Title: Isolationist Policy
Fandom: Being Human
Spoilers: Up to 5x05.
Warnings: Angst; swearing; racial abuse.
Disclaimer: Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.

Summary: On the second day of his freedom, Leo buys a hammer and a box of nails, and he walks round to the timber yard.

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Leo manoeuvres the first board into place and bangs in a nail – that ought to hold it – then he hammers the second nail home. One down. He lifts the next board from the pile. The pounding of metal on metal seems to echo down the street, and the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. It's a primal instinct, the sensation of being watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a net curtain twitch: the neighbours are curious, suspicious. A nail bends, and Leo pulls it free and reaches for another. He keeps going.

Leo pauses with the final board lifted half into position. He sees a pale, sweating face, a neck twisted painfully towards the last ray of light, the last glimpse of temptation. Leo holds the wood in place and drives the last nails in. He puts his tools into the old tin box in the pantry. He's not the neatest of men, but he's spent six months being treated like an animal and he's not going to live like one, not now he's finally free.

Free: he snorts out a laugh and stops in front of the door. The door. The one with the chain and padlock. He ought to go inside. He ought to – to what? To check that the vampire is safe, that the straps are holding? To check that he's all right? Leo keeps walking.

Curiosity wins out in the end. Curiosity and fear. The room is in darkness – no, not quite darkness. Daylight slices through the gaps between the boards, razor-thin. Leo holds his breath against the stink and, for the first time since he came to this miserable country, he's glad that the weather is no warmer. Beneath the reek of bodily waste, beneath the tang of sweating rage, Leo scents blood. It's the vampire's blood, still oozing from wrists and ankles where he wrenched and twisted to be free, to see, to tantalise himself with the sight of the people passing by.

Leo still has no idea why the vampire agreed to this; he has no idea why he agreed to this. He said that he would do it, and he will: perhaps it's as simple as that.

Silence. Leo doesn't speak, because he has nothing to say. The vampire doesn't speak, either – hasn't been able to since Leo gagged him. Leo locks the door behind him.

"Get in here, you fucking dog."

Leo's had a bad day; Leo doesn't want to listen to this. He fumbles with the chain, anger making him clumsy, and he glares down at the vampire.

"Didn't you hear me, boy? Are you deaf or just stupid? Another stupid nigger."

All that Leo wants to do is punch the sneer from the creature's face. His hand clenches; he breathes around the swelling anger in his chest.

"I heard worse from the people in town today." But it still hurts to hear it in his own home, from the man he's helping. The man he gave his word to – but that man is a monster and a liar, and surely his promise doesn't count. But it does, it does, and Leo is bound just as tightly as Hal.

There's fury in the vampire's eyes, but he's rational enough not to bite when Leo stuffs the gag back into his mouth.

"Leave the light on," the vampire says, when Leo walks in with an empty bucket.

"Whoever heard of a vampire being afraid of the dark?"

Hal opens his mouth – to speak, to beg – then his teeth clack together and his jaw clenches. He thinks that Leo's doing this to taunt him, to be cruel.

Hal is quieter now, calmer. They both managed to sleep right through the night before, and the world seems a rosier place. Leo will go out again today, have another go at finding someone willing to give him a job.

"I hear their voices in the dark," Hal whispers to Leo's back.

Leo turns out the light. It isn't cruelty: they simply can't afford the electricity.

Leo is persistent. He knocks on the door of Mr Wilson's barber shop, and the man doesn't turn him away as soon as he sees the colour of his skin. Wilson is an old man, with a touch of arthritis in his hands, and he just can't keep up with the flow of customers any more. He needs an assistant, and Leo is cheap. It's just for a day, the old man says – no promises – but Leo goes home that evening with money in his pocket and a chance to go back the next day.

Leo lights the stove and fills the kettle, and he sits on their one rickety chair and listens to it whistle. He finds himself taking two cups from the cupboard.

"There's no milk," Leo says.

The vampire's head startles up, and he looks at Leo as though he's gone insane. Perhaps he has, but Leo can't help chuckling at the absurdity of it. This is the man who held him captive, who sized him up like a prize bull and forced him into that cage, and now Leo's worrying about how he likes his tea.

"Thank you." Hal offers him a soft, uncertain smile. "Black is fine."

It dawns on Leo that he's no idea how the man is going to drink. The simplest approach, he discovers, is to untie Hal's hands.

Mr Wilson isn't a bad man. He even lends Leo the money to buy his own scissors and razor: cheap, but functional, and Leo pays him back out of his first week's wages. He's paid by the week now that Wilson can be sure he isn't going to steal from the till, or rape the lady who works in the baker's next door as soon as his back is turned.

