Silent Night, Broken Night

[Samantha Ford]

The full moon was approaching, and Samantha Ford was on the hunt.

Like all members of the Werewolf Capture Unit, the majority of Samantha's captures took place during the nights while the moon was full and the beasts were fully transformed, reeling them in with spells and ropes and sometimes guns if they got too unruly, though to date Samantha Ford was the only officer to carry a muggle weapon, a right she reserved for herself as the Unit Chief at risk of punishment should she get caught. But the wolves were monsters, beasts, unhuman. They deserved to be captured, locked up, tracked for the rest of their half-breed lives should they decide to infect anyone else with their loathsome disease.

The ones that behaved didn't bother her so much. She found them fascinating and still potentially dangerous, but once they'd been bagged and tagged and sent off with a card for the local apothecary, most of them managed to get their hands on the Wolfsbane potion when the time came, preventing them from causing further harm. Then there were the rogues.

The sun had long since set over London when Samantha left the Ministry headquarters, bypassing her usual after-work stop at the pub and heading straight for Knockturn. With spring looming the weather had been struggling to break free of the frost, but still a certain chill hung in the air as night wrapped it's arms around the city like a tormented ghost. Though the huntress was most frequently seen in muggle clothing, today she had a thick black cloak shielding her from the weather, it's hood drawn full over her face to shadow her visage from prying eyes. She was gathering information tonight, and every werewolf this side of the channel knew her face if he knew what was good for him. Tonight she would be someone else - and perhaps complete a few less-wholesome errands while she was in the neighborhood.

Samantha lingered in the streets for some time, leaning quietly against the stone walls of an apothecary that stayed open later for it's nocturnal customers. She watched the passers by quietly, the flask at her hip near about burning a hole in her pocket. It'd been hours since she'd had a drink, but she was trying to restrain herself. Vampires and other night-traveling abominations lurked in this area after dark and she needed to keep a clear head should she run in to one. Soon, she reminded herself, eyeing the pub a few doors down, her ultimate destination for seeking out prey. Soon enough.

The night crept on.

[Romulus Lyall]

Six months. It had been nearly six months since Romulus Lyall, Werewolf Capturer, had taken sabbatical. Nearly six months since he had done official work for the Unit. Nearly six months since he had moved into a new flat. Nearly six months since he had seen Samantha Ford. Six months since he had heard her voice or smelled her scent, and longer still since he had tasted or touched. He had missed her in that time, but he told himself that lovers came and went, that he did not need her. But Romulus Lyall was an addict, and try as he might to quit smoking and quit drinking, he always relapsed.

Still, six months was impressive for him. Maybe he would return to work soon, or maybe see if he could get a transfer. The Unit had been his life for years, and he was good at it, but he worried that he could no longer do his job effectively. He'd grown close to the Muggle werewolves who had once been part of a pack in Manchester, as well as a few others. Few knew the truth about him, that he, too, was a werewolf, but the more time he spent with them, the more he came to feel like they were a sort of family.

Sam would not have approved. He was growing to close to them, endangering himself and endangering her by extension. He was supposed to hunt werewolves, not just because he was part of a task force dedicated to doing so, but because if he showed any softness, any compassion, it would invite suspicion. But he needed support. He needed people, friends. Sam had provided support, but it was strained. He was her friend and partner but also her enemy and prey. It made for a troubled relationship.

Six months was a long time, but he could wait a little longer before a confrontation with his former partner.

So when he exited the apothecary in Knockturn Alley holding a bag filled with enough supplies to make wolfsbane potion for several people and caught her familiar scent, his heart stopped.

[Samantha Ford]

The huntress let out a breath as she saw a figure emerge from the apothecary. It hadn't seen her as far as she could tell, but the way he'd stopped, hesitated... her eyes fell on the bag. The smells of the apothecary had wafted out as the door had opened and closed, leaving only the muffled ting-a-ling of the bell, but she recognized the pungent aroma of the wolfsbane flowers as the figure held it not far from her.

Bingo.

All thoughts of needing a drink escaped Samantha's mind as she watched the beast, the thrill of the hunt almost as intoxicating as whiskey in itself. She would follow it, keep tabs. Figure out where she would need to be when the moon hit full, strategize so that she might have the upper hand in the fight, should it come to it. This was why she was here.

