Evolution by BJ Jones

Stage One – Origins

~ New York - Night ~


The dock was quiet.

He let his senses expand outward to know if anyone was approaching, but so far everything was calm and serene.

That fact alone, put him on full alert.

He was in New York.

Calm and serene were not words he would ever freely use to categorize such a city.

His back straightened and his shoulders tightened as he heard footsteps heading in his direction.

He threw down the cigarette he'd been smoking, and crushed it into the old creaking wood of the dock.

But still he stood there, ears straining to pick up all approaching sounds.

The city was really beautiful at night, and he could think back to all those other times in his life when he stood in the very same spot, doing the exact same thing.

But times moved on.

Cities grew.

His business though?

That was one of those things, just never changed.

"I didn't think they would send you."

He shrugged, and glanced over to the younger man who appeared beside him. "Desperate times and all that."

"Something's going down."

"I expected as much when you called." He gave the guy a closer look.

Really, he didn't need to be wasting his time. He had things to do back at home.

"He sent me."

"Talk or I'm walking." He slipped his hands into his pockets, pulling his jacket closed.

It was cool for September, especially with the breeze coming off the ocean.

"I'm supposed to tell you, it's the key." The dude fidgeted, looking around.

"What is?" he demanded, getting pissed at the slowness of the situation.

The longer they were exposed, the dumber things got.

That was the general rule.

"Plantain."

He paused, the book clear in his mind, one he received decades ago, now sitting in the library.

He would have to contact…

"Tim."

He turned, eyes flashing at the imbecile. "Leave! And wise up, kid. Or you'll just get dead."

The kid turned and ran down the docks, bringing even more attention to what had just gone on.

He waited for a few moments, calming his senses.

He needed to call the Manor.

A new smell wafted under his nose.

In all his years never had he smelt anything like it.

He stiffened and turned.

All he had time to see was the muzzle flash, then there was only bitter darkness as his body dropped to the dock.

Looking innocent enough in the typical overalls of his trade, the dockworker who'd approached him, un-hooked the silencer from his weapon, and threw it into the ocean.

The gun soon followed.

"Don't worry about your little friend. He'll be taken care of." He smirked a tiny bit as he pulled a phone from his pocket. "It's done. I'm getting the kid now."

Where the dockworker once stood, there was instead a fully decked out security guard, complete with nightstick and flashlight. He turned and headed away from the scene, his shoes tapping loud and authoritative on the boards.

When he got to the gate, he grinned at his colleagues, changing shifts. "Heard a shot just now. Could be those damn kids goofing off again with those firecrackers."

"We'll check it out." One of the older guys opened the gate and waved him out. "See you tomorrow, Matt."

The guard nodded and waved back, simply walking away into the night.


~ Singapore ~


Craig had taken out the informant and finished him off with a shot to the head.

He had been the last in a complex line of thugs, Rogues and informants who once worked for Meela.

Imenand had ordered Lamont find out how the bitch received her information about Nicolaus.

Then once they had details, her network was to be eliminated.

The last on that list however, had been tricky, bringing him to the distinctly seedier areas of Singapore and its criminal element. His target had started talking only after two fingers on his right hand were broken.

He rambled on about desperation and obsession.

But he didn't have a name to give.

And there was always another name.

Layer grabbed his phone as he turned to leave the dismal, stench ridden alley where he'd conducted his business.

But before he could so much as dial the number he needed, a wave of nausea and intense pain washed over him.

After that there was only darkness, until sadly, and somewhat strangely, he woke, face down in a jail cell.

Craig gathered his strength and managed to sit up, a dizzy spell washing over him.

"You!"

He blinked and frowned at the Officer looming over him through the bars.

"Who are you?" The policeman was big, and imposing, and used his size accordingly.

"Depends on what I'm here for," Craig replied easily. He stood up, ignoring the uneasiness that was flooding over him with every passing second, and walked calmly to the cell door. "Why am I here?"

"For murder." A smartly clothed Detective, in a remarkably rumple free suit, stepped in front of the uniformed man, waving him off with a gesture. "Unfortunate luck to pass out near the body, especially with the murder weapon in hand. I guess you just didn't have the stomach for it."

"I didn't kill anyone." Craig shook his head, confused. "I was trying to find my hotel, when I heard a shot and saw this guy, and then there was screaming and I woke up here."

The Detective smirked, his greasy looking moustache twitching. "Not how the witness saw it."

Craig's eyes narrowed. There had been no witnesses. He made sure of it before he even began his interrogation; he'd neither heard, nor seen, nor smelt for that matter, anyone else in the immediate area.

He sighed. "How much?"

"Are you bribing an officer of the law?" The Detective snickered but at least carried off a passable attempt at outrage.

"It's not bribing. It's called paying my bail," Craig answered primly.

The Detective smiled brightly. He knew the American would be an easy target. No one cared about the lowlife who'd been shot, and it certainly wasn't worth the cost of investigating.

He could easily get a few grand out of the businessman instead, just to make it all go away.

"You Americans, so alike…"

Craig reached through the bars and grabbed the guy's tie, slamming him into the door.

"I'm British, you arse." His true accent slipped out as he pulled the tie tighter, quite effectively choking him. "Now, this is what we're going to do. You will have your pet Copper back there, come open this lock, and just maybe I won't kill you. But next time someone's being nice, don't turn them down. It's not very polite."

The Detective nodded, motioning with a flail for the other Officer who moved quickly forward again, unlocking the door.

Craig swung the door out, slamming the Detective back against the cell bars, knocking the wind from his lungs and buckling his knees.

He rolled his eyes as he realized the uniformed cop would certainly make a move for him.

Craig let go of the tie, then grabbed the Officer's wrist, snapping it in one move, the gun he'd managed to pull, clattering harmlessly to the floor. He shoved him into the open cell and then grabbed the Detective and tossed him in too before slamming the door shut and locking it.

He pocketed the key.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you."

He smoothed out his suit and left the holding area, walking straight through the busy precinct, snagging a phone that sat on the edge of a handy desk by the main doors, before walking calmly out onto the street.

He dialed a few numbers, entered his code, and then waited for a connection.

All the while he simply kept walking as though he belonged there, and nothing untoward had taken place in his entire week, let alone the past couple of hours.

"What the fuck has happened?" Craig yelled, once he was put through to the man he'd been trying to reach.

Digital technology still took time to work apparently, no matter how well it was constructed.

'Hello, Craig. Is Singapore not suited for your needs?' Lamont answered quietly.

"Meela's informant rambled on about shite, and then I got arrested." He hailed a taxi, and demanded he be taken to his hotel, without being ripped off by a driver who might otherwise contemplate taking the 'scenic route'.

'Arrested?' Cranston paused. 'What went down?'

"I felt a sudden sick pain across my head, then blacked out. Thought someone hit me from behind, but no. Has Yev checked in?" Layer asked.

'Let me see.'

Craig waited impatiently as the taxi driver sped through town.

He wasn't sure what he was feeling. He had never truly Bonded to his Mate – the two of them always feared that if something were to happen to one, then the other would be taken out too.

Valuable information would be lost.

Other lives would be put at risk.

Theirs was not a world that forgave mistakes.

Any mistakes.

But suddenly he was regretting not having done what the Vampire inside him had cried out for whenever they were together.

Which wasn't as often as either of them would've liked.

The only thing he felt was emptiness.

Though there was no Mated Bond between them, there had always been something holding them together.

Until it was gone.

And he felt empty.

In a rare moment of weakness, he closed his eyes and prayed in a broken whisper to the God he hadn't spoken to in decades, "Please let Yev be alright."

It was the driver who alerted him to their arrival, and he paid the man, offering a generous tip before jumping out of the taxi and moving swiftly through the hotel lobby.

"Damn it, Lamont! Hurry the fuck up," he muttered into the phone.

'He's not checked in for more than 12 hours.'

"Fuck!" He slammed his fist into the elevator wall. "Where was he?"

'Craig…'

"WHERE the FUCK was HE?" Craig growled.

'New York,' Lamont informed him, knowing that tone, and what it meant. 'Contacts there were automatically connected once the twelfth hour was reached. You know the drill.'

"I'm going," he said bluntly, as he entered his room and checked around in case he had intruders, but he was thankfully alone.

Grabbing his bag from the closet, he stuffed it with clothes.

Then checking his weapons, he tossed them into the bag too. "I'm on the next flight out to New York. What was he Hunting?"

Cranston sighed. 'Crimson Moon.'


~ Crimson Moon: Board of Directors Meeting - Next Morning ~


Victor Frankenstein stepped into the Board Room and proceeded to the head of the table.

He had things to do, and absolutely no time for bureaucracy.

He actually found it greatly humorous that as they tried to weaken the Vampire Council and the Clan Structure, they had just as much damn paperwork to deal with as their enemies did.

He determined it to be cosmic justice.

Nothing truly great ever came easily, after all.

"Royce, where's my tea?" he demanded, glaring at his Personal Assistant.

John Royce said nothing, for there was nothing he could say. He simply turned and fixed what was requested of him, at the small, yet expensively equipped beverages and comfort station at the back of the room, setting an elegant bone china cup and saucer down in front of his boss, before moving to his customary position in the corner by the window, where he perched on a high stool and watched what was about to happen.

He pulled out his notebook and prepared to take notes like a dutiful secretary, glancing around innocently at every single one of the sonsofbitches who came in, Human and Vampire alike.

It was just a touch clichéd to have an anti-Vampire Council filled with Rogues, evil politicians, and wealthy businessmen. Yet there they were, and John had the pleasure of serving them. They were nothing but bastards, each and every one of them, full of themselves, believing their delusions of grandeur.

Trying to create and control power like it was a commodity on the Stock Market.

Wanting everything, yet working for nothing.

Trusting no one, not even themselves.

Obediah Stane was still very much determined to take over Stark Industries. Killing off the Stark Family had been his first try, but little Anthony Edward Stark had wanted to stay at home and work on his robot. He hadn't been in the car that night when it went off a Malibu cliff.

