Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King

Author's Notes: This story started off as a much shorter fic, Walked When I Shoulda Run written for the kiss_bingo challenge on livejournal. I'd always intended to get around to writing a sequel to it, and when the Space Pirate AU I'd been intending to write for het_bigbang refused to cooperate (mostly because this one was eating my brain instead), I ended up completely rewriting it and expanding the universe in which it's set. This is the end result.

Thank you to Aithine and catlinye_maker for betaing and to Hiddencait for cheerleading, which kept me going through many, many late night (and early morning) writing sessions. Thanks also go to my artist, Nessa Taleweaver, for her fanmix for the story.

-0-

Sommerfield's virus ripped a hole in the vampire underworld, just like she'd intended. It curled through the air ducts of night clubs and warehouses alike, a silent, deadly killer that dropped vampires in their tracks. It wasn't an easy death, and it wasn't always quick, but it was no worse than any kill the vamps had ever made. They thrashed and moaned, fighting for every breath, gasping and gurgling as the blood in their veins turned black and tar-like, threads of darkness crawling across their too-pale skin until, finally, they fell still and silent.

They didn't burn, not the way that Abby was used to. She was used to a clean kill, to fire and ash and then nothing left behind, not piles of pale corpses, eyes viscous and watery and skin grey and unclean. She thought she'd grown used to death but this was something else, something that seemed furtive and half-dirty, decaying bodies in darkened rooms. But it was effective; she had to give Sommerfield credit for that.

Too effective, it turned out, or at least that was the way Caulder had tried to explain it to her one night after they'd cleansed the scene with UV light, leaving ash and smoke behind instead of rotting corpses. His voice had been rough with exhaustion but his eyes had been alight with something close to an unholy glee. He was too busy worshipping at the altar of Sommerfield's brilliance, fascinated by her little perfectly designed micro-toy even though he'd never met the woman face to face, to pay much attention to Abigail's questions. It took Abby several attempts before she got anywhere near close to what he'd meant, or what she thought he'd meant. She was no scientist - she'd barely graduated high school before she lit off after her father, determined to hunt if only so he'd look at her more than once or twice - but she thought she grasped the basics.

Daystar killed its target too soon, behaving more like a toxin than an infection. She couldn't see the problem with that - dead was dead as far as she was concerned, but then Caulder had explained further, in smaller words this time. The vamps they hit with the Daystar virus didn't live long enough to spread it to others of their kind, and Daystar was too fragile in some ways, burned too fast and furious to be able to spread airborne on its own.

It meant that the remaining Nightstalker cells had to become the vectors for this particular disease, travelling from city to city, then town to town, tracking vamps the way they always had even if the way they hunted and killed was no longer quite the same.

Abby had no problem with it, not when the only difference now was that when they found a nest, they smoked the fuckers first, rolling in Daystar laced grenades until everything evil started dying and only then moving in with silver-laced blades and UV lights to clear up the mess.

The blades were seldom needed. Sommerfield had left them with one hell of a weapon, better than silver, better than garlic. Swift and merciless and as deadly as the vamps themselves.

They hit city after city, leaving chaos in their wake, and bad news travelled fast - vampire society started to fracture right in front of them, the cracks running through clans that had hunted humans for years, secure in their superiority. Now they panicked and fled before the Nightstalkers even hit their nests.

Abby took a certain savage satisfaction in that.

Daystar gave the Nightstalkers an edge that they'd always lacked.

It made them cocky.

-o-

By the time they ended up in some shit little Hicksville of a town in the middle of nowhere, Abby was running on fumes. They all were, exhausted and wrung out after moving down the food chain. They'd shifted their focus from the cities they'd already cleared to clearing the suburbs, then the mid-sized towns until finally they were scraping the bottom of the barrel, down to flushing out the few remaining pockets of vampires, the ones who'd gone to earth, ready to salt and burn the fuckers until the world was finally free of them.

