Angst - Wach bleiben müssen (Für’s Team)

[servena]

Titel: Rules are made to be broken
Challenge: Angst - Wach bleiben müssen (Für’s Team)
Fandom: Underworld (if you squint)
Charaktere: Inspector Haynes, Nathaniel
Sprache: Englisch
Team: Schwarz
Kommentar: Das hier trage ich schon eine ganze Weile als Idee mit mir rum, hatte aber gar nicht geplant, es zu schreiben, aber vorgestern fiel es dann quasi ohne Pause aus mir raus… Wie immer nur sehr lose Teil von Underworld, also kein Vorwissen nötig!

Never approach a vampire, for anything. That had been the most essential part of the pact hammered out a few years ago that allowed humans and vampires to co-exist in peace. But Inspector Haynes knows that rules are made to be broken.

Rules are made to be broken

Never approach a vampire, for anything. That had been the most essential part of the pact hammered out 7 years ago that allowed humans and vampires to co-exist in peace. Vampires walked among humans, and while a normal vampire could disappear into the crowd, the deathdealers were easier to make out in their black coats and military boots.
They also had more reason to stray outside of the covens. The war with the lycans was no longer a raging fire, but the embers weren’t yet out completely. The occasional scuffle with them made the headlines every few months, but most of them happened far away from human eyes, and if they didn’t, vampires could be precise shots when they wanted to be. It was a precarious gamble, but so far there had only been one casualty, and he had been the (most likely accidental) victim of a bloodthirsty lycan.
As a show of good faith, the vampires sent prime minister the lycan’s head the very next day.
So they used their subways, drove cars on their streets, walked on their sidewalks. But they never interacted with humans, and humans were encouraged to never even look at them. It was almost like they weren’t even there.
And honestly, who’d want to interact with them? They looked menacing at the best of nights. No one would dare to ask them for directions or for a lighter. Only young children had to be held back sometimes, but they learned fast. And they were taught what everyone else already knew: If you approached a vampire, they were free to do to you whatever they wanted. By this action, you had stepped out from under the umbrella that represented the mortal laws. If your body turned up in the Thames the next day empty of blood, the authorities wouldn’t, couldn’t do a damn thing.
She’s been working for Scotland Yard for over a decade now, she clearly remembered what work (and life) had been like before. Now she’s made it a habit to notice vampires the same way she tries to make out anything and anyone dangerous in her vicinity. Vampires might not be allowed to approach them either, but if there was one thing her job had taught her, it was that rules were made to be broken.
So she recognizes the dark-clad figure in passing while the rest of her brain is focused on the task in front of her: Dark-haired white male, about 6 feet tall, looks like he’s in his thirties, has a gun. Deathdealers always carried guns, no matter the local laws. The fact that they were meant for other non-humans didn’t make her feel the least bit more comfortable about it.
If anyone had asked her a week ago whether she’d ever consider to break that cardinal rule, she’d have said: Of course not. That’s insane. Even if I don’t care about my own personal safety (and suicide by vampire had gotten awfully popular lately), every new encounter further endangered the stability of the pact, and if the pact was broken, all of this would look like child’s play. There weren’t that many vampires (though no one was sure exactly how many), but those that existed were powerful enough that they posed a serious threat for humanity.
But of course, rules are meant to be broken. And her job had taught her that there’s very little you wouldn’t do for children.
Not her own children, since she didn’t have any. This child she had never met, but she had a photograph taken at the girl’s first day of school, and the recording the kidnapper had left on the family’s answering machine. The girl’s crying was still in her ear.
By the size of the last box they had found and the girl’s age, they had been able to calculate how long it would take for the air to run out.
Not long enough.
The old industry site is almost half a square mile wide and dominated by half-crumbling concrete buildings and halls with caved-in roofs. If they’d waited for the permission of the property owner, they’d probably still be standing in front of the gate when the sun rises, but as it were she’d told one of her men to crack the lock and let the department deal with the fallout.
The scent of old chemicals throws of the dogs, so they’ve separated the area into quadrants and assigned each team to a quadrant. But they have to break open more locks and kick old doors in and there just aren’t enough people, not enough time.
She watches the light of the torches move over smashed-in windows and crumbling debris and fights the urge to help them dig with her bare hands. “This isn’t gonna work.”
“They’ll find her”, her partner says. He looks immaculate in his suit like he didn’t just roll out of bed in the middle of the night like the rest of them, and his unfounded optimism pisses her off.
