Graveyard Shift

Interagency rivalry had supposedly been fierce from the moment Truman had brought the CIA into life in ’47. The FBI had been running for decades before that, establishing themselves as America’s bad asses in the face of the new problems it was facing as the nation had moved into a modern era with problems far more modern than just who they were going to butt their heads against on a worldwide scale. They’d been taught about it in college, the lines drawn for just who was on which agency’s side. He’d been the only one to end up in the Agency in the end but Michael knew it wasn’t the blessing it would’ve seemed for his classmates. The job had cost him his family in the end, only his sister’s intervention bringing Abi back to him.

Wounds cut deep that couldn’t heal with just the reapplication of his badge … not that he’d done that yet. Officially he was still on indefinite leave, unofficially he was working for the Mystic Falls sheriff’s department. Playing analyst for the reams of information that came through the place as he’d once done for the Eastern European desk at the Agency. Sticking his nose in when something caught at it. Like Elliott.

Michael hadn’t expected the guy to be driven towards the back of the station and the warfare currently raging there. Elliott’s head had been down at his own terminal, that bullish focus he’d noted the day before keeping the agent’s attention from him, at least he’d thought it had. That same sense of something being wrong struck as almost careened right into the taller man. Taking a half step back Michael slipped on a poker face over that urge to swallow hard. No scent of blood this time, just that wall like solidity he couldn’t easily brush past.

Green eyes narrowed up at the guy, that silence that went with the whole impression of a brick wall. Michael paused as the sound from the cells suddenly cut off. No escape from the conversation now, just the head butting he was pretty sure was gonna last until Elliott was done putting him in his place. Intimidation wasn’t gonna cover up the fact that the guy had come in yesterday reeking of blood.

A sour expression pulled at Elias’ face as he tried for a little good humour. Friendly to cover that suspicion, only partially successful in hiding the awkwardness in his voice. Michael frowned, green eyes sprouting faint lines at the corners as they narrowed further. ”A joke? Hey man, maybe a little, you know.” It had been one that had fallen on deaf ears. The FBI obviously didn’t have a sense of humour, it was probably ground out of them in the academy. Wouldn’t want to ruin that po-faced G-man look with anything approaching a grin.

Shoulders hunching, Michael tried for a shrug. It was as brittle as his voice had been. Maybe he’d been half serious. Elliott could’ve turned it that way if he wanted to, the FBI card always seeming to trump anything else … except for when you really needed it to. The CIA had washed its hands of his family’s murders, the FBI hadn’t taken so much as a second look at it. ”You don’t agree with trying to help out here? You know, give the Sheriff a hand since she’s letting the big boys into her department.” Michael let out a breath, trying to sheer the attention away from why he’d gotten up in the first place. He wasn’t in because of his badge, it had been a favour for him on a personal level after she’d heard what had happened to his family. There’d been no intention to share any of that with the FBI.

Oh but lookit, Special Agent Elliott had obviously been proving already at least far enough to learn his name. Michael tugged a hand free of his the pocket he’d slipped it into, offering to Elliott while he subtly sniffed the air again. It had taken him a couple of years to master it without the help of an Alpha but all he’d need was a touch of Elliott’s hand to see if the blood yesterday had come from some sort of wound the man had suffered himself. Draw on his pain, relieve it a little, prove that something there was something fishier going on here than just a herd of FBI agents appearing out of nowhere. ”Michael Shepard. Analyst. Poking as far as the Sheriff wants me to. I guess that’s why your team’s here too? By invite of Liz Forbes. This town might be small but it produces more paperwork than almost any office I’ve ever worked out of.” Without the trail of the thief who’d stolen from Orlov leading here in the first place it would’ve been a town that had rarely been a blip on anybody’s map. Never would’ve been on the other side of an interview table a few months ago, accused of murder by someone setting him up, or becoming a father again when Abi had somehow shown up right here in Mystic Falls.

