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Between the Lines: Sequel to Somewhere Between	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 6046 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellboy or the characters within, and I don't make money off Hellboy or this story.

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You will be driven away from people and will live like the wild animals.~Daniel 4:32

- HB

I keep my eye on Boyscout over the next few days. After Abe's analysis of the capri came up with a mix of three different diseases, we've been watching John's every move for any sign of the possible symptoms. Besides annoying him, we don't get much result.

I should know better than to keep badgering him this close to the full moon (his patience shrinks from infinite to almost nothing), but I can't stop myself. I'm worried that he could drop dead from some ancient disease, so I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to pester him. Besides, he always coos over me when I get a particularly nasty injury. We'll just call this payback.

Despite him being grouchy as hell, there's one thing the full moon causes that I never complain about: 'Scout gets ridiculously horny. The days around the moon usually consist of us fucking like rabbits on aphrodisiacs.

It's a really weird balance – pissed one minute, lubed up and ready to go the next. I once had an agent ask how Boyscout's behavior doesn't make me crazy and my answer was pretty simple: "He puts up with enough of my quirks, so the least I can do is deal with a bad day or two." Besides, then there's the sex crazed thing again… really, REALLY can't complain about that.

This moon seems different though. John's a little quieter than he normally is. Quieter, but more agitated, like the dead silence before a big gunfight. And he's been scratching at that damn mark constantly.

I leave Abe to figure out what the hell it could mean, while I try to keep 'Scout from attacking an agent for looking at him the wrong way. Well, it might have been a little more than a look.

I didn't actually hear what the guy said, but when I come into the room, two agents are holding 'Scout back and the guy sitting on the floor is nursing a split lip and cussing up a storm. I recognize him as one of the newbies that was on the capri case with us yesterday.

The agent opens his mouth, probably to take a verbal jab at 'Scout while the others are keeping him at bay, but he chokes on whatever he was going to say when he spots me. The situation can't stop me from smirking at his wide-eyed stare.

"So, what's going on?"

My question gets everybody else's attention.

Nobody answers me, but John and I exchange looks. Decades into our relationship, it's pretty easy to have a conversation without words. I quirk my eyebrow, glancing at the agent on the floor then back to 'Scout, asking him what the guy did.

He looks down and away, either not wanting to get me involved, or still too ticked off to say. He yanks his arms away from the boys holding him and brushes against me on the way out the door.

I know what that means.

We have a habit of inadvertently touching, no matter where we're standing or what we're doing, but him going out of his way to come in contact with me usually says: 'Something's happened and I need comfort'.

I look back down at the jackass on the floor, then over at the interveners. Nobody's talkin'. The more I glare, the more they seem to be quaking in their boots, but I can't kick any real ass until I find out what happened. I've gotten in trouble for that before.

"You better watch yourself, 'cause your time here could be really fucking short," I warn, pointing an accusing finger at the agent on the floor. There's a little satisfaction in the fact that he flinches away like I moved to hit him.

I follow 'Scout out and find him waiting in the hallway. He's pacing angrily, his eyes glowing bright yellow. 'Scout's about a second and a half from changing, unless I do something now.

"Boyscout." The endearment doesn't do much, so I snag his waist and pull his body flush to mine. "John, calm down." It takes a second to work. Despite his initial attempt to squirm out of my hold, 'Scout wraps his fingers in my shirt and I feel the tension leak out of him.

He starts shaking then, confusing the hell out of me. I glance down at the top of his head, but he's buried his face in my chest and I can't see his expression. "'Scout, what's-"

"I would've killed him… if they hadn't… I would've," his voice is strangled and thin.

After Boyscout came back from England all those decades ago, he had his wolf under control. Except for the occasional incident around the full moon, he's stayed that way. He changes when he wants to, is still 'Scout when he's furry, and, for the most part, resists the temptation to chase squirrels and cars.

Reaching a breaking point because some asshole agent said something is not normal. Agents always talk; it's just the way things are. Not everybody is comfortable with 'Scout and me, and I was pretty sure 'Scout understood that. So why would he go nuts at something like this?

