Break (Ficlet)

[abetterlie]

After this

"Anger and hate," Justine said to him once. "Severely underrated. Keeps you going. Well, not you."

But then, she hadn't known him when hate kept him going, save for those two days between the death of one father and the imprisonment of another. Then Wesley had captured her and locked her up. In a closet. He's thinking of Justine a lot these days, and how she hated closed rooms afterwards, how they drove with open windows whenever they could. He also thinks of Angel under the sea, and the question of who deserves what.

Until Darla comes, and suddenly the fact his cell is neither a closet nor a coffin under the sea and that he does have blood on his hands doesn't provide him with the same resignation any more. He wants to breathe air again, any air, even some of the more toxic fumes from volcanos back in Quortoth would do, he wants his life back, and no matter whether Harry is really okay back in Gotham or not, he wants to see that for himself.

He also wants to hurt someone for this entire situation. And there are no demons around.

(Save for himself.)

Ironically, his general passivity so far, after the first day and assorted knocked out inmates, and the fact solitary didn't cause him to confess have persuaded the administration to a change of tactics. He's put in a cell with another murder suspect awaiting trial. As opposed to many a prison movie, the man in question is neither an oversized gorilla interested in rape nor an innocent who somehow ended up in detention. He's mostly complaining about how his lawyer screwed things up and didn't get him bailed out, and otherwise looking forward to visits from his wife. The person he killed was his son's math teacher.

"She was gonna let him fail," he explains. "Bitch." Hastily, he adds: "But of course I didn't do it."

The next day, Connor is offered a more or less blatant deal. Instead of having to watch the photos of his burned family yet again, he gets to watch photos of Harry Osborn, severely beaten up.

"Now Detective Fitzgerald, she figures the two of you were in it together, for a joyride," the policeman pushing the photos to him says. "But me, I can see another scenario. Maybe the Osborn boy just had bad luck and bad timing. But not you. Look, son, I know a killer when I see one. Bet no one would get the idea of putting your pal Harry into general population again if you confessed to all the murders. I'm just sayin'."

It takes all the will power he has not to move and react until the policeman shrugs and is about to signal the end of their conversation to the guards. Then he takes a page from Faith's book. He has crossed dimensions. He can do this. The main thing is not to look back.

There are glass splinters in his hair and there might be a bullet somewhere in his shoulder, at least that would explain the blood and the stinging pain there, but half an hour later he's on the road. Another hour later, he's confronted with his first demon. Only the demon turns out to be a costume, and not qualified for painsharing. Connor is hiding in one of the many underground tunnels beneath Los Angeles, far too familiar from the past, when it hits him.

He had forgotten. It's almost Halloween.

Comments

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

Why she's there doesn't matter. Illyria had a disarming tendency to show up wherever she felt like showing up, whenever she felt like it. The Doctor had wanted to see the site where her old temple had been connected to this world. She'd wanted to kill things for a while. He'd left her to do her thing while wisely not asking her what sort of thing that was. She'd left him to whatever it was Time Lords did when not escorting goddesses around the universe.

She was finding a disturbing lack of demons around and can't imagine why, mortal holidays never having meant anything to her. But there was something else. Something familiar that tugged at her. Something tingling at her senses and making her head a certain way. Blood and pain and someone not all human. Someone she knew.

She was silent as she stepped into the tunnels, tracking something other than prey, and not particularly surprised by who it turned out to be.

"Connor."

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

He had sensed a familiar presence before he could see her as well, though now that he's not moving, the pain in his shoulder makes its presence known, so he didn't identify her immediately. Connor had expected the smell of blood to bring vampires, and is aware he's currently without weapons and thus at a disadvantage, so the first thing he feels when realizing it is Illyria is relief.

"Illyria," he says softly, then clenches his teeth and gets up from his crouching position to greet her. Unfortunately, respectful formalities will have to be discarded, because he hears something, smells something which isn't Illyria as well. And it's something human. Not a vampire. Something armed with flashlights.

