Chapter Text
Geoffrey wiped away the steam fog from the mirror in the bathroom and slicked back his wet hair as he found his reflection. It was almost a little unfamiliar. Other than the small, cracked mirror he used to shave; Geoffrey couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen himself as such. Face, shoulders, chest and all, save for the few times he passed the large windows at the indoor market in the West End. But, even then those were just faint ghosts of himself, and he had never bothered to stop and actually look. He realised he could do with a haircut, but he rather thought Jonathan liked his hair a bit longer…I like it longer, who cares about the leech…he scowled at his reflection, the crease between his brow deepened.
Fucking liar.
You care.
He looked down at the sink, at his hands clutched on the edge of the marble countertop, at the soft cotton towel he’d wrapped around his hips, glanced at the steamy shower he’d just climbed out from, and wondered how he had gotten here. He never would have brought himself somewhere like this. Somewhere opulent and bordering on beautiful and so far away from everything that he knew, unless he wanted to be here.
No one had forced him through the door. No one had put the thought into his head to crawl into bed next to Jonathan like some love-sick puppy, longing for more attention. He had done that. Chosen. As he had chosen to seek Reid out those few months ago in Southwark. He was here because he liked it, so far away from the garrison and the theatre and the Guard that from where he stood he could barely see it, and it was everything that he was.
He sighed, eyed the scars on his hands, he’d never really paid them any attention before. They were just scars, things he couldn’t change about himself, things he had to accept, and he supposed like those scars, he would have to accept this part about himself, too. This part of himself he’d been fighting for some time, that he only relented in the instants when he was indulging in this craving he had, this desire, that at times he feared boarded on genuine hunger. More monster than man.
It frightened him because he knew it shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t be this way. And he had fought. He’d fought a lot. Talked himself in and out of interacting with Reid. With Jonathan. Talked himself out of wanting him. Of desiring him. Of the sensations he felt. Because they couldn’t be real…couldn’t be. He was Geoffrey McCullum, Commander of the Guard of Priwen, and he killed leeches. He killed them. He didn’t fuck them. Didn’t kiss them, and let them bite him. No. That wasn’t him.
“Yet here you are, you bastard.” He said to himself, wondering then if his eyes had ever looked so blue, or his skin so pale. Blood loss, he sighed, though his monster had not fed from him tonight. His palms itched a little at the thought of it. He let out a soft breath instead, he had to go. He couldn’t stay. It was long dark now, and Bennett would be looking for him. He already suspected enough that there was more to whatever was between he and Reid. Not that Geoffrey was entirely sure what that was.
“Not enemies, at least.”
More than acquaintances now. Friends? Lovers? What? Did it need a name? Did he want it to?
Geoffrey dried off, and returned to Jonathan’s bedroom to change, and found it decidedly empty, the adjoining bathroom, too, used but vacant. He found Jonathan instead, in his study, or studio perhaps, the walls in here lined with artwork, as well as on the floor, covered in sheets. Jonathan had made his little laboratory in here, a desk near the window, it seemed his own space now, but still had remnants in here of its former occupant. Lady Elisabeth Ashbury. He’d known of course this was her manor. Her home, though he’d not known that she had died until informed offhand by her ‘daughter’ Charlotte, he had not realised either, that Reid had purchased the estate for himself.
He hadn’t bothered to ask questions. Whatever Reid’s relationship with Lady Ashbury had been, it mattered not now. He wasn’t about to ask about her. Or it. Or whatever they had, because it was decidedly none of his business.
Geoffrey lingered at the doorframe; arms crossed as Jonathan made notes. He’d turned on the lights in the room, though only a lamp or two, the light more for ambiance than anything, still clutching onto these threads of mortality. For himself or for Geoffrey, though, the hunter could no longer tell. Maybe for them both?