“Not within twenty minutes, they won’t.”
She traces her steps back, goes over the facts again the way she does whenever she’s hit a dead end. There’s something they must’ve overlooked, a clue to her whereabouts or some way to speed this up. There has to be. She flips through her memories as if they were file images in her head: The disappearance, the witness statements, the burnt-out car, the call, the address, the vampire – “The vampire.”
“What?” Her partner looks at her in confusion, but only for a moment. He hasn’t been her partner for over five years without learning the way she thinks. “No. Absolutely not.”
“He’s the only way.”
“He’s not a way – he’d never help us! You’re gonna get yourself killed! – You’re gonna ruin your career!” he calls after her.
But she’s already out of the gate and sprinting down the street. She’s learned a fair thing about vampires since they first appeared, mostly since she believes in knowing her enemy. She also knows a stake-out when she sees one, so there’s still hope that he’s still where she last saw him, waiting for a lycan to make their move.
He is. He’s leaning against the wall of the old brick building, one hand in the pocket of his coat. A less attentive person would think he’s bored, but there’s nothing bored about his posture if you look closer. He must be able to hear the commotion going on even from the other end of the street, but his focus is clearly elsewhere.
She only allows herself the tiniest of moments to catch her breath. It’s not enough time to question what she is about to do or lose her nerve.
“Hey.”
He’s so used to not being approached, he doesn’t even turn his head until she’s stepping right up to him, where she amends her earlier estimation: He’s at least 6.2, so almost a head taller than her. Up close she can tell that he’s handsome, with nice check bones and eyes of a warm brown color, which is somehow not at all what she expected. And he’s definitely carrying a gun.
His gaze passes over her before it turns back to focus on the subway station on the other side. “I don’t have time for any death wishes”, he says in a smooth English accent not unlike her own.
She pulls her ID out of her card, since when you’re already risking your career and your life (in that order) you might as well do it right, and holds it right under his nose. That gets his attention.  “Inspector Haynes. I need your help with something.”
His eyes move from her to the ID and back to her. “You do realize that’s against the rules.”
She holds his gaze. “I do. But there’s a little girl currently choking to death in a buried metal box no 500 feet from here, so frankly, I don’t give a shit about the rules right now.”
Of course, he’s also breaking the rules right now by even talking to her, and she can only imagine what consequences that could hold for him. From what she’s heard, vampires aren’t exactly democratic and still execute the death penalty. She can almost see the wheels turn in his head, although his face remains impassive, betraying nothing. Finally he just says: “Fine.”
She lets out the breath she’s been holding in. She’s seen the bodies of vampire victims in the coroner’s hall, and all his handsomeness can’t erase the knowledge that he could crush her neck like that of a little kitten.
He turns to the radio pinned to the collar of his coat that she hadn’t noticed before. The language he speaks sounds Eastern European, but not Russian, and she’s certain she can make a name out in it because of the different pronunciation: Selene. The answering voice is female and also very unhappy, so she guesses he’s telling her about leaving his post.
However, she doesn’t give herself the time to think about this any further. He easily keeps stride with her as they rush up the street, and she’s sure he could be twice as fast if she wouldn’t slow him down, so she gives it everything she’s got.
The look on her partner’s face as they step through the gate is a mix of shock and horror and if the situation wasn’t so dire she’d take a photo of it so she could look at it over and over again. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she says sharply: “That poor girl’s got fifteen minutes left, so I don’t want to hear a bloody thing.”
He closes his mouth again. She notices how he takes a few steps back and won’t look the vampire in the eyes.
She turns back to him. “Do you need anything that smells like her? We’ve got a blouse and some of her hair for the search dogs.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to do this by smell, there’s too many distractions here. I’m gonna go by sound. Tell your men to shut up.”
It’s almost eerie, watching him slowly walk out into the courtyard, turning his head this way and that, listening intently. She can hear the sounds of the nearby street and the wind rushing through the old oak trees on the other side, but otherwise it’s almost completely quiet. None of her men even dare so much as cough, their torches lighting up the old cobblestones in front of their feet aimlessly.
If I’m wrong about this, I’ve wasted fifteen minutes, she thinks to herself. Fifteen minutes where we could have gotten lucky. How am I gonna explain this to the parents?
