Chapter Text
“You’re a handler,” Manning wipes the perspiration from his brow and looks almost listless. He looks held together by his suit, uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze. “handle this.”
You’re tempted to tell him what he can go handle, but bite back sarcasm and lock it behind your teeth instead. He caught you as you were leaving, walking to the exit to go home. You were half asleep standing, ready to let yourself sink into a nice bath and then into bed.
But the way his hands shakes sparks in you a sense of sympathy you can’t shake. He’s genuinely scared of what’s housed here, while you shrug it off with something akin to drudgery. He doesn’t ask you to help, however, he tells you and when you show no sign of resistance he physically pulls you after him.
You watch the monster prowl in its cage, beady eyes glowing red in its goat face. It’s not even remotely human but you almost feel sorry for it. Its wings flap uselessly, it’s fevered and angry.
Its arms are small, capped with a child’s hands and clawed. They’re too short to scratch the glass, at least. Even you’re unnerved by the sight. It stamps its cloven hoof and stares right at you for a moment.
Resisting the urge to make a face, you turn instead to the bucket that one of the other handlers places beside you. Giving him a tired smile, you pick it up and walk towards the glass.
Black metal against clear, you press a button on the pad affixed to the adjacent drywall. The centre pulls away from itself, like two tiny doors retracting inwardly. It leaves a hole big enough for a human hand holding a chunk of meat.
Once upon a time you might have bothered with gloves. Now, you’re too exhausted to care and you pick up the piece of beef. Blood coats your hand and drips down your arm as you toss it through the hole. The thing in the cage runs to get its breakfast. You press the button with your unstained hand and the hole closes.
“Ah, there you are.” you turn when you hear a voice that’s uniquely soft-spoken. Your smile is bright and warm when you find Abe standing near the entrance to the containment cells.
His posture is similar to a ballerino, with his shoulders back despite the casual setting. How he looks has become almost second nature to your eyes, and you extend your hand to him out of habit.
You’ve never seen eyes like his, large and dark and glittering. They glance down at your fingers and for a moment, they’re disgusted. Looking down, you gasp.
“Oh, sorry, Abie,” you say, dropping your blood-smeared hand to your side and putting the bucket down. With your left hand, you shake his right. “I barely noticed it, I’m so out of it this morning.”
“I would hardly call three am morning,” he replies and you blink. “overtime?” he asks without needing to ask. You nod.
“Yeah, but I think I made a new friend.” you turn your eyes to the cage and Abe seems to see the creature for the first time. The look of revulsion returns but it’s far more potent.
“I see,” he turns his eyes back to you. “what is it?” you shrug.
“They found it in the Pine Barrens, so my guess is a Jersey Devil.” you turn back to the monster balanced perfectly on its hind legs. It stares at you, then at Abe. Its forked tail flits in the air behind it and after a quiet moment, it lets out the most bloodcurdling scream you’ve ever heard. Flinching, you give Abe a look, speaking with deadpan exhaustion. “He’s delightful, I think I’ll call him Jerry.”
Abe doesn’t laugh, instead he seems very curious. He turns his head towards you, movements alternating between smooth and rigid. “Is it safe to get closer?” he asks and you nod.
“It’s bark is worse than its bite.” you reply, following a small distance behind him as he observes. When he looks to see where you stand, he gestures for you to come closer.
“You said a Jersey Devil,” he begins. “not the?” you shake your head.
“They found him noshing on some poor hiker’s brain but there were other foot prints in different sizes. Different teeth marks on other parts of the corpse, there was probably more than one.” you only have to lift your head a bit to look at Abe. His earlier expression of disgust is replaced with fascination. “I can show you the body if you want.” he shakes his head.
“No. No, that won’t be necessary. Really, I was hoping to find you.” you smile again, cocking your head to the side.
“Me?” you ask and Abe seems ill-prepared to tell you about why he wanted to find you.
“I— yes. You mentioned to me a week ago that you had never read any Tennyson.” fighting the urge to yawn, you nod and look down at Abe’s webbed hands. Held at his side is a book. “I thought you might like to borrow this.”
“Oh, Abe,” you say as he hands the book to you. You take it in your clean hand. It’s thin, maybe a little less than two-hundred pages but the title tells you that it’s a play. “The Glass Menagerie, that sounds beautiful.”
“Read it, if you’d like and then we can discuss it.” he doesn’t seem to expect your smile to be so bright, nor brighter still when he says that. You nod.
“I will, I’m sure I’ll love it.” you feel a swelling of pride when the objectively strange-looking man returns your grin almost sheepishly.