“You look refreshed, Geoffrey.” Jonathan said, sitting back in his chair, Geoffrey could see ink on his fingers, his shirt sleeves rolled up his strong forearms, waistcoat open. He did not look quite dishevelled, but instead wonderfully relaxed, and he smelt clean like soap, the scent Geoffrey has discovered was orange blossom and bergamot. It had taken some time to get him back like this. Comfortable. The days following his return from wallowing in the tunnels after his five months vanishing act, Jonathan had been almost feral, flinching at every sight and sound. He still did, sometimes, when the headaches were bad enough that he forgot his own name. Rarer now than it had been, but it still happened, the last time having been only a handful of nights ago, when he’d found Reid wondering by himself close to the theatre, searching for him. Reid always searched for him.
“Might have to send the lads around for a good wash every now and again,” Geoffrey shrugged, though he moved no further into the room. “Hot water does wonders.”
“That it does. You know you’re welcome any time, though I’d rather not every member of the Guard visiting my home at all hours of the day.” Jonathan smiled, wide enough that it lit up his steely eyes, though there was something to them, a weight that Geoffrey had seen there a few times now. “Can I get you something to eat? Drink? You must be starving.”
“Want to feed me now, too, beast?”
“Indeed,” Jonathan grinned, his pen tapping on the journal he had set before him. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I eat well enough.” Geoffrey replied, though when he thought about it, he realised he didn’t know to answer to that question. Yesterday, surely? Yes. Cottage pie. It had been awful.
“A coffee, at least? I have more of those beans you like.”
“You spoil me, beast.”
“Someone has to.”
That wasn’t true, but Geoffrey let it slide as Jonathan got to his feet and approached him. “I’ll put some on for you, stay and have something to eat, too, won’t you?” Jonathan’s hand brushed against him, then rested causally on his shoulder. His steely blue eyes were sharp, crisp, and clean as they gazed at him, to the point where Geoffrey felt them gazing down into his soul, and wondered if Jonathan was looking through him, as he sometimes did. Leech vision, so eerie and fascinating.
“Alright, aye, I can spare a little longer. Monsters aren’t going anywhere.”
“Certainly not.” Jonathan smiled warmly, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Please get comfortable, I’ll be back shortly.”
Geoffrey moved towards the settee but decided instead to have a look at the journal that Jonathan had set out on his worktop. Experiments and slides and vials of blood, including his own, were lined up there, neatly ordered and labelled just so. He had no idea what Jonathan was doing but he had taken enough vials of his blood now, Geoffrey was sure more of his blood had passed through this room than through his body. Geoffrey hadn’t forgotten, of course, what he had asked of the good Doctor.
It seemed like Jonathan had run every test imaginable, and not come up with anything. Not that he had told Geoffrey, anyway. At this point, Geoffrey wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know.
A part of him suspected that Jonathan was hiding something from him. That was the weight he was able to catch in his gaze every now and again, that of a man weighing his options. Weighing the truth. He knew what that felt like, after all, though his decision making had lessoned since the death of Hannibal Shaw, making certain Bennett took up more of the slack as was intended. He was still sought after for advice, and despite himself, and his injury, too, he was still very much involved in the ins and outs of what happened with the Guard of Priwen. They were still his men, though every time he came here, came to see Jonathan, went behind their backs, he felt more and more apart.
That was the trouble though. How he knew there was something wrong, because he never would have done this before. This wasn’t him. Not really. As the months had worn on since he’d first having those dreams of Reid, some fucked up nightmares about his attraction towards a leech, trying to come to terms with it, he supposed now, things had changed even more. He knew it, and Reid wasn’t saying anything.
Sample after sample, slide after slide, test after test. Even with the dregs of King Arthur’s blood, a fucking Ekon, of all things, Jonathan hadn’t confirmed or denied anything. This limbo they were living in now, however, was probably the closest to relaxing that Geoffrey had had since he was a boy. He’d been frustrated at first, with his injury, still fucking hated feeling useless…but he couldn’t deny how freeing it was, too. How he didn’t mind so much people making those excuses for him, anymore, thankful it wasn’t pity, just practicality.
He’d become a liability. He hated it, but there it was. And spending time here with Jonathan…he realised how much of himself he’d had to hide over the years, even from men he’d long considered family. Bennett was perhaps closer to the truth than any of the others, but some of them suspected something was going on, he was sure, though no one had voiced anything to him. He was sure they wouldn’t dare. Even one handed he could bring most of them down. Not that any of them could do anything about Reid. Though some of them, like Barker, Lowe and Ram, had come to like the leech Doctor in their own way.