Leo makes sure to be punctual, to be neat, to be polite, no matter what it costs him, no matter what their customers say – and they aren't all as easy to win over as his employer.

"You don't have to work in that place," Hal tells him.

"I do if we're going to eat."

The case under Hal's bed is full of gold bars, but they're both playing dumb about that one.

Even though the straps have been hidden away – even though the newspapers have been thrown in the dustbin – Hal still spends hours sitting in his chair. He gives Leo little trouble. In for a penny, in for a pound: sooner or later, Leo will have to let him out of his room.

"If you have any problems," Leo tells him, "then lock yourself back in until I get home." The chain dangles from the door handle. Leo slips the key into his pocket; all that Hal will have to do is snap the padlock shut. "I'll be back at six o'clock," Leo says.

He isn't.

Wilson has been serving some of his customers for years – for decades, and Leo's mind boggles at the thought – and when one of them turns up just as they're about to close, of course they can't turn him away. And of course it's Leo who ends up staying late. He tries not to keep glancing at the clock. He tries to keep his mind on the scissors in his hand, on the grizzled hair between his fingers, and not – absolutely, definitely not – on what an unattended vampire might get up to on his first day of freedom. Leo's sweating by the time he bursts through the front door.

Hal is waiting for him in the kitchen; Leo's dinner is in the oven. Hal even has the cheek to grin as he hands Leo a glass of beer. Halfway through his steak and kidney pie, Leo starts grinning, too. He fetches another bottle of beer and pushes it across the table towards Hal.

"A man shouldn't drink alone," he says.

Friday; money in his pocket. Leo returns home and his bag clinks as he sets it down on the doorstep. Spend too much, and he'll never be able to afford a shop of his own. Spend too little, begrudge himself the odd indulgence, and a man might go crazy in a place like this. Leo thinks that he's managing that particular balancing act pretty well.

"Hal?" There's no reply. "Hal, is everything all right?" Still no answer, no sound of pacing, no muttered lyrics from some old song.

Hal's room is empty; in the kitchen, Leo's breakfast dishes are still waiting to be washed. The house is silent – silent, but not empty. Leo finds Hal staring out of the window. Not just staring, but pressed up against it, as though he could push himself right through the glass. Leo grabs him by the shoulder and drags him away. He's looking into a pair of black, blank eyes. The vampire's mouth gapes, but he doesn't snarl – doesn't hiss like he's done in the past – just stands and pants, and pulls back towards the window.

"Look at me," Leo orders, but Hal doesn't, and he has to force the man's face towards him with both hands. "Look at me," Leo tells him again.

The vampire closes his eyes, closes his mouth so that the tips of those teeth disappear. Leo holds on tight, feeling the muscle in the man's jaw swell and then soften. A deep breath; another, deeper and slower. Hal opens his eyes.

"I want you to look at me, Hal." Leo tilts the man's chin until those black eyes are level with his. "The real you."

"I can't," Hal gasps.

"You can, or I wouldn't ask it." Hal squeezes his eyes shut. "Take as long as you need."

They stand, locked in that awkward embrace, Hal's body quivering beneath Leo's hands. They stand, while the afternoon bleeds into sunset, and twilight fades into darkness. Leo stands, his body oddly distant – no fatigue, no chill – until a shudder ripples through the other man and his tautness sags. Hal opens his eyes.

In the morning, Leo stands at the gates of the timber yard and waits for it to open. He takes the hammer and the nails out of their tin box, and he boards up every window in the house. Then he puts his tools away and he sits down in the dark.

"Get me some cigarettes," Hal snaps.

"We don't have money for your damned luxuries."

"It's not a luxury. I need them. You can't expect me to give up everything at once."

Leo looks at him by the light of their one lamp. The vampire is sweating, fidgeting, his fingers dancing nervously. He looks closer to the edge than he has in weeks, but Leo's not going to give in.

"There's no money," Leo tells him. Which isn't strictly true, but they're not going to stay in this crumbling place with the cracked windows and the black mould that keeps coming back in spite of all Hal's efforts. Leo has plans, even if Hal has forgotten about them.

"I want some fucking cigarettes," the vampire yells, and Leo grits his teeth.

That night, he dreams of bars and blood and tearing flesh. He dreams that Hal is watching him – watching and grinning. He wakes and thinks that he's back in that cellar, and it's a long time before his heart will stop pounding.

The house is shrouded in endless darkness, and the darkness gets inside Leo's head and crawls beneath his skin. The approaching moon makes everything sharper. Leo snaps at a customer, and the wolf inside him smiles at the man's fear. Hal keeps to his room, stays on his best behaviour, but Leo smells vampire – enemy, prey – and his teeth itch long before the change begins. He transforms in the marshes well away from town.