The young woman stood completely still, daring not to breathe lest it see her. As she watched, though - the figure was familiar, somehow. She couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't figure out - but this wolf was one she had tracked before, she was almost certain of it. In the dimly lit street, she couldn't quite make out it's face. Male, it seemed like, but who? She could lower her hood, but if she was recognized, it was over. There would be no hunt.

Silently, carefully, her fingers slipped under her cloak and reached for the wand strapped to her thigh.

[Romulus Lyall]

He knew she was there. Almost any werewolf could recognize Samantha Ford on site, but he was maybe the only who could recognize her particular aroma of cigarettes, booze, and sweat. He did not dare turn to look at her. After his moment's pause, he started walking down Knockturn Alley. If he was lucky, she would not have recognized him and would maybe stay back and look for other prey. If he was less than lucky, a confrontation would be inevitable, and he had no idea how she would react.

[Samantha Ford]

Unfortunately for the wolf, Samantha had found all the prey she needed in him, without even the slightest inkling she was tailing her former partner. Instead, she let the figure pass her by and begin making his way down the street before she stepped put behind him, following at a close enough distance that she wouldn't lose him, but making sure to stay back far enough to not be seen.

The huntress had drawn her wand, but kept it concealed under her sleeve to avoid drawing suspicion from any passers by, should there be any. Or worse, still, if the beast noticed her she'd rather not be identified as a threat. On the contrary - the very nature of Samantha Ford's process of identifying and capturing the half-breed abominations that threatened the innocents of London relied on her identity remaining anonymous for as long as possible and her tactics always granting her the element of surprise.

Though she wasn't sure where she was headed, from the looks of things this wolf was gathering supplies for more than just himself, which could lead to a veritable gold mine for the unit.

That is, if she was lucky.

[Romulus Lyall]

As usual, luck failed Romulus. He could tell she had chosen to follow him. He knew all the signs to look for, knew just how far back she would stay. She had trained him after all. He knew her techniques because they were also his. That she did not change her tactics meant one of two things: either she wanted him to know she was following him, or she had no idea that she was following her old partner.

Either way, they would have words. She would follow him back to his "den." He doubted his ability to outrun her, not after going months without running, and he was certain she had continued her morning routine. Besides, if he even tried to run, she would probably cast a body bind on him before he had gone five feet. He could try walking aimlessly for a while, try losing her that way, but that might force a confrontation he did not have control over. Best, then, to take it where he had the advantage.

Romulus turned down a street and started walking home.

[Samantha Ford]

Quick on her feet, agile in the shadows, heightened senses - none of these things were on Samantha's side, tonight. As easily as she identified the wolf, recognized him as familiar, played his gait over in her head and tried to match it with the wolves she'd tracked int he past - nothing. Nothing came up. Perhaps she needed a drink to think more clearly, or to focus less.

Regardless, she soldiered on, following him through the shadows and the night until at last it seemed he had reached his destination. Samantha hung back at a distance, now - she wanted to get a full view of the area, and didn't want to alarm him by straying too close. She needed to remain unseen.

[Romulus Lyall]

A heavy sigh passed from the lips of the wolf as he walked up the steps leading to the door of the apartment building. He was unsure if this was the best course of action. Maybe he should have just lured her into a dark alley and done this there. He knew, though, that she was too smart for that. So he took his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, and propped it open with his foot.

He looked back into the shadows at the figure he knew to be Samantha Ford, even if he could not see her face. "Are you going to give me a hand with this? I've got a lot of potion to brew."

[Samantha Ford]

Samantha Ford - famed tamer of beasts, captor of criminals, breaker of hearts - was not prepared to have any kind of interaction with her prey. She was not prepared to be addressed or carry on a conversation or even be noticed, and especially did not expect to recognize the beast so well. So when Samantha Ford saw her former partner staring towards her and speaking to her directly, she became overwhelmed and threw up on the spot.

The girl choked for a minute, coughing, then took a step back as she clasped her hand over her mouth, pulling at the moisture on the corners of her lips with her thumb and forefinger. She'd barely understood what he'd said, too overwhelmed by trying to make sense of the situation. She hadn't seen him in six months, and here she'd been ready to kill him if necessary, her wand still ready in her right hand. Worse still, she hadn't even recognized him. He, the man who had shared her bed for so many nights, the wolf who had run at her side, the hunter who had helped pin down countless savages - the prey she was about to mark down in her little black book as one of them. Just another wolf, another half-breed abomination.

