100 Yellow Doors

7:48 a.m.

Beckett Caulfield was an upstanding citizen. He paid all his taxes and his utility bills; he always made complete stops at every stop sign, at every right-turn-on-red; he had never once J-walked in his entire life. The most rebellious thing he'd ever done was get that piercing in his right ear, and that had been mostly peer pressure.

All this is to say that Beck had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

He'd already half-lied to Iman earlier—this wasn't an errand, not really—so he felt bad enough as it was. Now, he crouched underneath the kitchen window, out of the back patio's earshot, trying to figure out how to break into Julien's townhouse.

Beck wasn't an idiot; he knew if he rung the doorbell and Julien truly was there that all he'd get was a door slammed shut in his face. Julien cared for Iman, not for Beck. The only way Beck would get the answers he needed was if he gave Julien no other option but to answer.

Beck sighed, shifting his weight. The kitchen light was on, and Beck could hear the quiet rush of a running faucet briefly before it shut off again. He fumbled around in the brush, looking for a suitably-sized stone. This was how you did it, right? Throw a stone at the glass, make your way through the hole, pray a broken shard didn't end up lodged in your abdomen?

He found a rock, weighing it his hand as he glanced at the patio door. He could break it, roll through before Julien had a chance to move—

A shadow stretched around the corner of the house. Beck gasped, jumping to his feet and disappearing around the other corner, hiding behind the AC unit.

He poked his head around just as a familiar person approached the patio door. He was tall, with inky hair and eyes and clothes, an obvious scowl on his face like he had no desire to be there. Beck had seen him once before at Julien's housewarming, though he couldn't place his name until the man promptly slid open the door—Beck sighed—stepped inside, and was greeted with a sharp, "Fritz!"

Beck pressed himself against the wall, listening in even as he scolded himself for listening in.

Julien: "You said you were going back to Baltimore."

"I did go back to Baltimore," said a somewhat strange, velvety voice Beck inferred belonged to Fritz. "But I came back, because I'm not done being pissed off at you."

"Save the theatrics, Fritz."

"Save the theatrics? Right, okay. Because the fact Sera's got you wrapped around her little finger again is nothing but theatrics."

"Do you see Sera anywhere here? No? See, so how is it that we're so attached?"

A ragged exhale, followed by a loud clink. "As if that changes the fact that you—Jules, are you expecting someone?"

Beck froze. They couldn't know he was there, could they? Had he misstepped, made a noise without realizing it?

"Expecting someone?" repeated Julien. "No?"

"Hm. One sec," said Fritz, and before Beck could even think to move, the patio door slid open and there was a blur of motion and someone's hand was around his throat.

"It's the Caulfield guy!" called Fritz, peering into Beck's face with an eerie curiosity, his dark eyebrows knitted. Beck gasped, clawing at Fritz's hand, to no avail. "What are you doing here?"

Julien appeared in the background, one hand braced against the door. Even from a distance, Beck thought the vampire looked much better than when he'd seen him last. Julien's face was flushed pink, his posture straight, his eyes gleaming and alert. Whatever illness had followed him before was gone, and with such efficacy that Beck might have imagined it entirely.