family plot in New Orleans. Next to our parents and our uncle. She was always close with them.”

“When we finish up our investigation you can take Cami home.” It wasn’t much but there was nothing else Klaus could do. Technically, Cami’s body was evidence and until the killer was taken into custody, Cami had to remain in FBI custody. If the case went cold, something Klaus would ensure never happened, Cami would be released to Sean after a period of a few weeks. However, Klaus made a mental note that he was not leaving Mystic Falls until he solved it.

Sean nodded and stood from the floor. Klaus shook his hand and lead him out of the morgue’s separate entrance that was in the basement of the police station. He provided Sean with some general directions on where he could find lodging for the night and headed back upstairs into the main lobby. As he climbed the stairs, Klaus’s mind was preoccupied with Sean’s reaction to seeing Cami and Klaus couldn’t help but imagine Rebekah; knowing full well that his sister’s imagined dead body would haunt his dreams, especially with the knowledge of what Cami and the rest of the victims suffered, both before and after death.

He stopped at the kitchenette to grab a mug of bad coffee before stepping into the conference room, only to see Marcel flipping through a paper file excitingly. Marcel’s head popped up and a wide smile took over his face. He slid the file across the table at Klaus who caught it easily. A picture of a man that Klaus had never seen was staring back at him. He was middle aged with sandy brown hair, grey eyes and a charming smile.

“Drink up quickly. Slater just set over something interesting.” Marcel told him, almost seeming giddy at the prospect. “Klaus, meet Alaric Saltzman.”

“Who?”

“Local history teacher.” Marcel replied, watching Klaus flip through his file. “On the surface nothing about him seems out of the ordinary. Moved to town about twelve ago from North Carolina. He went to Duke University and taught history at a local high school for a while before moving here. He met and married a woman by the name of Jenna Sommers. Like I said, on the surface, nothing seems out of the ordinary.”

“The catch?”

“This.” Marcel then handed him a completely separate file; a picture of a dark-haired woman and dark eyes. The name on the missing person’s report attached to the file named her Isobel Fleming. It appears that she had been missing for over eight years and was presumed dead. “That is Alaric’s Saltzman’s first wife.”

“She went missing. Her body was never found?” Klaus began flipping through the file. He looked at the date of the death certificate that correlated with Alaric’s move to Mystic Falls. The file listed several restraining orders that Isobel put against Alaric prior to their marriage, all of which were dropped; a fact that Klaus thought normal given the fact that she married him afterward. The police considered Alaric as a suspect in his wife’s disappearance but there was never enough evidence to convict him. “It’s a long shot but looks like we need to go and have a discussion with Mr. Saltzman.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Marcel turned towards the door while Klaus downed the remaining of his coffee. Both Marcel and Klaus left the police station quickly, jumping into the SUV and heading towards the more suburban area of Mystic Falls. “So, recap. What do we have so far?” “Well, the killer likes female victims who either have left Mystic Falls or have a tendency to do so. He holds the victims for a period of three or so months before strangling them, defiling the body and burying them at the Falls.” Klaus reiterated as his gaze was watching the scenery pass by him. “He holds them at the Lockwood cellar, handcuffing them to the bars and keeping them sedated with Dilaudid.”

“The Lockwood cellar thing bothers me.” Marcel mentioned, stopping at a stop sign before pulling through the empty street. “He holds them down there but not many people know of them, at least if Tyler Lockwood is to be believed.” Marcel shook his head. “Spoke to the girlfriend by the way. She was with Lockwood all night at the manor. His mother also confirmed that alibi.”

“Are they trustworthy?”

“Probably not.” Marcel muttered, shaking his head. “Both Damon and Tyler had alibis for the night Caroline went missing and neither one of them have access to medical drugs, at least legally.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “We both agree that the killer does not have medical knowledge based on the state of the track marks on the victim’s arms. However, how would he know the dosage of what to give the victims without killing them?”

