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It starts as it always did, a body and a corpse, inches apart, sharing a bed.
Louis’ was warm beside him, that is the glaring difference. He was asleep, which was one of the others. The room was dark, a single candle flickering meant he could see Louis’ face, rendered in the golden light.
And well… It's a nice face, he had always thought the Doctor was handsome, even before it became Louis’. Not that Louis hadn’t put work into his appearance, he’d trimmed and plucked and smoothed and softened every rough edge and out of place feature. Wrangled a body that was so different to his into being something he could inhabit, something that was now him in Owen’s eyes.
But laying here watching him sleep, he could still see the bits that were undoubtedly Legundo. The harsh edges and weathered features that just can’t be changed no matter what his love could do. A scar carved across a face, the rise and fall of lungs that he never experienced with Louis before, the heat.
A traitorous part of him is thankful.
That little siren in his mind that softened at the Doctor’s words, wanted to lean into the glancing touches in the few weeks before Louis came back. The part that wondered if he could have something like Louis again.
The part that still gets loud when he is lying down in the sheets, inches from the man. It wonders what could have been, what could potentially still be.
The body next to Owen shifts a bit, grumbles slightly in their sleep.
Owen lifts his clawed hand and cautiously brings it to the elders face. He traces the cheek bone under the padding of flesh and fat that makes the Doctor’s face. It was so different from the narrow, almost fox like one Louis used to have.
His heart reluctantly aches for what has been lost. The face that greeted him on the summer evenings, the slender hands that held his on winter nights. That was all just ash now, lost to the wind over the last couple of decades.
Owen let his hand drop to cradle Louis’ face. It was worn, like well loved leather , and warm against his corpse cold skin. There is a slight stubble on the chin he should probably remind Louis if when he wakes up, the elder seems to always forget the daily upkeep needed for a body that still lived. But that's fine, he will be turning soon. Louis had ummed and arred over a calendar a couple days back, comparing it to one Scott had found in his archives, before gleefully announcing it was the anniversary of their meeting in the coming days. And what a fitting day it would be to turn Louis then, to come full circle on their life.
Besides, until then Owen will always be here to remind him of what he forgot, he was not going to leave him again. Not ever again.
With that promise solidifying in his chest, he lent over, closed his eyes and pressed a kiss into Louis' hair. A stamp of devotion, a signature on a contract only he knew about.
Something hot and burning rose in him as Owen settled back down next to him, eyes closed in some mimicry of sleep. Love, for the man who helped him, who never flinched back, who tried to see the best in him.
And maybe it was tinged with some shame. Louis had made it no secret his disappointment with what he had done. Of the slaughter of Louis’ wards and Owen’s torment of the modern town. That quiet moment where the former mayor looked at him with such disappointment that he thought the doctor had scraped his way back left a heavy weight in his chest.
The rise and fall of the body next to his stills.
Opening one eye, he is met with sharp green ones. They are awake.
The look in those eyes remind him of a hare, leg snared in a trap, holding still as it senses something predatory draw near.
This was not Louis, this was the good doctor.
It’s like every gentle feeling drained from his chest, something twisting violently in its place. Owen lets his hand fall to the doctor’s neck, claws pricking against his windpipe. It shifts as the doctor gasps.
‘Please-’ Legundo mouths, pupils dilated black holes locked on his. Owen feels his lip twitch as he tries to keep in a snarl. Who does the doctor think he is, trying to beg for something now. What does he even want? Control? To leave? To separate Owen from Louis again. How could he be so selfish? It is clear to Owen who is the monster and who is the saint, and he knows Legundo knows too.
(He is ignoring how much more similar he is to Legundo than he is to Louis. Both their hands are stained red. But at least he had a reason.)
Legundo must have worked up the courage again as he gasps another ‘Please’ as a tear wells in his eye.
“Please, Owen, don’t do this.” he croaks.
Owen doesn’t reply, just digs his nails in. Legundo lets out a choked sob of pain, breath trembling in his throat.
“Owen, please. I can’t do this. I know you’re going to turn him, turn me. I-”
“Shut up Doctor!” he snaps, pushing the doctor down into the sheets, flipping himself over to straddle the older man. Legundo flinches and cries out more and the sight only fans the anger burning in his gut. Legundo is not a victim here, he doesn’t deserve to act like one.
“Please, please, please” Legundo babbles, “I can't do this, I can't. It's too much. I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't make me do this. I can’t live forever, please, not like this.”
The next snarl is like thunder in his throat as he leans down to the doctor’s face. His fangs are bared like daggers and he feels Legundo’s heart thunder beneath him.