"Shit," Connor, who otherwise would never swear in front of a goddess, says. "Illyria, I've got to run, I can't let them catch -"

Two things occur to him. Firstly, Illyria might get the idea that they should make mincemeat of the police instead, or might do so for no other reason than because she feels like it. And he does try not to kill any more humans, or get them killed. Secondly, enhanced strength or not, if he wants to reach Gotham in time and in one piece, he needs to get the bullet out soon.

"...I need to get that iron out of my shoulder," he says, switching tracks. "Could you help me?"

By getting the bullet out, literary, he means, because thank you, universe, for not-squeamish goddesses who surely won't object to pulling it out with their fingers if necessary, but a place to hide while they were doing that, sans police access would also be nice.

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

Illyria nodded shortly, almost dismissively.

"Of course."

She could help in the more violent manner, though she did try to keep her promise to Wesley regarding the killing of humans. It was no great concern of hers if Connor wished to refrain from violence as well, though she wondered how he'd gotten himself into this situation to begin with if that was the case.

"Can you run?"

The TARDIS wasn't far, and it wasn't as though she cared whether or not the Doctor would mind. She had a key.

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

"Sure," he says. He's had to run with worse wounds in Quortoth. The memory of those photos come back, of Harry, who doesn't have fast healing and supernatural strength, and he's more determined than ever to get to Gotham or, if that was a lie, to New York City.

He reaches for her hand, which is a subconscious gesture; whenever he ran with someone else - Cordelia, or his father - he held them because he didn't want to lose them by accident. It's completely unnecessary in Illyria's case, but he's not thinking about the gesture, he just makes it.

"Which direction?"

Those noises are coming closer.

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

She takes his hand not out of any particular familiarity but practicality. It was easier if she didn't have to worry about him keeping up. Besides, if he hadn't she'd have just likely grabbed him by the uninjured arm and hauled him along after her. Humans were so very easily lost.

"Northwest." she instructs, with a nod in the direction they'd need to go, since it wasn't something most people could sense inherently.

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

He does have a sense of directions, if nothing else, though he had to relearn them when first arriving here; Holtz had adopted "north", "east", "west" and "south" in a dimension where there were actually more of them, and so Connor had to readjust categories.

They start to run, Illyria's cool hand holding his, and Connor is realising those exercises to deal with boredom and brooding in prison weren't the same as a regular workout. Or maybe it's that he's wounded. Or that Illyria is not simply another vampire, or Slayer, at the same level as himself. Anyway, the speed is dizzying, but he'd die rather than admit it.

Not wanting to be recaptured is an additional motivation.

After a while, they have left the sounds of police and the signs of flashlight far enough behind for him to take the luxury of speaking.

"There is an exit coming, I think. Some junkyard. Is your place far?"

Which is the young male's way of saying "I'm pretty exhausted, and if I have to run much further I'd rather do it above ground because I need some fresh air".

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

"Just above." She replies, pausing to let him catch his breath.

"A few of your ... blocks, is it? I am here with a traveling companion. He's trustworthy."

If you required such things as trust.

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

"Right," Connor says. In, out. Okay. He's okay. He thinks. "Then let's move."

Something occurs to him.

"I don't want to cause police trouble for anyone." Getting some friendly bystander arrested for having helped a fugitive wasn't exactly the best way to atone sans jail. Though if this companion is hanging out with Illyria, he's probably bound to have secrets of his own and already experienced in keeping other people's. "Is he, you know, does he know about stuff?"

Silly question. People not knowing about the supernatural world wouldn't be with a goddess. Though they might still object if she shows up with an escaped prisoner in tow.

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

"He's a Time Lord."

Not that it explained anything, but Illyria's explanations often left a lot to be desired.

"His rules are not those of this world."

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

This is where being something of an outworlder himself comes in handy. He takes that concept in a stride, moving towards the exit which will lead them to the surface. Then it hits him. Time travel. Which entitity does he know who called himself a time traveller, even a lord of time? Abruptly, he stops.

"His name isn't Sahjahn, is it?"

Okay, so Connor has beheaded the guy, but if Sahjahn can travel through time, who's to say that death was final?

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

"Sahjahn was a demon. It is a different sort of time control."

Illyria'd had a more similar type to Sahjahn's, herself, once. At her full power she could walk between dimensions, pull herself out of sync with time when necessary. Time Lords were... different, though she could not have explained how, at least not while there were more important matters at hand.

