Chapter Text
Fabian heaved himself over the edge of the cliff, rolling onto his back. This enormous chasm would have been a lot easier to navigate if he could fly. Glide.
To think, all this was just sitting below Seattle! It was mind boggling. Mortals and kindred alike, just going about their days and nights completely, blissfully unaware. Lou Graham might be the only being alive who knew, who remembered.
Ha. Who was really Seattle's secret keeper?
…and was it going to be a problem that Phyre and himself were now…in the know, as it were?
Well, it wasn't going to have to chance to potentially become a problem, if they didn't get out of here alive.
Ooooh, he'd bet that she'd love that. Down into her hell hole to fix her little problem, conveniently silenced before they had a chance to gab.
Fabian rolled to his feet and dusted off his coat. He was close now. He'd darn well better be close now. Phyre's scent was strong, the concerning tang of Vitae smothering it like a particularly enthusiastic blanket. He'd kept finding smears of the stuff, usually in a area that looked like it'd been hit by a bomb. After getting a good look at the other guy, he could only hope that it meant Phyre was in better shape.
The door before him was enormous, ornate, and…locked.
Dandy.
Thankfully it appeared to have been locked up from this side. The mechanism was high tech, overwhelmingly out of place against the ancient style of architecture. Hopefully the darn thing was feeling cooperative.
'Ahem. Evening my complicated friend. I don't suppose you'd be inclined to let me slide on past?'
The lock scoffed at him. 'Ha! I do not think so. No, I was put in place by the IAO, and by the IAO I will be removed. And you do not seem like the IAO.'
'Hmm, well, maybe that should be a lesson on judging books by their covers. After all I am...uh most definitely an IAO Agent.'
The lock clicked sceptically. 'Hmmm. Then where is your uniform, Mr IAO Agent?'
'Ah, I'm, um…Plain clothes division! You know how it is, budget cuts and the like. It'd be a darn weight off my shoulders if my fine fellow IAO officer could let me go where I needed to..?
After a tense few moments of clicking, the lock acquiesced to his request. And with a huff of relief, Fabian shoved the door open.
Oh. Oh no.
At the far end of the hall, was an altar. The Elder was slumped over it, framed by sunflowers, beneath a wooden effigy of Phyre's mark. There was something there. A pale form, streaked with…red.
The pulse of fear propelled him forward, but one step into the room and his knees buckled. The pressure hit him like a baseball bat to the brainpan.
Fabian groaned and clutched his head. The area was swimming in some serious psychic resonance, all pulsing out from that altar. He almost felt like he was deep under water, being pressed down, senses distorted. He dragged his head up, and through narrowed eyes he could perceive the effigy…burning. Thrumming. Harmonising with the Malkavian's blood.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself upright. C'mon. Phyre slaughtered an entire room of mortals and monsters to save Fabian's life. With the roles reversed, he would manage to walk to the other side of one to save his.
But the closer he got, the more it hurt, the more it pushed back against him. The detective hissed. This was untenable. But he couldn't stop, he refused to…his mind raced. Brute force had never been his forte…and maybe it didn't need to be. The Gardener was a Malkavian.
Fabian lowered himself, bracing one hand against the floor. He took a steadying breath, eyes glowing as his vitae roused, humming in concert with the resonance. If he could just stop fighting the current, and swim with it…tune into the right frequency, as it were…
The world seemed to flicker around him, the yellow of the sunflowers melting, leaking. His dreams overlapping with the pleasure palace, the sun lit field overlapping with an old memory. His eyes burned. Reality ran out his ears.
Phyre knelt bonelessly there. At the altar-at the base of the tree. His perception rippled like pond, snatches of speech scattering back and forth.
…dearest bacchanalian…suckle deep…oh valentine…to hold…
That voice. This felt…familiar. So familiar. It tugged at his memory strands, everything- The Rebar- Malkavian- Lou…the glasses…
Dawning horror. Ice claws down his spine, in his chest.
'Gideon?'
Pale eyes locked with his over the shoulder of the feeding Elder. Connection.
'Ah, Truthseeker!'
The garden snapped into focus around him; warmth on his skin, soil on his boots, and vitae permeating the air.
'Come to behold transference sublime?'
In that moment, his surrounds felt more real than he did. After all these years…his sire was alive? He had been alive all this time? A veritable melange of relief, guilt, horror…he was barely recognisable.
'It's you…you're the Sabbat leader.' Fabian rasped. 'How- why? What are you doing?'
The bloody Malkavian chuckled, one pale hand buried in Phyre's hair and the other stroking along his hip. 'The weary wanderer will rest eternal, will wander streets incarnadine. My strength will be his, supping upon my sweet succulence, oh how I spill into his luscious veins.'
The detective's eyes widened in disbelieving revulsion as his sire moaned, crushing Phyre closer to his neck. Oh god, Phyre- Jesus H Christ, what happened to him?
'On traveller's stride I will sow my sprouts in fire fertile soil. And in Phyre I shall be borne anew!'