Except he wasn't.

Just the thought of what she had been about to do, the way she had thought of him, it threatened to make her sick all over again. Instead she fought it, fingers still shielding her lips as her dark eyes bore through the night towards him. The cloak's hood had fallen as she'd jerked forward in nausea moments before and now rested softly around her neck like a coiled serpent, showing her face to him finally. How long had he known? Did he see her as he left the apothecary? Recognize her as he turned a corner? See her slip in to the shadows near his flat? Did he think she was following him on purpose?

Samantha began to open her mouth, letting out little more than an "Ah-" noise as she did so. There would be no response, not with words. She had already responded in a sense anyway, physically and awkwardly and she was certain he would have seen, or heard, or smelled. Samantha Ford, famed huntress, brought to her knees again and again by the wolf that should have been her prey.

No, she was the prey. Perhaps by accident or circumstance, but she was the prey.

Without a word she stepped forward in to the light, lowering her head in surrender.

[Romulus Lyall]

Of all the reactions the wolf might have expected, that was not among them. It made some amount of sense, though, he supposed. She must not have realized it was him. She must have felt like she was completely in control of the situation, and then he turned everything upside down and showed her how little control she had. For someone like Sam, he knew, that would be devastating. Vomiting was still a little extreme.

He felt sorry for her. Sorry that he had taken away her power just now, sorry that he had been estranged from her for so long. He knew if she saw him feeling pity for her, or god forbid if he actually expressed any, things would only be worse. So he simply stood there, propping the door open.

"Come on in. It's a bit chilly out here."

[Samantha Ford]

The girl remained silent.

She wouldn't look him in the eye, instead choosing to lift her chin just enough to acknowledge his request. Just like that the past six months were gone. There had been no absence, no distance. It was fall, and he was leaving, and things weren't working out, and...

Her stomach lurched. What was happening?

Samantha bent over slightly to slide her wand back in it's holster, muttering a "thank you" quiet enough that only a wolf could hear it. She knew he'd notice, but she also knew he respected her enough to recognize her distaste for showing gratitude, that it might humble her.

At least, she thought he did.

Straightening herself and making a vain effort to make sure that her loosely pulled back hair was in a reasonably manageable position, she quietly moved past him, crossing the threshold to the home he'd made away from her. Here, he had retreated while Samantha's flat bore the scars of their relationship, though she knew he had scars of his own.

[Romulus Lyall]

He gave only a small nod in acknowledgement of her gratitude before walking into his flat. The place was not as nice as Samantha's. They came into a small kitchen with a tiny table, ancient appliances, and cracked linoleum flooring. He put his bag down on the meager table and stepped into the living area. There amidst the brown shag carpet was a single couch, which converted into a bed via "Muggle magic." On one side of the bed was a bookshelf filled primarily with lycanthropic literature. On the other side was a cabinet filled with potion supplies and ingredients. On the far wall of the apartment was the door to the bathroom, slightly open.

"You can pop in there if you need to freshen up," he said, waving a hand in the direction of the door. He then set about grabbing several cauldrons out of the potions cabinet.

[Samantha Ford]

As the huntress' eyes adjusted to leaving the dark, they took in the tiny flat. Samantha was used to having nice things - even growing up her family had enough so that the three Ford daughters would never go without, and as an adult she had made it her first order of business to take up residence in the flat she previously shared with Romulus. It had started out as a rental but with time and effort she'd claimed it as her own. Her's to keep, sell, do whatever she wanted with. So when he departed and left the guest room vacant, she hadn't bothered finding another roommate. She'd never even wanted a roommate, really, but it had been convenient for him at the time.

As she looked around she began to wonder, though - was his pay that much below hers? Had he been spending it elsewhere? Surely he could afford better than this - there didn't even seem to be a bed anywhere, just a couch. Or was it that he didn't sleep here at all?

Samantha stood idle for a moment as she watched him gather up the cauldrons. He was brewing potion for more than just himself - a whole pack by the looks of it, or perhaps he was selling it on the black market. Despite her reservations about his history as her partner, she suddenly found herself very aware that Romulus was one of them, a thought that rarely - if ever - crossed her mind while they had been working together and living together. Maybe because while they had been together it hadn't been such a big deal, they'd had an arrangement...but now?

