Chapter Text
Soledad arrived at the New York Motherhouse, walking with a cane. She had survived her encounter with Jasper just barely and she knew, deep down, that he had let her live. Her leg had been slashed up by some… thing. It was new. Not a vampire, not fully. She had never encountered it before.
It had attacked her and left her to die. She had been in so much pain that she couldn’t escape. Jasper had leaned down over her, the half-breed vampires he created at his heel. “You can go back to your Talamasca master and tell her to back off. Next time I won’t be so nice about this.” He said, before he was gone in a flash.
She couldn’t move, her leg was too damaged. She bled a lot, so heavily that she thought she might die just from the blood loss. The security for the train station had found her the next morning, next to the tracks. Everyone kept telling her how lucky she was. She had gotten the fuck out of there immediately.
When she got to Helen’s office, Helen looked at her with a disappointed expression. “You should be in London.” She said.
“Is that all you have to say to me?” Soledad asked, completely put off.
“Well, have you made any progress at least?” Helen asked.
“I made just enough progress to know that I have no interest in this anymore. I’m done.” Soledad said viciously. “I’m taking a supervising role or you can transfer me somewhere else because I don’t want to be involved in this. You can find someone else.”
“Soledad, please.” Helen started.
“No. No sweet, charming Helen routine. I don’t buy it and I never have.” She snapped, “I almost lost my fucking leg. Whatever this is, whatever you’re looking for. It’s above my pay grade.” She said, “This is personal to you. It’s not to me. I don’t even think the 752 is real!” She threw her hands up. “I’m done.”
Helen leaned back, “Alright. I have someone in mind.” She said, “On the back burner. But I would like you to stay in London and watch over him.” She looked at Soledad, “Please. It’s the last thing I’ll ask of you.”
Soledad looked conflicted for a moment. In the end she agreed to it because someone should be there to make sure that there were no more close encounters like that. “Fine.”
…
Guy sat at his desk, going over paperwork. It had been unceremoniously dumped on him by one of his bosses. He should have bristled at it. He wasn’t a secretary or a paralegal, he shouldn’t be filing away paperwork. It wasn’t his job. But he had a hard time saying no to it, he was still so new here, and he knew he didn’t have the luxury of just squeaking by doing his base job.
Besides, busy work kept him focused and when he was focused he couldn’t be overstimulated by the… everything around him. Damn voices in his head.
There was a sudden knock at his door and he jumped up, nearly scattering the paperwork. It was Jamie Osterhaus, one of the partners here. He was the youngest, basically Guy’s peer – he was only a decade older than Guy at thirty five. “Hey, do you have a minute?” Osterhaus asked.
Guy tried to be as much of a suck up to the partners as possible. “Sure thing, Mr. Osterhaus.” Guy said. He was always a little too grateful towards him. Osterhaus had made sure that he got the job. He didn’t know that he did, really. Because if Guy told him that, ‘Hey I heard you in your head directing me on exactly what I need to say to make these rich pricks like me isn’t that crazy?’ He would look insane. And maybe he was, but this time it worked out for him.
“It’s Jamie.” Osterhaus reminded him. “I’m not your school teacher.”
“Jamie. Sure thing, Jamie.” He said with a soft nervous laugh. “You’re not a school teacher, that’s funny.” He mumbled.
Osterhaus – Jamie – laughed, “Come on. I’ll get you a coffee.” He said.
“Uh, okay.” Guy said, trying to hide his surprise. No one asked him – or told him for that matter – for coffee. Osterhaus took him to a coffee shop that was across the street and ordered for him. Guy could only just accept it, because he wasn’t paying for it so he couldn’t complain. And Guy didn’t really know how to order coffee outside of grabbing a cup from a bodega – usually the best kind had a sort of burnt at the edges quality.
“So, what do you think about the Mulgrew contract?” Osterhaus asked as he sat down at a table with Guy.
It was bullshit arbitration, as far as Guy was concerned, though he wouldn’t dare say that out loud. It was a will being disputed. Their client wanted all the assets to stay in the family and they were willing to go to trial to make sure the, in their words, gold digging whore didn’t get anything.