“I don’t know.” Klaus scowled. It was not something he had considered before. Dilaudid was a drug that if given improperly, could easily kill someone if the dosage was to high. Yet, the killer knew enough to keep the victim sedated but alive. “Maybe they don’t have medical knowledge but that does not mean they have no experiences with drugs.”

“What about connections? It’s a small town and everyone is connected to everyone somehow. It makes Cami the only odd man out.”

“I think by the point he found Cami; he was already devolving. Soon it wasn’t going to matter whether or not someone was from Mystic Falls at all. Anyone who dared leave it was a target.” Klaus said, rubbing his forehead. “Take Caroline. She lives in Mystic Falls but worked in Richmond. However, she also traveled a good bit for work and always came back. If he had killed Caroline, his next victim most likely would have the same pattern…. or he would have gone on a killing spree.”

“Let’s hope it does not come to that.” Marcel muttered in a dark tone as he parked on the curb of a typical Southern suburban home. It was a white house with a wraparound porch. There were white columns holding up the roof that covered the porch. “Is it wrong that it makes me pleased that not everyone in this town is a white male whose ancestors where slave owners?”

“No. It’s not.” It was the mid-morning on a Thursday but seeing that it was June, there was a good chance that Alaric would be at home and not at the high school. The agents walked up the sidewalk and stepped onto the porch. Much like they had done for the last couple of interviews, Marcel knocked on the door and they waited patiently for someone to answer the door.

“Good morning Ms. Gilbert.” Klaus smirked at Elena when she answered the door. She scowled at him and crossed her arms. A memory from the night before surfaced and Elena mentioned that she was currently staying with her Aunt Jenna and Uncle Alaric. “Is Mr. Saltzman here?”

“Come to accuse him of murder too?”

“We are not here to accuse anyone of anything. We just want to have a word with him, that is all.” Marcel stated charmingly. Elena huffed in annoyance but stepped aside, opening the door wider so they could step inside. The front hallway, Klaus could see, lead directly into a kitchen. A set of stairs was on the righthand side and led up to a second floor. On Klaus’s left seemed to be a formal living room and he could see a set of French doors that were closed.

“Elena?” A head popped around the archway from the kitchen, revealing a small woman with dark hair. She was wearing dark skinny jeans, a tank top and a dark jacket. Her eyes flickered between Elena and the agents. Her expression was concerned, and Klaus could tell that she was not ignorant on who they were. In a small town, everyone would know when FBI agents came to town. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Elena nodded. “Anna, these are the agents who are investigating the murder of those women.” Marcel by passed Elena and held out his hand to Anna who shook it hesitantly; Marcel studying her every move. Klaus stood by the door, eyeing Elena and sensing her discomfort. “Why don’t you wait in there. I’ll get Alaric.”

“Elena?” Anna muttered softly as Klaus and Marcel went into the living room. There was nothing special about the living room that stood out to Klaus. A sofa, that did not appear used much, was in the center of the room and a coffee table was facing the fireplace. Photos rested on the mantel and any other surface he could find. He saw several of Elena while she was a teenager with a young man who Klaus assumed was Elena’s brother. He saw a photo of Alaric and a woman with reddish hair dressed in a beautiful wedding gown; Alaric’s wife. “I’m going to head out. Why don’t you come over tonight and have dinner with Jeremy and I? I have to be up early to be at the bakery, Bonnie is already a little miffed at me, but it would be good to see.”

“Okay. I’ll be there.” Elena gave Anna a tight hug. As Anna let herself out of the house, Elena all but ran up the stairs, leaving Marcel and Klaus alone. Much like the had done previously, Marcel took a seat on the couch while Klaus studied the room. It wasn’t long before Alaric entered the room, holding out his hand for Klaus to shake.