Compromised, absolutely. It didn’t matter so much that they were both men, as much as society and religion would dictate otherwise, what mattered was that they were mortal and immortal, and Geoffrey still argued with himself over that one. His sexuality had always been something he’d had to hide, like Reid had, that was something they shared, such as it was, but their experiences were vastly different. Was Reid handsome? Yes. Did Geoffrey find him attractive? Undeniably. Did he hate that Reid was a leech? Absolutely. Had it stopped him? No.
Geoffrey dragged himself out of his thoughts and let out a soft breath as he dropped himself down at the desk. This space, as clean as it was, as organised and wrought with far more expensive things, still reminded Geoffrey of that sad house in Southwark where he’d tracked Jonathan after those five months apart. Where he’d found that journal entry that had haunted him. Still haunted him.
He’d asked Jonathan about it, eventually, if he had managed to find a pit, as he had so put it. The look in his monster’s eyes had worried him then, his stomach dropped, at the silent yes, that drifted from that gaze, though no words had passed between them. He never had mentioned the Ekon cage that had been set up long ago, by Carl, and hoped to God, he never would. The longer he’d known Jonathan however, the less certain he was that anything would truly hold him for long.
His fingers reached out to touch the journal. The pen rolled from where Jonathan had placed it, and Geoffrey’s eyes passed over Jonathan’s scrawl, just about legible, better than it had been. Still better than Geoffrey’s penmanship, and was surprised at the words he read there.
Lack of appetite.
He leant forwards, brow creased in curiosity to read the entry on the page that appeared to be observations, about him.
‘Noted, slower pulse, gradual almost not noticed, possible factors? Lower blood pressure? Frequent blood loss, unknown affects of feeding? Side-effect of it?
Wound healing. A fast healer. Yes. Survived serious injuries and severe blood loss on multiple occasions. Again, possible extenuating factors? Unknown? Given no medical history.
Example for, deep laceration to right temple, cause, Skal, night of 14/05/1920, treatment of 3 stitches. One day to heal, no scar. Exceptionally fast. Example of preternatural healing.
Example against, shatter/fracture of bone, right radius and ulna, cause, crushing injury by Hannibal Shaw, Ekon, night of ?/11/1919. Badly healed after eight months, nerve and muscle damage, significant pain, no sign of improvement, will likely need surgical intervention.
Sleep pattern. Noted on occasion to sleep deeply during daylight hours, restless at night. Not unusual given nocturnal activities, and only able to observe on occasion, briefly, difficult to assess given my own condition. Confirmed waking at sunset. New phenomenon within recent weeks? Will need to repeat observation to be certain.
Possible cravings? Blood? Seems not though again difficult to assess given personal proclivities.
Mind reading, for lack of scientific term. Impossible to avoid now during bloodletting, intimate moments, heightened responses, reactions. Exceptionally unusual ability, though personal references being, my being able to hear the thoughts of my Maker, and Mary being able to hear mine, though I have no knowledge of how such a thing is possible. Note : attempt contact with Usher Talltree? Perhaps seek knowledge on Ekon Lineages/ relationships between maker and progeny.
Possibilities? Blood of King Arthur, taken freely, though unknowing of its contents, most certainly confirmed as Ekon Blood. Possible progeny of Myrddin Wyllt, my own maker. Connection then between my hunter and I? Not enough blood or too old to turn him, but certainly enough to affect him in these ways?
Exposure to the blood of Hannibal Shaw? Accidental exposure? Exposure to my own blood? Uncertain how, though much the same can be said of Mary. However, Geoffrey is very much still human.
Desire? My bite. Could simple attraction do this? Am I responsible for this? Uncertain how much a single bite can influence mortals, though doubt without exposure to my blood that such changes would be possible.
Not enough knowledge yet to formulate any kind of understanding of this. The blood tells me a few things, but I can only go off my own knowledge and experience of how vampire blood infects and affects mortal cells. Whatever is happening to Geoffrey seems unlike anything I have knowledge of, like so much of what I am now, it is science I am yet to understand.