Tagged: ELIAS ELLIOTT * Word Count: 858

Friendly was rapidly dying on his lips. On his own home turf – his prior turf in New Orleans – he might’ve carried on trying to draw the lines for the agent. You had some power then, the upper hand that came with that being your piece of ground to defend. Your place to kick the other agency out of, your prerogative to stone wall or flat out lie. To be as unhelpful as you could possibly want because at the end of the day they were in your place, typically asking you for the favour. They were nose to nose in someone else’s spot, just waiting for them to wade in, breaking up the two far larger men before an all out pissing contest started. Fed vs Fed.

Maybe they should’ve been banding together against the sheriff and her people but even that seemed beyond this guy. Not there to help sort the situation out apparently. Michael’s eyes narrowing to cold jade slits at the blunt no from the taller man. That left one reason why he’d scuttled out of his chair to pop up right in his path. Not the trouble, not the sheriff. Him. Michael clucked his tongue. ”Me, you, them…” He lifted his chin towards the offices where the rest of the agents had been set up. ”…we’re all a part of the station. Where’s your civic spirit?” In the same place the guy’s sense of humour obviously was, leaving room for the stick he hadn’t realised extended quiet so far up the guy’s colon.

There was a low hum, a wince as Agent Elliott made it clear just what he thought about the town. Given the supernatural population of Mystic Falls he was gonna be lucky if something else didn’t hear him in hear and sprout just a little more animosity towards the interlopers, making his own job harder. ”Keep calling it her redneck single-precinct-jurisdiction and I’m sure she’ll have a bigger problem. How quick do you reckon your boss’ll pull on the reins if she starts complaining about you?” Fast enough to rattle his teeth … or fangs.

Scenting the air subtly again, Michael tried to figure out what Elias had been doing – other than his job. Still as the agent shook his head, he got nothing. Two dogs trying to size each other up without any sort of pay off either way. If the other man had been friendlier he’d have clapped a palm against one of those brawny arms, trying to rattle a grunt of discomfort or at least a trace of another scent loose. Instead he was left rocking back on his heels slightly. He’d have to do it the hard way, leaning back on what had made him a great analyst before that sickening tumble.

A frown creased his brow as Elias confirmed it was just his partner and him. Tilting his head, he looked past Elias to where the rest of the Feebs were still clustered together. One sandy brow rose as he looked back. ”You just brought some friends for company?” he asked. Elias hadn’t released his hand, squeezing tighter like he was going to wring something out of him other than the faint grunt that didn’t reflect the faint creak of bone underneath his skin. Michael did clap the guy on the shoulder with the other hand now, trying to tug his hand free. ”Good grip there, man.” No amount of tugging was getting him free, Elliott seemingly prepared to keep him shackled there until he was done.

And he wasn’t. Not shy to pull Forbes and the forces coming down on her shoulders into it. He knew what she felt like right then, the conversation he’d slipped into with this feeling like an interrogation with every passing minute. His smile was tight as he aimed it up at the guy, teeth gritted tight enough behind it to dull his tone. ”There’s that civic spirit,” he drawled. ”Helping the Sheriff out like good little paper shufflers. Keep it up and she might just pin a shiny gold star alongside that badge.” He wasn’t about to reel out his own story for this guy, if bits and pieces of it hadn’t bled out through water-cooler gossip already.

Michael drew in a ragged breath, nostrils flaring as he looked up at the guy. The muscles in his jaw bunched, echoing the flex in his numbing hand as he tried to pull free. What was he pushing him for? Was he? A momentary confusion in those green eyes and he was forcing out a laugh. ”What are you saying Agent Elliott? You think we’ve got a werewolf problem in town? This ain’t New Orleans, there’s no loup garou running around these woods come full moon.” Just your common garden werewolves. Cursed, bitten, born.