“I’m Alaric, but I’m sure you already knew that?” Klaus nodded and watched as Alaric went around to the couch and shook Marcel’s hand as well before taking a seat in an armchair across from Marcel. Klaus continued looking at the photos around the room, seeing one of Alaric holding a small bundle in his arms that Klaus assumed was a baby. “What can I do for you?”

“We wanted to ask you about the woman found at the Falls.” Marcel replied and Alaric nodded, seemingly completely undisturbed. His face was grim and sad, but Klaus could not decide if that was due to being distressed about the circumstances or concern about his possible guilt.

“Of course. How is Caroline?” Klaus turned his head to look at Alaric questioningly. While it would not be completely out of the realm of possibility that Alaric was genuinely concerned about Caroline, the majority of the town was, ever since she received that note, Klaus was suspicious of anyone who would ask after her.

“She is dealing.” Marcel replied easily. “Do you know Caroline well?”

“I was her high school teacher.” Alaric replied and Marcel nodded. “Caroline always stuck out as a student. Bright and eager to please. Top of the class and always had the right answer.” Alaric paused and pressed his lips together. “Of course, there was that unfortunate business with Damon her senior year. I was the one who found her beaten and bruised behind the Grill. I drove her to the hospital. Called her mom when we got there.”

“How would you describe your relationship with her now?” Marcel prodded as Klaus turned from the two of them, his back tensing. His imagination already drew several imagines of Caroline curled up in a back alleyway, beaten by Damon who stood over her; smirking. He did not want Alaric to see that weakness. It was one thing for Caroline to see that side of him, and even Marcel, but it would be a rookie move on his part.

“Um, there isn’t one? Not really.” Alaric was taken aback slightly. “I mean, I know she is friends with Elena and has been over for barbeques, but I haven’t really spent time with her outside that.” Klaus turned around and saw Alaric’s posture stiffened slightly. Klaus could see Alaric’s mind turning as he eyed the two agents. If Alaric wasn’t suspicious before, he certainly was now. “What is this about?”

“What about Andi Star? How would you describe your relationship with her?”

“She was one of my students. I haven’t really seen her since she graduated. Unless you count a random news clip here or there.”

“And what of Vicki Donovan and April Young.”

“I taught them to.”

“And Camille O’Connell?” By this point Alaric was narrowing his eyes at Marcel, completely forgetting that Klaus was there at all. It was obvious that he was becoming uncomfortable with the line of questioning and that caused Klaus to be on guard, the knowledge of Alaric’s missing wife on his mind. “Did you know her?”

“What? No. I never met that woman before in my life.” Klaus cocked his head, expecting that answer. Cami was the odd man out in many ways in this investigation; or a at least that is how it appeared to Klaus. She was the only one who did nothing more than pass through town; it would be expected that no one would have known her name before it appeared on the list of victims.

“And what of Isobel Fleming?” Klaus asked, speaking for the first time. It was like a cord snapped inside Alaric; his eyes shifted from Marcel to Klaus; almost as though he was just remembering the other agent was in the room. His brow creased and eyes narrowed as his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You know nothing about Isobel.” His voice was venomous; as though the reminder of his first was a bitter reminder. Klaus found the reaction odd. He would have expected sadness or irritation at the mention of his presumed dead wife; not hostility. It made Klaus far more curious about Alaric than he expected.

“Don’t I?” Klaus’s voice was casual and light. “I know that the two of you dated on and off again during your time at Duke. I know during the off times she put a couple restraining orders against you, which she then later dropped. I know that she married you during her final semester. I know she went missing roughly, what, thirteen years ago? Presumed dead?”

“That’s why you’re here? You can’t figure out who killed those women so you’re grasping at straws? Zeroing in on the one man who was a suspect in a disappearance that has nothing to do with what is going on in this town.” Alaric snapped and Klaus just smirked at him humorlessly. “You’re wasting time with me. I have nothing to do with those killings and certainly didn’t kill my wife.”

“Then why move all the way to Mystic Falls one day after your wife is presumed dead?”