Reaching the ladder that would lead them up, she releases him and nudges him forward. "Go."

If anything had chosen to follow, she was going to be very, very certain it was at least slowed down enough not to annoy them further. Besides, if Connor's injury caused any difficulty in ascending the ladder, it was easier for her to stall anything that followed than to drag him up it after her with the police on their heels.

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

He climbs upward, a bit faster than expected; someone is grabbing him by the throat and hauling him up. Not the police, no; but something he had expected to find him sooner or later, given he smelled of blood. A vampire.

Make that three vampires. In the corner of his eyes, he sees something which looks like a big blue box, but between it and him, there are three people in game face, one of whom has him by the throat.

"Look who's coming for dinner," one of them says with a grin. Being without a stake or an axe or in fact anything useful, Connor resorts to a head butt, which at least gets him on his own two feet. Normally, he could deal with three vampires, not a problem. Right now, it's going to be a bit more of a contest, but still. He's been waiting to hurt someone for the entire situation he's finding himself in, and though the timing could be better, well, why not them?

Connor goes for a roundhouse kick while the other two vampires have spotted Illyria behind him and are about to make the mistake of their unlives.

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

Normally she'd spend a little more time ranting at the vampires for being an offense to senses she no longer even possessed. But they were in a hurry, and vampires were hardly a challenge.

Their hearts come out of their chests so very, very easily. She was always amused at how they turned to dust last, in her hands.

The two dispatched, she turned around to see how Connor was managing.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The head of a tall, skinny bloke with mussed up hair poked out of the mysterious blue box Illyria had led them to.

Dust, violence, terror? Ah, the Doctor's companion must be home.

"Honestly, Illyria, I just can't take you anywhere, can I?"

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

Connor, who in lack of stakes or blades but with enough rage and time-saving issues as motivation had been forced to improvise and follow Illyria's example - i.e. the tearing the heart of the chest approach - , turns at the sound of the new voice as the dust settles. Just for a second, he feels disoriented, hit by conflicting memories, and then he realizes why. The man talks with an English accent. The only two people Connor knew who did that were Holtz, who raised him, and Wesley. Though this man doesn't sound like either, not really.

More importantly, he doesn't sound panicked.

"Hi," Connor says awkwardly, stepping towards the man, not sure how to approach the subject of "I need to hide and get this bullet out, and then I need to get to Gotham". The part of him which is the son of Lawrence and Colleen Riley and has fake memories of manner lessons makes him reach out his (dusty, sweat and blood covered) hand in greeting. "You must be Illyria's companion. I'm Connor."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The Doctor gingerly took the young man's hand and blinked in Illyria's direction.

Illyria's companion?

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

Maybe companion was the wrong expression. What was that term Illyria used to use for Wesley? Not sidekick or flunky, no....

"Her guide, I mean," Connor says, recalling it. "Um, sorry about this, but we've got the cops behind us, and I need to get rid of - Illyria said you have some sort of hiding place?"

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Guide? When would Illyria have ever let the Doctor guide her?

Another look in Illyria's direction---she would have quite a bit of explaining to do, then he motioned into the blue box in which he was standing.

"Hop in," he said, "Illyria, if you're quite finished slaughtering the masses...?"

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

[ooc: ahaha stupid LJ. Sorry, I would've replied, but I never got the notifs of the first set of these, and then it wouldn't load. *kicks it*]

Illyria lets the two concerned with pleasantries take care of introducing themselves. She is amused by the terms these people use. Wesley was supposed to be her guide, and yet that role had been... lost, somehow. Changed. The Doctor often called her his companion, and she preferred it to friend. They were all just words. What was to explain? She very nearly thought of Connor as one of hers, one of her chosen, similar to what Wesley was, but without the entanglements that made Wesley a far more complicated matter.

It was a similar sort of protection that she'd have given a follower. People she claimed as hers were... different, now, than they'd been.
She isn't sure she can explain that, and certainly not right this second.

"He's been injured. We required a place to fix it, and to avoid the meddlesome human authorities who have apparently chosen to meddle in affairs that I am nearly certain cannot possibly concern them."