Just the thought of how he was due to lose control as soon as that full moon came around again bringing on a wave of nausea. His eyelids twitched, that burn of strain beneath them a test of his control as the blue tried to flicker in. ”I guess I could ask the same thing. Seemed like you came in a little bloody the other day. A bad scene? Or just the town rolling out the red carpet for its black suited visitors.” The hand that had caught at Elias’ upper arm settled now, fingers biting in as he tried to squeeze him into releasing. A pit bull with a grip not willing to let go, his nails turning just enough that he felt the claws catch at the threads of Elias’ sleeve. Shit.

Tagged: ELIAS ELLIOTT * Word Count: 935

More than you. The words rolled through Michael’s head, a little smug, perhaps a little too smug. Years of working for Orlov had pushed him to lines he hadn’t known existed and beyond. Control had been slippery as silk at first but Orlov had pushed him time and time again. Situations dripping in adrenalin that had nearly gotten him killed, the last one that had brought him here and away from the vampire’s grip. The only thing that had ever pushed him beyond all reason …

Michael’s chin lifted an inch, teeth gritted behind barely parted lips. Losing Sara and Abi, the sight of them spread out and bloody at his kitchen table, the men who’d done it just standing around like they were just basking in what they’d done. As smug as the taller man before him now but not a word slipping out of them before one of them had lunged for him and he’d fought. ”I’m sure you will,” he grunted out between his teeth. His own hand squeezed back, muscles bunching to try and push away the pressure. ”Who wants to snap, huh? Let’s all breath a little deeper and just get through a day without it getting … messy.” Civil enough but pressure put on certain words the same way those muscles and tendons did with his hand.

Hand still trapped, Elias smug and beaming, it was no wonder why the man was admitting to not having any friends – or family. Michael felt that ice run through him. The thought of Abi, resurrected and back at the house, Sara still gone, starting to drain some of that high colour from his cheeks. ”That lone wolf act gets tiring after a while.” Green eyes snapping to the other man’s as he slapped his hand against his shoulder. A non-verbal uncle falling on dead ears with that upping of the pressure. ”Not found the right woman, huh? Or was it a matter of losing one? Some women don’t like being held that tight, if you know what I mean.” The pressure applied in all sorts of places, returned weakly enough that Michael still hadn’t found his way free. If Agent Elliott didn’t stop prodding then maybe something would snap, just enough for the man to get the answer he was so obviously pushing for.

Supernatural shenanigans in a town that had too many of them as it was.

Smile tight already, there was little room for that hint of smug to it but it burned at the edges of his smile. Michael shook his head, that minute tick as he tried to pull away. ”Not sure I do, Agent Elliott, you know us Agency boys and girls, all a little touched right?” No escaping the rumours already swirling around the station about the case involving his wife and daughter and how paper thin his credentials actually were. He sucked in another breath through his nose, trying to pull away and still failing miserably. ”The Agency’s got the nose for more than that,” he managed, his voice tight. ”Easily evaded but not without a scratch or two. Seems like we caught each other’s eye to me.” Enough that Elliott was pushing now. He’d have wondered if the man was a hunter but it seemed more than just someone throwing out a lure to try and get him to out himself.

In the end it worked. The pain from the man’s inhuman grip too much in the end. Michael gripped the agent’s arm tight, claws emerging just enough to catch at fabric, maybe at skin. Michael saw satisfaction strike in that smirk and tried to pull back, hiding the evidence Elliott was highlighting with that twist of his arm. ”This isn’t reason enough?” Michael asked. The laugh was strained, muscles in his jaw bunching as he tried to stop his eyes from flickering jade green to that damning electric blue. ”And you’re the sort of guy who guarantees the Bureau leaves a bad taste in everybody’s mouths. What really happened …” The question died on Michael’s lips as Elliott’s grip finally crushed down, like a hammer driven down the rest of the way.

Bone cracked, splinters of knuckle sheering off. Super healing didn’t mean being numb to the pain. The greasy feel of it rolled lightning fast up through his arm as Michael gave a muted holler. Of course Elliott loosened his grip then, a sadist’s way of studying the damage done. Michael sagged back against the wall, pale, sweating, the wrist of the crushed hand gripped in the fingers of the other. Skin puffed and scarlet along subsiding with that sickening, echoed crack of reknitting bones. ”What did you have to p-prove?” he asked hoarsely. ”What are you?” That was the ultimate question wasn’t it? What else was there to worry about in this town.