“And I am finished with your Yeats collection, I greatly enjoyed reading that.” your eyes widen just a touch. You’d lent that to him yesterday. Nodding, you turn and grab the now-empty bucket with the hand caked in dried blood.
“I’ll go wash up and grab it before I leave. I’ll see you tomorrow, Abe.” you say as you head towards the sink. You’re careful not to keep the book as far away from the water as possible.
“Yes, goodbye.” he says and when you turn to wave, he’s gone.
Strange one, that Abe Sapien, but no stranger than most of what you deal with. He’s kind, endlessly so even if he has the ability to be unnerving. It’s not as if people are banging on his door in search of books, your interest must be refreshing.
You glance over your shoulder at the devil in the cage. It looks almost sad and your heart twists. Does it mean to kill? Or does it just want to eat? You’re not sure but your pity outweighs the doubt. Resigning yourself to having to wash your hands again, you press the button on the panel and give the thing in the cage an extra chunk of meat.
“We’re friends now, okay?” you ask it, but it doesn’t look up from its food. “If you escape and kill everyone, my death will be the quickest. Do we have a deal?” now it does look up, its hellfire eyes burning into you. “Good morning, Jerry.” you say as a supplement for goodbye.
The hole closed, you wash your hands again and make sure that they’re completely dry before touching the book. You read the blurb on the back as you walk towards the elevator. You know the way to the library better than most. Your steps are no longer as sluggish as they were, you’re still tired out of your mind but seeing Abe before heading home is an improvement.
He knows you’re quite fond of him, but pretends not to notice with the way that you guard them. You have to wonder sometimes if he’s aware, really aware of how you see him. He’s beautiful, intelligent, a saviour to so many people. Everyone who meets him, you’re sure, could become infatuated.
Perhaps that’s why you bury how you feel, the simplicity of it is far too simple for you to entertain. He’s never mentioned it, so you’re certain there’s no way he could return your frenzied emotions. Sometimes how he smiles at you hurts, likely trying to swim through the flood of unwanted emotion.
A third of the way in, the alarm sounds. Emergency, you realize, something top-secret and threatening the lives of people in a concrete way. You hurry your steps, hoping to get to the library before Abe leaves. You like to wish him luck before he heads out, it just seems like the nice thing to do.
You reach the door and open it but find the place empty. Your heart sinks as you wander in, in search of your book.
On the desk across from Abe’s tank, you spot the bottle-green cover of your poetry collection. It along with a note were placed in a relatively central and easy to spot location. Unfolding the paper that sits on top, you recognize the handwriting.
No doubt you heard the siren, I had to run out. Go home and rest. Will talk to you about Innisfree tomorrow.
— Abe.
P.S. I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
You smile and set the note back down, picking up your book and turning it over in your hands. He’s taken good care of it, you notice, in the brief time it was in his care. Still thinking on the poem he seemed most attached to, you notice the plush chair by the desk.
It couldn’t hurt to sit for a while, start reading the play that Abe has so graciously let you take home. You only need to consider it an option before you find yourself walking towards it. Removing your jacket and dropping it beside, you sit. This room is warmer than the rest of the facility and you find yourself quite relaxed in no time.
You read one, maybe two sentences before your eyes are closing, and you fall asleep.
The emergency was not as life threatening as the blaring alarm made it out to be. It was a successful mission but nothing to write home about. Red complains about his back problems on the drive home, Liz piping up that perhaps he shouldn’t be lifting trucks, then.
Their banter never gave way to a full-blown fight, thankfully and Abe was left to his own thoughts without needing to step in as mediator. He thinks about Innisfree, an island and what it might be like to live a quiet life there.
Playing hero is rewarding in its own way, but he knows that staying forever is not something he can stand. Rain drums outside and his thoughts turn to the person who lent him the book in the first place, you who gave him access to a lake isle in Ireland.
The weather is terrible, he hopes you’ve made it home safe and relatively dry. Your smile when you saw him was at odds with the stab of guilt he felt in your stomach, mirrored in his own. You like him, and you’re ashamed of it. He knows the feeling all too well.
He barely makes a sound as he walks back into the library. The fire crackles like your voice, warm and welcoming. It’s not until he’s parallel to his tank that he senses the presence of another. Turning, he finds you asleep in the chair on the landing.
His first instinct is to wake you, remind you that you should be at home. He sees the dark circles under your eyes, that sincere peace on your face and the thought of waking you is crushed. You’re tired, you should sleep. Maybe it’s selfishness, he considers. He rather likes that look of serenity on you, even if it is unimaginably rare.
Taking the books from your slack hands, he places them back on the desk. Picking up your coat, he places it over your sleeping form. He pauses before walking away, filing the report that Manning will demand eventually. He picks up the bottle-green book again. Some things are worth rereading.