Even though the bus stop was under a mile away from Benoit's neighborhood, she had insisted on calling Jack a cab. He should have been more suspicious of her small smile as he tried to talk his way out of it and shuffled out the door.

The cab had been waiting for him, and there was no shaking the stuffy butler that prepaid for his ride. At least he didn't have to worry about what was expected for a tip, and, considering the stack of bills that exchanged hands, it wouldn't be a good example of what was the norm.

The cab ride to the library was spent in awkward silence. He barely managed to resist covering his face with his sleeves or rolling down the window to escape the heavy scent of patchouli. Only the thought of drawing attention to himself kept his hands busy with opening and closing the same app on his phone.

He felt queasy as thoughts of what the cabbie must be thinking ran through his head. He hoped he didn't come off as some sort of prostitute or deranged relative. Telling himself that the cabbie didn't care, wouldn't remember him, and had most likely seen worse and weirder did nothing to ease his fears.

He clutched his phone tighter when the library came into view and the cab slowed. He quietly thanked the cabbie for the ride and did his best not to outright flee. Finally in fresh air, he couldn't tell if his rising need to vomit was from the car ride or his impending decision. He meandered around the library property as his stomach calmed.

Settling against a tree beside a fading garden, he glared up the road in the direction of Kieran's shop.

He couldn't recall a time when he'd been so messed up over a guy. How much of it was him missing Kieran, and how much of it was Kieran's influence? If Benoit was to be trusted, then he actually missed the guy. If only that made him feel better.

Did he even like Kieran beyond his own selfish shallowness? Kieran was nice to look at and listen to. He had money and could cook breakfast. What else?

Kieran held Jack and distracted him until he fell asleep. Cleaned Jack's clothes when he didn't have to. Gave real explanations for why Jack shouldn't worry or panic.

Small, thoughtful things that Jack found sweet and charming. And weird and awkward because he wasn't used to it.

Everyone was right. His situation wasn't as bad as he wanted it to be. He wanted a quick and easy excuse to cut ties and feel no regret. He didn't want to feel like he was giving up. Kieran being a vampire didn't strike him as a deal breaker, which only made him more confused.

He could even get past the mind fuckery. He figured it evened out with him doing his best to spy and pry, which he had no intention of stopping now that he had more of a past to dig through.

If he concentrated and didn't get distracted, he could recall bits and pieces of that conversation from his first night at Kieran's apartment. He wanted to hang onto his anger, but he only ended up getting mad at himself for doing the same thing on a technological front. Spying, lying, eavesdropping… They were two peas in a pod.

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And then there was the question of just how old Kieran was. If Benoit's coin was any indication, Kieran was somewhere over three hundred. Did a large age gap count if he was an adult dating an immortal? Would he be dumped when he got his first grey hair? Or would Kieran want to keep his delicious snack house around and turn Jack into a vampire? Wouldn't that change his blood and make it all pointless?

Blood.

Everything was about blood. He'd been lucky that he hadn't gotten any blood on his hands when he'd slit the gunman's throat. He couldn't remember if any had splattered on him, and he should be thankful for that. He never noticed any suspicious stains on his clothes, but he wouldn't put it past Kieran to scrub them clean along with his memory.

Why did he have to remember slitting a guy's throat? The slight look of panic and surprise. The gurgling death rattle. Blood on the floor. Blood on his shoes.

Blood on Kieran's neck and front.

Incorporeal blood on Lindsey.

He shuddered and pushed off the tree. He needed to get his mind off Lindsey and what could have happened to her. His morbid curiosity was already coming up with potential dates and newspapers to peruse.

His state of mind reached the point where the library looked inviting, and he made his way inside. He sent a half-hearted wave to the head librarian, ducking his head to avoid her welcoming smile. He gave the patrons in the immediate area a quick once over; a couple regulars and a biker were poking through the new releases. They probably didn't know or even care that vampires and ghosts were real.

He headed to the stacks, taking solace that it looked like it was going to be a slow and quiet day. He didn't think he'd be able to deal with any excitement on top of his conflicting feelings. He was determined to start looking at the positives of his situation. Focussing on the pros should make him feel better. Or worse.

Jack sank into his chair with a sigh, taking comfort in the familiarity of his isolated corner. Strangely enough, things were working out. He had a potential boyfriend on the back burner who wasn't interested sex. Oh, no. Kieran wanted his blood. And how messed up was it that Jack was considering it?

It would make a pretty easy birthday or Christmas present. He could slap a bow on his neck and call it a day. Drizzle his neck with honey or something. What went with blood? Margarita salt?

Why the hell was he even contemplating offering up his neck as a present? Kieran hadn't earned any sort of reward with his behavior.

If anything, Kieran earned the right to be the recipient of Jack's spite. He'd make Kieran sweat it out for at least a week or two. Maybe he'd make a couple trips to Rick's Electronics. Possibly after a wardrobe upgrade.

He was not being petty. He was doing Candace a favor. She'd been trying to clean him up for years, and her renewed persistence happened to coincide with his need to make a good impression.

Jack leaned down and opened his laptop bag, only to freeze as a shadow fell over him. He swallowed and blinked at the pair of black Vans that came into view. Not the local schizophrenic. Did the library have a new hire?

Something in his gut told him to scramble under the table and run.

He struggled for breath as he slowly sat up, wrapping his fingers around his taser. Before he could sit up fully, a hand clamped over his mouth as an arm wrapped around him from behind. He screamed against the hand and struggled as he recognized the beautiful features of Michael Farragut.

"Hey, Sparky. I hear you didn't wait for me."

He was certain he'd jabbed his taser into the arm that held him. He heard the electric popping before an oppressive fog clouded his mind.

image [https://i.imgur.com/eZY0YUq.png]