Tagged: ELIAS ELLIOTT * Word Count: 807

This was the sort of attention Michael had been avoiding for years. The burning eye of Sauron swivelling towards him to shine light on what he’d become when he’d failed to keep his own nose out of things. Notice became interest, interest became obsession and obsession put you right in the path of that eye to be scorched. It had happened once and his life had been razed to the ground, then he’d sworn he’d keep his distance, make sure nothing of what remained was turned to ash. Mystic Falls had left him sloppy, even with the attempt to frame him for murder. It had seemed like Orlov had finally let him go, he had Abi back, he was going to find Sara, maybe there was some chance of a job here, but in sticking his nose into the FBI’s business, that burning eye was on him now.

It was certainly gleaming in Elias now, that smug grin so bright Michael wanted to wipe it off. Whatever the man was though, he had the upper hand, literally. His grip tight as Michael stared at him, he started to break bones. Each little crack and pop was another flare of pain under his skin as the voice in his head that sounded like Abi’s had, that four year old’s plaintive chirp of ’why daddy?’. Why? Because he had too nosy again, nose jammed in where it didn’t belong. Only there was no curse to break with the instinctive driving home of a knife into soft flesh, only the bite of his claws and that final relief.

Michael sagged back against the wall, still not free of the man’s grip but no longer crushed in it like he’d stuck his arm into a vice. There was another wave of cracking beneath the skin, bones drawing themselves back into firm, delicate lines, knitting in seconds instead of weeks. His face was still pale, except for the blotches of colour high on his cheekbones and that cold light behind his green eyes as they snapped back from their bright blue. Elliott’s gaze was on his arm, like he was trying to see beneath the skin to watch the bones he’d broken reform. ”That the way the FBI does it? You don’t get the answers you want and so you force them out of people? Pretty sure they have rules against torture.” Rules that likely only went as far as the front door of the station. This wasn’t something you took to your bosses. Crying in the sheriff’s office about how the mean agent had hurt him when there wasn’t a single sign that a finger had been put on him.

Lips peeling back from his teeth Michael sneered at Elias and started to push upright again. The Feeb had slapped the warning down like his badge, expecting the world to respect and cower before it automatically. ”A threat on top? You’re a real charmer Agent Elliott.” He would’ve continued to push, face shoved close to the taller man’s, nose flaring as he tried to sniff him out. Elliott was already following it up though, dropping the one word that would have him shrinking back away from questions he should’ve have been answering in the first place.

Abi. Sara, wherever she was. Not again.

Michael grunted, resisting the urge to just let his claws free and rake this asshole’s arm open in the middle of the station. The anger stayed behind the damn for a moment but then he was shoving forward. A growl only half caught between gritted teeth as he drove his other hand into the flat slab of muscle of Elias’ chest. ”You dumb, blind son of a bitch.” He did it again, temper a hot flare he couldn’t turn off now. ”Just like a Feeb to see the easiest explanation and clutch onto it like an old lady and her pearls. You’ve read the reports huh? They were torn apart and the men who did it were standing right there.” Waiting for him to come home and see the damage, one of them ready to sacrifice himself, charging the man with the ticking bomb in his DNA. The minute that blade had been turned around in his slippery grip was the one he’d damned himself with.

The pain was back, a burning ball of fire consuming everything below his wrist. ”If you’re not gonna pull your head out of your ass and see what’s really happening in this town let me go,” Michael snapped. Voices rang out at the back of the station again, the officers trailing back. He gritted his teeth, glaring at Elias in warning as he shoved again. A forearm spanning the bigger man’s chest now, trying to lever him away far enough that he could break that grip without painting the hallway in blood moments before there was someone there to see it.

Tagged: ELIAS ELLIOTT * Word Count: 816