Only later did he find out that Howard Stark was far smarter than Stane had ever given him credit for being. The head of the family dynasty had made completely sure that his Will, his entire Stock portfolio and his controlling share in the company were all airtight, and landed only into his son's hands and no one else's.

Stane thought it would be easy to control the young Stark.

That soon proved to be another failure.

Royce bit back a sour chuckle.

At just twenty-one years old, Tony had swept in and taken the company from Stane's Guardianship, effectively making it an industry far more powerful than even Howard would have thought possible.

He glanced up to see Stane chewing on a cigar, looking over Intel on Tracy Island and Stark Industries. Even then it seemed, after a failed terrorist attack, failed death threats and attempts on the life of his apparent nemesis, not to mention several failed blackmail attempts, he was still trying to out maneuver Tony fucking Stark.

One would have imagined Obediah Stane might some day learn his lesson, but he was nothing if not a particularly stubborn asshole, just like everyone else in the room. He simply didn't seem to get that a) Tony Stark couldn't be manipulated, b) he had quite effectively aligned himself with the strongest Clan on the planet and c) had any of them even met Scott Tracy?

Royce glanced over at the older gentleman sitting next to Stane.

One of the few Humans on the Board, the privilege having cost him merely his first-born son; Adrian Veidt had seemingly cared very little when he handed the bouncing baby boy to Frankenstein. But in return he had received wealth, fame, and a powerful legacy.

He had also received a pretty permanent death sentence.

For the moment Adrian Veidt had thrown Edward Blake off the roof of the American Embassy in Moscow one evening, at the height of the Cold War, he had gained an infamous and influential name within the mythology of Crimson Moon.

The moment Edward Blake became The Comedian however, Veidt had gained a prison sentence, never able to leave the Compound for fear that he would be found by the Hunter, and ended in what would probably be a highly unusual and very painful way.

It would probably also be hysterically funny.

At least to those in the know.

Royce cringed when hideous laughter rang through the room like machinegun fire.

Dorian Grey's inane humor drove him up the wall. He would plead utter insanity if he ever finally snapped and took a sword to the rich moron's head. He wasn't even sure why Frankenstein had him on the Board.

For entertainment purposes, maybe?

He was as vain as the story of his life liked to tell, and just as conceited.

Dorian was also crafty and quite possibly the most highly manipulative snake he'd ever had the misfortune to meet.

After that diabolical fuck up with Sabine and the attack on Sylum Manor, the fancy ass sleezebag had weaseled his way back into Crimson Moon, bringing valuable information about Sabine's work with none other than Commodus and the Mala Noche. He also brought valuable information about the Thorne family line of Meridius descendants.

Royce still wanted first dibs on dusting the snotty asshole though, when he did finally fuck up beyond reason.

Vondoome was one of the few on the Board who got some respect from John Royce.

He'd been around longer than anyone else, yet didn't throw power fits or stalk around like he was King of the Castle. That was most probably because he knew and understood the full reality of the situation. The whole façade of Crimson Moon, would just run its course and he would simply go on working his own plans. It was no more than an ends to his own means.

And if anyone else on the Board didn't see that, then they were just stupid.

Doome had faced off against King Arthur and lived to tell the tale, though his face had certainly suffered for it.

If Frankenstein thought he would just roll over and play good minion…?

Well, Royce just hoped he might get a front row seat for the showdown.

Victor Fitzgerald was the worthless one of the group.

His own son had turned his back on him and joined Sylum, finding not one but two Mates, both of whom were stubborn as hell protectors. Then there was the illegitimate son, who also told Papa to go fuck himself, who was also Mated to a strong protector, and who lived on a Ranch surrounded by expert gunfighters.

Really, the only thing that kept Fitzgerald on the board was his money. His influences were dying off, and his power had reduced to almost nothing. Frankenstein had hoped to use Martin to get someone into Sylum, and that had certainly worked out well.

Not.

Though Royce was still sure that someone had been placed inside Sylum.

But he wasn't trusted with that type information, yet.

Delegated to be Dr. Victor Frankenstein's Personal Assistant and general Gopher – as in 'go for this, or go for that' - he knew enough about his boss to figure that Fitzgerald’s future with the Board was fading fast. If the guy didn't pull a rabbit out of his proverbial hat pretty soon, then his position would be terminated.

And that didn't mean being politely fired.

That was why he kept a man like Don Jon on a very long leash.

Don Jon was quiet and deadly.

He was the secret weapon Victor had up kept up his sleeve for a hell of a long time. Sneaky and slimy in equal measure, the Spanish Vampire was an expert in more languages than you could safely shake a stick at, and far more weapons than that too.

Every Council, everywhere, regardless of their so-called Mission Statement, had that one person who would do whatever had to be done, and ask no questions in accomplishing the task.

Don Jon was that person.

Edward Volger, was the quiet one on the Board.

He barely ventured out into the world, content just to sit in his office, like a spider in a web, catching flies.

He specialized in working accounts, manipulating figures and taking over businesses.

As a former slave, he held the biggest grudge north of the Mason-Dixon Line, over the continued existence of one Gregory House. He'd even tried to take the hospital the Doctor worked out of, with the help of another Board Member, Dr. Rowan Chase.

Royce wasn't entirely sure if House was just that crafty, or he had amazing amounts of luck.

But the Gods were very definitely on the side of righteous fury sometimes.

Rowan's own son not only wanted nothing to do with him, but had sided with House during the takeover. Adding in the influence of a bitch named Cuddy and that Detective Munch, the two men quickly retreated back to the Board with their tails wedge firmly between their legs.

It hadn't been pretty.

Volger's skills however, were still helpful for Frankenstein. The man knew how to work accounts, and manipulate markets better than any Hedge Fund Manager in the world. A third of Crimson Moon's income came from his ability to play the numbers game. It was his set up that gave the Board the incomes and inheritances of past Human allies and the occasional dead Vampire.

If you wanted support and protection from Crimson Moon, you had to pay for it.

With your wallet, as well as the blood in your veins.

Dr. Rowan Chase despised his first-born son for humiliating him though, and was still determined to get his revenge. But the boy was being protected by House, and in turn by Sylum's own Clan Advisor. And if there was ever one single Vampire whom most others didn't really want to tangle with, it was Timothy Quinn.

Which really showed how stupid Sabine was for having gone after the Irishman to start with.

Royce had seen the boy in action, and if he didn't do enough damage, then Antonio and Nico certainly would.

Quinn pissed off was bad enough, but add the other two?

Not good.

Though fun to watch from far, far away.

Royce glanced over at the only two women on the Board.

They made the whole 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' thing seem tame.

Victoria Metcalf was deadly from the get go.

The only woman to have turned the head of the otherwise noble Benoit Franciscus, she was quite remarkable for having lived to tell the tale. She would have actually drawn him to her cause and won his undying affection, if she hadn’t made the singular mistake of going after his best friend, Vecchio. But everyone had a weakness they mistakenly showed, sooner or later.

Sat at the table, doing her nails, she wasn't really paying attention to the men and their bolstering. She had her own agenda, very much like Vondoome.

Royce knew for a fact that she was sleeping with at least three fellow Board Members, and they were none the wiser about each other.

That took balls.

Literally and metaphorically speaking.

Angela Petrelli was another woman Royce never wanted to cross.

While Victoria used her sex appeal to get whatever she wanted, Petrelli simply killed anyone who got in her way.

And had.

Herself.

Many times.

She was the one who approached Frankenstein, demanding entrance to the Board, offering power.

His boss had joked that perhaps she was handing him the Papacy.

But what she actually said she could get him, was the Presidency of the United States.

She sold her son, Nathan, down the river without him even realizing it.

Poor sap.

Royce had his own thoughts about both Nathan and Peter Petrelli, but at that particular moment he was keeping silent and merely watching the game unfold. The brothers were playing a tricky hand.

Finally, John found his thoughts moving with inexorable loathing to his boss, Victor Frankenstein.

He had known about Victor since the time of his own Turning, and had heard sufficient horror stories about the many experiments he conducted on both Human and Vampire alike to get a better reading of the dear Doctor, than most would ever know.

Having always hated the constraints of the Vampire Council and how they dictated their morality to Vampire society, Frankenstein had let loose with his own ideas and ambitions about exactly where such a unique and versatile band of brothers could really go, and he hadn't cared all that much since then about those he destroyed in the process.

After everything had gone down with Gerard, Victor was the only one who would take Royce in.

He owed him for that, but there were times just lately when he wondered how much he still had to pay off.

He was pulled out of his head, and all those many regrets that lurked never too far away from the surface, by Frankenstein's bored and impatient voice.

"Edward? What do you have on the Messer situation?" Victor asked, looking at the financials for the last year. "His Estate would pay for our new project. It's been two years and I've still not seen it."

Volger bit back his own contempt. "Not my fault Paul Messer was vague with the wording of his Will. Stating all of his assets go to his 'eldest son' was just stupid. Before we could even unravel the situation, the entire Estate was transferred to Daniel Messer."

"Then what are you going to do about it?" Victor demanded.

"If you'd been more forthcoming with information concerning Paul Messer Jr., this might have been taken care of sooner," Edward snarled. "Despite the setbacks, I'm sending Paul down with our lawyers to hand a subpoena to Daniel, demanding he hand over the assets he apparently wants no part of. That should solve his problem, and ours as well."

Paul Messer Sr. had been a part of Crimson Moon, much like Victor Fitzgerald and Angela Petrelli. Messer had handed over his first-born son with no thought to the significance of such an act, then worked to raise his two boys to take over the Messer Dynasty. They both ended up disappointments. Paul had complained heavily about his youngest, but as far as the Board saw it, the biggest mistake he had made was in letting Sonny have any say in anything.

When Danny Messer ended up being protected by one of Sylum's Hunters, they had collectively told Paul to fix it before he came back to the Board. Victoria had even shown up to help him out, but he never returned.