At this rate, they'd end up putting Blade out of a job before the year was out.

It didn't seem like it could be real. They'd fought for so long, and followed in the footsteps of generations of people who had fought and failed, that she could scarcely believe the end was in sight, even if the facts seemed to speak for themselves. It was becoming harder to find anything to hunt these days, and she didn't think it was just because individual vamps had gone into hiding. Maybe Caulder had been wrong about Daystar not spreading on its own, or maybe even vampires didn't want to end up in these scummy little backwaters. Whatever the reason, it was difficult not to get caught up in their own hype, see the lack of opposition as anything but a complete victory.

And if she was having difficulty in keeping grounded, the rest of them were no better - King was almost giddy at the possibility of the end being in sight, too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to be headed anywhere except a spectacular crash and burn. She'd seen him in this mood before, more than once, always when he was exhausted, surviving on little more than sugar and caffeine. She could only hope that this time it wouldn't hit until all of this was over and they had time and space to breathe.

As for the others...

Carruthers was mouthing off, sarcastic, bitchy little remarks that had none of King's off-the-wall charm about them as she bounced around the interior of the van, checking that everything was stowed away securely. She wasn't happy about being relegated to scut work and she wasn't shy about sharing. Hedges had been a damned sight more professional about it, even given his constant sardonic and sarcastic back and forth with King.

God, she missed him, more than ever at times like these.

Unlike Hedges, Carruthers was all bullshit and no substance, and it wasn't difficult to tune her out. Even King was only half-listening to her, his face settled into a faint, sardonic smile that was his usual response to her crap. Abby caught King's eye and wasn't surprised when he rolled his in return. Maybe Carruthers actually bought that he was interested, or maybe she just didn't care, but King's lack of response wasn't shutting her up any.

King's fingers were drumming against his thigh, a staccato little beat that set Abby's teeth on edge, but she knew better than to mention it. Besides, she'd take King over Carruthers - over any of them - all day and every day, and King knew it. Just like she knew that the feeling was mutual.

Carruthers let loose another stream of invective and Abby's shoulders twitched irritably. It took an effort to swallow it down, to let Carruthers' words glide over her, a surface irritation, nothing more. She pasted on her impassive face and let Carruthers make of that what she would - there wasn't any point in getting worked up about it.

Henderson had a different view, or maybe it was that Carruthers had pissed him off once too often. One clatter and thump too many and he came back with a biting remark of his own, one that had Carruthers bristling and rising up to her full, not particularly impressive height, getting in his face.

King's fingers paused, his gaze darting between them as they went toe to toe. She knew him well enough not to miss the speculative little gleam in his eyes, and she sighed. She might keep her distance, learning what she needed to by observation, but King was more of a 'get in there and poke with a stick' kind of guy when it came to figuring people out. If she didn't shut this down quickly, he'd make the situation worse, mostly because he'd find it funny.

"Enough."

It worked - Henderson and Carruthers stopped glaring at each other and turned their outrage on her instead. It made a frustrating kind of sense - she was an unknown quantity, and it was obvious that they'd danced this dance more than once. But she wasn't a snot-nosed kid like Carruthers, or an overly muscled has-been like Henderson - she'd been dancing to a different and deadly tune before either of them had known vamps were for real.

She could take either of them without breaking a sweat, something Henderson obviously didn't appreciate. He took a step closer, his face still red with anger, before he came - or was brought - to his senses. She'd like to think it was because she'd straightened up and pulled on her 'I'm taking no shit' expression, but she had the sneaking suspicion that his sudden hesitation had more to do with King and the way he suddenly glowered, switching from easy-going and semi-lazy to veiled threat in a heartbeat.

She huffed impatiently; there was too much damned testosterone swirling around the room, and she was including Carruthers in that little observation. "Are you done?" she bit out, letting her irritation show.