"Babe, what did he say?" I ask, giving him a small, comforting squeeze to try and entice an answer from him.

He sniffles a little (shit, is he crying? I never know what to do when John's crying) and turns his face so his cheek is resting against my pec. I'm relieved to see that there aren't any actual tears. "He told me that I was only part of the team because I was your bitch, pretty average crap for a trash-talker. I don't know why it made me so mad…"

I feel a white-hot rage starting to creep into the edges of my vision. "That's it! I'm going to kick his ass." No one gets away with shit like that. If a guy's going to work here, he's gotta' learn to keep his mouth shut and stay out of our business.

I'm headed back towards the site of the confrontation when I realize that 'Scout's pulling on my coat, literally getting dragged along behind me.

"Red, no! I've already split his lip open and knocked out one of his teeth; I think that's enough for today! Red!"

He's right, but I don't want him to be right. I've taken things too far once before, when an agent that was supposed to be watching 'Scout's back let him get hammered without calling in any backup. They had to take that guy out on a stretcher, and I got reprimanded with the threat that, if I did it again, they'd find someone else to do my job.

All I can say to them is good luck finding somebody to fill my shoes.

I sigh and turn to scoop Boyscout up, carrying him in one arm. There's another option, but it's not nearly as satisfying as beating the asshole agent into a bloody pulp: telling George.

General George Leonitus came into the position of the Bureau's director almost six years ago, after being transferred from Area 51 (a place I spent a lot of time as a kid). He made it pretty clear his first day here that he wouldn't put up with any agent showing a lack of respect to Abe, myself, or John. We were already well established as the lead dogs in the battle against the supernatural, but he wanted to make sure that EVERYBODY understood it. We were to be seen as the experts on base, not the freaks.

Since Andrews, he's been one of my favorite directors.

While I always feel like a damn little kid tattling to teacher 'cause I can't handle a bully myself, letting George handle shit like this lets me keep my position in the Bureau intact. Let's face it, I don't exactly have too many practical skills for surviving in the real world.

I'll tell him about the agent, but we're going to leave out the bit about John wanting to tear the guy's throat out. I think we need time to figure that out and it'll be a little easier to do that without a higher power breathing down our necks.

'Scout realizes my plan and starts squirming in my grip, "Set me down."

"Nope."

He shifts his arms up around my shoulders. Despite his argument, he doesn't seem all that inclined to actually get both feet on the ground, "But it doesn't look very professional when you're carrying me around." 'Scout settles his face against my neck, getting real quiet. I know he's thinking about what happened.

I push open the door to George's office, not bothering to knock. The guy's never doing anything but paperwork anyway, except George isn't alone when we come in. I set Boyscout down so we can both meet whoever this chick is. She's a busty blonde, a classic hottie, and I can already see the agents killing each other over her. Those tits are going to cause some serious bloodshed.

George gets up to motion at the woman, "I wasn't expecting you two yet, but, since you're here, this is Alexia Kamark. She's a folklore expert we're bringing into the team."

I feel 'Scout tense a little beside me. I could reassure him that I'm not going to run off after some blonde bimbo, but he already knows I'm not going anywhere. It's just his usual anxiety showing up. 'Scout worries too much… hell, like I have any right to say that.

Alexia comes over, holding out her hand to 'Scout first, then me. I take her tiny hand in my stone one carefully. I don't like to greet people this way, for obvious reasons.

"You must be the infamous Hellboy," she says, her accent making me think of Sweden.

"Yeah," before I can say much of anything else, she turns her attention back to 'Scout.

"And you're John Myers. I've heard that you're quite an agent," she practically purrs at him.

I'm going to have to get things straight with this lady immediately. 'Scout is mine. Period. End of discussion. I don't like anyone flirting with him, or batting their eyes at him, or pretending to be wounded after a mission so he'll carry them back to the truck out of the goodness of his big, but extremely oblivious, heart. Yes… that has happened and I had to lay down the rules for her too.

Maybe this is how he feels when he thinks somebody's caught my attention. Can't blame him I guess. It's hard to be with someone almost fifty-years and not be at least a little possessive.