Later it had proven that he'd been killed by none other than Mac Taylor.

Victoria returned to the Board with a considerable amount of information that could help them in future planning.

Her own star was ascending.

And that was just the way it was.

"Let me know when the money is in our accounts." Frankenstein wanted nothing more to do with that entire situation.

He toyed with his paperwork and looked at the next item on the agenda.

"What have you found out about Eureka?" he asked, fixing his gaze upon Don Jon.

"Dr. Gretts was an idiot," he shrugged. "Security was lax, and he was so enthralled with Alyc that he didn't see the threat coming until it hit him on the head."

"Idiot lost one of my best test subjects," Rowan growled. "Considering this was not the first time we've had test subjects escape, security needs to be revised. Fast!"

"That's like padlocking the hen house after the hens got out." Stane rolled his eyes. "Neither one of the subjects in question knew anything beyond what was being done in their own cases at those particular facilities…"

"But Carter did," Rowan pointed out. "And he's now carefully hidden away in Serenity, and Mated to Neville of all people!" He threw his hands up in disgust.

"Gentleman!" Vondoome raised a single, bored eyebrow. "Neville only has research from the 1970's. Carter was a stupid rent-a-cop. The two of them combined aren't going to find the secrets hidden away anywhere. I actually doubt they can even find their own car keys. So let’s move on to the far more important ramifications of this loss, shall we?"

"Which are?" Dorian asked.

"The fact that Alyc is likely to be reunited with her Mate, Lycan." He glanced around the table.

"There's been no word in the Council or the Clans about the two being reunited," Victor pointed out. "Though rumor has it that the hidden Ancient has truly surfaced, and has been staying with the Council."

"The Original Vampire?" Rowan asked curiously.

He couldn't help but think of what they might learn from him.

"Off limits." Vondoome glared at Dr. Chase.

"You can't tell me what to do," he snarled back.

"You want the Council Hunting you down? Let them have good reason to unleash The Comedian?" Doome smirked over at Adrian, who tried not to flinch. "Then I suggest you back off."

"This is all nice and hearty here, boys, but can we hurry it up? I have a Spa appointment." Victoria sighed and set her nail file down. "Let's see. So far we have that Messer was an idiot, which isn't shocking. He got himself shot in the head before he was blown to bits. Oh my, the old guys are running free." She rolled her eyes. "I think we have more important things to discuss, don't you? For example, the spy that was found in our ranks."

Victor leaned back in his chair. "He was taken care of."

"Are you sure?" Victoria leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "You left it at the hands of that shifty bitch. There is no way she would know if he were Human or Vampire."

"The spy inside was the least of our concern," Don Jon spoke up. "The information lost was nothing substantial and was taken care of. What we need to concern ourselves with, is what we're going to do about our rising population and their sudden independence."

"Use it to our advantage," Angela spoke up.

Stane took the cigar from his mouth and looked at her squarely. "Exactly how?"

"We're paying Stillson to run for President, with Nathan as his Vice President," Petrelli pointed out. "They can use it to defraud Bartlet."

"Expose them to the public." Vondoome grinned. He clearly liked that idea, as it would keep them happy and quiet while everyone else got to work on the real plan. "It's what they want anyway."

Frankenstein stood up and grabbed his papers, seeming satisfied that at least something positive had come of all the bullshit. "Take care of it," he said simply, stalking out of the room, snapping his fingers for his PA.

Royce rose hastily from his seat, grabbing his own notes, and following his boss like a loyal puppy dog.


~ New York: Petrelli Townhouse - Afternoon ~


Nathan leaned against the wall and looked out over the city.

He loved New York, its people, its history, its buildings and its politics.

It had a vibe that just sang through him.

Politics had been a part of his life since he was a child. Momma Petrelli always told him he would change things. She'd told him he would be the one to have the Petrelli name whispered in awe in all those high places.

He believed her.

And he did whatever she wanted, whenever she ordered it.

The few times he hadn't, it had all fallen apart.

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open, taking out a worn and much loved picture.

Claire.

His beautiful daughter.

She was a secret that even his mother didn't know about. In fact, barely a handful of people knew of her existence at all, and he planned on keep it that way, which meant making sure Momma got what she wanted, even if that meant smiling right there at her side as he accepted the Vice-Presidential Nomination for the Republican Party, giving up his seat in the Senate that he had worked so damn hard for.

"Deep thoughts, brother?"

Nathan turned and smiled at Peter. "As always. That's why I keep you around, to make sure I don't fall into the well."

Peter walked over to him, giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze before leaning against the wall opposite. He frowned. "What are you thinking about?"

"My latest meeting with Stillson." Nathan looked back out over the city.

The moment he had first met Gregory Stillson, he instantly disliked the guy. There was something about him that set every alarm in his head off, screaming: bad, evil, run away, now! But his mother had pushed hard to get him the VP Candidacy, and if he walked out just because he had a bad feeling, it would be hell in the Petrelli household.

Probably for a long ass time.

So Nathan worked to make sure he didn't have to spend a lot of time on his calendar with Stillson, but it was difficult considering they were supposed to be campaigning for the same party. Though the fact of it was, he honestly felt they had no chance against Jed Bartlet.

The current President had a very high support rating in the 'shares our values' column, and despite all those issues with his health the Republicans had been the ones to come out of it looking like rabid Pitbulls bullying a sick man. Besides, Bartlet was infamous for standing his ground on every proposal currently in play, and not backing down, especially in the last few months.

Nathan even himself admired the man, for his strength in dealing with the kidnapping of his daughter. He couldn't imagine what Bartlet had gone through during that whole nightmare.

If his Claire had been taken…

"What about Stillson?" Peter asked with a sneer.

He had made his own contempt for the man quite well known, to the point that Mama Petrelli refused to let Peter attend any more public gatherings with the family. It wouldn't look good if the brother of the VP Candidate was growling at the Presidential Candidate where every press camera and journalist could see him.

"He had this manic gleam in his eyes." Nathan stared long and hard at his reflection on the window, thinking back to the meeting he had just come from…

"Nathan!" Stillson reached out, gripping his hand and giving it a firmly solid shake before smacking the back of his shoulder. "Glad you could come by. Sorry it was such short notice."

Nathan just nodded. "You said there were concerns about campaign strategy?"

"Yes. Yes!" Greg moved across the room. "Drink?" He held up a tumbler full of Scotch, making the ice cubes it held start rattling.

He shook his head. "No thanks."

Stillson shrugged and fixed himself a little more before sitting down on one of the soft leather chairs and sighing. He unbuttoned his five thousand dollar suit coat, and made himself comfortable. "Come on, relax! This is a nice hotel here! You are seriously too uptight."

"One of us needs to take this seriously," Nathan replied calmly, as he finally sat down across from his running mate. "What did you want to discuss with me?"

Greg gulped the rest of his drink then leaned forward. "I just need to know you'll back me."

"I'm your VP, of course I'll back you." Nathan gave him a standard, neutral type of reply, feeling like a man caught in Vegas counting cards.

"Of course you are! Your Momma made sure if it. No one was going to dare tell her that her son wasn't going to be VP of the United States of America." He chuckled darkly, though he clearly hadn't intended it to be that obnoxious. Nathan kept quiet, just waiting for the man to continue. "I've got some things planned. All you have to do is play along with it, and everything will be fine. Minimal briefings to the staff."

"Things planned?" What the hell kind of campaign strategy was that? Things planned? Nathan scooted forward in his chair. "Bartlet is well liked…"

"He won't be after I get done with him."

Nathan frowned. "We're not doing a smear campaign. We discussed this. It will make us look like we don't have any real stance on the issues."

"This…" Stillson leaned back in his chair, grinning smugly. "This will make all the other issues vanish overnight."

"What the hell?" Peter demanded.

"I have no clue," Nathan shrugged, totally agreeing with his brother's shocked expression.

"This isn't good, Nate." He stepped forward, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezing. "I don't like him, and…"

"Right now we just wait and see." Nathan placed his own hand over Peter's, patting it gently. "I need to know you've got my back."

"Of course. Always."


~ Washington DC ~


Jed Bartlet sat behind his desk and surveyed the room as his senior staff came in and took their customary seats.

They were getting down to the wire, with only two months until the election. So far, the numbers were all showing in his favor, but he seriously didn't trust Stillson. The man was a total sleaze, and that was saying something given that Jed had met some pretty underhanded political operatives in his time.

Since the announcement was made that Stillson had won the Republican Nomination from out of nowhere practically, they had been working overtime to prepare for anything - including exposure of the Clans. Nick had sent his Advisor to the White House to talk with the President and his team. Jed had met with Timothy Quinn briefly once before, while visiting Sylum Manor, for a private fundraiser, and while there was so much else he wanted to discuss with the Irishman, he still had a country to run and an election to fight.

"So, what else can you tell us about Stillson?" Bartlet asked. "There is nothing on him."

"That's the problem!" Toby exclaimed, the frustration he was feeling, finally winning out. " He has no political history. Not a thing. He's never been in office, anywhere. Not even Class President! But he got the Republican Nomination. How does that happen?"

"We're discovering that he has connections to some very influential Vampires," Speed spoke up, quietly but with authority.

"Angela Petrelli is a Vampire?" CJ asked, slightly shocked.

"No," he answered, shaking his head quickly.

"Thank God! That's one woman I don't want to have to deal with for centuries!" Sam snorted. "But how does she fit into this?"

"Her husband worked for Victor, and when he died she got in close with him, getting the backing she needed to launch her son into the political arena," he replied, then sighed heavily.

He had talked with Bruce before heading to DC.

Since Nico's kidnapping, both he and Tony had started getting more involved with the tiny details necessary for running and maintaining a Clan. Tony had started working closely with Horatio and Jethro over tighter security, and the very obvious need to know where exactly their enemies were located.

