I am so sorry for the indecent amount of time it took to upload this chapter. Again, sorry. Did I say I was sorry? I'm sorry.

'What happened to you, Tom?' Hal asks, taking a seat in the front row and clasping his hands together, placing them on his lap.

Tom turns to him, face contorted in pain and hands clutching at the bars of the cage.

'It should be –' He screams and Hal recoils slightly, '– me asking you that.'

'I suppose it should be, yes.'

The stare in silence; eyes locked on one another. Tom breaks contact first, falling to the ground and clawing at the concrete.

'What happened to Annie?' The name feels foreign on Hal's tongue and he tries to remember the last time he said it aloud. He recalls speaking her name to another vampire years ago: he was intoxicated and telling tales of someone who made too much tea and smiled too often.

Tom freezes. His shoulders go rigid and his eyebrows knit together. He's staring at the ground and Hal, for the first time that night, sees the old Tom; every bit solider and yet still so vulnerable. So childlike.

And he only had to mention her name.

'Gone.' He rasps and goes back to writhing in pain.

He wants to know more but it's futile as Tom's no longer coherent. The transformation has begun and all that's left are the sounds of the cracking bones and tearing flesh.

He awakens to rattling metal.

'Oi! Wake up!'

Hal stretches his limbs and rubs the back of his neck, scrunching his eyes at the silver light that's poured through the small cracks in the building. He blinks and looks at the cage to see Tom naked. Hal's eyes meet his and Tom instantly places his hands below his abdomen with flushed cheeks.

Hal learns forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

'Yes? Can I help you?' It's asked almost mockingly and by someone who is half-asleep and wanting noise to cease but all the same it's asked.

Tom's indignant and hesitant – asking help from a vampire is weak and degrading and he would rather stake himself 100 times over than go through with it – but, it seems he has no other choice. Instead he makes himself remember that this is the old Hal, the one whom Tom had known what TV shows he liked, the tea he preferred, the songs he'd sing and how he took too much time in the bloody shower in the mornings. His pride could give way for now.

'Could you unlock the gate?'

'Of course.'

'And I don't suppose you 'ave anything I could wear?' He asks reluctantly, pushing his luck with Hal's seemingly blatant cooperation and slightly unnerving politeness. Hal after all was the poster boy for all things merciless and bloody. Helping Tom should be the opposite of what he was doing.

'There's a store room in the back. They'll have something.' Hal stands up, smoothes down creases on his waistcoat and makes his way towards a door that's at the very back of the room. He returns with a hand full of material and grabs the keys from his pocket and opens the cage, approaching Tom and showing him a pair of jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt.

'They're a bit big but they should suffice.' Hal says and Tom realises he's anything but intimidating. He seems almost nervous; as if he's unsure of what to do or say. He's like the Hal Tom first met; reeking of confidence and cynicism yet somehow discomforted easily and usually with the most trivial things.

'Cheers.' Tom mutters, grabbing the clothes roughly.

They stand looking awkwardly at one another until Hal thinks Oh and places the clothes on the ground and turns the other way, allowing Tom to change. The distractions of Tom transforming and the room being full of people are lost, all they have now is focus on each other and it's crippling.

'So, why are you still 'ere, Lord Hal?' Tom asks, simply because he doesn't understand why someone would choose to stay the night with a werewolf hell-bent on blood – especially vampire blood – and a knack for making very loud and very angry noises that tend to keep people awake.

Hal can hear the rustle of clothing so remains facing the other way.

'I wouldn't call me that, you know it's just Hal and –' The Old One finds himself at loss for a proper response.

Frustrated, he jeers, 'Well, you're lucky I am.' It's a little too harsh and he reprimands himself silently for it. 'They'll be back for you.'

'I don't need your help,' and it's Tom who now reprimands himself. He sounds silly and childish because every werewolf now needs help.

Hal laughs bitterly, 'I wasn't suggesting offering you any.' It's by all means a lie but it settles Hal's pride anyway.