She tucks her arm in 'Scout's and leads him out of George's office, asking him about his role in the bureau or some bullshit like that. I'm a second away from pulling John away from her and telling her where she can stick it, when George calls me back.

"Hellboy."

I groan, turning around to grumble at him, "George, she's flirting with my guy. I gotta go."

"It's General, Hellboy. I've earned the title; I'd really like to be called by it."

I roll my eyes. I'd need more than all my fingers and toes to count how many times he's told me that in the six years he's been here. "Yeah, yeah-"

"Besides, you know her efforts are falling on deaf ears," he states bluntly, shuffling some paperwork around on his desk. "What did you two come to see me about?"

I almost forgot about all that. "Oh, shit… what's that guy's name?" It's really hard to turn a guy in when you can't even remember his name. I know what he looks like, but the description will pretty much encompass every agent on base, 'dark hair, wears a suit and sunglasses a lot…' Helpful.

George starts throwing names out as he signs off on some document, "Agent Jenkins? Marke? Harkins?"

"No, no, this is one of the new guys. Came with us yesterday on the sewer run."

"That narrows it down to either Berkley or Mathers."

"Which one is kinda' short with a chip on his shoulder the size of a crater?"

"Berkley."

I would say that the name sounds familiar, but I stopped bothering to learn the names of any agent I saw on fewer than six cases. If they prove they can keep their asses out of the fire, their guns pointed in the right direction, stay useful and alive, then I'll learn their names. John would know if the name was right.

"You need to fire his ass."

- John

Alexia's nice, but dear god, her mouth is like a faucet someone forgot to turn off. I can't even think of the last time someone's talked at me this long. In a space of just a minute or so, I've learned about her entire career as a folklore expert, including the publishing of three critically acclaimed books.

I keep looking over my shoulder, hoping for HB to come charging after us like the possessive demon that he is. Except I think he got caught up in the general's office.

What Alexia had to say would be interesting, if she wasn't leaning so close to me while she talks. I'm not a huge stickler about personal space, I like being close to friends and family, but Alexia takes it a bit beyond an invasion on my space. The invasion is over; it's like she's claiming territory now. It's pressing on my last nerve, and, considering my earlier outburst, I'm really not inclined to let my wolf deal with things again.

I force a smile that can't look even remotely convincing and gently disengage my arm from hers, "Alexia, it's been lovely talking to you, but I have things I need to see to."

It sounds like baloney, even to me, but she seems to buy into it.

"Of course, I'm sure you're a very busy man, John. I'm looking forward to working with you."

I think I'd rather crawl back into New York's underbelly and drown, but I think that's the full moon talking.

"As am I." The lie still hanging in the air, I hurry off to find anything that'll make me look busy.

I end up in the library, peering around the door like a kid hiding from an angry mom. I know Abe's in the room because the faint scent of algae sits at the edge of my senses, but he still startles me a little when he speaks, "Not that it isn't lovely to see you, but I get the distinct feeling that you're not here to visit with me."

I shut the door and head over to the table Abe's working at, "No offense, I was just looking for a place to hide."

"None taken," he answers smoothly, flipping the pages of three separate books while he speaks. "You've met the new folklore expert."

I glance down at his books. They're texts and tomes, not very good for pleasure reading. I scan a few lines about plague before he turns the pages again; it breaks my curiosity for the time being.

"Yeah, and you?" It's kind of a useless question, since whether or not Abe's met Alexia, he'll know about her.

"Not yet."

"She's a bit… much. What is all this?" I forego explaining my situation in favor of Abe's research; it's just too interesting to ignore. How did he go from the capri attack to research on diseases? I must have missed something while I was sleeping. "Wait, is this why Red woke me up in the middle of the night?"

Abe pauses, his hands moving in uncertain jerks. His body language makes me very wary of his answer. "Have you looked in a mirror today, John?"

"What?" I get caught off guard a lot, I really do, but that was out of left field. It takes me a second before I can even process the question properly. When I think about it, I didn't look in the mirror this morning. I threw on some clothes and ran some gel into my hair, and walked out the door. The mirror's been a little disheartening lately, at least since the grey started showing up in my hair.

"You didn't."

"No, why?"