Speed had never been one to plan war though. He was more the type to go talk to those in the shadows. He knew without doubt that he only understood a small tiny sliver of the in-depth network that had been set up for such matters, but it was enough to know that Stillson was only a front-man. There was something more going on, than just having that little twit dabbling in politics again.

"The sources I've been in contact with, indicate that Nathan Petrelli is not nearly the momma's boy he may appear to be," Tim informed them. "He's close to his brother, Peter, who is also known for not always doing what Angela wants."

"Think we can turn him against Stillson?" Toby asked hopefully. "A running mate suddenly quitting, could kill a campaign."

"I think he is someone to keep an eye on," Speed agreed. "But your main focus should be not on what Stillson is doing. Focus instead on what he's planning."

Tim had many regrets scattered through his life. He had learned an important lesson from each of them though, taking such moments and trying to make sure he didn't regret the next one.

Stillson had used their history with each other, to get himself Turned, claiming he wanted to explore and learn new things, use his vocation to enrich people's lives, and become a better man for God. In the end, it turned out that the whiny conniving bastard really hadn't changed all that much over the centuries. He sought power for sure, but only if it was easily attainable. He liked to mess with people's heads, slew their perceptions, manipulate their feelings. And he was very good at it. But his true intentions came out to play one night for all to see, in a tiny village in Wiltshire, England, in The Year of Our Lord Fifteen Hundred and Ninety Nine.

And he'd ended up almost destroying Nico because of it.

Timothy Quinn had never forgiven Stillson for the role he played that night.

One day he'd make him pay for it.

Though he realized he might very well have to fight his Mate for that particular privilege. Horatio had a long memory when it came to those who hurt his family, and Stillson would pay for killing Suzy, at least as far as he was concerned.

"You need to find out who's behind him." Speed shrugged. "All I can really tell you is that he'll use anything to his advantage and he doesn't care who he runs over to get what he wants."

"And he wants the Presidency." Jed frowned.

"He wants recognition and power." Tim stood up, giving them a small smile. "My best suggestion? Focus on Petrelli and be prepared for anything, including sudden questions about Roman Generals."

"Can't we just kill him?" Toby asked.

Speed paused. "If I found him before election day…"

"Hey! No talking about taking out political rivals in the White House!" CJ glared at them both. "At least not in front of the President."

"Deniability." The President just grinned, totally imitating Josh Lyman. "Gotta love it."

"Well in that case, it's been a pleasure talking with everyone." Tim gave a quick salute to Jed. "Pleasure speaking to you, Mr. President."

Bartlet smiled brightly. "Next time we need to talk Ireland, and bring some photos of those twins of yours! They must be getting big."

"They'll be two, end of next month." He chuckled to himself as he pulled out the picture he had in his wallet, and handed it over to Jed.

"Aw! They're beautiful." Jed smiled at the image, remembering his three daughters, and contemplating his grandchildren. "They grow up so fast."

"That they do." Toby grinned too, thinking of his own particular set of twins. "Just wait until the 'terrible twos'."

Speed laughed as he took the picture back. "That's when we let the Uncles who kidnap them, keep them."


~ New York - NYPD Morgue - Night ~


Sid finished up his notes on the last Autopsy, just as his orderly brought the next victim in for him.

He would make sure his colleagues got his final findings, and he made a special point of singling out the peculiar markings he found on the victim's scrotum. Sometimes, what people did for kinks still amazed and fascinated him all at the same time.

"Hey, Sid."

Hammerback looked up from his paperwork and grinned. He was always happy to see the CSIs, specifically the special ones.

Sid missed Danny and his sense of awe, and Mac's strangely dry humor. But both men were happy in Miami, and he in turn was happy for them.

The last time he'd visited had really showed him how much the two Vampires had found chance to heal. The city seemed to good for their careers as well as their relationship. Their latest trip to New York however, had been filled with tragedy, and of course his own death.

Then his old colleague Sheldon Hawkes, had been killed at a crime scene, pointlessly hit by a bus.

And suddenly the city was holding far too many painful memories for him to deal with on a daily basis, so he was seriously contemplating a move too. A change was meant to be as good as a rest. Or so the saying went…

Sid had been there that fateful day, and seen with his own eyes what the pain and horror of losing Aiden had done to Danny.

She had come down to the Morgue to pick up him so they could go have lunch. They were a good distraction for each other, both worried about Blade and Nick. But with no apparent warning she had simply gasped, fallen to her knees and in the passing of a single, soundless second, she was gone. Sid had simply stared in shock as Danny screamed.

It was Flack's quick thinking, and his understanding of what was going on, that meant he could contain the situation, yelling for Stella to get Mac and close the area.

Once Don explained what happened, the realization sank in that Danny had also lost Blade.

Mac had taken his Mate away from the lab after that, and two weeks later they resigned.

Best decision ever, in Sid's opinion.

Though he missed them both.

"Lindsay! Just the person I wanted to see." He handed her the report he'd just put his final seal on.

She arched an eyebrow and looked at the notes that were thrust into her hand. Then she arched the other eyebrow, and grinned at Sid. "Really?"

"Kinky."

"I'll say!" She set the folder down. "Anything on the next guy?"

"Haven't opened him up yet." Hammerback slipped his glasses onto his face. "What was the scene like?"

"Not my scene. The new kid got it, but then had a family emergency…" She pulled the next folder out of the stack for her friend.

"Again?"

"Eurgh! Don't get me started." She rolled her eyes before scanning the preliminary report. "Shooting down at the docks. Head shot. Guards thought it was kids with firecrackers."

She looked over at the body just as Sid pulled back the sheet.

"Fuck!"

Lindsay didn't swear very often, so she figured that said it all.

She couldn't believe they actually had Sylum's Clan Advisor in the Morgue.

Scrabbling in her pocket, she reached for her phone, knowing exactly what to do in such an emergency, having memorized her latest contact list, just as a safety precaution.

"I'll call Janet and Jack." She dashed out of the room. "Take care of…" She waved a hand at the body. "Call House!"

Sid nodded then looked down at the wounded Vampire. "Don't know what happened here, but you are going to have one hell of a headache, and a seriously pissed off Mate when you wake up."

Sid moved over to his desk and dialed his old friend. It wasn’t a happy greeting that met his worried ears.

"Don't get grouchy with me, House. I have a situation going on. Yes, it requires you to come to New York. Immediately. It's Speed. He's on my table." He yanked the handset away from his head as Gregory House yelled loud enough for most of New York City to hear his ire. "So, I'll see ya soon?"

Sid put the phone down, worried he might have gone deaf from all the expletives, and wandered back across to the Morgue to look once more at the Vampire lying before him.

"Well, he's pretty pissed. And he told me to tell you to not move until he gets here."

***


The moment she heard her Mate mutter the words 'Speed' and 'Morgue', Janet was up and dressed.

Jack nearly threw the phone across the room as he grabbed for his jeans.

"That was Lindsay Monroe."

"What is going on?" Janet demanded. "Speed is supposed to be in DC."

"There was a shooting on the docks. Victim took a shot to the head. No one realized who they were dealing with 'til they got him to the damn Morgue," Jack told her, as he pulled on a shirt and tried to hunt down his jacket and keys at the same time. "Grab your helmet. The bike will be quicker."

She grabbed her own jacket from the closet, and handed him his as she followed him out the door. "Still doesn't explain what he's doing here."

"Guess we'll have to ask him when he wakes up."


***


Janet ran down the corridor toward the Morgue, only sliding to a stop when she nearly collided with House. She glared at him, trying to figure how he got there before she did, but then decided it wasn't worth the effort required to find out.

Instead, they both slammed through the doors together and headed straight for Sid.

"Is the bastard awake?" House demanded.

"Not yet. And do we want to know how many traffic laws you just broke?" Sid eyed his friend over his top rim of his glasses.

"Don't ask," Gregory growled.

Hammerback snorted, and motioned for them to follow him. "I put him in the back room and prepped some blood."

Both Doctors had questions about the situation, and wanted to know who was investigating, but were more concerned for Speed…

"That's not him!" House stared at the man lying on the table, a deep frown forming between his eyebrows. "Don't tell me we found a descendant only to have him turn up dead?"

Sid shook his head. "He's definitely a Vampire. The wound is healing."

Janet stepped up to get a closer look. That he was a descendant of Speed's certainly went without question, but he seemed older, at least physically, and she could see the subtle differences; his face was slightly more angled and sharp at the chin, and his hair was also more a dark brown than the jet black of the Quinn family's Irish heritage.

She felt hugely relieved. Yet not. "So, if this isn't Speed, who the hell is he?" She asked the million dollar question.

But no one had any answers.

"I could have him fingerprinted, but he doesn't have fingerprints," Sid said simply.

And House nearly choked at the first thought that ran through his mind. "Yeah, okay. That's weird."


~ New Jersey - Early Morning ~


Lindsay watched as they loaded the unknown Vampire into the back of Alan Tracy's ambulance.

She sent a small wave to the Paramedic she had gotten to know really well over the past two years. He'd become a friend. A close one. And it was relief to see a friendly face when there was too much stress happening. But all she could do was wait, and hope to discover if there was a name to the face that wasn't Speed's yet looked so very much like him.

Her job was done, and it was time to get back to work. She'd have the shooting shelved as a miscommunicated report, and go with the 'kids letting off fireworks' theory.

Janet gave her Mate a quick kiss, and then got into the back of the ambulance.

Jack closed the doors and gave the vehicle a hefty thump to indicate they were good to go.

The two of them then stood together on the back loading bay of the NYPD Morgue, and watched it leave.

“Would you keep me posted on what's going on?" Lindsay glanced over at the District Attorney.

McCoy nodded. "Thank you for being so swift with all this. It's helped. I'll give you a call the moment Janet contacts me."

He gave her a brisk nod, then headed for his bike.

He needed to call Hannibal and put him on alert.

His gut told him to be prepared.

Something hinky was going down.


