FicWad

Patrick sat in his office, both elbows on the table with his fingers interlaced with his chin resting on top. It was his thinking pose. Over the years, he had spent many long hours in this position, mostly thinking about Pete’s various dilemmas. There seemed to be a never ending stream of new complications to address with Pete. Things that would be easier to address or not even be problems at all if he would only drop his attitude. But there were so many levels and contradictions with Pete. He wasn’t always complex but he was never simple. Frequently, unlike himself, Patrick mused, what you saw was not even close to what you got. Pete was the master of putting up a front and almost disguising his feelings. Patrick smiled at the thought of almost. Pete was good, but he wasn’t that good! But now it was different. This wasn’t about Pete and his myriad of issues, but it was just as difficult to deal with, possibly even more so. Now he was trying to outsmart one of Beckett’s vampires. That in itself was nothing new, but never before had this particular situation arisen - this time it was who that was special. This time it was Andrea. Joe hadn’t known her long, but he adored her. She had saved his life and he had saved hers. They had both been through so much together only to have that closeness destroyed by the callousness of two evil vampires - William Beckett and Brendon Urie. Not only had they killed her, they had turned her. If that wasn’t bad enough, they had given her a mission to utterly destroy Joe. It was working until Spencer had used the information to gain his freedom, but the news of it had crushed him as effectively as the attempt itself. Patrick had dreaded the idea of trying to resolve the matter and assumed he would have a real job on his hands just getting him to be coherent, but surprisingly Joe had managed to focus, somehow. Yes, he was probably going through the motions but at least he had something to hold on to.

All these thoughts and more had been swirling around inside his mind for some time before Patrick realised he was merely postponing the inevitable. Unable to sense or even see Andrea, Patrick knew he had no chance of dealing with her without disrupting her very effective blocking tactics. Dealing with her. He still had no idea what that even meant. The only thing he did know was his plan to drink Holy Water in an attempt to break the block.

He frowned. Drinking Holy Water was probably the stupidest idea he had ever had and it was obvious to him why he was procrastinating.

What he was contemplating was dangerous, untried, unpredictable and…

“It’s all theory, isn’t it?” came a voice at his side, rousing him from deep within his thoughts.

Looking up with a distant look in his eyes and still so clearly in a daze that it almost suggested that he had been sleeping, Patrick finally acknowledged Joe standing next to him.

“It is, isn’t it?” he repeated. “It’s all just theory. You don’t know what this is going to do to you, do you?”
“Well,” Patrick began leaning back in his chair, “it’s not as if…”
“You’re not doing it,” Joe replied sternly, trying hard to turn his tired and pale face into a mask of determination.
“Joe, we discussed this…” Patrick began, with Joe picturing his it’s all under control speech approaching at breakneck speed.
“No, Patrick,” Joe leaned on the desk, looming over his friend. “We didn’t talk about it. You told Pete you were doing it, then he tried to talk you out of it but you wouldn’t listen!”
“Joe… it’s…”
“No!” Joe snapped, suddenly finding his voice and seeming more like his old self than he had for quite some time. “You’re not going to…”

Patrick frowned suddenly as Joe’s head turned, eyes widening at something that Patrick had apparently missed.

“What is it?” Patrick asked urgently.

As Joe turned back, his face steely with grim determination, Patrick knew.

“Andrea?” he asked quietly receiving a brief nod in return.
“Joe, how can I help you if I can’t even see her?”
“You don’t need to help me,” Joe whispered darkly as he pulled a stake from behind his back, hidden in the belt-style holster. “I can do it myself.”
“Joe,” Patrick’s brow creased to see the mixture of hurt and determination in his friend's eyes. “You can’t.”
“I’m the only one of us that can,” he replied turning and heading for the door.

*

The deserted streets were still an unnerving sight and Pete looked around, the anger in him growing. Absolute silence but for the occasional wind whipping sharply around the corner of one unusually narrow road.

“If you’re looking for something to eat, you won’t find it here,” came a voice from behind him.

Pete wasn’t surprised by the voice. He had been aware of being followed almost since he left the warehouse. And now he knew who it was, he knew instantly that the man wanted him to know he was being followed. Older and more powerful than Pete, this vampire could easily have blocked him and was more than capable of attacking him and even overpowering him. The real question was - what did he want?