Tom merely shrugs. He grabs the only pieces of clothing he has left unscathed: his jacket and boots before putting them on and walking past Hal, making his way up the stairs and stopping at the door.

'Err, you 'ave a good life and that, Hal.' And Tom feels like laughing to himself about the absurdity of that sentence because of course Hal will have a good life. Already has and a bloody great one. The best. He's the royalty of his race. Money has no limitations and power comes in the bucket load. He could burn entire cities and already has. He's lethal and the people love him. The absolute bastard.

Hal squeezes his eyes shut and buries his fingers deep into his palms, repeating the word don't over and over again in his head. His mouth it seems has a different idea.

'Wait, Tom. Of course I'll offer it to you.'

And although wary and suspicious, Tom decideds to take it with the reassurance of single thought.

You can use him.

London's filthy and grey and has never once shone with sunlight for 10 years.

The streets are nearly empty bar the few soldiers on patrol. Hal's met with sharp nods and saluted 'Sirs' which Tom sneers at.

He takes Tom to one of his smaller homes; one that's less known and not occupied and served by vampires. It seems the safer option, away from prying eyes and whispers.

The Old One closes the door behind him and let's Tom breathe in the house.

'It's a bit shabby. I thought you were rich.'

'It's one of many.' Hal says, locking door and turning the heating on. 'There are rooms upstairs, choose one.'

Tom pads off up the stairs, mumbling something unintelligible and grazing the wall with the tips of his fingers, collecting dust and scoffing just to emphasis his distaste. Hal listens to his retreating footsteps, leaning on one of the chrome surfaces of the Kitchen.

He doesn't have a plan or know what will follow but Tom's here and it's the first time he's felt something other than numb in years.

Tom is his only connection to Leo and Pearl and Annie and Eve. He's familiar and home. A reminder of his better self.

Tom just being here and speaking to him is enough for now.

'I live with another vampire.' Tom mumbles into his spoon, breaking the ice. He's eating soup that Hal managed to find at the very back of the cupboard and Hal's drinking blood from a plastic bottle. Tom frowns as Hal gulps it down but says nothing of it.

Hal lifts an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. Association between werewolves and vampires was definitely unheard of now. Vampires saw wolfs as playthings and entertainment, anything other could result in death. And although there was still dissent among a minority of vampires to The Cause, they were often killed or took to the shadows; ashamed and hiding.

'Really?'

'Yeah, his name's Adam.'

Hal feels his heart twist slightly and curiosity tugs at him.

Casually, he asks 'are you friends or - ,' then interrupts himself. Instead he settles for, 'what's he like?'

Tom continues ramming the spoon into his mouth, oblivious to Hal's tripping of words. 'Yeah, he's alright. He's stayed with us the past six years and is in love with me other mate, Allison,' Tom's lips quirk into a half-smile and Hal lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

'She's dead clever. Taught me stuff.'

He finishes the soup – rather quickly Hal notes, seeing that Tom's appetite hasn't change a bit – and stands up, shoving the bowl into the sink with a clunk.

'I'm glad.' Hal says because he can see how much he's matured and is somewhat thankful that he wasn't by himself for whatever's happened to him these past years.

'Tom, what's it –' He stops, nervous for the answer and not wanting to anger Tom. 'What's it been like for you? Since I left?'

Tom smiles but it's all teeth and no warmth. 'I'm knackered.' He says, shaking his head with incredulity and turning his back on Hal.

'I really think we should talk.' Hal says, hearing the slight whine to his voice; the desperation it holds.

'Night,' is all Tom replies before sprinting up the stairs and shutting his door.

Hal dreams that night of a stake pressed to his heart, the holder he can now put a current image too. The wooden tip sinks slowly through skin and he lets allows it because they let it go; they always do. They hiss their reasons then beg cheap apologies with their tongue.

He wakes up aching and hard and Hal thinks for the first time that it's a pity Cutlers hand isn't there to finish him off.