Chapter Text
Vandal fiddles with the knobs on the stereo.
He flips past station after station. Hip-hop. Pop. Jazz. Classical. He can’t settle on one, and yet, the blood bank is too quiet without something playing. He feels…restless. The night is slow. He and Phil don’t have anyone in the collection room; their stock of blood will last them a few more nights before necessity would send Vandal prowling out into the city looking for their next donor.
Only one customer has come by so far. It’s Wednesday, at least Vandal thinks it is. He has a better grasp on the passing of time these days. A few months ago he barely knew what season it was, sometimes. Every day had been a monotonous, mind-bending slog only punctuated by brief moments of dark indulgence.
But things are a little better now. He has an anchor, of sorts. Someone who keeps him tied to the outside world beyond the pale, dingy walls of the hospital basement. Vandal showers more. Cooks at home, sometimes. He even got a gym membership.
He’s still Vandal, though. His heart continues to race at the opportunity to hunt someone for the donation chair. Vandal isn’t even sure he’d want to be totally normal. He’s just not meant for that life. That world.
He hears the door open and stands from his place in front of the radio. He stretches his arms up, shirt lifting, the chilly air of the blood bank tickling along the now-exposed skin of his waistline. The newcomer is either a nurse from upstairs (they rarely stayed long, shifting nervously and fidgeting until Vandal handed over the blood they needed), or a vampire looking for a meal.
He turns, yawning a little.
Knox stands in front of the window, smiling. Knox’s eyes raise from Vandal’s midriff to his face. “Hey, pal! Seems pretty dead in here.” A brief pause. “Get it? The vamps and stuff?”
Vandal doesn’t laugh, but neither does he sneer in disgust like he used to. “Hi. It’s slow, yeah. They must be taking to the streets tonight for their next fix. Picking up?”
“I have to get some red for Bertram.”
“He’s taking the bagged stuff a lot more lately. Getting lazy, huh?” Vandal unlocks the stash he keeps hidden below the counter. It’s a small fridge disguised to blend into the wall paneling.
“Oh, uh, yeah! He is. For sure. So lazy.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
Vandal puts the bloodbags in a paper sack. “That’s one hundred eighty.” For anyone else it’d be a flat two hundred. Knox gets a discount.
The bounty hunter slides over cash. Therese wouldn’t notice the discrepancy in profits. Probably.
Knox loiters, leaning against the counter. “How’re you doing?”
Not only was Knox coming around more often, but also he tends to linger. That’s probably normal, Vandal guesses. They were friends now, after all.
“I’m bored,” Vandal says.
“Bertram said I’m done for the rest of the night after this. Want to do something after work?”
“Like what? Paint our nails and braid each other’s hair?”
Knox grins, sly. “If you want.”
Vandal shoots him a look, but can’t help the way the corners of his lips twitch.
“Dinner? On me,” Knox suggests. Dinner is always on Knox. Vandal can’t remember ever paying. If he even tries Knox threatens to shoot him.
“I was planning on going for a run, too.”
“Oh, right,” Knox says, nodding sagely. “You’re, like, a fitness guru now.”
“Do you want to hang out or not?” Vandal asks.
Knox is quick to answer, “Of course I do. Run, then dinner?”
“Fine.”
Vandal hears Phil messing with the lock to the office door behind him.
Phil pops his head in. “A nurse is on her way down for some AB negative.”
“Then get some ready,” Vandal snaps.
“Frank!” Knox says, “Nice to see you, pal.”
“It’s Phil.”
“Oh, yeah.”
It’d been a few months since their business with Richard Daniels and the hunters. Vandal still thought about it often: the fear of Knox in the vampire’s clutches, the delicious sensation of struggling the stake through Richard’s ribs. It’d been like trying to stab a rock, but he’d done it.
Save for the odd job here and there things had been quiet. Vandal had gone back to his shifts at the blood bank and Knox was off doing… whatever Knox does. The bounty hunter has always done a lot for Bertram, mostly tracking and gathering information. Knox is an increasingly busy guy, but somehow he always makes time for Vandal.
Phil leaves first, then Knox, who promises to pick him up when his shift is over. The bounty hunter leaves with an exuberant wave. Vandal stares at the door after Knox is gone.
This is normal, right? People do this. Friends do. They go out of their way to see each other, do nice things. Vandal just isn’t used to it.
He glances at the clock, counting the minutes. He leaves the second his shift ends.
The inside of Knox’s car is familiar.
It’s clean. A rosary hangs from the rearview mirror. It’s my mom’s, Knox had said when he first saw Vandal looking at it. Keeps her close.
Is she dead? Vandal had asked.
No. Knox smiled.
The bounty hunter already has the radio on when Vandal slides into the passenger seat. He’s pretty sure Knox never drives in silence, an effect that was starting to rub off on Vandal.