Connor was technically no more human than she was. It wasn't as though human laws ought to apply, whatever he'd done.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Let's discuss it over a cup of tea, shall we?" the Doctor made a motion to the door, and stepped inside, "Do shut the door on your way in, would you? I'd rather not have the authorities trying to come into their police box."

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

Connor is doubtful they won't follow anyway, but steps in. And is, as is a person's wont when first entering the TARDIS,stunned. Though he has been to the White Room at Wolfram and Hart's, and has crossed from one dimension to the other, which of which are memories coming back now.

He also has the dearly bought artificial memories of another, ultra-normal Californian childhood, and that other Connor looks at the consoles and thinks: Spaceship! That's cool!

Both memory sets lead to verbalization, directly after the other. Connor, son of Angel, says cautiously: "You're not a totem of the Rach'tet, are you?" to the Doctor, and Connor Riley adds, looking around, full of admiration: "This is awesome."

He's also practical enough to realize anything that can take you into another dimension in itself will hide you from the police one way or the other, which means they're unlikely to barge in now, so he says to Illyria, very grateful:

"If there is something like a knife here, could you get the bullet out of my shoulder?"

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

"He is a Time Lord. Gallifreyan." Illyria replies, in answer to Connor's question. "You would call him alien, I suppose, if such things matter."

Alien, extra-dimensional. Demon wasn't even a word she'd have ever applied to herself. Nor had goddess been, originally. So caught up in names and details, humans were.

To the Doctor, with a small questioning head-tilt: "There is an infirmary, is there not? With some sort of appropriate tools for the task?"

She'd never been in there, herself, but she'd wandered past it once, and it was likely still here if the ship hadn't decided to rearrange itself as it was fond of doing.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Oi," the Doctor snorted, "No need to advertise, some people aren't a fan of aliens, if you remember." He gave his head a bit of a scratch in rememberance of his last situation with that. Oh, well. He told them to leave him alone, but Torchwood Four didn't listen. Now, well, they'd find their way home eventually.

"There's a sickbay, yes," the Doctor said, taking a step towards Connor and glancing at his arm, "I'll get this out. Shouldn't take a moment."

He flipped a switch on the TARDIS, getting the machine in orbit, then led the way down the corridor, "So, what did you do?" Tact was probably best in this moment, pity the Doctor wasn't that good at tact.

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

He did a lot of things. Some of them certainly deserved getting locked up in prison for. But he's been that route before, and his mother was right, galling as this was to admit. Besides, he needs to get to Gotham; as fast as possible. So the Doctor does not get a guilt-ridden confession of past misdeeds but the equally true:

"Not what they think. My Mom and Dad and little sister died -"

Adopted family, but that's beside the point now.

"- last year, and last month the police suddenly decided I did it. They arrested my boyfriend as well, for something else a vampire did, so he can't even tell them what happened, and they just showed me photos of - anyway, I need to see him. Make sure he's okay."

Walking next to the Doctor, he's torn between looking around, concentrating on the man next to him who is still so much of an unknown quantity, and worrying about Harry.

The Doctor certainly smells slightly different from a human, though not very, not as different as Illyria. Alien. Having grown up in another dimension with just one other humanoid around, it's a designation he would have applied to himself, if he had had the vocabulary back then.

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

She gives the Doctor a withering look. Someone comfortable around a demon goddess was hardly going to be bothered by the fact that he was an alien.

To Connor:

"The Doctor is, on occasion, a champion for humanity. Like your father, though with only slightly more regard for the actual morality system of humanity as I have."

There's a faint note of... not quite disdain. Exasperation, perhaps. Something that set them apart from her. She was no champion for humanity. Except sometimes by accident.

But implicit in the words were something else, something these more-human creatures needed. You can trust him.

To the Doctor:

"You can return him to his home after we've removed the offending metal from his shoulder?"

It was phrased as a request, but with Illyria all requests carried a bit of implicit warning as to what would happen if they were not granted.

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

Champion was a word carrying all too many connotations for Connor, and not just because of Angel. It comes with the inevitable memory of Jasmine calling him, calling them all her champions of humanity, and how that ended. But he understands what Illyria wants to say about the Doctor. It also sinks in that he's really free right now, no matter in how crazy a circumstance, for the first time since weeks, and that he might actually have a shot at following through with his desperate attempt.