For a moment he’s standing completely still the way only somebody who doesn’t need to breathe can. Then his feet in the heavy boots purposefully turn west, taking slow steps at first, then faster ones.
She tries to keep up with him as silently as possible, but he outpaces her easily, reaching the hall long before her. They’ve got equipment to open the old steel doors, but he kicks them in as if they’re made of wood. Inside he stops again, enabling her to catch up to him and regain her ragged breath. He frowns at her, but she holds his gaze and he doesn’t say anything, just waits until she’s quieted down.
“What do you hear?” she finally whispers.
“She’s crying.” He turns his head, then crouches down. “Somewhere below us.”
“There should be a stair well over there.”
The big windows underneath the roof are covered in years of dust so barely any moonlight filters through, but he makes his way over old tools, broken parts of machinery and rubble with ease. Behind him, she switch her torch on to not break her neck.
This time he doesn’t rush, but instead walks down the stairs slowly, listening carefully. Here the air is cold and damp and clouds of dust rise up wherever they step. While trying to stifle her coughs, she muses: It’s probably nice not having to breathe. However, in the light of the torch she keeps finding spots that are suspiciously clear, the color of the wood beneath their feet shining through. “He was here.”
In the end it’s little more than a storage room at the end of a corridor with a rack for tools on one wall. But it’s been cleaned up and the floor is nothing more than compacted earth that’s been disturbed in one corner.
“Hey! I need some help in here!” she yells up the stairs.
“No need.” He digs with his bare hands, but with a speed that is simply unnatural.
She bites her lip until she can taste blood so the “Oh please, oh please, oh please” refrain going round in her head doesn’t make it out of her mouth.
It takes him not even a minute until he hits metal.
They lift the box out of the hole together, although it doesn’t feel like she’s doing much of the work. It’s locked on one side with a padlock the likes of which can be bought in any tool shop. Before she can even look for a hammer, he yanks it off.
The crying is like music to her ears. As they open the box, the face she hadn’t dared to see alive appears within, the blonde hair messy, with a bloody scratch on her cheek and thick tears running over her dirty face, but alive, so very alive.
“I want my Mooommyyy!”
“Alright sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”
She reaches out to pick her up, but the little girl all but flings herself at the vampire, clinging to his coat, still loudly sobbing. He carefully lifts her up. “Alright, easy now. Easy.”
Their eyes meet over the little girl’s head. “You’ll owe me something for this.”
“What?” The repressed anxiety within her at his involvement makes a sudden and forceful reappearance.
But he just tilts his head and says: “I don’t know yet. It might take a while. But I’ll think of something.”
She nods slowly. “Alright.”
There’s an ambulance waiting for them in the yard when they get back up, flooding the night with a bright blinking red. Only then do they manage to loosen the girl’s fingers enough so she’ll let go of him.
“Nice kid”, he mutters as he smooths out his coat.
She smiles slightly. “Yeah.”
She’s feeling generous enough to allow her partner to make the phone call to the parents. Standing here in the cold, watching the girl getting checked out by the paramedics and smoking a long-needed cigarette – that’s enough.
She’s surprised when he silently offers her his lighter, and then lights himself a smoke as well with the manners of a man who has all the time in the world. “So”, he says slowly. “The Grave Digger of London.”
She casts him a quick look. “Do vampires watch TV?”
“I read the paper.”
She watches as they wrap the little girl in a blanket and swab the scratch in her cheek with alcohol. “I really hope she saw his face.”
He turns to look at her. “Why do you think it’s a he?”
Something within her falls into place, something that’s been bugging her since the moment they found her: A little girl that’s been kidnapped seeking refuge in a strange man’s arms. It doesn’t feel right. Unless…
Her train of thought is interrupted by him saying: “So I imagine you won’t be stupid enough to mention me in your report.”
She gives him a sharp look. “Of course not. But there were a lot of people here today.”
“I imagine they won’t be that stupid either. Unless they want to see me again.” He takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales the smoke into the night. Must be nice not having to worry about lung cancer, she thinks wistfully.
Instead she says: “Are you in trouble now?”
He tilts his head. “With my squad leader, maybe. But she won’t tell on me.” He gives her an intent look. “Are you in trouble now?”
She shrugs. “Probably.”
He nods slowly, like that makes sense to him. Then, without any further words, he grinds out the cigarette beneath his boot and starts to walk off.
“Hey!” she calls after him. “I didn’t get your name.”
He throws a look back over her shoulder without stopping and gives her a smile. “It’s Nathaniel.”
She watches as he disappears into the night. Somehow she has the feeling she hasn’t seen him for the last time.