King subsided before Henderson did, throwing her an apologetic little side look that she ignored. Instead, she made damn sure she stared Henderson down, not giving way until he did. Even then she tracked his movements until he'd finally settled with a creak of leather into one of the battered seats in back before she turned the anger down any.

"We're here to kill vamps," she reminded him - all of them, King included. "Not each other." Henderson turned his glare onto King, which only showed that he was an equal opportunity asshole as far as Abby was concerned.

This time she held Henderson's gaze long enough to drive the message home before she dismissed him, turning her attention back to her bow and ignoring his continued glower. He'd learn, or he wouldn't. She couldn't bring herself to care much about which it would be.

The feel of her bow in her hands soothed her, smoothing out all of her rough edges. She rarely got to use it these days, not with the Daystar being the weapon of choice, but the touch of it was still familiar, the shape and the weight of it in her hands. When she finally looked back up again, King was watching her with a wry smile, a moment of perfect understanding, just one of many that existed between them.

When he realised that he had her attention, he nudged her gently with his foot.

"Wanna grab pizza after?" he asked, leaning back in his seat as though he didn't have a care in the world. He was ignoring Carruthers and Henderson much the way she was doing. There was no doubt he wasn't extending his invitation to them and she suspected they wouldn't take him up on it even if he had been. His smile settled into something sweeter, something meant only for her, and she shrugged, trying to ignore the slow rising tide of warmth his look triggered in her. There'd be time for exploring that later, after they'd won.

It was just another incentive to get this thing done as far as she was concerned.

"We have to get back for Zoë," she said, turning her focus back to her bow, which was a lot safer than meeting King's eyes and risking forgetting herself. The tension was slightly off, and she focused on tightening it, giving King only part of her attention, at least on the surface.

He wasn't fooled. He knew her too well, too.

"Did I say we should leave the kid behind?"

She glanced across at him. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, the way they always were when he found something amusing, and she treated him to a half-shrug. "It'll be late," she offered.

He echoed her shrug. "Like the runt keeps regular hours anyway." He leaned closer to her, his tone taking on a familiar wheedling edge, one that never failed to make her smile. "C'mon," he said. "Live a little, Whistler."

"Fine, but you're buying."

He grinned at her, sudden and sure, and warmth spread in her belly again. She tried to push it back down, stick it away in a little box the way that she always had, but it was a little harder to do that these days. She'd just opened her mouth to say something, anything that would distract them both, stop her from grabbing hold of that stupid Kevlar vest he wore and pulling him closer, kissing the smirk right off his face, when she spotted salvation heading towards them - Caulder, with Sullivan dogging his heels like a disgruntled Rottweiler. The sight of them, the reminder of the task ahead, gave her the breathing space to clamp her confused and conflicted feelings about King back down again, burying them with everything else that was superfluous to the mission in hand.

It was much safer that way, no matter what her treacherous libido told her.

Caulder swung the box he was carrying up into the van, sliding it towards Abby's feet. Carruthers made an impatient, tutting sound in the back of her throat, her hip cocked aggressively, but Abby ignored her again, her eyes fixed on Caulder's face.

"I would like you to do something for me," he said. "If it is possible."

She nodded, not even checking with King before she accepted for both of them. They both owed Caulder a hell of a lot. Whatever he needed, he got.

Caulder's fingers tapped out a beat on the metal floor as he held Abby's gaze. "I need samples. You will need to shield them from sunlight, but I have put containers in with the Daystar weapon. They should serve. The grenades are armed, as usual."

Abby drew her eyebrows down in a frown when he stopped there, not elaborating any further. It wasn't a refusal and Caulder was smart enough to get that, but whatever he had in mind, he obviously wasn't sharing. Abby respected him too much to push it. Yet.

"Just to clarify," King said. "When you say samples, you mean bits of dead vamps? And if the answer to that question is yes, then I've got couple of other questions for you - how many bits, and any bits in particular?"