Knox starts talking as if they’re already in the middle of a conversation. At first, Vandal had struggled to keep up with the other man’s mind, but each time it got a little easier. He listens while Knox chatters.
They stop by a convenience store so Knox can get something to snack on (carb loading, he claims), swing by Vandal’s apartment so he can change his outfit, and head out on their run together. Knox already has on his workout clothes: a t-shirt and shorts that are just a touch too tight.
Vandal found he actually enjoyed jogging a couple months ago. On the days he doesn’t go to the gym he runs, each time savoring the way his pulse beats against the arteries in his throat, the way his limbs seem to buzz afterward.
The two set a good pace. The vitae swirling in their circulatory systems eggs them on; their feet pound in steady rhythm. The sun would be up in a couple hours. Until then, the cool, dewy air caresses their skin.
Vandal’s mind wanders, as it usually does. When he runs it goes blissfully blank, ready to be filled with whatever fantasy he dreams up. Sometimes he imagines being chased by the police, or zombies. Other nights he plays the chaser in his mind, running down a fleeing victim. It’s a fun little game he plays with himself.
He pulls air into his burning lungs, wondering for a brief moment if Knox is playing a scenario like that in his mind, too.
###
Knox stumbles a bit, the toe of his sneaker catching on a crack in the sidewalk.
Christ, Harrington, pull it together!
His face is flush, though not just from the run. The sound of Vandal’s breathing, slightly labored, seems loud against the dead of night. Knox dares a glance over and immediately regrets it. A streetlamp illuminates a bead of sweat running down Vandal’s neck, disappearing into the pale skin below his shirt. Vandal’s lips are parted as he sucks in another breath, tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip–
It’s too much. Knox wrenches his eyes forward again. He’ll eat the pavement if he doesn’t look where his feet are going. It was a grave mistake to agree to a run. Knox hadn’t realized how stimulating this would be. Vandal lifts the hem of his shirt, dabs at the sweat along his brow. The hard plane of his stomach is visible in the wan light, glistening.
Knox imagines his own hand lifting Vandal’s shirt.
A grave mistake, indeed.
Vandal doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Little does he know Knox is trying to calm the butterflies brushing against his own insides.
This is going to drive Knox crazy, if he isn’t already. He tilts his head back, eyes the black sky above, and considers praying to God for mercy. He hasn’t prayed in years, but damn, he could use the help. Ever since Vandal had saved his life Knox’s thoughts (and body) had turned strange.
Knox finds Vandal fascinating. The intensity of the man’s gaze. Vandal’s smile: rare, surprisingly wide, and appearing at the oddest times. The way all his emotions play out along his face with such honesty. There’s a darkness within Vandal that the man barely keeps contained, equally alluring and dangerous.
The darkness part does give Knox a little pause, but Knox feels deeply. He always had. And he knows there’s little use in trying to ignore these feelings. That ship had long since sailed, maybe even since that first night they met in the diner, months ago, when Bertram and Therese initially made them work together. The two vampires had been mercifully tolerant of the ghouls’ friendship, but that would definitely come to an end if Knox’s secret feelings were found out.
There’s a high probability that he’d simultaneously disgust Vandal and ruin their friendship with this crush. Jesus Christ, he’s nearly thirty years old and has a crush! On Vandal Cleaver, no less, the rumored local serial killer. What is he supposed to do, he wonders, confess his feelings?
As they say, he thinks, better to have loved and lost…
That’s easier said than done. Knox knows a lot of people, but there were few that he cared about as much as Vandal. He doesn’t know if Vandal is into guys, let alone if Vandal is into anyone at all.
Their path takes them through a seedier part of Santa Monica. Even at this pre-dawn hour people are out. They hug the edges of the street, clumping together around trash can fires and their ragged camps. Some of them spare a glass-eyed glance, but most don’t pay the pair any mind. Knox and Vandal pass a church: an old, gothic monolith with boarded windows. From between the wood slats Knox spies flickering light within. Squatters, no doubt. A group of them stand beside the church, huddled beneath its reaching spires. Their voices are low as they talk amongst themselves.
Next to him, Vandal makes a choked noise. He stumbles, flinching as if suddenly terrified. He stumbles into Knox, who raises his hands and tries to steady his friend. Vandal’s breaths are a different kind of ragged, now. Fear and shock make his blue eyes seem frozen, trained on the shadows behind the church.
“Hey, man, what’s wrong?” When Vandal doesn’t respond, Knox gently shakes him a bit. “What is it?”
Vandal’s head whips around, eyes searching Knox’s face as if putting together a puzzle. It takes him a second to return to the present, pupils dialing back in and focusing. “I-I thought…I saw something. Someone.”
