Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Unwilling Sleep ❯ So Work the Honey-Bees ( Chapter 11 )
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.04.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 4.1K | Status: Completed
Warnings, disclaimers, etc., can be found in the Prologue.
Unwilling Sleep, Part Eleven: So Work the Honey-Bees
The hideous sound of the alarm clock went off promptly at six-thirty a.m. D shuddered violently out of sleep -- could Leon have found something with a less pleasant timbre? -- then muttered something even he didn't understand, elbowed Leon sharply in the stomach, and tucked his head more closely into the warm surface beneath it. Leon's shoulder, perhaps.
Leon grunted and moved. "M'up, m'up, shit." Then he rolled over and D was tossed off his nice human cushion. He peered blearily around the darkened room while Leon slapped the alarm clock into silence and slowly rose, groaning, from the bed. They'd been lying on the left side; it looked like D had managed to drape himself over Leon and roll them around again. D looked up at the expanse of Leon's bare back as he stretched -- he'd come to bed wearing sweatpants, but no shirt. D had enjoyed that, even if they'd been too exhausted to do anything exciting about it. How much more tired would they be tonight, after the first day of work? Even so, he could appreciate the view.
Or he could if he weren't so groggy. He had never been one for mornings, except for this past week, when he hadn't been able to sleep at all. He'd never been able to get up early enough to get his favorite pastries at the most exclusive bakeries, and the nature of the petshop had been such that he'd been able to sleep in whenever he'd wanted. He would have to get used to this new schedule. Leon was scratching his head and staggering towards the bathroom; perhaps D should get up and make breakfast.
He wrapped the warm sheets firmly around himself, rolled over, and closed his eyes. Five more minutes…
The next thing he knew, he was being jostled on his shoulder and Leon was saying, "C'mon, sleeping beauty. Get up, rise n' shine." D shrugged his shoulder crossly. "Come on, D," Leon insisted, and shook him again. D slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position and opened his eyes. He could smell coffee and -- was it true? Hot, fresh doughnuts. He blinked up at Leon, who, sometime in the last five minutes, had managed to shower, shave, dress, and smell as if he'd been out of doors. He appeared revoltingly awake.
"It's a quarter after seven," Leon said. "I ran out and got us some breakfast. I don't have too much trouble getting up in the morning -- I can do that if you're gonna take care of the other meals and stuff. I never needed much sleep."
D made a noise that was supposed to have been "thank you," reached out, and clumsily kissed Leon. It seemed a poor expression of his gratitude. "C'mon, D," Leon said, sounding awkward and turning that cute shade of red. "Up you go." He reached over and slapped D briskly on the bottom, which D appreciated far less than the doughnuts. He made a faint, complaining noise and pushed Leon away as he crawled out of the bed. "You wanted to be early at your store, right? What time's it open?"
"Nine," D mumbled as he stretched and headed for the bathroom. "I want to get there so I can..." What was he going to do? "So I can clean. I believe."
"You need coffee," Leon said.
"Tea," D corrected, but decided a shower would do first, and went for that instead. The hot water was refreshing, and so was the clean, herbal scent of the shampoo. He felt far more awake when he'd finished, although he suspected he would always miss the petshop's enormous, luxurious bathtub. But it was true that feeling the needles of the shower's water was a little more...invigorating...than a bath. Leon's behavior was certainly a surprise. He was evidently a morning person. D would not have believed it, but on reflection, perhaps it was not so strange. After all, Leon was grumpy all the time, not just when he woke up. Even if he had been remarkably good-humored this weekend.
D smiled a little dreamily and turned his face into the full warmth of the spray.
When he emerged, he felt much better. He donned his bathrobe and padded into the kitchen. The sight of cream-filled, chocolate-covered doughnuts was appetizing: the sight of Leon cramming one into his open mouth, dribbling cream on his chin, was less so. He was scouring the newspaper and mumbled a greeting around another gooey mouthful. D sighed and made himself a cup of tea, sitting down and delicately sipping at it before venturing out to take one of the doughnuts. "What are your working hours today?" he asked.