Caulder actually cracked a smile at that, although it was distracted around the edges. There were lines of tiredness radiating from the corners of his eyes, the dark shadows underneath showing clearly that he was as exhausted as the rest of them. In Caulder's case, however, it was for a different reason, and his exhaustion wasn't overlaid with the kind of anticipatory glee she could see reflected in the faces around them. Except for Sullivan - he was scowling, as usual.

"Any will do," Caulder replied. "I..." His voice trailed off and he wiped his hand tiredly over his face, obviously gathering his thoughts. "I wish to do some... comparisons to Sommerfield's existing samples."

He was speaking Greek as far as Abby was concerned, but she nodded anyway to show that she understood his instructions, as brief and uninformative as they were. Samples she could do, as long as he wasn't asking her to do anything with them once she had them. She was a firm believer in the division of effort - she was more than happy to leave the scientific stuff to someone like Caulder as long as he didn't get in the way of her kicking ass.

"Okay, boys and girls." King's tone was slightly ironic as he clapped his hands together, and his eyes widened comically at her when she glanced at him, telling her everything she needed to know about how ridiculous he found it that he was the one taking charge. "Let's get this show on the road."

With a last nod at Caulder and Sullivan, she followed him back into the van.

-o-

There was something to be said about vampire consistency, Abby thought as they pulled up outside the rundown nightclub they'd identified as a potential nest. King had told her once that it was a side effect of living as long as most of them had - at least the ones in charge. It was a generational thing, he'd said, cracking a grin at her. Something about being old and crotchety and convinced that young whippersnappers needed to mind their place. She'd only half believed him, given his propensity for bullshit, but maybe he was onto something.

Whatever the reason, it made the last few vampires a little easier to track than it might have done otherwise. They had it down to an art form now - just head for the nearest, seediest bar, preferably one with a young, Goth-looking clientele, and start looking for bodies.

And if they wanted bodies, there were plenty of them turning up in this part of town.

The official reports said drug use, but she knew damned well that 'official' couldn't be trusted, not when the official in question stood a good chance of being marked with a clan tattoo. There'd been something off about the pattern of deaths when the Nightstalkers had looked into them, the kind of 'off' that screamed vamp to Abigail, and that gut feeling had moved this town to the top of their list of potentials.

"What do you think?"

King came to stand beside her in the shadows, his eyes scoping out the building in front of them, much as she had already done. She shrugged, checking out the doorways and windows one by one.

"It's quiet," she observed and for once he didn't point out that she was stating the obvious. "I guess they go to bed early in... What's the name of this place again?"

He pulled a face. "God knows. So, what's the plan?"

She hesitated for a moment, still checking out their target. "Same as usual, I suppose."

He nodded, turning slightly to jerk his head at Carruthers. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em," he said.

The look that Carruthers gave him fell firmly in the range of a confused scowl, but for once King kept his eye roll down to a minimum. Maybe he'd spent enough time with Zoë to temper his immediate mocking reaction or maybe he was just too tired to bother, but his tone was fairly patient as he explained, "Let's roll the canisters into the nest and see if we can't kill us some vamps."

The look Carruthers gave him this time spoke volumes, none of them good. She dragged Caulder's box out of the back of the van, cracking it open so that Abby could see the neatly serried rows of virus grenades that Caulder had developed, building on what Sommerfield had already done.

Caulder might not have Hedges' invention or flair when it came to weapons design, but his were just as functional and a little more elegant. Hedges had tended to go for substance over style, as long as substance consisted of armour plating and a fuck you attitude.

She moved out of the way as Carruthers pushed past her, shooting Abby a filthy look. She had no idea what Carruthers' problem was with her this time, and once again she tamped down her impatience at the other woman's attitude. They didn't have to be bosom buddies; they just had to work together.

King leaned against the wall beside her, his attention switching between Carruthers and the supposedly empty nightclub.

"So, pizza?" she asked, sotto voce.

He shrugged, his focus still on the building. "Wasn't sure how Half-Pint would cope with Thai. But what kid doesn't like pizza?"

