Title: Coming Clean

Author: Meridian

Rating: PG-13 (some language, severe sickness, sexual imagery)

Author's Notes: I have already written a pre-"Blade: Trinity" piece on the rescue and integration with the Nightstalkers of Hannibal King. This isn't necessarily a background piece. It's more focused on his rescue, and a question raised by the films as to what the 'cure' for vampire bites might be like. Of course, it's melodramatic and King-centric, with a little bit of Abby/King shipping thrown in for good measure, so it's not all serious. Enjoy, and maybe forgive me for harping so much on one subject, hm?

Stage 1: Purge

"God, I hate this part," King panted, dropping his head, hangdog style, between his tensed arms. He braced himself against the far wall, fingers going white against the tile there as they gripped for purchase. Of all the Nightstalkers currently at the base, only Abby had volunteered to see him through the first round of EDTA treatment. Sommerfield needed eyes to report the symptoms and responses she couldn't see.

"You've done this before?"

"Couple-couple of times," King gagged, sagging to his knees beside the bathtub. Abby tried to lower him slowly, taking on most of his weight, but he still dropped hard enough to make her wince.

"They've given you EDTA," Sommerfield commented, sounding far away. Likely, she was cross-referencing her knowledge of the treatment with expected physiological responses. None of them had ever rescued anyone this badly off before. Not until a few months ago when Abby's father got back in touch with her. Apparently, if the person being treated were kept from dying, EDTA could work against vampire blood up until the point that it had all but completely replaced human blood. King had it relatively easy-relative to Whistler-but they didn't know how hard 'easy' was going to be.

"What should we expect?" Abby directed the question equally to King and to Sommerfield. Sommerfield didn't answer right away; King squeezed his eyes shut and made choking noises. Awkwardly, Abby patted his back, trying to soothe him in what amateurish ways she knew how.

"Probably vomiting," Sommerfield said at last. "You can only ingest so much blood before you get violently ill. If the vampire blood is purged, that is. Vampire blood has a stabilizing effect on the alimentary tract. Because vampires don't need to eat, the stomach and intestines are pretty much shut down."

"How do they process the blood, then?" Abby asked, keeping one eye on King.

"I had thought it was akin to a syringe," Sommerfield mused, "actual suction through the teeth. But the samples you brought me indicated otherwise."

"They drink it," King contributed, making little retching noises.

"Exactly. Vampires can ingest blood they need to survive orally, not just through a bite. I believe they process it directly into their blood stream through the stomach somehow."

"Good...to...know..." King gasped, and, finally, it came. Abby fell backwards as he lurched forward over the tub. His hands slipped from the opposite wall as he heaved and spewed forth what looked like ten stomachs' worth of blood. The white porcelain tub, previously so pristine, looked as if it had been the sight of a most gruesome murder, a la Psycho, only without the convenient spray of water from the shower to wash it away. Trembling, King shuddered with aftershock gags, spitting up blood-tinged mucous, which dripped from his nose as well.

"Abby, Abby! Tell me, what does it look like?" Sommerfield's excitement seemed wildly out of place given the scene of carnage in their tub and the way King had still not stopped shaking.

"Jesus," she swore. "There's a lot of blood, Sommer." She ducked outside long enough to grab a heavy blanket, one of the spares they used to keep the injured covered, and draped it over King's shoulders. "Is there more?" She asked him, wiping his forehead, which was profuse with sweat.

"Maybe," King coughed, hacking and spitting venomously. Abby grabbed a washcloth, wetted it, and handed it to him. Some things he had to do for himself, especially since she had no desire to wipe the crap off his face. King took it, ran it clumsily over his nose and mouth.

"Abby, Abby, what's happening?" Sommerfield appeared to be straining to pull in as much information from her other senses as she could.

"I think we got the worst of it, Sommer." As detachedly as she could, Abby described the fresh contents of the tub to her. What came out was mostly liquid, though here and there the blood had congealed into lumps floating in yellow fluid. Nothing fleshy, but definitely some partially digested blood, probably from where his stomach had tried and given up processing it.