Maybe he had let himself get too involved but when he met said gold digging whore – a young man around Guy’s age named Christian – because he got the distinct feeling that he was innocent in this whole ordeal. He had actually been in love with the patriarch of the Mulgrew family. He had been open about sharing with the family. It just seemed off.
It was the exact type of thing that his counselors in high school had warned him about. “You’re very sensitive, Guy. I don’t know if law school is the place for you.” They had said. Which had pissed him off so much he had doubled down on the career choice.
He wasn’t sensitive or weak. He could handle being ruthless and he was smart enough to know that not everyone got to be happy. “Um, are you asking my legal opinion because it seems pretty open and shut to me. Christian has no real ties to the family, they didn’t get married and his claim is flimsy. You could easily make the argument that Devon Mulgrew was not in his right mind when the will was drawn up, since it happened so close to his death.” He made a gesture, as if to say that it was so obvious
“I’m not asking your legal opinion.” Osterhaus said, “How do you feel about it?”
“Why do you care?” Guy asked, getting a little reactive. He did that. He bit before people could bite him. And it always made him wince at himself.
Osterhaus was looking at him in a way that Guy could not decipher. He had looked at him like that before, like Guy was interesting. Or something to eat. “Just making conversation.” He said.
Guy scoffed under his breath. “I don’t feel great about it. Is that what you want to hear?” He said, “It feels weird and gross to throw some kid out on that street like that.” And then, realizing what he was letting out in the open. “But I’m a professional. I can keep my personal feelings at the door.”
Osterhaus was looking at him again. Guy frowned, “What?” He asked.
“Nothing. It’s just… you’re a good person.” Osterhaus said.
‘He’s gonna burn out.’ The thought comes with some disappointment.
The thought came into Guy’s head crystal clear. He flushed, “Are you going to fire me?” He suddenly asked. He must come across as needy and insecure and maybe his counselors were right. He was too sensitive. Why did he even admit to feeling bad for that kid? He should have just kept his mouth shut. He was so, so stupid.
“What? No.” Osterhaus said, like the thought was ridiculous.
“Okay. Just making sure.” Guy mumbled. He started to pick at his cuticles, a nervous habit he had never been able to kick. Some of his nails were raw and red from picking at them so much. It was a disgusting habit, he knew. He just couldn’t stop it.
“No, definitely not firing you. That would be stupid, you’re doing as much work as three of us.” Osterhaus said with humor, squeezing his shoulder. “Is this your only suit?” He asked, changing the subject. “I should get you in touch with my stylist. You’d look good in maroon…”
As Osterhaus touched him Guy was given flashes of what was going on in his head – it was palpable, visual. It wasn’t usually like this. He could see himself, on his knees in front of the other man. Osterhaus’ cock was in his mouth, pumping inside of him. He was looking at Guy’s mouth, wondering how it felt wrapped around his dick. There were other thoughts too, fantasies about him. Osterhaus… wanted him.
Guy blushed and jerked away. He laughed nervously. “Are you okay?” Osterhaus asked.
“I’m fine.” Guy said, a little too sharply. “Just not super touchy.” He said. There was no way he could be open about what he was feeling. It was probably not even something that he was aware of, or actively thinking about. But Guy picked up on it regardless and it felt… weird. Violating in a way.
And then there was also this other feeling. This sort of wanting that he pushed down. The type of feeling that got him sent to a special camp when he was fourteen for ‘same sex attraction’ where he had gone through things he didn’t like thinking about.
He felt stupid for thinking that Osterhaus, Jamie, might have actually wanted to be friends with him.
No one wanted to be his friend. The only time anyone wanted him around was when they wanted to have sex with him or get something else out of him. He hadn’t had a friend in years. Not even a girlfriend. He had had his last girlfriend in college and she dumped him pretty unceremoniously, in public. That was the last time he cried in public. Really ugly, nasty tears that came with a panic attack so bad he started choking on his own spit. He hated being alone and that was his natural state.
(He could still hear her yelling at him, in the main square of Penn State’s central campus. Everyone saw it go down as she unloaded on him. It was so humiliating. “You want to know why we’re breaking up, Guy? You’re so clingy and needy. And weird. You’re weird! You don’t even want to have sex with me, ever. I know your mom fucked you up or whatever but I can’t deal with it anymore! You’re really hard to love. You’re so weird and sad, it’s depressing being with you.”)