“Who?”
Vandal shakes his head, runs a hand back through his hair. He steps away, visibly shaken. “It’s impossible. This has happened before.” A raw laugh. “Therese’s blood sure is a bitch. Want to trade? I’ll take Bertram’s nasty ass any day over–” he makes a vague hand motion at his own head, “–this.”
Knox starts to speak, but Vandal cuts him off. “You know, I’m not feeling too good. A headache. Yeah, that bitch has her claws in me, that’s all. The price I pay for the good stuff. I’m going to head home.”
“Are you sure?” Knox asks, but Vandal is already turning away. “That was pretty intense.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Knox snags the other’s arm. “Hey, wait. I promised you food, remember?” He flashes a smile. “We can do delivery. Please?”
Vandal sighs, agitated. “Okay. If you insist.”
The bounty hunter looks toward the church again. Vandal thought he saw something terrifying enough to stop him in his tracks. Knox studies the church, the crowd of homeless people, but comes up short of anything so frightening.
Maybe Vandal had been right and it was just Therese’s blood dementing his already fragile mind.
They order their food–Chinese from a twenty-four hour place, Vandal’s choice–when they get back to Knox’s house. Vandal settles in the living room while Knox takes a shower.
The bounty hunter spends several minutes standing motionless under the hot water, contemplating. He imagines the fear on Vandal’s face, feeling his own heart squeeze. He wishes he could ease Vandal’s mind, if only just a little. His friend lives on the edge of a knife; the smallest imbalance sends Vandal into a spiral.
Knox dries off, slings a towel around his waist, and grabs a beer from the fridge. For a moment, he’s a bit embarrassed about being shirtless in front of Vandal.
There’s a thump on the back porch. A shadowed figure lifts a leathery hand and wiggles their fingers in a wave.
Knox slides open the door. Bertram, his domitor, enters. It is a rare event that Bertram stops by. Usually he finds Knox out in the streets somewhere, popping up behind him like a ghost, or sometimes the vampire just rang his ghoul’s phone. Bertram’s gaze roves over the home’s interior, eyes snagging on Vandal on the couch. The other ghoul pulls his knees up to his chest and warps his arms around them.
“Bertram!” Knox grins. “What brings you over? Damn, it’s good to see you.” He was getting a little thirsty, actually. And not for beer. “I’d offer you some of my lo mein, but, uh…”
Bertram grins, the sight of which Knox is used to but wonders how scary it must come across to others. At first, the sight of Bertram’s warped lips and jagged teeth spreading open had been enough to give him goosebumps. “You have company. Cute.”
“Oh, yeah. Vandal–”
“Is just leaving.” Vandal finishes for him, rising from the couch.
Knox tries not to deflate. “You don’t have to. At least let me give you a ride back.”
“It’s fine,” Vandal pulls on a pair of old Converse.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Bertram says.
Vandal’s eyes flick over Bertram’s face as he sneers. “My appetite is gone, anyway.”
The door clicks behind Vandal, and then it’s just Knox and his domitor, alone.
“I don’t know how you do it, Knoxy. That guy is a freak. That’s saying a lot coming from a Nosferatu.”
“He’s just, um, shy.” Knox’s declaration comes out more like a question.
“If shy means he loathes my guts.”
“Well, at least it’s not personal. He hates just about everybody!” Knox tries to laugh this off. “Especially vampires.”
“Doesn’t seem like he hates you.” Bertram lets this hang in the air between them as he moves to examine Knox’s pictures hung on the living room wall.
Knox isn’t sure what to say.
Bertram turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m not grilling you. As long as that little maniac doesn’t stab you in your sleep I’m fine with you two being pals. For now. At least it keeps Therese in my line of sight more. Keep your friends close and your enemies…”
“So what brings you here, dude?” Knox tries to change the subject. For some reason, it made him nervous to talk about Vandal.
“I’ve got information for you. Rumors. A couple ghouls have been found dead these past few weeks. Thought I should give you a heads up.”
“Are they connected?”
“Everything is connected, kid. The Kindred are starting to get a little antsy over it. Worried their precious pets might get whacked.”
“Do you think–”
“That you could be next? Maybe. As far as ghouls go you’re pretty tactful. Not going around bragging about being a vampire’s buddy, at least. You only give out information when I allow it. But leaks always spring one way or another.”
Knox chews on his lower lip, mulling. “I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, yet.”
“Good. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Not just gonna let this happen, if I can help it.” Bertram turns to leave. “Might want to watch your friend’s back, too. He’s not exactly one to have a lot of allies.”
When his domitor is gone Knox stares after him. It begins to rain, uncommon in Santa Monica. The lights outside turn blurry as water pelts the windows, just as muddled as Knox’s emotions.