***


House left the Morgue, and was heading back to New Jersey before the ambulance even arrived to pick up their mystery patient. He had already called Wilson to get one of their private rooms prepped at the hospital, and make sure they had backup; and pretty much like his drive to New York in the first place, Gregory made record time heading back home. Though he had used every one of his Vampire senses to speed through the traffic and dodge cars, he was still very lucky he hadn't gotten a cop on his tail.

His mind was racing as fast as his bike. The jolt of fear that went through him when Sid had said Speed was on his table…

Intellectually, he knew a gunshot wouldn't kill Timothy, but with everything that had transpired the past few years, his intellect wasn't exactly winning the argument.

Family had become important.

Losing Diego.

Katrina.

The attack on the Manor.

Becoming a godfather.

Nick's kidnapping.

House had begun to spend a lot more time lately, going down to New Orleans, visiting his godson, and being with the Clan. Wilson wasn't really sure how to take his grumpy, sarcastic Mate suddenly being all cuddly.

But there it was.

He was getting sappy in his old age.

House blamed Speed.

Entirely.

And he'd make damn well sure the Irishman knew of his displeasure.

Thankfully, Wilson was waiting for him when he pulled up to the hospital.

He groaned getting off his bike, realizing his leg had stiffened up from the ride, but he pulled his cane from its holder and stalked into the entrance, scattering the ducklings appropriately.

"What is going on, Gregory?" James demanded, following his Mate closely. "All you said is prep a room. Is Speed okay?"

"Not Speedy." He paused in the main hallway, looking at Chase and Foreman. "Get as much blood you can ready. We're going to have a hungry Vampire soon." They just nodded and took off to go do as they were told.

Really, it was nice when they did that without answering back and getting snotty.

"House!" Wilson demanded.

"We don't know who it is," he replied, continuing down to the elevators. "They should be here soon, and hopefully he'll wake up and be able to tell us who he is."

"They?" he asked. "Who's they?"

Wilson sometimes wondered how they were suddenly ending up in the middle of huge Clan situations. They had lived for decades, working at variety of hospitals, content with a few calls to the Manor now and then. But they seemed to be hip deep in Clan Wars, kidnappings…

"Janet is riding with our Speed look-a-like." He turned and eyed at his Mate suspiciously.

Wilson was used to it.

"And he's a Vampire?" he asked.

"The hole in the head was getting smaller," House replied.

He ignored the snark and leaned against the wall. "So what's the plan?"

"Get some nourishment in him so the wound will heal. Then we wake the bastard up and ask him if he has any Irish blood in him…" House grinned slyly. "Well, did."

Chase came out of the elevator. "Room's ready. Ambulance pulling up?"

The two Vampires moved back down the hall to the emergency entrance where patients were offloaded, only to find Cuddy already there waiting.

She frowned, eyes narrowing at the two of them. "Who wants to explain what's going on?"

Wilson pointed to House, who pointed back at Wilson.

She threw her hands in the air, made a loud and disgruntled tutting noise, and turned to the ambulance that was backing up.

The doors opened and Janet stepped out with Alan as they maneuvered a gurney into the building.

Cuddy looked down at the patient, then turned back to her most aggravating Doctors.

"Not Speed," House reaffirmed.

"Then who?" She waved her arms at the pale and lifeless young man who lay before her.

"As of now, Speed 2, 'cause Mini Speed is already at the Manor." House nodded at Janet. "Any change?"

"He's stirring. Once we get some blood into him, everything should start mending," she stated briskly. "So has anyone actually thought to call Speed?"


***


Horatio was curled up in the middle of the bed, holding his Mate's pillows to him as he tried to get a few moments of sleep. He never slept well with Timothy gone. Add on two toddlers who had both decided that 'No!' was their new favorite word, and he hadn't gotten any decent rest in what seemed like days.

Weeks maybe.

Years perhaps…

He groaned when his phone rang.

Rolling over, he grabbed for it on the nightstand. "This better be good."

'Speedy with you?'

"He's going to kill you one day for calling him that." Horatio sat up in the bed with sigh, and rubbed his eyes. "What's going on, Gregory?"

'Nothing.'

Alarms started going off in Horatio's head. "House!"

'Since obviously lover boy isn't in bed with you, do you know where he is at all?'

"He's on his way to Miami." H frowned as he looked over at the time. "What the hell is going on? And don't bullshit me, Gregory. You don't call two hours to dawn unless something is going down."

'It's not something you need to worry about.'

Horatio sighed when the phone went dead.

He hauled himself out of bed, threw on his jogging pants and a shirt, and made his way out of their room to the office. It was one of the few changes they had made to Tim's wing of the Manor when they moved in together permanently.

Between his duties as Lab Director in New Orleans, and Head of Security for Sylum, he needed a workspace close at hand, so they had taken one of the extra bedrooms and converted it for access off the main living room instead of down the hall.

He peeked into the twin's room, making sure they were still sleeping soundly, before heading into the office, clicking the light on low, and making for his desk.

A coffee pot stood on a small near the window. A blessing from Jethro as a housewarming gift, it was more than useful, and he started a pot before flipping open his laptop.

If Gregory House wouldn't tell him what the hell was going on, he would find out for himself. He was nothing if not resourceful after all.

The first person on his list for that area of the country was Hannibal.

"Good morn..!" Horatio held the phone away from his ear when the Hunter yelled at him violently. "You can blame House. He called me looking for Speed."

'Well I've been up all night trying to figure out what's got McCoy's undies in a knot.' He yawned over the mouthpiece of his cell. 'He has me checking suspicious activities in New York. Do you know how many suspicious activities there are in New York?'

"Oh, I know." H smirked. "What does this have to do with Speed?"

'No idea. McCoy is in District Attorney mode, keeping everything close until he has all his information, which doesn't help me do my job any.'

Horatio frowned. "Well, let me know what you find."

'Where is Speed?'

"Heading to Miami." He hung up and sat back in the chair.

Nick had asked Speed to go talk to Jed Bartlet about Stillson, then Mac had called and asked if Speed could make a quick stop in Miami on his way home.

He got up and fixed himself a cup of coffee, but just as he settled back down, he heard a wail from the twins' room. With a sigh, he set his mug on the blotter and headed for the Nursery, not surprised to find both his offspring wide awake and the room in shambles.

Horatio Caine stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, gazing down at his children. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

"Papa?" Elizabeth looked past her Daddy expecting her Papa to be right there behind him.

He picked her up and held her close as Sean scooted over to him and clung to his leg. "Yeah, I miss him too," he muttered, impressed that his son had toddled across the floor without falling on his butt. "He'll be home soon. I promise."


~ New Jersey - That Morning ~


Janet checked the blood transfer, removed the empty bags, and replaced them with two full ones prepped to be hooked up to the patient. The wound was healed, at least on the outside, but she knew that it could still take quite a while for the brain to re-knit itself properly. How long such a complex organ might require to fully reconnect and reboot itself, varied widely depending on the Vampire.

Two years ago when Eric Delko had been shot, it had taken just a couple of days for him to physically heal and regain motor function, and about a month for him to get everything back, including memory and recall. But it had taken Lieu barely a week to recover from the headshot he received when defending a hospital from Rogues back in Egypt.

Theory from Vampire Clan Doctors was running toward the idea that the older the Vampire, the easier the repair. The body, its muscles and bones, knew exactly where to go, and what nerves and paths they need to fix, and what fitted together where and why, and could do it a lot swifter if they'd been doing it for decades, if not centuries. Then there were added complications about how physically fit and in good shape the subject was prior to receiving the injury, as well as questions about viable healing depending on which sections of the brain were most immediately affected.

Janet looked down at the Vampire in the bed.

They had no idea how old he might be in Vampire terms, or what his healing time would be like, but he at least appeared from the rest of his physique to be in a fine state of health. Luckily the wound he had sustained was a clean one, and not explosive enough to have taken out the back of his skull.

Gregory marched into the room, leaning on his cane and frowning pensively. "How’s Speed Two doing?"

"We're getting there," Janet informed him, as she set the empty bags in the hazmat container. "He's had five pints. He should wake soon."

House slipped on some gloves then gently moved the Vampire's head, feeling around the back of the skull, only finding a small indention left in the bone and soft tissue. "He's not too old, but not a baby either. Judging from Hammerback's assessment, he's been down about 48 hours now."

"So he really should be waking up." Janet reassessed her patient. "He has no other injuries. Jack's got Hannibal asking around in New York but he's got nothing yet, and Horatio has already called Hannibal. I guess you weren't too subtle when you called the Manor."

"Yeah, well the moment the redhead sniffed out something was off…" House tossed the gloves and leaned against the wall. "Even I don't have enough connections to figure this one out."

"Jack's got calls out to Tallikut, Vecchio specifically," she answered.

Gregory gawped at her incredulously. "There is no way Fraser had a Speed look-a-like without Sylum knowing about it."

"Only way no one would know about him at all, is if he was hidden by the Council," Janet pointed out. She had found herself with a lot of time to think about the problem. The Clan had been shocked as hell when Lucas showed up, Speed not knowing anything about having descendants anywhere in the world. That meant there was no way Nick or Tim knew about their current patient. "So where is Speed?"

"DC. But he should be landing in Miami right about now."

A moan from the bed pulled their attention back to where it properly belonged.

The Vampire in question blinked a few times, clenched his fingers in the blanket that covered him, then opened his eyes fully.

Startled, he scooted back in the bed and stared at the two Doctors looming over him.

Too many images were all jumbled in his head.

"Plantain."

Janet glanced over at Gregory, who just shrugged.

"Okay Speed Two, who are you?" House growled.

Janet poked him in the ribs for being so gruff about it.

"Plantain," the Vampire repeated, frustrated and confused.

He then demanded in no uncertain terms, to know who they were, and who they were working for.

House groaned, and rolled his eyes heavenward. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

The Vampire glared at them, and yelled his questions again in perfect Russian.

