Mid-morning, Oxford Street. The loud bustle around Davey was a shock. He flinched away from the press of bodies and too-loud voices. Hunter Island had him unused to processing more than two dozen people at a time. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to pick such a popular destination. But no, there was a reason why he was here, of all places.

He sighed and continued walking, forcing himself through the close confines. Snarls and glares greeted those who bumped roughly against him, nearly returned before people noticed the missing arm and quickly turned away. Davey wanted to hurt them even more for that, as though looking away would make him disappear and stop forcing them to acknowledge something less than perfect among them. He didn't, though. He was on a schedule and couldn't afford to fall behind. Besides, his eyes always snapped back to the slender blonde figure several metres ahead of him who moved through the crowd with ease. It made it hard to hold on to his anger when his world kept narrowing to the familiar sway of hips and toss of golden curls. People unconsciously stepped aside for her, their minds noting either the expensive cut of her skirt suit, the confidence with which she carried herself, or simply that she was one of the 'beautiful people' that society decreed had extra worth. Whatever it was, people noticed her and moved out of her way - the way they no longer did for Davey. Once he would have been at her side. Today he was unnoticed, unwanted.

One personal day in the human world. Davey couldn't decide if it was overly generous or far too short a time. For shopping, they said. Ha. Something they'd all been dreaming of for so long - vacation, downtime, a visit to normality - and in the end it wasn't a reward for hard work or a preventative measure against losing their sanity, but so that they could buy presents. There were days when Davey thought that Julie was the most insane of all the division leaders.

Davey had been presented with (fake) ID, a debit card containing a bit over three grand, and the news that everyone he knew believed he was dead. When he'd still given London as his destination, despite the raised eyebrows, Davey had snarled that he was hardly likely to break orders and go visit his family, he just wanted to shop somewhere familiar, was that too much to ask?

... That may have been a lie.

His musings almost had Davey miss the woman pushing through glass doors, leaving the street. Green eyes flickered up and he was huffing a laugh before he could help himself. He wasn't surprised, he thought, as he followed her into the giant department store.

The disapproving stare he received from the doorman also wasn't a surprise. Davey expected that as soon as he was out of the earshot, the 'polite' man would be making a call and Davey would be followed very closely on security cameras or by 'secret' security staff (who Davey could always pick out and had had great fun pointing out to a disbelieving Joanna when she had dragged him here). Grinding his teeth, Davey reflected that he'd have to be even more careful. A potential shoplifter was one thing, but if they noticed him following a wealthy, pretty female patron, he'd be facing worse than being turfed out onto the street.

So, casual. Davey could do casual. (In his head, Azrael, who was so bored and disgusted that he was almost comatose by now, cackled like a hyena.)

If the plainclothes security guards did follow Davey, for once he didn’t notice them. He trailed about the store, feigning interest in various items. She paused and he followed suit. She lingered and he found reason to do the same, eyes inspecting labels and fingers running over products for sale, but always, always Davey’s awareness was focused on her even when his eyes couldn’t. It was second-nature. Jo stole his attention like she stole his breath. He suspected she still had his heart, or parts of it, too, or why else would his chest be this mix of pain and hollow emptiness as he followed her.

Davey’s one regret was that brief period where his attention had been on something else entirely, rather than her. If only he could have told Jo what would happen, have ended it on some kind of high note, rather than Jo slinking out the door without Davey even noticing, believing he no longer cared for her. Hurting her was the worst part of becoming a Hunter. Davey would have given anything to explain, but he knew better than to approach her, much as he wanted to. Jo had had seven months to come to terms with his ‘death’. A sudden reappearance, especially looking as he did, would help no one – and that was before the Hunters got involved for Davey’s rule-breaking.

The stalking continued across several departments and up several floors. When he glanced at his watch, over an hour had passed, though it had barely felt like minutes. During the trek, Davey had noted a few items that might make acceptable gifts for the others, but he couldn’t stop and make purchases now or he might lose Jo. He knew this couldn’t last forever, but he wanted as much time as he could have even though it was only near her and no longer with her.

Davey eventually blew his cover when she picked out a gag gift – he knew who that was for and why and couldn’t stop the laughter that it produced. When Jo’s head turned in his direction, Davey quickly turned the bark of laughter into a coughing fit. The wariness in her eyes cut like Azrael’s blade, poison and all, even after it faded and she turned back to her shopping.

Davey stayed where he was as she walked on, feet stuck to the ground. She’d stared right at him. There hadn’t been the slightest hint of recognition. He gave a dark chuckle. Well, why would there be? What had he been expecting? Gone were the pressed shirts and chinos, all Army-perfect creases, replaced with a hoodie and baggy cargo pants. With the hood up, Davey’s eyes were hidden and the pale hair that fell out from the edges was a far cry from a regulation cut. And, of course, the missing arm. No, he supposed he didn’t look anything like her Davey, not anymore.

Abruptly, Davey was ready to leave. He couldn’t remember why this had seemed like a good idea. All today had done was make things worse, ripping over wounds half-healed. As he began walking, he spied a man in a sharp suit making a beeline for Davey. Davey steeled himself, slowing, as the plainclothes security guards were finally obvious in the background. The manager – for that was clearly what he was even before he drew close enough for Davey to read the embossed nametag on his lapel – gave a patently insincere smile as he approached.

"I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve had some complaints-"

Of course they had. Davey lips flattened into a pale line. "Don’t worry, I was just leaving," he said. There was no explainable reason why Davey’s dogtags suddenly clinked loudly together – he hadn’t moved in any way, and Davey was quite sure he’d tucked them into his shirt earlier. Davey and the manager both looked down, though Davey was the only one to scowl at the slowly-stopping-to-swing sword-imprinted tag.

’What are you doing?’ Davey demanded, even as he thought perhaps he didn’t want to know. A disembodied chuckle was his only answer.

Davey and the manager looked back up at the same time. The movement caused Davey’s hood to fall back. He cursed inside his head, not wanting to know what kind of expression he was wearing after that non-confrontation with Sarah. Davey could see the exact moment that the manager took in the combined tags, missing arm and shellshocked eyes and changed his initial assessment from ‘creepy, dangerous yob’ to ‘disabled war veteran’ – there was a kind of horror that only came from imagining law suits and the field day the press would have.

"My most sincere apologies, sir! Of course I would never ask-"

Davey tuned out the man’s blustering, prodding Azrael instead, silently demanding answers. Azrael seemed to have dropped back off to ‘sleep’, however. Davey switched his attention back to the manager in time to hear:

"- must, of course, accept a personal shopper and we will ensure that no one else bothers you during your visit-"

"No, that's-" Davey attempted to cut in.

The manager lifted a hand and suddenly there was a neatly coiffed woman at his side. Davey blinked. Where had she come from?

"Maria will assist you with anything you need," the manager finished smoothly. "Maria, this is Mister…"

Davey had to think for a moment before recalling the name on his temporary ID and debit card. With some degree of resignation, he answered, "Davids." At least he’d recognise the name if people used it, even if it was because he was mistaking it for something else.

The manager finished his spiel and left. Davey eyed the woman and sighed. Well, he supposed this wasn’t so bad. At least he'd get his shopping done before it was time to head back to the island.

"How may I help you, Mr. Davids?" Maria asked gently.

Davey shrugged and decided to go for broke. "What do you recommend for people who like guns?"