“I’m not letting you go, Doctor. I’m not letting him go. I will keep you here, even if I have to sink every claw and tooth in to do so. I will keep you so I can keep him, do you understand, doctor?” Owen hisses the name, cold breath brushing against Legundo’s face.
Legundo shakes his head wordlessly, whether out of lack of understanding or disagreement with the whole idea, Owen didn’t really care.
He lets his claws scratch down to his shoulder as he presses further against him, trapping him against the mattress. His lips are so close to Legundo’s neck that he could feel the warmth of the blood pumping rapidly through his arteries.
“I could turn you now. Louis would be disappointed, but you wouldn’t be able to take him from me. We could be linked, forever in this damned world. Unable to remove the link between the two of us.” Owen muttered, eyes fixed on the Doctor’s skin. It would be so easy, to slip his fangs in. Pump in the venom and stop the Doctor resisting. Something unchangeable, forever chaining the two together. No age or disease or simple weapon could take him from Owen.
Legundo tries to lean his head back further, to get away from him. But all it does is expose his neck more. So Owen moves in closer.
“Owen, please-” Legundo whispers, cutting himself off as Owen moves closer still.
“Shhhh, I’ll make it painless. It’s more than you deserve.”
The Doctor’s heart is like a drum against his chest. Its thudding betrays the doctors building panic.
But Owen has all he wants so close to him, he could just take it. His eyes settle on the scars of previous feedings, of trust exercises. (He trusted Owen once. Does he regret it now?)
So focused he is on the siren call of blood that when Legundo suddenly twists he is almost thrown off. Scrambling to sit up, he watches as Legundo’s eyes lock onto Owen’s carving knife on the bedside cabinet. The Doctor hand shoots forward and clasps it as Owen pushes himself forward.
Legundo swings at him, eyes wild and desperate, catching his cheek which blooms with the hot sting of pain. Owen lunges for him, crashing them both back down onto the bed. He snarls and hisses as they twist and grab and shove at one another. Legundo goes for another jab and finally Owen manages to grab his wrist, pinning it above his head. The other one scrapes uselessly at Owen’s back, nails blunted and round from Louis' file.
Just for good measure Owen grabs and pins that one too.
And for a moment they just exist there, both panting (somewhat pointlessly in his case) like dogs. Bodies tense and taught. Owen knelt over Legundo’s body like a predator over a fresh kill.
Legundo’s bones creak under his tightening grip. The man in question hisses in pain.
Green eyes meet his, tears flowing freely down the weathered face. He blinks and Owen feels Legundo go limp beneath him, like someone cut the strings holding him up. The knife drops from his hand and clatters against the floor, to be found at a later date.
Legundo’s lip quivers as he tries to hold in a sob. To see the once steadfast doctor so broken alarms something in Owen.
The fact he was the one to break him alarms him more.
Legundo blinks up at him, lips tracing unsaid words. To ask him to stop? Beg not to be turned again? Owen didn’t know.
But as he leans in he hears Legundo’s breath hitch again.
“I trusted you.”
Owen pauses, eyes flicking once again to the familiar scar.
“I know.”
The Doctor sobs again, before taking a gasp of air and forcing his next words out.
“I could have loved you.”
He says it like a confession, half guilty and half reverent. And Owen can’t believe him. Legundo doesn’t look at him when he says it, instead his gaze is tipped up as if seeking a higher power.
Maybe it was true, maybe something else had found a way to be content with what Owen had to give. Maybe Legundo had almost fallen in love with the image of Owen he had in his head. Maybe part of him had fallen for the idea of what Legs could have been in his head.
It didn’t matter now.
“I could have loved-” Legundo cuts off the whisper with a sob. Then another, and another, till it's all that left his mouth.
Owen just sits there motionless. Every sob claws at something in his heart. But what else could he do?
Offer comfort to a man who thought him his tormentor?
Instead he lent down further until his lips brushed Legundo’s neck, drawing an agonised whine from him. Owen glances up, Legundo’s eyes are closed now, trying to block out what is happening around him.
It causes him to hesitate.
He draws himself up, till he is face to face once more. What he should do, he doesn’t know but the more he thinks the more he is sure that Louis would be disappointed in him for making Legundo cry. Part of him is already disappointed that he did. The traitorous part.
The part that loved Legundo.
The part that wanted to turn them, not for Louis but for Legundo. The part that wanted to hold tight, the part that broke at the sight of Legundo’s hatred and fear.
It's the part that leaned down and kissed him.
His lips are cracked and warm and slightly bloody from where Legundo had bit them.
And they offered no resistance as he pressed against them.
So Owen draws away.
But the man looking up at him was no longer the Doctor, yet he still looked pained.
“I’m sorry Louis.”
“I know.”