Now he was just another wolf, it seemed. Was he even planning on coming back to the unit at all?

The huntress shook her head slightly, more to bring herself back to reality than to give him any kind of response. Freshen up. Right. It probably would be a good idea to compose herself a little, especially if she planned on talking with him at all (something she was still unsure of.)

"Sure," she muttered, glancing at him almost suspiciously before disappearing in to the tiny bathroom and shutting the door with a soft click behind her.

[Romulus Lyall]

While she was in the bathroom, he prepared the kitchen. He placed three cauldrons on the tiny table, one each to a corner, leaving one corner empty, with only a few inches to spare between them. He then cleared the counter top of dishes, food, books, and paperwork, putting everything away as best as he could. He emptied the contents of his bag onto the counter, separating the ingredients into piles.

The work was relaxing. He liked doing this. He liked helping people. The Muggle werewolves he had become attached to did not know how to brew potions. They needed someone to look out for them. Few people were in a better position to help than he. So he brewed their potions and gave them someone to lean on. In return they gave him a sense of fulfillment that had been completely alien before. He had loved Sam, and part of him still did. He had a connection to her that had been unlike anything he had known before. But now he felt like he was part of a family, and that was a feeling that had gone unfelt for too long.

[Samantha Ford]

Some time later, Samantha emerged from the bathroom - with some difficulty now that she was on the other side of the door, which near about trapped her inside once she opened it. The cloak she had been wearing had disappeared, having been transfigured back to her usual black leather jacket that was now folded over her arm, revealing the navy-colored camisole she had been wearing underneath. Tucked in to her black work boots was a pair of dark, slender blue jeans that were obscured at her right thigh by a wand holster and its two thick black straps. Fully freshened up with wavy hair that bounced across her shoulders and down her back in a sort of whiskey-colored waterfall, she was now much more the image of herself rather than the humbled, cowardly appearance she had shown outside. No matter how she felt behind the facade, Samantha Ford refused to exude anything but confidence, especially in front of her former partner.

As she inched back into the room, the huntress looked around a bit. Beyond just the meager furnishings, the place barely looked inhabitable - at least to Samantha, who was a fan of things like order and cleanliness and organization. Romulus' apartment was quite obviously inhabited by mutts of some kind or another. Eventually she took a seat gingerly on the edge of the couch's arm, watching him in silence a few minutes before speaking, finally withdrawing her flask and taking a healthy swig before speaking.

"Guess this proves the old 'if you're not part of the solution, you're a part of the problem' thing, huh?" she offered perhaps not as kindly as she had intended. "Though I haven't quite figured out which side you're on yet."

[Romulus Lyall]

Romulus continued his preparations as she spoke, not pausing in his work or even looking back at the woman he used to know. He knew she would have doubts about him, but hearing those doubts still hurt. He was helping people control their urges, not going on rampages across the country. Of course he was part of the solution.

"You're a keen detective," he said gruffly. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

[Samantha Ford]

Samantha took his less than kind response as a suggestion to keep her mouth shut and watched him in silence as he worked, putting her "keen detective skills" to use in observing the situation. He had three cauldrons, which meant he could be making potions for as few as two other wolves or as many as five if he was doubling up. She doubted he would be brewing doubles of course, it was entirely too tricky - but this beast in front of her may as well be a stranger. There was no telling what he was up to or who he was roaming with. He could very well be the enemy now, a fact that she was coming to terms with despite the pain it caused her.

As she watched, the huntress went about downing the last of the contents of her flask, finding the bottom much sooner than she would have liked. Within seconds of realizing she had already finished it off Samantha pulled a packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket, hurriedly tapping it against her palm several times before withdrawing a cigarette, placing it to her lips, and lighting it. It wasn't until minutes later when she had sufficiently calmed her nerves that she spoke again.

"Do you...need a hand or something?"

[Romulus Lyall]

Romulus bit back a retort. He knew at this point that she had not realized who she was following. The only reason she was there in his dumpy little flat was because he invited her in, and, given the situation, she had few other options than to comply. She was out of her element and deserved a little slack.

"Yes," he said after a moment, trying to soften the edge in his voice. "That would be nice."

