Michael [Van Helsing]

A little distraught, a little upset and more than a little angry, Laura stalks the hallways until she locates the door she was seeking. She pauses just outside, hand poised to knock, but she hesitates. What if Michael's not there? What if he is, but Stephen's there too? What if they're in the middle of something? What if he doesn't want to help me?

She spends a good fifteen minutes nearly talking herself out of it. Then she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, then, knocks on the door. Eyes still closed, she holds her breath and waits.

Footsteps across the floor and a jiggle of the doorknob before the door cracks open and a scruffy-disheveled Michael opens the door, blinking into the light from the hallway.

"I'm sorry, Michael, I didn't mean to wake you. I'll - I'll come back another time. I'm sorry..." she turns to go.

"Wait," Michael says, reaching through the small space between the door and the doorjamb to touch her arm. "It's okay." He pushes the door open a bit farther. "Come on in." He takes a step back to let her in, then closes the door once she's inside.

She steps forward a bit, nervously. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Disturb you. If this is a bad time..."

"Laura," Michael begins, exasperated. "Stop. It's fine. What's wrong?"

She bites her lip and rubs one arm with the opposite hand. "I- I don't even know why this is bothering me. It's not as though it's even anything more than just us being friends."

Michael arches an eyebrow. "I might be of more help if you actually told me what you're talking about." Does he already know? Maybe, but it's never good to toss out personal information when the goal is to get the other person talking about said information.

"Stan," she snaps as she turns to face Michael.

"What about him?"

She sighs and tips her head to one side. "I saw him screwing some blond girl in the back hall."

Michael's brain immediately flashes to 'Isabel' for a minute, until he remembers she left with Tom several months ago. He blinks and shakes his head. "Which blond girl?"

Laura shrugs. "I don't know. Some blond girl. Skinny. I couldn't see much for all the sex."

Michael tries hard to hide the tinge to his cheeks - not hard when the only light in the room is the dying fire. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck. "Okay, so what's bothering you about this?"

"What?"

"Is it that he had sex with her or is it something else?"

Laura folds her arms over her chest and turns away from Michael. "I don't care that he had sex with someone else. I just thought he was a nice guy. Guess I should've nixed that one when he told me he was still married - technically."

"So are you." He winces in the darkness, waiting for the slap from that one.

"I know, but I'm not off screwing some bimbo either."

Michael raises an eyebrow at that.

She growls at him. "You know what I mean." She can't see his face, but could tell from the mild snort what his reaction had been. Covering her face with her hands, she drops to her knees on the soft fur-like rug in front of the fire.

Slowly, he kneels beside her, a hand around her shoulders. "Shhh. Laura, it's all right. I know you miss him." He's dense sometimes, not stupid. He knew this wasn't as much about Stan as it was about her husband.

She's crying now, sobbing, and she turns her face into his chest, reaching to gather his shirt in her fingers, only to find he's not wearing one, so her nails scratch at his chest. "I need him."

That sent a pain of the worst kind right to his soul. He had uttered those exact words just over a year ago, in this very room. The difference was, Stephen had shown up several minutes later; he was certain Laura's husband was not going to perform the same feat. He closed his eyes and sighed, sliding both arms around her. "I know. I know you do. You just have to remember that he's out there - waiting. Waiting for you to find him."

The tears fall faster and her fingernails dig into his chest. He holds her, ignoring the pain - he's felt far worse - just letting her cry.

She sniffles and gets a hint of his scent through her nose - he smells so good. It's subconscious when it happens, but she tips her head back and presses herself up to meet his mouth with hers, kissing him. The hand that was scratching at his chest moves into the hair at the nape of his neck and she presses herself against him. He feels so much like him - like Scott; tastes like him; smells like him - kisses like him.

Instinct has him holding her, kissing her back, tasting her mouth - it's an age-old instinct that he'd spent seventy years fighting, keeping at bay, it just wasn't as easy anymore now that so much of the anger and hurt had faded. Then some pseudo-conscious part of his brain warns him that this isn't a good idea and he draws slowly out of the kiss. "Laura, you're very sweet and I know you're hurting, but being with me won't solve your problems."

"I know," she sniffles, ducking her head. "I shouldn't have bothered you. I'm just being silly."

He shakes his head. "No, you're being human. I wish I could help you more, but I don't know what there is I can do."

Laura takes a deep breath and almost smiles against his bare chest. "You've been more help than you know. And tell Stephen I'm sorry for interrupting if I did."

Michael grins. "You didn't." He is wearing pants, after all, which means he can't have been up to all that much before she showed up at his door. He pushes to his feet and helps her up. "You gonna be okay?"

She nods. "Yeah. Thanks. I'm not usually this big a drama queen."

Michael laughs. "This? This was mild. I've seen a lot more drama over much more trivial matters."

She smiles shyly at him. "I'm sure. Thanks, Michael."

He nods and walks her to the door, he really isn't that much of a talker - people like to try to make him talk more than normal though. He thinks that's odd. Watching her go, he twitches a tiny grin at her when she smiles to him over her shoulder before she turns to go back down the hall. He pushes the door closed and closes his eyes to hold back the tears threatening to fall. Dredging up all those emotions wasn't something he was ready for and despite the fact that Stephen's right here with him, promising never to leave him again, the old pain still hurts - more than he thought it would.

He walks back over to the rug by the fire and sits down, staring into the glowing embers, letting the tears fall as they may.

Describe the place you grew up.

Well, let me look around... it seems to resemble, very much, the fucking Vatican. Yes, in Rome... Italy, in case there's another that I'm unaware of, which happens so regularly I shouldn't have to mention it, but I am again. I wouldn't ordinarily use quite so many words, but I've grown more than irritated with the frequent questions about that which I am unable to remember because a group of religious types... or the higher power they serve... decided it would be a perfect punishment to remove all of my memories, leaving me with nothing. Which means, that all I have now, are memories of the last seven or eight years and a few bits and pieces from before that, but I don't have enough to have any idea where or even when I grew up. For all I know, perhaps I never did.

So, to answer this question - the bloody hell if I know.




This week's challenge was answered by Michael, the AU version of Gabriel Van Helsing, who is away again.

Muse: (AU) Van Helsing
Fandom: Stephen Sommers' Van Helsing
Word Count: 156