"You keep ending up with heroes and defenders of humanity," he says to Illyria, and for the first time when adressing her, there is a note of teasing in his voice. "It must be a curse."

Then he addresses the Doctor, entirely serious.

"Look, if you can bring me to a place in Gotham - I mean, you probably don't need anything, but I owe you. Big time."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I'm sure it's less of a curse and more of a pleasure for Illyria. My presence, at the very least," the Doctor replied. with a cheeky grin. A warning from Illyria? Like that was anything new. She was very good at making her demands known, which was almost...refreshing. No innuendos, no games, just a simple 'this is what I want'.

But why did she want this? Who was this fellow? Certainly not the kind of important to her that the Pryce chap was. He'd have to ask her. Later.

He led them down a corridor to a large metallic-looking door that had "Infirmary" written over top of it and scratched out, with a sort of wobbly-looking script that said "sickbay" underneath. An action in his fourth incarnation, when the word 'infirmary', for some reason, was extremely offensive. The room was small, with a metallic examining table and rows upon rows of medicine cabinets.

"Gotham won't be a problem, though it's far from safe there, as well. Is there some sort of permanent solution, though?" he asked Connor, as he motioned to the table and went to grab somoe supplies, "Won't the police come looking for you at home?"

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

"It's not my home," Connor says matter of factly. (Thank whoever is in charge of those things for small mercies. Living in the same town as Bruce The Obnoxious Wayne would be - well, okay, prison was worse, but still.) "But my boyfriend is staying there with a friend. At least that's what I was told. The police said differently. They showed me photos of him in hospital. That's why I need to check. I need to be sure."

Since they more or less said this would happen again unless Connor made a confession.

"And I don't want to stay there, either. I mean, I could live on the run. I did that before. But Harry couldn't. So I thought - "

What? He hadn't thought very far ahead. Returning was one idea. Either in the vague hope all that craziness will sort itself out, or to make that dammed confession. Or doing what would probably the most sensible and selfless thing, stay away from just about everybody, except he can't do that, either, not knowing how the people he loves will react to such a stunt.

He shrugs, somewhat helplessly. Then he gets rid of his shirt. There is no damage on him other than the bullet wound, due to the enhanced healing someone like the Doctor might notice, and the bullet would itself would have started to close if not for the interfering metal. This infirmary/medlab doesn't look exactly like either, but then again, Cordelia patched him up after the Beast made mincemeat out of him with far less.

"Are you really a Doctor?" he asks the Doctor, less because he doesn't believe it and more because he wants to distract from his embarassing lack of a concrete plan post trip-to-Gotham.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"In a manner of speaking."

The Doctor doesn't bother to explain further---textbook enigmatic, that is---he merely ruffles through his cabinets, producing an anesthetic, medical tweezers, and a needle and thread. Washes his hands. Moves the utensils over to the table. It isn't going to be the best work, but he does have the abilities to do minor surgery on the run. He did it often during the War, though that was mostly on himself.

Not something to think about.

"And after that?" he asks, dropping the needle to Connor's shoulder, "After you've seen him? What next? Where will you go?"

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

Connor doesn't react to the needle, which has more to do with being raised by Daniel Holtz than it has with superpowers.

"I don't know," he says. "Depends on whether he's okay. Well. As much as possible."

He thinks about the photos again, thinks about Harry locked up and what that did to him the last time, and fights down the not-helpful impulse to kick something. Or throttle someone. All that's in the sickbay to kick are useful medical instruments, and he doesn't want to throttle either the Doctor or Illyria, not that Illyria would let him get close enough to her neck to try in any case. Pity she killed the other two vampires, though.

"If he is, maybe I'll go even back to the cops. Maybe that will convince them I didn't do it. If he's not - "

If Harry is not in Gotham but still locked up in New York, or in Gotham but not in a state to speak and make decisions, maybe he'll have to rethink the life-on-a-run option. Or the fake confession. Because he's not going to let them lock Harry up again.

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

Illyria's been observing the proceedings silently, watchfully. She's confident the Doctor can attend to Connor's injury in a less painful manner than she would have, though there's an air of protectiveness about the way she watches, and the question she asks.