“Wouldn’t you? Just like you the entire town I lived in thought I killed Isobel. Everywhere I went, suspicion followed me. Surely you can at least understand that.” In truth, Klaus could. He understood perfectly as to why Alaric would want to leave. While Klaus had never been a suspect in a murder, he understood why someone would want to flee their hometown. “I didn’t kill my wife.”

“Why did you come to Mystic Falls?” Klaus asked again. “You have to admit that it looks suspicious. You were suspected of one murder and then you move to a new town; suddenly woman start dying.” In truth it was not that suspicious. There was a twelve-year gap between Isobel’s disappearance and the murders in Mystic Falls. “If you’re honest with us, we can move on.”

“It’s not that scandalous.” Alaric muttered, pressing his fingers to his forehead as though he was fighting a migraine. “When Isobel was a teenager, she had a baby. It was before I met her. We were talking about having kids of our own and it was making Isobel consider whether or not she wanted to look into meeting her daughter.” Alaric shook his head. “When Isobel disappeared, I looked into her daughter’s location. It’s why I came to Mystic Falls. Isobel was presumed dead, I wanted to at least tell her daughter that.”

“But you stayed?”

“Yeah, well Elena took the news hard.” Alaric replied and Klaus paused for a moment; letting the information that Elena was the biological daughter of Alaric’s wife sink in. Unsure of its relevancy, Klaus stored the information away for later. “And I met Jenna. She gave me a reason to stay.” His tone went soft and Klaus could see that Alaric honestly loved his wife. “I didn’t do this. Like I said, you’re wasting your time.”

“I think we got all we came for.” Marcel said, holding out his hand. He provided that gentleman smile that he once told a woman could win awards. Klaus did not smile at Alaric but instead nodded his head and headed towards the door; Alaric walking them towards it. “Thank you for your time.”

“Of course.” Alaric hesitated. “Look, objectively I get why you had to come talk to me. Jenna and I discussed it and I was expecting you to show up on this door sooner rather than later.” Klaus said nothing but just eyed him. “All that being said, I hope you catch the bastard. I know what it is like to lose someone they love and never to know what happened. I can sympathize with the families.”

“We’ll do our best.” Klaus told him in a clipped tone. Marcel was the one who like to win others favor during an investigation. Klaus could care less. The agents turned to walk down the sidewalk and Klaus looked over his shoulder at the house again. Up in one of the windows, Klaus saw Elena watching them as they made their way to their SUV. When she realized she caught his eye, Elena turned away from the window and went out of sight.

“Lunch?” Marcel replied as they climbed into the car. Klaus nodded and Marcel drove off, the two lapsed into silence; lost in their own thoughts. The pair drove to the Grill and found it to be crowded, despite the busy workday. The Grill was dimly lit with a series of round tables and booths covering the floor. A bar was all the way across the room and a section was situated in the corner for a pool table. It reminded Klaus of an old English pub; a fact that Klaus was unsure if it made him like or hate the place. “Is this place ever empty?”

“It’s the only decent place in town. Of course not.” If it was, Klaus would be weary of eating there. His eyes scanned the busy restaurant. At the bar he saw Sean O’Connell sipping at a glass filled with an amber liquid that Klaus knew was not soda; a sight he did not expect to see from a man of the clergy. However, he supposed given the circumstances, it was to be expected. Beside him was Matt Donovan. Much like Sean, Matt had his head bent down; speaking to Sean in a low tone. “I guess those two would have a lot in common.”

“Their sisters’ were murdered. It’s natural for them to seek each other out.” Marcel told him as Klaus’s eyes still scanned the bar. At the other end of the bar, Stefan sat there alone, drinking; a fact that Klaus found strange since Damon was the owner of said bar. However, it was the only decent place in town so it was not a strange feat that Stefan would find himself there in order to drink his sorrows away. He did a double take when his eyes landed on Caroline and Liz; the former was picking at her fries, listening to her mother intently. Marcel coughed lightly. “Go Romeo, I know you want to. I’ll order your usual.”