"Perhaps you should. The capri left a mark on you that looks something like this," he holds up a book, his thin fingers resting under an ancient symbol on the page.

I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, tempted to just pull it off and look for myself, but I resist the urge. "What's it mean?"

The hesitant movements freeze completely while he thinks.

Oh god… that means something really bad if he has to think that hard about it…

"Abe, what's it mean?"

He closes the book with the symbol and turns to me, his face troubled, "I don't know."

I grasp at a silver lining desperately, not wanting to think of the alternative, "But it might not mean anything, right? It could be old, residual magic that's been living in the capri…"

Abe doesn't say anything and my stomach twists sharply.

"Right? Abe?"

"I don't know, I really don't. The research I've done so far suggests that the mark on your shoulder is a very bad omen."

My legs give out, but there's no chair behind me and I end up on the floor. My head is spinning wildly. "What is it?" I whisper the question, not trusting my voice for more than that.

"It's the mark of a being known only as Demegov. I really can't tell you much beyond that." He crouches down in front of me and lowers his voice, "I'll keep working on it, John."

I absently rub at my shoulder, sliding my hand under the collar of my shirt to feel the mark. As soon as my fingers make contact with it, my skin begins to ache, and then to burn. I grit my teeth against the sensation. That can't be normal.

"Abe, it hurts," I hiss, trying to push the pain into the back of my mind. It's not working terribly well and I feel tears spring up at the corners of my eyes.

"That's strange, it shouldn't be painful. Let me see."

Pain lances down my arm as I reach to unbutton the top fastening. I barely manage to peel the shirt off my shoulder before the feeling is nearly unbearable. It's almost as bad as when the capri actually bit me, but I know that the wound healed over before we'd gotten home.

I dare a glance at the wound when Abe mutters, "That's certainly odd."

The mark is identical to the one Abe showed me a moment ago, expect it's on my SKIN and the bottom row of symbols is seeping blood. "Besides the obvious, why is it odd?" I manage to ask as the wracking pain begins to lessen.

"It looked like a scar before, but actually appears to be opening up now. It's almost like you're getting the wound in reverse," he muses, more to himself than to me.

I'm not sure why, but his aloofness really annoys me. I shove the rising anger beneath logic and try to ignore it. I have no reason to be mad at Abe. The full moon is just tugging at me, like usual. Although, it seems like even smaller things have been setting me off during this cycle than normal. Like that agent earlier… he may have been out of line, but I wanted to… I can't even finish the thought, it scares me too much.

"I would recommend that you just eat something, but I'm not actually sure if it would help considering the circumstances."

I blink at him, "You don't think it would help?"

There's a heavy tread coming down the hall and I don't need to turn around to know who's coming through the door. I look back at Red, desperately needing to be in his arms. This Demegov business has me scared shitless and I can't think of any better comfort than my massive, overprotective demon lover.

I don't have to say anything, he knows.

"Shit, what's going on now?" HB asks as he crosses the room, crouching down to scoop me up. I forgot I was on the floor…

Abe fills him in and I let him. I'd much rather bury my face in Red's chest. "The mark on John's shoulder seems to be getting worse. I'll have to do more research before I can tell you why."

Red's grip tightens slightly before he pulls me back and examines my shoulder. I growl a little. I don't want to be fussed over; I just want to be held. Red ignores my warning. When it comes to Red, I wouldn't back up the warning anyway and he knows it. I growl deeper in my throat when he brushes a finger against the bottom edge of the symbol. Fire spreads across my body from the point of contact.

"It hurts, don't touch it," I snap when the growling doesn't give him a clue. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. It's not like I'm going to hurt HB's feelings, I think he knows better than that by now, but I still feel bad for taking things out on him. "Sorry," I mutter.

"Don't worry about it, Boyscout." He brushes his lips along my jaw, completely eliminating my tension.

I drop my head back to his chest.

"Abe, I need you to figure out what the hell is going on. I'm going to take 'Scout back to our room and get him something to eat."

Red's voice rumbles through me like a lullaby. As I focus on the deep fluctuations of his tone, the words lose their meaning. It's only four in the afternoon, but I find myself starting to doze off in Hellboy's arms. Demegov and Agent Berkley fade from my thoughts, replaced by the steady, strong beat of Red's heart.