"You are concerned he's been harmed."

It's an observation, not a question. Human emotions were things to be read - analyzed and largely ignored, but she'd had less luck with that second part.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The Doctor raised his eyebrow at the protectiveness in Illyria's voice. It was very like a mother tending a child---though the thought of Illyria as a mother was downright terrifying.

Which meant the boy meant something to Illyria. And Illyria, as companion, meant a good bit to the Doctor. Mathamatically, that meant that if a + b = c and b + d also equals = c, that meant that a + d = c.

Circular logic always did make him dizzy, though.

He tossed off his suit jacket and pulled up the sleeves on his shirt, "That anesthetic should kick in in a moment, we'll get the bullet out then." Without missing a beat, he asked, "Someone's set you up, then? What did they say? Who are they?"

[abetterlie.livejournal.com]

Looking at Illyria, Connor says: "They did harm him. I just don't know how much yet."

Which was why it was time to stop the brooding and do something. He knows what he did do is not the most rational thing. If he had not met Illyria, he'd still be running through the tunnels of Los Angeles dripping blood, and nowhere near a position to help Harry. But he did meet Illyria, and this helps beyond finding a hiding place and a means of transport. When Connor first met Illyria, during what turned out to bet he last hours of his memory-free life, he simply thought she was cool and well, yes, attractive. When he met her again with the full knowledge of the past, she could not help but remind him of that other goddess lost in a human world, his daughter, Jasmine, though the two are in fact very different. By now, Illyria is simply herself, and yet all the previous undercurrents are there as well. He admires her – and maybe this is because there is a need in him left by Holtz and Jasmine to mix admiration with faith, to look up - and sometimes feels oddly protective. Connor will never stop believing he failed Jasmine, that he should have found a way to respond in that last hour of despair that wasn’t killing her, and seeing Illyria coming to terms with humanity without losing her divinity is always helping.

“You do what you have to to protect your own,” he says to her, convinced she’ll understand. Then he looks at the Doctor again. Who is relentlessly logical. Which, coupled with that English accent, also evokes memories.
Think, Stephen. Before you hunt, you need to think.

“The cops who arrested me where called Fitzgerald and Yoon,” he says in reply to the Doctor’s question, sounding a bit defensive because of said memories, “and it was Yoon who showed me the photos today because I haven’t confessed yet. I don’t know whether they really believe I did it or not. Sometimes I wonder whether –“

He looks at Illyria again, not knowing whether she filled the Doctor in on the whole Wolfram and Hart thing.

„- whether the Senior Partners set this up, you know, as payback because Angel went against them. But so far no one from Wolfram and Hart has shown up to gloat, and I figure they would have, if they were behind it.”

[perfectblue.livejournal.com]

There's faint approval in her acknowledging nod to Connor's comment about protecting one's own. She always had, though she'd been a ruthless creature, as well. Sacrifices were made - followers who trusted her had died in her name. Even a goddess cannot protect them all, and she hadn't been a particularly kind one.

Now, the list of those she'd willfully protect?

Wesley, and possibly by extension the rest of his so-called family. Fred not because Illyria cared for her, but because Wesley did and she would not see him grieve like that again. Methos for much the same reason, and because she knew he'd protect Wesley as fiercely as she did. Connor very likely would be on the list simply because he'd been the only one to treat her remotely like a goddess, and something like a ... she wouldn't say friend, but like someone who belonged in this world. Something about his spirit resonated with her. The violence beneath the kindness. She could tell it was there. And of course, the Doctor. She'd protect him because he was of use to her, and because they tolerated each other well. Their connection was... not as dark as most of her others. More of necessity for both of them, she thought, even if said necessity included companionship of a sort.

Speaking of the Doctor, Illyria addresses him in explanation.

"The Wolf, Ram, and Hart were the symbolic names of three creatures that were above the vampire, in my time, but below my kind. They hid in wait, outlived us. Survived in this dimension and others. They now hide under the guise of a law firm, and they are no more inclined to forget a grudge than I am."

That she herself had once been in talks with Lilah Morgan about regaining her powers is not something she's willing to share at present.