Leo opens the curtains, and stares at the barrier of wood keeping him in here, and the world out there. Sunday: his day of rest, except there is no rest with Hal in the house. He told the man to keep busy, but he just can't sit there with the darkness encroaching on that one dingy lamp, listening to Hal stacking, cleaning, rearranging the entire contents of their cupboards.

"I'm going out," Leo growls. Hal appears from the kitchen, with soapy hands and a ridiculous apron, like he's Leo's bloody wife. Leo shoves past him, and out the door.

He goes to the pub first, but they refuse to serve him. He has the barman by the shirt front before he remembers why he mustn't do this, before he thinks about what will happen if the police take him in – about what he might do, and what that bloody vampire is sure to do.

There's an off-licence that isn't so particular about its customers, so Leo buys as many bottles of beer as he can carry and he walks down to the beach. The sea roars and hisses up onto the sand and it reminds him of home, of Banjul, of the life he left behind. The life that was ripped away from him one full moon. His new life in this country has been ruined by vampires – by one vampire in particular.

Leo could end this so easily. He's killed before: five times in the cage, and once before that. What's one more life, one more death? Leo shivers; he forgot to pick up his coat. This place is nothing like his home, after all: in this country, there's always a cold wind blowing. Leo opens the first bottle.

He's drunk by the time he sees her, but not so drunk he forgets to be ashamed. He puts down his beer and straightens his shirt. She, too, isn't wearing a coat, but she doesn't shiver. She doesn't seem to be afraid of him, either.

"Can you see me?" There's something shrill and desperate in her voice. "Can you really see me?" He realises that she's laughing.

It's dark by the time that Leo gets home.

The next night, they happen to bump into each other again. It's quite the coincidence. They just happen to have returned to the same spot at the same time. Leo still can't believe that she's a ghost, because she seems so real, so alive. She died young, and he wonders how it could have happened. An accident, maybe, or violence – it would be impolite to ask. It might have been an illness, but she doesn't look sick. She looks wonderful, and this time Leo suggests they meet again.

"Hal, I wanted to –"

But Leo falters under Hal's sharp scrutiny. He feels foolish; he feels like he's having an affair. He tells himself that Hal will take it badly, the introduction of a stranger into their carefully ordered life.

Neither man has a bank account, so the money piles up in a biscuit tin on top of Leo's wardrobe. He's not concerned: there's a vampire with a volatile temper in residence twenty-four hours a day. Well, maybe Leo is concerned, but not about burglars.

So Leo's funds increase, and Mr Wilson tells Leo he's thinking about retiring, about selling the business as a going concern. Leo thinks about how it would feel to have his own name above the door.

He sees Pearl almost every day, and somehow it's easier to go back to that dark house, to brace himself for Hal's silences and his tantrums. For the first time, Leo thinks that maybe he can do this – that maybe he doesn't have to do this alone. He wants to bring Pearl inside – into the house, into his life – but he shudders at the thought of sealing her inside that place of locks and chains and wood nailed up at the windows.

Leo wanders the streets with Pearl, talking about work, about music – talking nonsense in the way that old friends do, and he's surprised when he remembers that he's only known her a few weeks. They're getting closer to where he lives, but he doesn't change their route. They reach the corner of his street, and he can see his house looming darkly up ahead. Leo catches Pearl's elbow.

"What is it?" she asks. Pearl is radiant, and Leo wants her to brighten their darkness.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," Leo tells her.

Hal blanches when they walk in. "Leo, it's started again." He scrambles to his feet, backing away, colliding with the wall. "I'm seeing things, seeing them." He only has eyes for Pearl, but those eyes are glistening with moisture. "You need to lock me up."

As first impressions go, it's not exactly ideal.

Pearl comes back for Sunday dinner. Conversation is stilted, and Leo watches Pearl cast surreptitious glances around the dining room. She can't fault its cleanliness – no one could – but Leo is painfully aware of all its other deficiencies. And then there are the windows.

"It seems wrong," Pearl remarks, "sitting here in the middle of the day with the lights on and the curtains drawn."

Hal bristles at that, but he chews resolutely at his food.

"And that beef," Pearl says, as Leo carves himself another slice. "It's overcooked. It's supposed to be pink in the middle."

Leo sees the way Hal's knuckles whiten on his cutlery.

"Why don't you have another roast potato?" he says.

Hal washes the dishes, and Pearl volunteers to dry. They don't ask her to – it's not the sort of thing you ask a guest – but neither of them says anything when she picks up the tea towel. Hal glares into the sink and attacks the plates as though he's trying to scrub the pattern off the china. He mutters under his breath, something that Leo has come to recognise as Gilbert and Sullivan.