I rub my face against the thin fabric of his shirt and give in to sleep's alluring call.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When I open my eyes, it's dark. It only takes seconds before my night-vision adjusts to the thick shadow and our den comes into focus. For a moment, I lie on my side and try to determine what woke me. I perk my ears and rotate them around slowly to pick up any sound or sign.

Everything is quiet, but not silent.

Beside me, my mate's breathing is the strong, slow rhythm of sleep. It must be late. Outside, I pick up the faint sound of one of the humans walking by the entrance of our den. Neither of those things would have woken me; they're normal sounds.

My stomach growls. Hunger is a possible culprit, it's woken me in the past, but it usually takes more than that. I sit up and take a second to scratch my shoulder before hopping off the bed. I'm not surprised that my mate doesn't stir as I get up. As powerful as he is, he doesn't have my heightened senses. He won't notice my absence until morning.

My mate's felines scatter as I cross the room, staying well out of my way. I've never eaten one, but I have been tempted so their fear is well founded. I suppose that it's the hunt itself that keeps me from chasing them. These pampered creatures would be too easy to catch and there's no sport in that.

The door to our den stands open a crack, letting me slip through unhindered. I hurry down the hall without making a sound. All the smells floating to my nostrils are familiar, none of it leading to edible things. I know the kitchens have packaged meat, but it doesn't appeal to me… it never really has. Nothing can beat tearing hunks of hot, still-quivering meat off a fresh kill.

I salivate at the thought.

No more packaged meat, not tonight at least. I NEED to hunt. I need the blood to ooze between my teeth, to hear the dying screams, to feel the body thrashing beneath my own in its last desperate struggle.

I prowl along the edge of the compound, searching every door and route I know. Nothing's open… there's no way out. My agitation mounts as I feel the walls of this underground cage descending on me. There's no fresh air to fill my nose, no wind to cool the rising heat in my fur and bring me new scents.

I sit down by one of the doors and take out my frustration on a persistent itch on my shoulder. It doesn't really help.

I could go back to the den and eat one of my mate's felines, but then he'll be angry with me. Nothing hurts worse than when he's angry at me, it's an ache so deep that I want to curl up and die. One of the humans would be better prey, except the humans in this underground cage are all like pack… all except a few of them. The new ones aren't pack, they infuriate me. They can be prey.

I start my hunt with my nose to the floor, running across hundreds of trails: pack member, mate, human with foul odor, fishy pack member, mate, feline, something sticky-sweet on the floor that I stop to lick up, the list goes on and on. It takes me a long time to find a trace from one of the new humans. It's the human I fought with earlier. I can still sense his fear in the air.

My hunger stirs, roaring with bloodlust. This time, there won't be anything stopping me from tearing his throat out. I follow his trail to the gym and out through the locker rooms, pausing to taste the old blood in the bottom of one of the sinks. There are paper-towels in the trashcan soaked in it too. The remnants of our fight make my fur stand on end.

It's not about food now; it's about finishing what I started.

I continue following the trail out into the base, but I lose him at the outer door to the bureau. He's outside. Rage overwhelms every thought, every sense. My hunt is ruined because I'm trapped in this underground hellhole!

I jump up and drag my claws down the door, getting my only satisfaction from the ugly marks I leave behind. I growl at the steel wall blocking the rest of my trail, pacing in front of it while I try to think of another way out. I've already exhausted my options. This place is locked up tight.

A completely new scent enters my nostrils: perfume. The perfume comes with the sharp click of high heels and the deeper odor of pheromones. I look down the hall at the approaching woman, the woman that doesn't understand my 'mated' status. I don't like her.

A warning growl rolls out of my throat as she gets closer, but it doesn't faze her. Her blood might be a good substitute, since I can't get to my prey. I bare my teeth at her… until she pulls out a card key.

I don't know what her game is, but I don't care. The moment the door's open, I'm back on my trail. I'll find my prey and I'll have my kill, one way or another.

TBC...
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Between the Lines: Sequel to Somewhere Between