Note: Reduced appetite has been observed. Though Geoffrey continues his smoking habit, it has lessened considerably, also. Seems to go a day or more without significant meals? Or at least, will eat when prompted, but is no longer hungry? At least not as often as he should be. Confirmed, lack of appetite.’
Geoffrey tried not to allow the rising panic to claim him. He held it back. Some of this, he already knew. Some of it, he had heard from Reid before. Some of it, he would have noticed, had he been paying attention. Had he not been in denial. He knew he should have died. Time and time again, he’d suffered a lot in the past, wounds that had taken months to recover from, but nothing like the ones he’d suffered in the past year. The blood loss alone should have taken him out, more than once.
So, reading these things…shouldn’t be a surprise to him. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Jonathan had been gathering all of this information, shouldn’t a surprise that he had made a note of these things that Geoffrey had made a point to ignore. Shouldn’t even be a surprise that Jonathan hadn’t talked with him about it…and yet, it was.
Had he been intentionally not saying anything, then? Had he been holding back?
Jonathan knew him better than he thought.
Fuck.
A loud crash drew Geoffrey out of his thoughts, and on alert in an instant. A crash of plates and glass and metal that sent a burst of adrenalin through him, and he had his pistol in his offhand and rushed towards the door and the staircase before he could stop himself. The sounds of a fight. Familiar and not right in this place, this house that belonged to a monster. My monster.
Who on earth was fighting?
Jonathan felt the burst of shadow flood passed him, fast enough that he wasn’t certain at first he’d caught it. But no, the shape held, just long enough that his beast eyes could catch it, and followed it as it came back to form again behind him. The tray dropped to the ground. The food and coffee he’d made for his hunter clattered into a mess as blackened claws lunged for him.
How did they get in? Because, he realised, there was more than one. More than one vampire. Two Ekon, at least.
Jonathan couldn’t afford to care just then, just needed to grab them. To stop them, and as the claw came towards him, the Ekon’s features a blur in motion, he dashed out of their way, the space around them flooding with darkness as the rage in his chest threatened to boil over into existence. He wasn’t in a playing mood. Not with Geoffrey here. These trespassers would rue the day they ever came here, ever came near him, to his home.
He felt the roar deep in his chest, the burst of shadow that smothered him like a shroud as the entryway around him flood with dark, his dark. He pushed his form through it, incorporeal, moving as it felt nothing else could, torn into pieces and found the shadow of the trespasser and ripped it from the dark. The roar tore from him, his fingers bloody claws buried into the throat of the figure who’d even for a second thought to challenge him.
The Ekon crashed against the wall and cried out. Sweet agony pooled from him, and he clawed at Jonathan, but Jonathan would not relent, would not release his hold. He slammed the Ekon against the wall again, the paintings clattered, the wood panelling cracked and the ornaments on the nearby sideboard tumbled and smashed all over the ground.
Jonathan held him firm, and his eyes darted around the entryway, knowing there was another, listening for Geoffrey, because his hunter would come. He would, if he hadn’t already. His burning eyes, black holes now, searched the landing above, the scent of the other Ekon – a woman – he could smell her elderflower perfume – was nowhere to be seen.
He turned back to the Ekon he held at arm’s length, and felt every bit the monster he knew he was, his fingers like razors were buried at least an inch into flesh, blood pooled down his hand staining his skin a brilliant shiny crimson. Jonathan would devour this thing and –
“Jo-Jonathan Reid?”
Jonathan blinked, his beast-haze clearing as he finally took in the Ekon’s face. The Ekon’s features were screwed in pain, pale brows drawn together, eyes an incredible turquoise blue and ringed with red started at him, wide and horrified, shocked, blood at his lips, fangs bared in pain. His features were curiously familiar, his golden hair was mostly swept away from his face, he was young, younger than Jonathan had been when he’d been turned into an Ekon, strong, but, whatever he was didn’t hold a candle to whatever Jonathan had been made into.