“Thanks.” Klaus said to him, not bothering to look at him as he crossed the Grill towards the booth that held both Liz and Caroline. As they approached, Caroline’s head shot up in terror and Klaus raised his hands up; showing her he meant no harm. “Sorry I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t.” Caroline smiled brightly at him and Klaus could help but return it. Klaus searched his memory, and he could not recall a seeing a smile, from either Caroline or someone else, seem so bright. He felt his stomach do a flip at the sight of her; a feeling he had not had in a very long time. He had not seen her since the night before and wanted nothing more than to sit down beside her; but he knew he couldn’t. “Would you like to join us?”

“No. But thank you. Marcel and I are just grabbing something before heading back to the station.” Caroline’s shoulders slumped slightly but nodded; clearly disappointed that Klaus could not sit down with them. Internally, Klaus was pleased to know that she craved his presence. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you having lunch with your mom.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting.” Liz’s voice sounded from his side. She was holding back a laugh, her eyes dancing between the two of them. Unsure what Caroline told her mother about what little has occurred between them, it was obvious that something was going on. Klaus could see that Liz liked him enough but there was some concern lingering behind her eyes. It was only natural, Caroline had a traumatic experience, Liz would be protective of her. “I have a question.”

“Of course.”

“Who is that gentleman, the one speaking with Matt? I saw him at the police station earlier.” Liz pointed to the bar and Klaus followed her gaze.

“Sean O’Connell. He is Camille’s brother. He came to claim her body.” Liz nodded and Caroline’s eyes grew sad. Gone was the happy and bright woman who was looking at him moments ago. Her eyes filled with compassion and it was something that made Klaus admire her more. “I have a feeling he will be in town for a while.”

“Klaus!” Marcel called, causing the mentioned agent to turn. Marcel was holding up a plastic bag with their takeout in it. He nodded his head and turned back to Liz and Caroline, saying his goodbyes. Caroline gave him a small smile and nodded. He strolled across the grill towards the entrance where Marcel was waiting for him.

Klaus looked over his shoulder to see Caroline heading towards the bar. She smiled at both Matt and Sean, introducing herself to the latter. She gave him a small smile and pulled him into a tight hug. Klaus froze watching her; taken aback by her compassion. No one would blame her for avoiding a newcomer who was connected to her kidnapping; and yet she was going out of her way to show him kindness.

“Are you coming lover boy?” Marcel teased, pulling Klaus from his trance. With one last look at Caroline, Klaus followed Marcel out into the sunlight. They went back to the police station, sitting around the small circular table in the conference room. The poured over the case files, trying to find something they missed. They had no word from Vincent if they heard back from the DEA; although neither were surprised. There was a chance that the murders would be solved by the time Vincent’s contact came through. Klaus only met Davina Claire a few times, but Klaus did not like her.

Although, Klaus liked very few people in the FBI anymore.

Before long, the sun set, and their third pot of coffee was devoured. They had made no progress other than feeling as though they were running in circles. They were reaching a dead end and that frustrated Klaus. He knew what they needed; they needed the killer to slip up and make a mistake. However, that was the last thing he wanted because he did not want to risk Caroline; or anyone else.

“I’m calling it a night. If I look at these case files one for time, I will lose my mind.” Marcel said, shaking his head. He pushed his chair back and stood, slapping the file he was reviewing shut. He stretched out the kink in his back while Klaus remained seated. “You are staying?”

“Yeah. I’m going to take a look at the autopsy reports again.” Klaus replied, knowing that he was just torturing himself. The details written in that report, especially one frequent notation, churned his stomach. He just was not really to throw him the towel just yet. It was not that Marcel was a bad agent, but just that Klaus was trying to find something that would prevent the killer from providing more evidence.