[Samantha Ford]

Samantha nodded as a response, remaining seated for a few minutes as she calmed herself with the cigarette. Eventually she rose, laying her jacket on the couch before entering the kitchen and tapping the ashes from her cigarette in to the sink before wedging it between her lips once more.

Without a word, the huntress set to work. She could brew wolfsbane from memory, probably even while blindfolded if need be. She quickly assessed how far along he was before grabbing a small sack of dried bugs from in front of Romulus, along with a mortar and pestle, and taking them with her to the small kitchen table behind him. Sitting down, Samantha remained completely silent as she began adding small pinches of bugs to the stone bowl and ground them to dust.

[Romulus Lyall]

He stood there in silence a while, using the counter top to prepare while Samantha sat at the table. The silence was not a comfortable one, and it held a lot of tension. Six months of not talking to each other, and neither one had much to say. It was hell on the nerves.

"How's work been?" he decided to ask. As host, he supposed it was up to him to make conversation.

[Samantha Ford]

Contrary to what her partner probably believed, Samantha Ford had a lot to say. She wanted to ask what the hell he was thinking, where he had been, why he'd thought he could just leave her in the department all by herself. She wanted to apologize, perhaps in her own patronizing way rather than with the kindness lovers often afforded each other, but she also wanted to yell. To blame. To hurt.

Instead she sat quietly grinding away at the bugs, taking out her aggravation at not feeling like she could talk with him by squashing tiny dead things in to dust. One pinch after the other, filling up the small stone bowl. Thanks in part to her frustration, she finished off what she'd needed by the time Romulus had finished his question and rose to distribute the powder evenly between the three cauldrons. Once she was done, she answered him not with a direct response but instead with a question, looking him straight in the eyes for the first time since they'd crossed paths and taking a long pull from the cigarette before speaking.

"Where do you keep the bourbon?"

[Romulus Lyall]

Romulus sighed, turned around, opened a cupboard, and procured a bottle of amber colored liquid and two glasses.

"I don't keep any of that crap in my house," he said. "Here, we drink Scotch," he added, pouring the glasses.

[Samantha Ford]

Samantha had been expecting that he would have liquor readily available, but she was not quite prepared for him to have gotten all fancy while he'd been away. Especially given the fact that his living conditions could barely be considered passable by her standards, she felt fairly certain that if he'd had anything at all it would be bottom-tier whiskey only mildly suitable for mixing. Not that she would have cared, of course - alcohol was alcohol and she was in desperate need. The cigarette had calmed her some, as had the remainder of her flask, but it hadn't been enough and she could already feel the anxiety creeping up on her.

"And pouring me a glass, too," she observed, her lips threatening to tug towards a smile. "Guess I've got a gentleman on my hands all of the sudden."

Taking the last pull off the cigarette, the huntress used the stainless steel of the sink basin to put out the last of the dying embers before flicking the filter in to the nearby trash can so that she might reach for the glass Romulus had just poured her. She made only a small effort to be patient.

[Romulus Lyall]

He smiled a little as he handed her a glass. This was familiar. This was what he missed. Sam was more than just a good partner. She was a good drinking partner. His new friends were, too, but there was something right about drinking with Sam.

"I cannot in good conscience withhold such a fine spirit. Whisky this good is meant to be had with company."

Half of the bottle had been already been consumed before he had poured their drinks, and he left it on the counter in case Samantha decided she wanted to further deplete it.

"What do we drink to?" he asked.

[Samantha Ford]

The smile she had been fighting began to show itself as he spoke. With each word, each interaction, the tiny brush of their fingers as she took her drink from him - the months and the distance were falling away as they fell back in to step with one another. In her mind Samantha felt herself wandering back to that first night in her flat as she'd helped him brew his first cauldron of wolfsbane, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. She'd been the one pouring the drinks, then. Now here he was, not only returning the favor but clearly brewing for someone else, just as she had. The circle completing itself.

Samantha Ford stared down at the glass, meeting her reflection in the amber liquid. Ordinarily she'd have already downed it without so much as a second glance, but she couldn't help feeling sentimental all of the sudden. Perhaps it was situation and would pass once the alcohol hit her blood stream and calmed her nerves, but for now she was alright with the two of them seeing eye to eye.

Raising her drink, the huntress replied with three simple words. No flinching, no smiles.

"To sodding up."

Glass of scotch held out like a humbled handshake, her eyes never left his.