“Jesus Christ…Dr Jonathan Reid?” the Ekon choked and struggled against Jonathan’s hold, his fingers reached up and wrapped around Jonathan’s wrist, but Jonathan didn’t move, his dark eyes continued to search the Ekon for signs of familiarity, the crease between his brow deepened as the Ekon choked on his blood, and he felt the movement of muscle and sinew beneath his clawed fingers.
“Osmund Graves?” That wasn’t right, surely. “Dr Graves?”
The Ekon coughed, but frantically nodded his head. “Yes, yes!” he choked again, and his handsome, bright eyes widened, pleased that he was recognised, for certainly Jonathan did recognise him…but the Osmund Graves he had met before had not been an Ekon, had he?
If he was expecting Jonathan to let him go, he was sorely out of luck.
Jonathan leant forwards instead, and the Ekon gasped, his features screwed up in agony, the wood panelling behind him creaked and cracked, more blood pooled from the wounds at his throat. Jonathan stared him in the eyes, searched them.
“Bring your friend to me before I am forced to drag them here.”
“Don’t worry, beast.” Jonathan’s dark eyes glanced up at the sight of his hunter as he walked along the landing, visible from where he stood at the foot of the staircase. Geoffrey’s arm was outstretched, his pistol aimed at the forehead of the second trespasser. She was a young woman, whose long dark hair, black like ebony, spilled loosely down her back, swayed as she swayed, walking backwards away from him, arms looped behind her as though she’d not a care in the world.
“Are you well, Geoffrey?” Jonathan asked, unable to scent any fresh blood from his hunter, but even from where he stood, could make out the beginnings of a bruise on his forehead.
“Aye, beast. No trouble. You want me to kill it?”
“Indeed, that might be necessary -,”
“No! Heavens, no! Please, Dr Reid!”
Jonathan snapped back to stare at the Ekon he held brutally pinned to the wall, his eyes wide and frantic, but flat and black, so strange and different from the brilliant blue they’d been a second ago. His fingers desperate as they clung onto Jonathan’s unmoving hand, begging for reprieve. For mercy. Honestly, Jonathan wasn’t feeling particularly merciful.
“Need I remind you, Dr Graves, that you have trespassed here, in my home. My sanctuary. Assaulted me – and my companion. And now you dare beg me to spare either of you?”
“You know this leech, Jon?” Geoffrey didn’t take his eyes off the girl stood before him, his left hand steady as ever, eyes focused and ready to kill at a moment’s command, he would not have hesitated before, Jonathan realised.
“He was not a leech when we met.” Jonathan replied. “Or were you, Dr Graves?”
The Ekon coughed and tried to speak, Jonathan hadn’t realised he’d tightened his grip. The Ekon’s blood had seeped through his clothes and was beginning to stain the rug at his feet. It had been many years ago, when he had met Dr Osmund Graves, he was still a student at the time, and Dr Graves had given lectures at the University in Oxford, anatomy, all the latest, most modern surgical techniques. Was it possible he had been an Ekon then?
“I…” he gasped again; eyes screwed shut, they were blue again, Jonathan noted. “Can – you…”
Jonathan almost didn’t, but it was clear enough that he could and would best this Ekon if he tried anything again, so, he reluctantly unfurled his claws from the fleshy throat of the intruder and took a small step back. Graves gasped and dropped forward a little, his hand on his wounded throat, though the bleeding quickly stemmed.
“Thank-you.” He sighed and steadily came to stand up straight, before he glanced up to his right, up the staircase and towards the girl. “Eleanor, please, come away.”
“Aye, I think she’s good right where she is.” Geoffrey commented, his pistol still aimed steadily at her, unblinking in his focus.
“Perhaps it is time you explain yourself, Dr Graves?” Jonathan offered, unable to stop himself from tasting the blood at his fingers, delicious enough if it came to it that he would feed gladly. He did not know this Ekon after all, not really.
“Yes…yes, quite…I…” he cleared his throat, but his mouth was still slick with his blood. He stood upright and straightened himself out as much as he could, and looked then, very seriously at Jonathan as though finally able to take him in. “I…I was indeed an Ekon when we first met, Dr Reid, and for a considerable time before that…I am here searching for Elisabeth, and I should like to know where she is.”