"I'm calling Speed!" Gregory stormed off, flipping his phone open.

'What?'

"I have your twin. He's lying in my hospital spouting off in Russian. Care to explain?"

'Yev?'

Gregory stopped in mid-stride. "Wait! You actually know about this guy?"

'Ish,' Speed answered hurriedly. 'Make this quick. I've got to meet Mac and Danny then get back on a plane and head home. I miss my Mate and kids.'

"That's too bad. Call said Mate and tell him you're going to be late. I want you here in New Jersey to discuss your Cold War Counterpart we're currently nursing back to sanity." Gregory pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to find Munch, see if he can't translate."

Stood at the back entrance of The Orient Hotel, Speed sighed.

There was a car waiting for him, provided by the Management so he could drive out to the lab and meet with Mac. He really didn't have time to go up to New Jersey and deal with another situation.

Actually he didn't want to.

There was a difference.

"Why do you have him anyways?" he asked.

'He was shot down on the New York docks. Sid threw back the sheet and called the cavalry,' House explained. 'How do you even know this guy? I mean, no one knew about Mini Speed,' Gregory pointed out. 'And that included you, if you care to recall.'


~ Flashback - 1951 ~


It was bitterly cold in New York during the month of December, and he couldn't believe Bruce had dragged him out of New Orleans to help him with a 'special' project.

A project Bruce wasn't telling him anything about.

Which was just annoying as hell.

"If this has just been to get me up in New York playing spy, we're having words." Timothy eyed the other Vampire archly, but Bruce simply laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You needed to get out of the Manor. Live a little."

"It's cold," he pointed out. "And I've lived enough, thank you."

Bruce stopped on the sidewalk in front of his friend. "The War was hard on you…"

"It was hard on everyone," Timothy growled lightly, not wanting to discuss old news.

The War had been over for years.

"Humor an old man, and just relax. We're in New York." Bruce waved his arm around as though encompassing the bustling city in a single gesture. "We'll get some good food, see a play, you can get lost in the library…"

"Fine!" he smirked. "I'll let you play your mother hen routine."

"Good, because I wouldn't want you to go back to Nick empty handed." He grinned wolfishly, as they headed down the street.

They'd just got to Grand Central Station, when Bruce paused. "Look, Tim, I need to take care of a few things. Meet me over at Dulcie's in an hour, okay?"

He shook his head, waving his hand to shoo him away. "Okay fine! Go do your secret meeting." Spinning on his heels, he admired the bustling platforms for a moment before heading back out to the street.

There was too much noise in the place for him to find somewhere he could just sit and try not to freeze.

And Bruce had already vanished by the time he opened his mouth to make a rude comment.

So he wasn't exactly paying much attention to where he was going, when he turned a sharp corner and ran straight into someone else.

"I'm sorry…" Timothy stepped back apace and stared at the face that was in turn staring at him.

His very own face.

Like a reflection without a mirror.

"No, I apologize…" The other man paused, then startled when he realized not only did the man look like him, he was just like him in Nature too. "You're..?"

Timothy grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the crowds, pushing him into a small enclave at the end of a narrow alley. "Who are you?"

"Yev," he answered with out thinking. "I should ask the same of you."

"Timothy. But lately friends have been calling me Speed." He looked his doppelganger over with great intensity, seeing the subtle differences between them. Yev's hair was dark brown not black, and his eyes were more hazel. His build was smaller, leaner too. Speed detected a slight accent, and in a low tone so passersby might not hear him, asked simply, "Who's your Sire?"

"Catherine." Yev shook his head, berating himself for falling for the stupidest trick. "Can we talk in private?"

"I think that might be wise."

There was a small shop a few blocks up from the Station.

A family of Chosen Ones owned it.

Nothing untoward happened on the way there, which really rather relieved them both.

To all intents and purposes, they were two brothers on a busy street.

Nothing more.

The family they were looking to, lead them unerringly through their establishment and into a back room, allowing both Vampires to take the necessary nourishment they needed, before leaving them in peace for as long as they needed privacy.

"You're the reason Bruce is here." Tim rolled his eyes.

The notion of spies being everywhere, do anything, blending with the crowd and going unseen was not new, but it was novel for the 20th Century on such as scale as was currently estimated.

"My new contact." Yev nodded, drinking the coffee that had been so thoughtfully provided for them. "I got turned around on the platform, then some Cops were giving me the eye, so I got out of there."

"Then we'll finish up here and head back to the Station. You meet Bruce, and we'll act like this never happened." Speed grinned over at him. "I have a feeling that we weren't supposed to meet anyway. So we'll make sure no one knows."

"We must have a family connection somewhere," Yev pointed out.

There was no way they didn't.

"When were you turned?" Tim asked curiously.

"Six months ago."

"There must be a family line that split and went to Russia," he pondered, wondering if he could find it somehow. "Either way, you’re a Quinn in my book."

Yev wasn't entirely sure what he meant at that point, but family was something he had little real experience of, and something he was learning a lot more about with Catherine.

He smiled softly. "I should like that."

Speed downed the rest of his coffee. "And so should I. If you need anything, ever, you can contact me at Sylum Manor. Bruce will tell you all you need to know about Sylum."


***


'Wait! So you randomly met this guy on the streets of New York?' House asked, somewhat in shock. 'Only you. I swear.'

"His name is Yevgeny Tsipin, and you need to contact Catherine in Moscow," Speed informed him, as he stepped out into the alleyway. "Let me go talk to Mac, then call my Mate and tell him I'm not coming home. He'll probably start speaking English once he settles down."

'See you soon, Speedy.'

Tim sighed. "One day, Gregory."

'Yeah, yeah.'

He flipped his phone shut and headed to waiting vehicle.

As far as he was concerned, the entire day was just getting worse by the minute, though he couldn't help but wonder what Yev was doing in New York again. The last he'd heard of him, he'd been back in Russia working on something after the Iron Curtain came down, though that was admittedly, quite a few years back.

He figured he should probably give Bruce a call once he got to the Lab.

Whatever Mac had to tell him had better be good news, and worth the aggravation.

"What the hell?"

Speed looked up to see one of the hotel waiters standing right in front of him. Really, the guy could not have been more nondescript if he tried. "Hey! Back off…"

Stepping away, he raised both hands when the waiter promptly pulled a gun on him.

"Whoa! Look, man! You want the car, just take it!"

Great! Just great!! Now he was getting carjacked. In broad daylight! He was so going to kill House for keeping him talking and not noticing what was coming straight at him. Who the hell were they even employing in his damn hotel lately anyway?!!

"Don't know how you survived," the man growled, and without so much as another word, he put two bullets in Tim's chest.

Speed crumpled to the ground with a gasp, blood pooling out around him, and into the gutter.

The waiter emptied a third round into his target with cold intent, standing over him to make sure he got the last shot just perfect. "That should finish you off," he scoffed.


~ New Jersey ~


Janet paced outside the hospital room, while Munch and House tried to get more information out of Yev.

At least they had a name and some information to go on, which was a good start.

She paused in her walking and listened to her Mate on the phone.

'We've got more of situation than we thought,' Jack informed her.

"What now?" she sighed, wondering why nothing was ever simple any more.

'There's a Vampire tearing up the city,' he said flatly. 'Might be related to our mystery guy.'

"Well, can't we just go to him and tell him we have him? Perhaps it's his Mate?" She seriously believed that it was only ever men who made such things seem much more complicated than they needed to be.

'We can't find him. Hannibal is out searching.' The frustration was thick in Jack's voice. 'So any luck with the Russian?'

Janet peered back into the room, to see House snickering as Munch and Yev stared at each other. Wilson was waiting patiently in a nearby chair.

"I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count."


~ Miami - Late Afternoon ~


The first thing he noticed was that it was cold.

Speed blinked at the harsh light in his face, then moaned at the pain lingering through his chest.

"Did you have to undress me?" he muttered. "It's freezing." He slowly sat up on the table. "And gee! This seems so familiar."

"Do you want me to gasp in shock then start demanding answers?"

He glared at Miami's Chief Medical Examiner. "Just tell me you have some clothes."

Quincy tossed him a set. "Danny went over to the hotel and got you some of your very own."

"Thank you." Speed slid off the table, thankful at least that he'd been allowed to retain the dignity of his boxer shorts.

At the sound of a polite cough, he looked up to see Quincy handing him a bag of gratefully warm blood. "Your mother would kill me, if I didn't feed you properly."

He tugged his jeans up then took the blood packet, downing it in a few swallows. "You are a good, kind man," he said simply, licking his lips and tossing the empty bag onto the metal slab.

He was just pulling his shirt over his shoulders, when Mac and Danny walked into the Morgue.

"You look better than the last time we saw you," Danny quipped, before walking over and holding his brother close for a few moments. He then proceeded to punch him fiercely in the shoulder. "Don't you ever do that to me! Ever again!"

Ouch!

"Damn, you guys have been working out with the Riddick and the Twins!" Speed rubbed his shoulder carefully. "Has Horatio called?"

"Only every five minutes or so." Mac tossed him his cell, and as if on cue it rang.

Speed opened the phone. "I'm fine."

'You were shot three times in the chest!' Horatio yelled, loud enough for everyone in the building to hear just how pissed he was.

"Three?" Tim looked at Mac. "But I only remember two shots."

"Third looks to have come after you were down," Taylor explained. "Calleigh is going over the crime scene while Eric is questioning the hotel staff. Riddick is doing another kind of questioning."

Speed snorted.

'Hey! Talk to me.'

Timothy took the phone and left the Morgue so he could be alone with his Mate for a few minutes. "I don't know what happened, H. It was weird."

'Scared the hell out of me.' Horatio was breathing heavily, agitated and anxious. 'I haven't felt something like that in a while and…'

He knew exactly what his Mate was thinking.

The past two years they had spent living at the Manor had been blissful. All of them together. Everyone safe.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

'Just tell me what happened.'