"I guess."

He tore his attention away from their target for long enough to give her a tiny half-smile. "So it's a date?"

If he'd tried to freak her out by using the word 'date', he'd failed. She wasn't quite that easy to get a rise out of, and he should know that by now. She limited herself to nodding absently, too busy watching Carruthers get into position to pay him much heed. She only took her eyes off Carruthers when she was finally satisfied that they were as ready as they were ever going to be. "Okay, we're up."

They hit no resistance as they sent the first grenades in, hanging back long enough for the vapour to start to rise and fill the air. It was routine by now, and they moved like clockwork, not even stopping long enough to discuss it. Abby was beginning to think that they could do it with their eyes closed - salt and burn, rinse and repeat. If there were vamps in there, they'd already be dying, and the only difference this time was Caulder's request to come back with samples.

That shouldn't present any difficulty.

She went in first, the way that she always did, and the first thing she noticed was how quiet it was, none of the gasps and groans she'd grown used to as their targets gave up on the immortality that they'd fought so hard to cling to. Maybe they'd been wrong about the reason for so many deaths in this area recently. Maybe it really was nothing more than a bad batch of blow.

She felt a momentary pang of disappointment as she swung her flashlight around, shining it in every corner, one she quickly quashed, half-disgusted with herself. She turned, looking for King, ready to suggest they pull out and that was when the shit hit the fan.

Carruthers let out a scream, the high-pitched sound ringing in Abby's ears and disorienting her as she spun towards the last place Carruthers had been. But there was no sign of the other woman and Abby had only taken a single step before something hit her, hard and low, knocking her off her feet and sending her flashlight spinning across the ground.

Fangs flashed in the strobe-like light, snapping towards her face as she finally managed to free her arm and hit her assailant in the throat. Vamp or not, he went down, his hands wrapped around his neck as he let out a gurgling cry.

She rolled to her feet, striking her heel against the floor to release the blade hidden in the sole, but something else hit her before she could get to where Carruthers had been, something vicious and better controlled this time. Fists hit her in the kidneys, hard enough to have her doubling over, the pain leaving her sick and lightheaded. She ducked away from the next blow, stumbling backwards and hitting the wall hard enough to knock the breath right out of her.

Carruthers screamed again, and Abby locked her arms, pushing herself away from the wall and using that momentum to take down the first vamp to cross her path. She followed him to the floor but rolled with it, lashing out with her foot and burying her boot - and the sturdy silver blade protruding from it - into his midsection with predictable results.

He died, screaming and flailing as he exploded into dust and smoke.

She lurched upwards again, calling for King but not hearing any response. And then she had no more breath to talk, just to fight. Her skills were rusty and it was hard going - not as quick to deliver a blow as she had been, and just as slow in recovering from them. She'd been too damned complacent to stay on top of her game. They all had, relying on a fucking antivirus to do their jobs for them.

And with Daystar, they shouldn't have met any resistance - the bastards should be dead by now, all of them. She could smell the sharp tang of Daystar in the air, the way it left a greasy taste on the edge of each breath, coating their tongues even if it didn't kill humans, but the vamps around her weren't dying and it fucking terrified her.

If the Nightstalkers died here, there would be no second line of defence, not with their greatest weapon rendered obsolete. Blade was just one man, and until they'd come along he'd been losing.

She took down the next vamp with the arc that Hedges had built for her, cutting through him clean and true. But there were too many of them - too many for her to cope with and Carruthers at least was down. Had to be by the way she'd stopped screaming. She couldn't see Henderson at all - couldn't see anything in the darkness, and why the fuck hadn't they lit this place up with fluorescents before they'd taken a step inside?

But it wasn't Henderson she looked for, listened out for, even as she fought for her life, losing step by step, finally taken down by a blow that had her seeing stars, blood running into her eyes and blinding her.

It was King, and there was no sign of him.