He snapped his focus away from Gideon's piercing stare, reality fracturing back into shuddering layers.
'You...Phyre!' Fabian quickly closed the distance on the bloody tableaux, grabbing at the elder's arm. He didn't move, but from this angle he could see his face.
Teeth buried in Gideon's neck, Phyre's eyes were hazy, almost vacant.
'No!' Fabian's voice was high with panic, and he gripped the back of the Nomad's neck, desperately pulling with all his undead strength. It was like trying to rip a steel girder out of a concrete wall. Not an inch.
No no no no. This was it. The purpose of the Mark. The finale of the Sabbat's grand design. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't loose-
'Gideon, please. Don't do this. We've found you- we can free you- I'll help, just- Not the Sabbat. Not Phyre- Please.
His sire's head flopped back, arms beginning to sag, fangs gleaming in the false sunlight. The laugh that tore from his throat was unhinged, echoing eerily in his fractured perception. 'The flesh is weak but old wisdom flows to new strength! Join us, m'boy. Join us.'
Tick tock detective. Time's. Run. Out.
Glittering at his feet, buried in soil-in the hand of a dead soldier, a weapon. A modern short sword designed for one purpose.
With a shaky hand, he reached down and grabbed it, the heft fit for Damocles.
'I'm so sorry.' For the first time in decades, he felt the corners of his eyes prick, vitae welling up where once tears would form. 'I wish…' I could have been a better friend. A better Childe. A better detective.
Careful of his aim, the blade flashed through the air. Reflecting flower and sun and candle-light, singing through worlds, he felt the bite in his bones.
The detective staggered. Reality jarred itself back into the form of subterranean palace with a sharp spike of pain. The Nomad slid to the floor with a ragged gasp and Fabian lurched forward to stop him from cracking his head on the floor.
Phyre convulsed in his arms, coughing, gagging on the Gardener's vital essence as it was violently expelled, the Mark flaring aggressively.
'Phyre? Hey, easy there, you're alright.'
Phyre sucked in a breath. 'Fabian? You are here…no…no, you can not…'
'Can and am. Take a moment, OK? You've been through the wringer…' But the Nomad was shaking his head, bracing himself on the detective's arms. 'No, you were not meant to... It was- It was my blood. Drawing you into danger.'
He hung his head miserably, avoiding Fabian's wide eyed stare.
'I am sorry' Phyre murmured.
Honestly.
'I hate to break it to you, y'old sap, but I liked you long before I had a nip of your old red nectar.' The detective gave the Nomad a light nudge. 'You wanted to let yourself trust me? So trust me.'
Phyre looked up, meeting Fabian's earnest, if exasperated, gaze. The moment stretched out like taffy…before the Nomad closed his eyes and nodded.
'Yes. You are right. I…do. Trust you.'
A warm feeling suffused his chest at his words. He cleared his throat, glancing away to survey the wreckage of the room.
'How much do you remember?'
Phyre blinked slow, like a cat. 'I was…so hungry. There was the Gardener.' He bared his fangs. 'I was to destroy him! But…I don't…'
'It was Gideon.' Fabian admitted quietly. 'The Gardener was Gideon.'
The Elder's brow furrowed in confusion. 'Your sire? I believed he was destroyed?'
'Well.' Fabian swallowed, his heart twisting in his chest. 'He is now. The way he was talking, it sounded like he was trying to…possess you. And I don't mean that in the "ownership" type way.' The detective couldn't bring himself to meet Phyre's eyes. 'I couldn't- I couldn't let him…'
Phyre smoothed his thumb over Fabian's arm. '…You saved me.' He took a sharp breath. 'If it were not for you, I would nothing but a…a puppet.'
Phyre slumped into him, apparently no longer interested in keeping himself upright. With a sigh, he tucked his nose into the crook of the detective's neck and murmured, 'I owe you my life. I will not forget this.'
After a few seconds of flustered hesitance, Fabian settled his arms around the Elder. He'd never been so glad he was currently incapable on blushing.
Fabian wasn't sure how many minutes they sat there, their blood slowly settling as he relaxed into the embrace. Eventually he closed his eyes, mind quieting, focus narrowing to the feel of Phyre's cool form pressed against his.
But the moment couldn't last forever. Eventually he felt Phyre shift and when he peeked open his eyes, saw him staring at the back of his hand.
The Mark was still there, etched into his skin. It still weeped vitae, trickles of it sliding down Phyre's wrist. It called to him, but Fabian pulled away.
'The Gardener, and all his pawns, have met their final deaths. And yet, it still remains.'
The detective hummed in thought. 'Maybe he was pulling the strings…but not actually holding the reigns?'
'…Then who?'
'I don't rightly know. But I swear on my hat we'll find out.'
The Nomad's lips twitched into a smile. Fabian was struck for a moment. What a rarefied sight. And with an ease that belied his wounded state, Phyre tugged them both to their feet.
The detective tugged him in return, towards the exit. 'C'mon. I think we could both use a drink after this.'