“Alright. But do try and sleep tonight. You’re not going to be help to anyone if you stay here all night.” Marcel stated and Klaus nodded. Marcel clapped his partner on the back before leaving the conference room and heading back to the motel. Klaus turned his focus back to the file, reading until the words became blurry. After what appeared hours later, Klaus stretched and picked up his now empty coffee mug.

He walked through the all but empty police station. A few officers lingered at their desk, clearly on night duty. Klaus glanced at his phone, checking the time and noticing it was getting close to ten in the evening and placed it back in the pocket of his jeans. His stomach growled in hunger but Klaus bit down the feeling, making do with back police station coffee; a staple in his diet. As he watched the coffee brewed, Klaus felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw Caroline’s name flash across the screen. He immediately answered, panic swelling inside him.

“Hello?”

“Klaus?” Caroline’s terrified voice filled his ear. Klaus could hear Liz in the background and by the shuffle in the police station, she clearly was calling her officers. Klaus bolted across the station to the conference room, grabbing his gun and keys.

“What’s wrong Sweetheart?”

“Someone broke into my house.” He could hear the terrified sound in her voice. He could hear that she had been crying and that made Klaus’s stomach drop. Something was terribly wrong. “They shattered my kitchen window. He came back. Oh god he came back.”

[ljandersen]

(Femshep/Kaidan Alenko, Mass Effect 3, Chapter 1 but works as a one shot)

Shepard’s ribs shrank tighter each passing minute.  Each minute they hadn’t reached the Citadel. When it happened the air had stopped moving.  The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat. Then he fell limp, helmet lolling to the side.  The reality of it – Kaidan dead – felt like getting torn out an airlock. One moment everything’s safe, your boots are on solid ground, each breath alive with oxygen.  As it should be. The next, everything’s depressurizing, alarming, and you’re sucked into the vacuum of space, spinning and clawing at emptiness, gasping for breath. Like dying.  Her experience of it anyway.  

But he wasn’t dead.  He lay on a metal bed in front of her chair.  The med bay’s fluorescents flickered overhead giving his skin a waxiness she only saw on corpses.  She hunched forward. The folding chair wobbled and tipped her forward. One leg was too short.  It would drive Kaidan crazy if he was sitting here. 

She smiled despite herself.  “You remember the folding chairs, Kaidan?  Our ground team debrief. I’d always set up a circle in the corner of the cargo hold.  And after Feros? You can’t pretend you don’t remember. The wobbly chair. I could see it eating at you the whole time.  Each time you shifted your face would get more strained, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring. You started to sit ramrod straight.  Absolutely still. May have kept the meeting going a little longer than needed, I admit. Began to walk around as I spoke, brush against your shoulder.  Your chair would wobble. About the fourth pass, you started shooting me a death glare every time I came by your chair. Ha.  

"The moment the meeting ended, you smacked the chair upside down and started working at the feet.  I bent down, opened my palm. The missing cap for the back chair leg. Your face! You were all sputtery.  How did I even know where you would sit? I pointed around at all the chairs and dropped a pocketful of caps at your feet.  One for each chair, every back, right leg. Every one but mine. No one else even noticed. It only bothered you. Like I knew it would.”

She laughed and folded her hands on the edge of the metal table.  Bruises marbled his features, dark and growing like a shadow. Her laughter choked.  She cleared her throat and gave him a tight smile.  

“Remember the next debriefing?  Do you remember, Kaidan? You thought I wasn’t looking when you came in.  You exchanged our chairs. You had this cute, little canary-savoring smile when I turned around.  Adorable. But I suspected what you’d do. I even looked away so you could do it. You plopped down, smug smile, and … well, we both know what happened, don’t we?” 