Osterhaus laughed, “You’re a little weird.” He said. Guys’ face fell. It was like he knew exactly the right thing to say to pinpoint at his insecurities. “I don’t mean it like that. Good weird. I think you’re great. You could shake things up.”
“Shake up what? Drafting custody agreements for millionaires?” He muttered under his breath, “Um, I’m gonna- bathroom.” He said as he stumbled away, feeling like the biggest loser in the world. As he wandered to the bathroom to take a few breaths and calm himself down, he noticed a woman watching him in the corner of his eye.
…
He notices her watching him and following him for about a week before he finally turns around asks, “Can I help you?” through gritted teeth.
She smiled, “A moment of your time.” She said.
“Okay…” He said, already feeling a distinct lack of trust. He let himself be abrasive and cold. “What do you want?” He asked.
“I’d like to talk to you about an opportunity.” She said and handed him a card.
“What’s this?” He asked.
“Our organization.” She said, very cryptic. “We want to hire you.”
“So what? This is a job? I already have a job.” Guy said, “A really good job. That I’m good at and pays a lot, so I don’t need…whatever this is.”
“I know.”
“You know?” Guy asked, his jaw dropping. “Of course you know, you’ve been stalking me for…” He trailed off, mumbling to himself. “Okay, this is… whatever you’re doing I’m getting a really bad vibe, so I’m gonna go.” He said, “It was weird meeting you. Very weird.” He started to walk off.
“Wait.” She said, holding a hand up to stop him. “Please.”
Guy stopped, “What?” He asked, exasperated.
“It’s about your mother. Your biological mother.” She said, very seriously.
Guy tried not to let that effect him. “My mother is dead.” He snapped, starting to get upset. If he started thinking about her, he might start crying in public and no one wanted to see that. He saved that for home or, in emergencies, supply closets and bathrooms. “I don’t know what game your playing but I want you to stop-”
“Anna Leamas.” She said, “I know her. Very personally. Can I just say, you look a lot like her. The resemblance is striking.”
He hates that it has an effect on him. It leaves him shaken. “So, what, you’re a family friend that’s been stalking me after leaving me in the system for my whole life?” Guy asked sarcastically.
“Something like that. Can we talk privately, not in the street here?” She asked, “Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”
“Fine.” Guy said, exasperated.
He followed her to a building that looked like a glorified library. Very low key, but after they made their way through the quiet entrance it was quite grand. Surprisingly so. Helen sat him down at a table and they started to talk. “How much did it cost to clear this place out?” He asked, trying his best to be as dismissive as possible.
“No need it’s private.”
He hummed, “You work here.”
“Live here.” She corrected.
“Live… here?” He asked, incredulous. “And I thought my place was a dump.” He mumbled to himself.
“There are a few apartments on the top floor.” She said, “Small, but functional.”
Guy sighed, “What does this have to do with my mother?” He asked.
“She was part of our organization.” She said.
“Your organization- what is this some archive? My mother was a librarian, in between heroin binges that’s nice to know. I don’t even remember what she looks like, so if you’re trying to con me into putting my life insurance in your name or something-”
She laughed, “We have no interest in that. This isn’t about hurting you, we want to help you.” She said.
He didn’t think there was anyone in the whole wide world who could help him. “So what is this mysterious organization?” He asked.
“We’re a private organization that has been around for a long time. A very long time. We don’t operate for profit, but we’re extremely well funded. We have offices, which we call motherhouses in London, New York, Paris, Rome, New Orleans, Amsterdam, Hong Kong…”
“And what do you do with all these motherhouses?” He asked.
“Primarily endeavors of academia and discovery.”
“You’re a think tank?”
“In a way yes, in others no.” She went on, “We chronicle historical notes and keep tabs on individuals of interest.”
“You’re spies?”
“We attempt to do good, by protecting the equilibrium of society.”
“Like Soros, Koch brothers?”
“Talamasca.” She said, “Which means-”
“Animal mask.” He said, “Oof, terrible name. So what do you do, write text books?”
“We’re interested in the world of the supernatural.”
He laughed bitterly, “And what does this have to do with my mother? Was she a witch.” He said sarcastically, “For my first magic trick I will make myself disappear.” He added, self-deprecating and cold.