“I’ve eaten,” Pete replied without even turning.
“That sour, flavourless packet blood?” the man tutted as he stepped slowly from the shadows. “You know that’s not food. You know what it really tastes like. You can’t wipe that from your memory, can you?”
“What do you want, Saporta?” Pete growled, finally turning to look at the elder vampire.
“I told you, I want to help you.”
“Help me?” Pete replied scornfully. “And why suddenly do you want to help me?”

Leaning up against a wall, the vampire smirked and rested one foot behind the other before folding his arms across his chest.

“Because it’s in my interests to.”
“What do you mean?” Pete frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly, whilst still remaining wary of his surroundings.
“Oh, don’t pretend, Pete,” Saporta laughed. “You know what’s happening to you. You know it’s not just a blood addiction, you know it goes deeper than that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete snapped, glaring angrily at the smug looking vampire.
“Fine! “ he threw his hands in the air. “Stick your head in the sand, let Beckett win!”
“Win what?” Pete asked growing increasingly irritable.
“I want Beckett gone as much as you, maybe more…”
“I doubt it!” Pete scoffed.
“Then let’s agree that I want Beckett dead almost as much as you,” Saporta sighed as he stepped closer.
“What do you want?”
“I told…”
“Yeah, you want to help me. I got that, but what’s in it for you and how can you help me?”

Pete’s voice tapered at the end of his sentence and Saporta held back a smile. Did Pete almost choke on those words? Is he scared? This was even better than he imagined. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all?

“I need you fit enough to kill Beckett, there aren’t many vampires strong enough. Not to do it alone, especially as his lapdog Brendon barely leaves his side. The two of them together are stronger than I am, but with you on my side…”
“I’m not on anyone’s side but my own,” Pete grumbled about to turn and walk away.
“Then do this for yourself,” Saporta replied teasingly, gaining Pete’s attention once more.
“What do you mean?”
“You want to survive, don’t you?” Saporta moved closer still. “But more than that, you don’t want to turn evil. Do you?”

Pete merely stared in response. If he didn’t say anything, perhaps he could fool himself that Saporta’s words weren’t getting to him. He continued:

“You know what’s happening. You know which each drop of human blood you’re losing your ability to control yourself. It’s hard isn’t it? You can’t keep that concoction down that used to keep the blood lust in you at bay. You want blood more than anything now don’t you? I can sense it, you’re practically salivating at the thought of it, aren’t you? Those packets of blood… Poor Patrick, he really believes that they help, doesn’t he? He believes that if you have a few of those a day that you won’t want to kill. What he doesn’t know is that every time he feeds you one of those things it only makes you want to kill more. That every drop feeds your desire to drink more. The lack of adrenaline makes it sour. Your body is crying out for the sweetness and rich heady rush you got when you drank his blood. You want it, don’t you? You can’t deny it, Pete, I can sense it in you. And I know that the more you drink the less control you have, the more likely you are to kill and all because he’s still alive.”
“What?” Pete whispered, scared by the accuracy of Saporta’s statements and confused by his final one.
“This is only happening because your original blood source is alive and near you. The urge to kill is still in you because the scent of his blood is so powerful in your memory. Kill him and the response goes away. You’re in control again.”
“How?” Pete asked, his brow furrowed. “If any blood I drink makes me more evil how will killing Patrick help?”
“I told you!” Saporta snapped irritably. “The scent of his blood is reminding you of the excitement of the kill, the taste of human blood coursing with adrenaline. Without that reminder, you can take control once more. And when you’re in control, you can join with me to kill Beckett.”
“I can do that now,” Pete insisted.
“Not with me,” Saporta scowled. “I don’t want you distracted in any way. There is only one shot at this. We won’t live long enough to get two.”
“I’ll get control of my life back? No more craving? No more killing?”
“You’ll probably be able to go back to that foul concoction afterwards.”
“How can you be so sure?” Pete asked with uncertainty.
“For the same reason that having to eat a salad doesn’t seem so bad when there isn’t a big juicy steak on the plate next to it. When temptation, such extreme temptation as your first kill, is removed, you can live your life the way you want.”
“I… All I have to do is kill Patrick and all this will go away?”
Saporta smiled broadly. “That’s all you have to do.”