Shepard scrapped her seat closer to him.  “I just meant to bother you, you know. Another wobbly chair, and I knew you’d be checking out the chair’s feet when you came in.  Couldn’t pull the same trick. I just … ha, I didn’t mean for it to break on you. Not completely.  A little too much aplomb in your victory drop onto the seat, I guess.  I still remember Liara yelling, ‘Oh, Goddess!’ and clutching her chest like she’d seen you shot. Garrus had to figure out what the hell happened. He bolted over, flipped the chair over, and found the loose hinge with an ‘ah ya.’  Then there was Ash, tearing up and pounding her leg. If Wrex and Tali had been with the ground team, you really would have had an audience. Krogan laughter shakes walls. You frowned at me, then dusted yourself off with an ‘oh, clumsy me’ shrug for everyone else.  You were so pleased with yourself before your ass hit the floor.  I remember you lurking in the doorway, seeing which chair I sat in. It didn’t wobble on me. Kept all my weight on my heels, pal. I knew your methods.”

He was so still.  For one cold second, she thought he was dead.  She lifted her fingers to his face and felt his breath, soft and faint.  The pressure released from her lungs.  Her fingertips crested over each lip.  Just a second to feel the softness of – She sat back sharply and cleared her throat. , 

“Anyway, you’re a good sport, Kaidan.  Still sorry it broke on you. Said as much when I caught you alone later raiding the mess.”  Shepard worked his gauntlet off and dropped it on the floor. She held his hand. His skin was cool, like his blood was already slowing.  Shepard bit her lips and concentrated on his face instead.  

“Remember how you got back at me?  And don’t tell me it wasn’t premeditated.  I still don’t believe you. It was Noveria, remember?

“They let me keep my gun, then put me through that little security tap and dance number.  I was posing for my dumbass clearance badge, and you cracked that stupid birthing cow joke.  For the record, I was laughing at you, not the joke.  That joke might be a showstopper at a seven-year-old’s birthday party, but uh, you need to adult-up your jokes.  Seriously, as a marine, I’m embarrassed you don’t know more dirty jokes.  Or maybe you do.  You better not have a cache of dirty jokes and still chose to give me the birthing cow one.” 

She traced his fingers.  She remembered his fingers intertwining with hers.  His hands holding her face.  Remembered the way he stroked her hair when Ash died, his face pressed down in her hair, his breath wet and catching.  She worked her fingers between his and squeezed his palm.

“Anyway, stop getting me off topic.  I’m complaining about Noveria.  You told me your damn decalf-einated joke.  I laughed.  At you.  And that was the snapshot they got.  I hollered for a redo, but you tap this sign on the wall.  Then that bitchy security guard started tapping it too.  No retakes.  No retakes!  Like a delete and re-click takes more time than walking over to tap a plastic sign on the wall.  Your picture, Ash’s picture – both serious, stern, soldierly.  Me?  You can see the back of my throat.  Hair in my mouth, one eye half closed.   It’s lucky I didn’t have snot bubbling from my nose.  Now, you can’t tell me that wasn’t premeditated, Alenko.  Maybe premeditated by minutes, the seconds between seeing the sign and dredging up your kid’s birthday party joke, but still.  Premeditated.

“I had to clip that picture to my chest.  Got barked at every time I tried to turn the picture around.  I just acted like it was an accident.  ‘Oh, really?  Turned around again?  You don’t say.’  And the screens, Kaidan!  If their greeting wasn’t a warm enough welcome, they flash my face over every screen in the compound.  A friendly reminder to let everyone know a Spectre was on the premise.  To encourage compliance with my investigation.  You never bought that either, right?  Yeah, no.  I didn’t think so.  Clearly keeping everyone on alert so they wouldn’t comply.  And that lovely security picture?  ‘Spectre Shepard is here.’  The dignified Spectre on all the giant screens haw-hawing, one-eye squeezed shut.  We’d come around a new corner and bam!  Another screen of it.  Then I’d hear the punchline of the birthing cow joke.  You whispering ‘decalf-einated’ at my back.  Ash snickering.  Imagine if the press had a copy of that picture?  You have a copy somewhere, don’t you?  Don’t even answer.  I know you do.”