“Tell me, Guy, why did you go to law school.”
“So I could become a lawyer.”
“Why?”
“So I could make a lot of money.” He said honestly. It was a stable job with low turnover and high job security. The likelihood that he would be homeless with that sort of degree was so unlikely. And Contract Law was basically
“That’s a very cynical goal.”
“Ohh, you got me. I’m a cynic.” He replied, “Let’s just say I’ve seen a lot.”
“And heard a lot?” She asked pointedly.
He sighed, “And why me? Why my mother?” He asked.
“She is involved with us because she has the same abilities you do.”
He shifted, focusing on her. He heard the smattering of whispers but it was so low, he couldn’t tune into her frequency. Calling this an ability was an overreach. It was borderline schizophrenia that happened to be accurate. If this was some cool psychic power, he sucked at using it. And he didn’t like it. Maybe if he didn’t have it, he could have been normal. Maybe then he could have had a good life.
She shook her head, “I know what you’re trying to do. It won’t work, I’m trained from childhood. You can’t listen in.” She said, “If I want you to know something, you will.” She said, “You’re not a cynic, Guy, or a defeatist or a misanthrope. You believe the world is, or ought to be, innately good.”
“But it’s not like that.” Guy argued, getting more and more upset by the moment. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know your name and you’re acting like you know me intimately.” He said.
She smiled. “Helen. It’s Helen.”
“Okay, Helen.” He said, probably some code name. This woman was evasive as hell and wanted to be the one in control of him. He was a tool. His mother probably was too. “What do I have to do to see my mother again?” He asked, “This is what we lead up to, right. You’re going to use her as a sword of damocles above my head to make me do what you want.”
He didn’t even know if his mother had abandoned him willfully. But if she was alive… that meant that she didn’t die just to leave him. If he could reunite with her, it could make him better. Normal. He could prove to himself that he wasn’t unlovable. He needed that. He’d do anything for it and they both knew that.
“I have a job for you in London. If you can do that, I will see about you meeting her again.”
“Okay.” Guy said, “Fuck it. Fine. I’ll join your organization- but I want that in writing. You have to uphold your end of the deal. Or I don’t know, I’ll fucking sue you for everything you and your animal mask organization are worth. For emotional distress and breach of contract.” He said, “So…There.”
Helen laughed, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
…
He came back to his apartment, feeling slightly manic. It was a small studio, but at least now he had a kitchen and a full bathroom. Cavitt paid about a hundred thousand a year to start and that wasn’t horrible but for NYC it was barely scraping by. He had only worked there for six months.
“I’m home.” He announced and his little kitten, Kafka toddled out from under his bed meowing the whole time. He was so vocal. Guy really liked it, it made him feel less alone when he heard something out there.
About a month ago, he had found Kafka on the street. He nearly stepped on him. He was dirty and he had fleas and he had been left by his mother. Of course Guy had taken him home, given him a bath and fed him kitten formula from a bottle. It was weirdly healing to care for something small and weak and helpless. Like it gave him some control back.
He was still being bottle fed in between the wet food because he was a little underweight. “Alright, come here.” He said, picking him up and put him on the table. “Let’s get you your formula and I can tell you all about what we’re doing.” He said.
As he fixed the formula, he started to ramble. “So guess what, my real mom’s not dead. So, after I get everything in order we’re going to-” His eyes pointed towards a collection of medications. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers… he didn’t need them anymore. Those were the medical cocktail of the sad loser who thought he was crazy. He wasn’t crazy. He just had freaky powers and so did his mom and she was alive, so he was obviously fine now.
He would be fixed, all better, once he reunited with her. He picked up every bottle and unceremoniously threw them all in the trash. “That’s better.” He said, “Don’t need those anymore!”
Kafka meowed and Guy looked at him with a pitiful expression. “What?” He said, “I’m not doing anything. This is fine. I’m fine. I’m fine!” He slumped over after a moment, a crash that he should have expected after feeling so good even momentarily. “Oh my god. What if it’s all a lie and she’s not- this could be a set up. I don’t know.” He started to chew on his nails anxiously as he thought about it.
“I think I have to see them again.” He said. Kafka meowed. “Yeah I know, but it’s an emergency.”
He was going to have to visit his adoptive family again. He really didn’t want to.