"That sounds promising," Sommer said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "If it's all cleared out...and congealed blood, too, that means your system's processed out the vampire blood."

"Whoopee," King mumbled, resting his head on his arms.

"Are you okay?" Abby rubbed his neck, targeting the stressed muscles that twitched there.

"No."

"Will you be?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?" Sommerfield leaned closer.

"Never went longer than a few months between shots." He lifted his head, looking directly at Abby. "What happens after that?"

"Survivors we've talked to say it gets better."

"Oh? Better than rock bottom, good to know," and he put his head down again. Abby shot Sommerfield a pleading look she couldn't see, but the doctor had an uncanny sixth sense that let her understand the message just the same.

"There's only been one person we know who's been bitten and rescued and who ingested blood in large quantities."

"Yeah? Who's that?"

"My father," Abby said. King rolled his head to the side to look at her. She held her face impassive. It was a trump card, she supposed, and would have been a better one if she actually loved him that much. But King didn't know that.

"Oh," was all he said.

"You're probably going to have a high fever for a few days," Sommerfield explained. "The EDTA will target the vampire blood in your system, making it vulnerable to antigen-exploiting cells of your immune system."

"English, please," King groaned.

"The fever is a good sign," Sommerfield simplified. "It means you're fighting the vampire blood left in your body. Once some of the vampire cells are digested by macrophages, the antigens-the foreign particles-from the vampire blood will be presented to B-cells and T-cells which will activate antibodies and killer-Ts to remove the infection and keep it from spreading. EDTA paralyses the infectious aspect of vampire blood long enough for your system to fight it."

"How long?" Abby wanted to know. If they had to watch him to make sure that the infection was cleared, they needed to have details.

"A little less than a week, I think," King offered. "I remember being sick about that long. Or, it felt that long."

"That's about right," Sommerfield agreed. "It depends on the severity of infection. I would almost recommend a transfusion, but introducing more foreign elements into a compromised system won't help. We'll have to wait and see if he's got enough of his own blood to fight it."

"That's not very encouraging," Abby frowned, mulling it over. How the hell had her father gotten through this? At his age? Gone as long as he had been? Will alone, she surmised-he could be a stubborn bastard. She would have to hope King was, too. She placed her wrist against his forehead. He was hot already. "We should get you to a bed. Unless you think you're going to need to be sick again."

"I'm clean," King said, clearing his throat and spitting again. "I feel hollowed out. Like a donut."

"If you're well enough to crack wise," Sommerfield said, her mouth twitching as she fought a smile, "you're well enough to get out of here."

"Thanks, doc." Pulling the blanket around himself tighter and tossing the washcloth at the far end of the tub, King accepted Abby's help getting to his feet. He wasn't joking about empty feeling, either; somehow, in the time between retching and standing, he seemed to have lost about fifty pounds. His frame felt light, even fragile, as she guided him along. Dex met her halfway to the recovery room, taking King's other arm. They only had one medical gurney, which they helped King up onto. It was only when they raised the guardrail and prepped the restraints that his docility began to fade.

"Hang on a second-"

"No argument," Dex growled, hastily, rudely grabbing King's wrist and securing it with the leather straps. "We have to make sure nothing bad happens if something bad happens to you." Abby affixed the other strap, ignoring King's plaintive expressions directed at her.

"He's right." She didn't mention that they used this bed occasionally to subdue vamps and beat information out of them. She didn't say that they usually had silver handcuffs to hold down the bed's occupant, and that he should consider himself lucky they only used the straps this time. Midway through the EDTA treatment, chances were good silver would still deal him a nasty sting.

"What if I have to go to the bathroom?"

"Raise your hand," Abby said, flatly.

Sommerfield tapped her way into the room, smiling. "I could install a catheter if you like."

King relented. "I'll be good."