"I don't know, H, that's the thing. I was talking to House, then hung up and this waiter looked at me. He pulled a gun and shot me. All I heard was, 'That should finish you off'," Speed paused, realizing the significance of that statement. "H, it was like he knew me."

'Someone you put away? It's been two years since we left Miami, but that really isn't a long time.' He could hear his Mate's CSI mind, working all the way from New Orleans.

"I didn't recognize him, but could be possible." Speed leaned against the wall, tired and grumpy. "How's my two little hell raisers?"

'Raising hell.' Horatio sighed. 'It has to be the Delko side. I was never this…' He searched for the right term. '…active.'

Spped laughed lightly. "Surprised you haven't handed them off to Nick."

'I did. He gave them back, the bastard.' His chuckle eased the tension in Speed's Soul. He hated being away from his family. 'I'm ready to call Uncle Dean and let him deal with the hell raiser known as Elizabeth.'

"They didn't feel anything, did they?" he asked, concerned.

'They clung to me, sensing more my panic than anything from you, I think.' He could hear Horatio moving through their rooms at the Manor. 'They're finally asleep. Sometimes you just look at them and…'

"Can't figure out how they can tear a room apart in five seconds?" Speed smiled, biting back the emotion.

He missed them.

Horatio laughed lightly in reply. 'When will you be home?'

"Have to go see House yet."

'What is going on with that? He called looking for you, and Hannibal is either going to smack Jack or let Don do it,' cause he's too afraid of Janet.'

And with that, Sylum's Head of Security was out.

Speed grinned a little more. "I'm not sure. Something about Yev being shot, and they thought it was me and no one knew who it was. So I'm flying up in the morning to deal with that, then home by evening, come hell or high water."

'Who's Yev? Wait. I don't want to know, do I? You just better be home before the kids start going to College. I'll make sure they get to spend some quality time with Grandpa, then I can get you alone and check that you're really alright.' Horatio purred, 'In every sense of the word, in all those private little places…'

"God, I love you."

'I love you too, honey.'


***


Speed followed Mac back to his office. He was not unpleasantly surprised by all the changes at the lab since he'd left, though seeing new faces he didn't recognize was a little odd, and rooms changed for usage, with different equipment buzzing away inside, made him a touch envious of all the new gear they'd suddenly seemed to get.

Still, it felt like a lifetime ago since he'd walked those very halls with Horatio at his side.

"Want to explain what happened?" he asked, when they were finally in private and the office door was closed. "Like why I'm not being declared dead again?"

Mac chuckled. "The call came from your hotel manager that there was a body behind the building in need of special attention. He kept everyone away and kept you covered to make it look more like you were injured, and hadn't really just taken three bullets to the chest."

"Need to give that man a raise," he stated, sitting down across from the desk.

The room was very different from how Horatio had kept it.

The furniture was modern, more glass and steel, and post-modern in design. The framed awards on the walls laid out Mac's career in New York and the US Marines. There were scattered pictures of his old team mates and the new ones too. There was even one of the twins, both sets - Kyra and Jack holding Elizabeth and Sean, all of them looking like they were all up to no good.

"We got you transported here. Quincy got some blood into you, and just waited until you woke up," Mac finished, sitting down behind his desk. "Any idea what this was about?"

"Horatio has a theory that it might be someone I put away, but I didn't recognize him." Tim shrugged. "It was weird, like I shocked him by being there. I wasn't supposed to be there."

"You walked in on a robbery?" He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the possible angles.

There had been no evidence anywhere for any other crime having taken place in the vicinity.

He'd checked.

"No, it was more of a shock that I was there at all, period. Almost like I shouldn't have been alive…" Speed paused, his mind racing with the knowledge that Yev had been shot.

Yev.

Who looked a lot like Speed.

He needed to call Horatio and pull Bruce into that particular conversation.

"We can sit you down with a sketch artist. Or is this case going to need to disappear?" Mac asked, sensing that something just went off in Speed's mind, something he had a feeling he wasn't going to be privy to.

"For now. Let me pull some information then get back to you."

Mac nodded. "Alright. So then, for the reason why I called you here." He pulled a slim folder from the top drawer of his desk, and handed it to over. "We have a situation. Sam Axe, as you know, is dealing with Westen. Well, this guy popped up recently and it was enough of a shock that Sam contacted me for some help. He wanted you to find out if there was any information on this Victor character. I can't get any more but what's already there."

Timothy nodded as he took folder. "Sam seriously just needs to tell Michael the truth," he muttered, staring down at the dossier. He paused at the photograph, then looked up at the CSI who was waiting for him to reply. "Seriously with this?"

"I take it the other Daniel has no idea he has a twin running around?" Mac shook his head.

"He would've told me. How is this Victor involved with Westen and Sam?" Speed felt a nasty headache coming on.

He knew he should never have left the Manor.

"Tied into his Burn Notice," Mac answered. "At least, so I understand."

"Fuck it."

And the day just kept getting better…


***


A Patrolman watched as Mac escorted Timothy Speedle from the building.

The Receptionist had filled him in on who the young man was, flirting shamelessly as she did so.

He ignored it.

There were other things to worry about.

But he soon discovered that a retired Miami-Dade CSI had moved down to New Orleans with another retired Miami-Dade CSI named Horatio Caine.

He was shocked at how very easily the people around them had apparently taken to having a gay couple in their midst, but there was meant to be something about them, so everyone had said. And as the Receptionist confided, just about the entire staff from back then, all got defensive whenever anyone tried to bad-mouth them.

He held up his hands and just shook his head, letting her know he still had the unfortunate experience of working with bigots from time to time.

Open minds and open attitudes were a good thing, or so he told her.

He then gave a quick wave and headed out to his Patrol Car.

Ten minutes later the same Patrol Car pulled up at a secluded warehouse, in a distant and disused part of the industrial zone that had once been used by local shipping, until better facilities were built a few miles further down the road.

The doors swung smoothly open, and it drove on inside, stopping just as the entrance was closed behind it.

The interior was dark, but not without its comforts.

The car door opened slowly, and from behind the wheel, a creature like no other stepped out.

Bright blue scales shimmered with a startlingly alluring affect, as she walked over to an older gentleman who was working at several long tables, all of which were covered in schematics, maps, and plans.

"Mystique! As beautiful as ever." He smiled at her warmly. "What news do you have?"

"We may have a problem." She ran a hand over his chest, then brushed past him, her hips swaying silkily as she moved. "He's still alive."

Magneto's expression darkened severely. "How..?"

"Obviously, he's a Mutant." A voice rang out from the shadows. "Sounds like a breed similar to Wolverine."

"Why thank you, Pyro, for such an obvious commentary." Magneto turned back to Mystique, his voice carrying all the concern he needed to convey at that moment. "How did you find him again?"

"I was at the Station, getting the information we needed for the attack tonight. He just walked by with the Lab's Supervisor, Mac Taylor," she informed him. "His name is Timothy Speedle, and he's in a loving gay relationship with his old boss. Someone named, Horatio Caine. They live in New Orleans now."

"How very modern of them," Magneto snorted. "This Caine must know of his abilities. Change of plans, children. We have more than one Mutant to catch."

"Is there a reason we're going to change weeks of planning for a single Mutant?" Pyro asked, barely holding back his contempt.

"This is the same guy that smuggled information away from our benefactors," Magneto pointed out. "He may well have information that could prove useful to us."

Pryo didn't like it, but he wasn't going to argue. "We've got men set up for the raid. It's all quiet on the inside. They shouldn't be expecting us."

"We're going in fast and quiet." Mystique looked down at the plans spread out before them. "The kid has been staying in the back room. The father has been gone the past few nights."

"And where has dear old dad been going?" Magneto asked. "Is this going to cause as issue?"

Pyro shook his head. "We don't know where he's going. Every night we've tailed him, then lost him. He doesn't come back until morning."

"When he leaves, follow. Closer. Make sure you don't lose him. He cannot double back or come home early." Magneto glanced over at Mystique, and smiled thinly.

"What about the mom?" Pyro asked.

"She'll do exactly what we say." He grabbed his overcoat and slipped it on.

All around them, across the further recesses of the vast warehouse floor, there appeared from the darkness a mixture of hired help and fellow Mutants, all of whom they had rounded up and promised a better life to, and all of whom were loyal and willing to do whatever Magneto asked.

"Gear up!" he cried briskly. "Today is the day. We head out in thirty."


~ New York - Dusk ~


Craig stalked into the bar, the wind whipping back his coat, showing the guards the two guns he wore.

They pulled theirs in return, but he moved too fast, knocking one to the ground, breaking his nose in a single move, before snagging his victim's own gun to shoot the other goon in the kneecap.

He stepped past them, moving through the bar, the back room his goal.

No amount of hired muscle was going to get in his way.

Two more thugs rushed him.

He side stepped both of them, grabbing the smaller one and slamming his head into the bar.

He took a hefty blow across his back from a badly wielded bar stool, but shrugged it off, turned lightly on his feet, ripped the broken remains of the furniture leg from the other goon's hand, and slammed it deep into his broadly heaving chest, before yanking it out and slamming down on his head.

Dropping his momentary weapon on the floor, he kept walking.

The next door in his way, was not a problem.

He kicked it open, ducking back behind the wall as the man he was looking for emptied his gun at him in a wild and terrified frenzy.

Layer waited until the simple 9mm was empty, and moved into the room, smooth and fast.

Reaching for the gun, he snapped the guy's wrist, and slammed him bodily against the nearest wall.

"What the fuck do you want?" his target screeched, scared out of his mind.

"Who put the hit out on the Russian?" Craig demanded, growling hard, tightening a hand around the guy's throat.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" He tried to scramble away, but ultimately couldn't get very far.

"Let me refresh your memory. Dark haired, five-eight, seeking information about the Moon."

His target stilled and looked at the blonde who had him pinned. He barely seemed to have broken a sweat just getting into the building. But he knew the man. He'd seen him in the bar, talking to the sniveling accountant he was so apparently worried about, the one who took payments from local business owners. "Dead. He's dead!"