She pressed his hand between hers and drew in a shaky breath.  His eyelids were blackening, no movement, not even dreaming.  The bruises deepened over his entire face.  She squeezed his hand and forced another smile.  He had changed so much.

“You had a nice trick back there, Kaidan,” Shepard whispered.  “Liara called it Reaving.  Fancy.  Trying to impress me?  You did.  You’re so confident too.  Bearing, voice, no more oscillating, hesitancy.  Good idea with the tram, with the short-range radio, that ambush in the control room.  I’d like to see you on the field directing a team.  Always knew you were special.  Leadership material if you’d only ever make a decision and not hold back, believe in yourself.  I always believed in you.  But you knew that didn’t you, Kaidan?”

His skin swelled across his cheeks and around his eyes.  His face was expressionless.  Vacant.  Because he’s dying.  Her heart twisted.  She sucked in a breath.

“It can’t end like this, Kaidan.”  She touched his jaw.  A light touch.  She didn’t want to make anything worse.  If his face was swollen, broken, and bruised, what did his brain look like?  That sharp, intense mind she missed.  She may have come back from the dead but he wouldn’t.  “The last thing we say to each other can’t be our words on Mars.  I’m not a husk, Kaidan, or the Illusive Man’s puppet.  Against all odds, I’m really, really not.  And I’m alive.  Maybe some new parts.  No one should see machinery glowing through their skin, but I’m still me.  What counts is here.  Right here.”

“Commander?” Jokers’ voice came overhead.

Shepard rocked back in her chair.  “Joker?  ETA?”

“Seven minutes out.  Medical transport standing by.”

“Good.”  Shepard stood.  She brushed her fingertips on his lips and felt the slow breath.  “Keep that up.  The breathing.  Unconscious part?  I’ll allow it for now, I guess.”  She ran her eyes over him.  Scuffed and bloody armor, black and blue face, his hair in disarray.  She touched his hair.  A faint energy crackled across her skin.  His biotics.  Her heart lifted.  It was like feeling the pulse of his heartbeat.  It showed he hadn’t gone.  He had to live.  She wanted to remember him face flushed and alive, not a shell with the soul draining away.

“Seven minutes, Kaidan,” she said.  Something from Mars came to mind, and her lips curve up.  She looked him in the face.  “I’m the person you loved, huh?  Said the same thing on Horizon.  Might have been nice to hear when it was present tense.  Before I died.  I’ll give you a pass though.  I’ve only told my parents that.  So, you got me beat even by putting it in the past.  Is it really so past, though, Kaidan?”  

She brushed his hair back again and chuckled.  “And, just so you know, Major, the hell I will ‘Kaidan’ you again.  You haven’t heard the last of it.  Ha.  And, I’ll mess with your folding chair.  Don’t put it past me.”  She bent down, hesitated – maybe she shouldn’t – she stamped a kiss on his check and pulled back with a snap.  “Five second rule.  So, uh, doesn’t count.  Not taking advantage of you.  If this was a fairy tale, you’d be thanking me right now.”

The med bay door slid open.  Liara swished into the room.  “Shepard, we’re almost there.  We should get him down to the bay.  Is he still …”

“Yes.  He is.”

“I’ll get James with the stretcher.”  She dashed away.

Shepard turned back to Kaidan and squeezed his shoulder.  “Hey, what do you call a cow that just gave birth?”  She rubbed a hand across her face and sniffled.  “I’ll find you some better material, Kaidan.  So … stand by.”

James and Liara burst into the med bay with a stretcher.  Shepard took the end from Liara and angled it next to his bed. 

“Let’s move him out.”

AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369139/chapters/50901124  

FF:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428855/1/About-Mars-Mass-Effect

Cover art (my sister): @ande2339 (Instagram)