"Do you have to make that racket?" Pearl snaps, and Hal finally rounds on her.

Leo, it turns out, has previously unsuspected talents as a peacemaker.

"Where does she go," Hal asks, "when she's not with you?"

"Her family still lives in town."

"That's not healthy," Hal tells him, but Leo already knows that. Neither of them is prepared to commit themselves further.

Pearl comes back and this time she ends up moving in – which shouldn't be difficult, because she's a ghost and there are no packing crates, no suitcases, not even a toothbrush. But it is difficult, because there's a surly vampire in the house, a vampire who believes that he should have been consulted first. And maybe he should, but Leo can't bring himself to regret the decision.

A week later, Leo comes home to the sound of raised voices and smashing crockery. He never does find out who threw the gravy boat.

Leo buys another armchair, so that the three of them can sit down together in the evenings.

"Do we really need those boards at the windows?" Pearl asks in a stage whisper. She nods in the direction of the coffee table, where Hal is laying out a game of clock patience. "I thought you said he was safe."

"I'm not deaf," Hal says. He doesn't look up from his game, but he turns the cards over with a vicious snap. "And I am safe. It's just that …" It's rare for him to be at a loss for words, and Leo comes to his rescue.

"It's just that we'd all feel happier if they stayed there a little longer."

Pearl rolls her eyes, but she smiles – she smiles at Leo. In spite of Hal's palpable disapproval, Leo smiles back.

"Maybe she's right," Leo says to Hal.

"She?" Hal asks, as if there's another woman in his life – in their lives.

"Pearl, of course." They're in the bathroom, where the light is brightest, and Leo's scissors flash as they snip through the man's hair.

"Right about what?" It seems that Hal is determined to be obtuse.

Leo sighs. "Maybe it is time to take those boards down." Hal flinches and Leo holds very still, sharp blades poised an inch away from the man's neck. Leo instinctively glances in the mirror, but of course he can't see his friend's face. He doesn't need to. "Do you intend to stay in here forever?" he asks.

He busies himself with his scissors again. He's taking Hal's hair a little shorter this time, keeping up with the latest trends. He wants Hal to be ready to go out into the world.

Mr Wilson asks for a private word. Leo knows what it's about, so he puts on his best suit and he shines his shoes. He tries to look serious, to look like a businessman, but he pauses outside the shop to picture his own name above the door, and his smile will keep spreading. There's a flat upstairs, and Wilson gives him the tour. It's not large; it's nothing fancy. But it's modern, and clean, and it's what Pearl deserves. It means that Leo will be his own boss, that he'll get to work his own hours. It means that he'll be there, right there, if Hal needs him. It means that Hal will have to leave the house.

"It's about time," Pearl says, when Leo gives them the news, but Hal excuses himself and retreats to his room.

"This is what I've always wanted," Leo tells him. "And I want you to be there with me. You and Pearl." He hopes that it's not just fear that makes Hal agree.

"I thought we could go out tonight," Pearl beams. "All three of us. A celebration."

"I really don't think that's wise," Hal protests.

Pearl ignores him, turning to Leo instead. "Well, he's going to have to go outside sooner or later."

"She doesn't know what I'm capable of," Hal tells him in response. And it looks like they're back to this again: both of them talking to him – talking through him.

"This could be a chance to test the water," Leo coaxes, and Pearl grins in triumph.

"The circus is in town," she says. "We'd better hurry up. It starts at six."

Later, Leo spends a quarter of an hour picking tiny feathers out of Hal's hair.

"I thought it would be good for him," Pearl says.

"I know," Leo tells her, and he puts an arm around her when she starts to sob. "I know."

Neither of them mentions the fact that they have to be out of the house in less than a week.

Leo taps on Hal's door. There's no answer, but he lets himself in. The man is sitting, silent and rigid, on the bed. There's a trench coat folded neatly beside him, and two battered leather cases standing parallel to the radiator. Hal hasn't met Leo's eye since they sprinted out of that circus tent, but he looks up now, eyes wide and wet.

"Please," Hal begs. "I can't."

Leo smiles fondly. "You can, or I wouldn't ask it of you."

Leo goes to the pantry and takes the hammer from its battered tin box. He tackles the first of the boards, but the wood has grown brittle and it creaks and splinters. He lays the pieces aside. One after the other, he takes the boards down and he stacks them in a pile. The nails have rusted, and they screech in protest when he forces them free. The last board is stubborn, but he perseveres and eventually it yields. He places it on top of the pile.

Leo walks back into a room now blinded by sunlight. "Well," he asks, "are you ready?"