"You better hope not." Craig tossed him to the ground like discarded trash. "Who was he seeing?"

"Don't know! Dumb schmuck probably took too much money off someone. The stupid bastard got himself shot. His body was found on the docks." He crawled away, clutching his arm.

Craig watched him cautiously for a moment, but let him go, choosing instead to kick the semi-conscious guard at the front door, just for good measure as he left.


***


Don Flack stepped into the bar, surveying the damaging, Hannibal only a few steps behind him.

He blinked, and then whistled at the devastation.

They had been tracking an unknown Vampire through New York City for quite a while, but it felt more like they were chasing him through the destruction he left in his wake.

"Remind me never to get into it with this guy." Hannibal glanced around the room. "He would so kick my ass."

"I'm total telling Bla…" Don stopped his train of thought, and the two of them gave each other a small smile.

It wasn't the first time either of them had invoked their old friend's name by mistake.

With a quick nod, Don then headed over to where the officers called to the scene, were taking statements and eyeing potential witnesses. "I'll see if we can get any more information."

"Who's running the case?" Hannibal asked, just as Lindsay walked into the bar.

"Damn. Now that's a mess."

"Well, you know Don. Can't hold his liquor." The Hunter smirked at the CSI.

Don glared at his Mate. "I heard that. You'll pay for that later."

His Mate gave him a perfectly innocent grin.

Monroe set her kit down, not quite sure where to start.

She glanced over to the rear door. Taking out a flashlight from her case, she started to follow the path of most damage, straight through into the back room. "He was certainly intent on getting what he wanted."

"The bartender stated he was looking for a guy, about five-eight, dark hair, supposedly Russian," Don informed her as he peered curiously into the office. "He did a number on the boss, though not really crying tears here. This place has seen its fair share of drugs and gun deals."

"We sure it’s one of ours?" Lindsay asked.

So far she'd seen one dead from a large puncture wound to the chest, several others injured, and some considerable force used to keep the assailant at bay, at least judging from the multitude of bullet holes in the walls and door frame.

"Not a Rogue, but certainly someone who's not operating in their proper jurisdiction." Don frowned as he reached for his phone. "Flack…" He listened for a few moments then hung up. "We'll send Javier over, then we'll meet you at the warehouse."

Hannibal looked over at his Mate, eyebrow raised.

"Turns out Jack just got a call from someone high up in rank."

"Nick?" Hannibal asked.

"Worse."


***


The moment Craig stepped through the door, he knew he wasn't alone.

But he didn't have time to react, before he was thrown bodily across the room, slamming into the furthest wall, shattering the cheap artwork that was nailed to it.

Shaking his head to clear the momentary fog in his brain, he just managed to scramble to his knees when a booted foot connected heavily with his ribs, cracking at least three and breaking another two.

He rolled away, forcing himself up, one arm gripping his side as pain shot through him.

Fuck.

He blocked the left jab that came at his jaw, but got slammed with a right hook and fell backward, stumbling over the coffee table, to fall flat on his ass.

The fist that hit him, grabbed for his shirt and pulled him back up on his feet again.

Craig's nose wrinkled at the cigar stench that assaulted his nostrils.

"Eddie!" He coughed, spitting blood onto the floor.

"Fucking idiot." Eddie Blake wasn't exactly known for being loquacious. He shoved the Vampire he'd been sent to find, backward over the couch, watching as the furniture scattered cushions and stuffing. "Since you're not answering your damn phone, Lamont asked me to give you a message in person."

Craig tried to get up, but fell back down, wincing in pain, the couch having toppled over against him.

"I'm sure you were just thrilled to say yes." He looked up at the looming Vampire, whose very shadow cast a dark pall across the room.

"Well, I was going to leave a simple note with a little smiley face, but then thought fuck it!" The Comedian snorted as he threw the poor couch aside, and stepped forward, pushing his foot into Craig's chest as he leaned down, causing the other man to sprawl that much further on the debris littered floor.

He pushed again, winning a wheezing croak from his victim.

"Sit. Stay. Good Spy."

Craig glared at him in a seriously pissed off fury. He was going to need some serious blood and recoup time; one of his ribs already tearing into a lung.

"Since I now have your attention. Here's the message. Papa is alive." He smirked. "He's down in New Jersey at the Teaching Hospital, yelling in Russian about some goddamn book. You need to get down there and finally Claim his stupid ass, so I don't have to go chase you halfway across the globe again. Kapish?"

Craig stared up at the fucking asshole who had him caught, struggling in earnest to get away. He had to get to his Mate. Nothing mattered but that.

Eddie chuckled, but finally took his foot of his chest and stepped back.

If Craig had imagined he was going to get a helping hand up off the floor, he was sadly mistaken.

The Comedian wasn't known for his courtesy either.

With a wink and a smugly satisfied grin, he actually dropped a packet of condoms and some lube on the floor near his head, and with that, spun smartly on his heel and walked away, his footsteps crunching on the broken glass that littered the floor.

Stepping out onto the busy city street, Eddie pulled a fresh cigar from the case in his jacket pocket, and was lifting it to his lips when he spied the man who stopped in front of him.

"Clay?"

Javier grinned at the Vampire he'd just about run into, but when he saw the very obvious scar on his cheek, he knew it wasn’t Clay.

Whoever it was just smirked, a dark chuckle escaping as he lit his cigar and puffed on it contentedly.

He gave Javier a wink, then turned and casually walked away like nothing had even happened.

Esposito frowned, contemplating whether to follow him.

In the end though, he decided against it. He already had his orders.

But if there was one thing he knew for damn sure, it was that he never wanted to take on that particular Vampire in a well-lit alley, let alone a dark one. Whoever he actually was.

One glance had been enough to convince him of that, but he'd talk to Poe and Benton later on.

If there was another crazy ass Vampire running around set to tear up the city some more, it was probably wiser not to aggravate him.

He looked at the building he'd been sent to seek, deciding he'd finally reached the right one, and with a sigh he ran inside, dashing for the stairs, searching hurriedly for the room McCoy had sent him too.

The door was open.

And the Vampire he'd been told to find, notable by his bright blonde hair, was right there, bleeding on the floor.

Something more than obvious, told Esposito that the man he had seen downstairs was responsible for the carnage. In his experience, only those who rained down death and destruction on a daily basis with complete immunity to the consequences, could ever smirk quite that evilly and get away with it.

"Can you move?" he asked, kneeling beside him, trying to help.

Craig groaned as he sat up. "I need to get to New Jersey…"

"I know. I'm here to help." He eased the guy off the rug, taking most of his weight as they stood and got their bearings. "Let's get you fixed up, then you can go deal with House."


~ Miami - Night ~


Magneto gave the signal, and the small group he'd brought with him, moved in on the house.

They were deadly and precise, executing his orders with terrifying ease.

The two occupants stood very little chance of escape.

Two hired thugs held John and Sarah Conner down on their knees in the middle of the living room floor.

Pyro stood between them, looking at the pair they'd worked so hard to find.

The boy looked like a typical teenager, badly dressed, slightly geeky.

He couldn't see how a dork like that might potentially save or destroy them.

Sarah looked up at him, utter defiance on her face. "I warn you now, mess with me and all hell will come down upon you."

"Oh, what? Is your hubby going to come back from his play date with some slut, just to save you from evil home invaders?" Pryo sneered at her.

He'd put his best guys on tailing the man of the house.

"He's already home."

Pyro span round fast at the thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Stay here!" he barked at the two guards, who both nodded and merely continued to hold their weapons on the prisoners.

Pyro moved silently across the living room to where Magneto stood quietly at the door, facing into the outer hallway.

He stepped up behind him, his eyes going wide when he saw the scene playing out.

The husband was right there! Stood in the hallway, two of their men dead at his feet, he seemed oblivious to the blood that was splattered on the walls, the ceiling, and himself.

He didn't seem to notice or care that there was blood seeping onto the floor.

A tiny glint of metal caught Pyro's eyes.

In the man's hand was just a simple scalpel.

"Dude, he's fucked in the head!" he muttered sourly.

Magneto merely blinked, the scalpel slicing clean through the man's hand, before it was flung down the hall, to embed itself in the front door frame.

Blood dripped all the heavier onto the floor, the husband not giving any indication that he felt either pain or fear. "Leave my family alone and I will let you go."

Magneto smirked cheerfully. "I admire a man who faces deadly adversity with calm intent." He signaled to the man at the foot of the stairs. "Tranquilize him. We're taking him with us."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Pryo questioned, even as two darts hit the man's chest, dead center.

But the guy kept coming, stepping relentlessly forward, away from the bodies, moving towards them.

Pyro leapt back as two more darts were fired.

Finally the man halted, mid-stride, then stumbled to his knees before falling face first to the ground.

"Grab him and the two in the back. Let's go. We've got a plane to catch." Magneto headed for the door. Enough time had been wasted on frivolous, momentary distractions.

"What about Mystique?" Pyro asked, following him close behind.

"Just do as you're told. And let everyone else do what they're told."


~ Miami-Dade Lab - Evening ~


Mac closed his office door.

He was glad the day was over.

All he had left to do was drag Danny from the lab, and they could go home and spend a nice relaxing evening.

Hopefully.

Crazy people and dead bodies aside, of course.

He looked up from juggling his briefcase and keys, to find Speed walking towards him.

"I thought you were on your way to…?" He frowned as the Vampire approached, a peculiar smell he had never come across before, setting off violent alarm bells somewhere in his head.

"Mac, I had a few questions from before." Speed gave him a small shrug. "Do you mind?"

Taylor dropped his briefcase as he pulled his gun, and aimed unerringly at his friend. "Who the fuck are you?"


Index | Stage Two

Copyright© 2013 by BJ Jones
| XHTML template by arwen54 | Valid XHTML | Valid CSS |