"S'posed to work from eight-thirty till five," Leon said, "but yeah right. You never can tell with cops. At least they don't have me working the graveyard shift. I'll be home tonight, but I'm gonna have long hours." He glanced up from the paper then, looking carefully at D. "But you knew that."
"Yes, I did," D said, but he could not quite ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach. The doughnut didn't seem to help it. Leon had worked obscene hours with the LAPD, it was true. But it had not bothered D, unless it resulted in Leon knocking down the door in the middle of the night, expecting to be fed as if it was high noon. He'd had the shop to tend to, and later there was Chris, of course. A full life all his own. Now he had another job, of course, but -- it felt different. This job might occupy his hours, might even occupy them pleasantly, but it could never be his life, in the way the petshop had been. He'd exchanged that for Leon. And now the obscene hours seemed obscene, indeed.
"Well," Leon said after an awkward, silent few seconds, "Think you can get ready in ten minutes? I can walk you to work. Your shop's on Canal, right? What's it called?"
"Red Dragon Antiques," D said, shaking his head to collect himself, rising quickly as he neatly mopped his mouth with his napkin. "I can be ready. I won't take a moment."
He dressed more quickly than he could ever remember doing in the morning. It helped that these clothes were much less complicated, if also less beautiful, than his cheongsams. He brushed his hair -- thank goodness it dried quickly -- and straightened his shirt, hoping he looked presentable. The bruises on his throat had faded, especially since he hadn't gotten any new ones last night, and the Mandarin collar hid everything well enough. As he emerged into the common room, slipping his key into his pocket, he saw that Leon had buttoned his collar all the way up again, too. D squinted, but couldn't see anything especially incriminating. Leon would probably want to get some more clothes fairly soon, though.
"All right, then," Leon said, as he threw the empty doughnut box into the garbage. Then he gave D a crumpled bill. "Here's twenty bucks, in case you need money for something today. Uh, I think that's it -- you ready to go?"
D pocketed the money, feeling vaguely guilty, although he knew that Leon didn't begrudge him a cent of it. Still, it would be nice to make some money of his own. "One last thing," he said, stood on tiptoe, and brushed his lips gently over Leon's cheek. Leon turned a dull red, and D couldn't keep from smiling contentedly. "Now I am ready to go." Leon found it silly, no doubt -- D could tell from the way he hunched his shoulders and shuffled out the door, mumbling crossly at D to lock up behind them. But D wanted these small, humble gestures of mortal tenderness, and was determined he should have them. It was difficult to stop him when he was determined.
They strolled around the corner of Baxter and out into Canal. It was early yet, and most shops were not open. A few pedestrians traversed the streets, made easier by the lower volume of traffic; street vendors were setting up their stalls; the homeless who had been fortunate enough to find doorways for the night were still wrapped in blankets, faces hidden from view. D noticed that Leon did not look at them. Humans never did. It was a strange mix, this life, and moments like this served to bring it all into sharp relief: the busy side by side with the tranquil, those who had enough walking by those who had nothing. D glanced at Leon, who was looking straight ahead down the sidewalk, and thought that they were a strange mix, too.
"You nervous?" Leon asked abruptly.
D blinked. "Not especially," he said, then added teasingly, "I have had some experience dealing with customers, Detective."
"Yeah, but now you can't kill the ones you don't like," Leon said. Then he muttered, "Holy shit, I can't believe I just made a joke about that." D did not know how to reply to this. Another thing they hadn't yet spoken of: D had sold pets that had killed people. Leon had been half-right about him all along. D could not possibly explain it in terms that Leon could understand. It was just what he had done, as a god. He punished. Just as a human might eat or sleep.
Well, perhaps he could explain it like that. "Leon..."
"Forget it, " Leon said. "I shouldn't have brought it up. Not now, for sure. It's just..." he stopped in the street and looked pleadingly at D. "Someday -- explain it to me, okay? Why you thought those people deserved that. I want to think they deserved that. That you had some kind of reason. But -- sometimes -- like with that whole family that died, even the kids -- just explain it to me?"
"I can't," D said helplessly. "I can't tell you what I thought people deserved or didn't deserve. They and the pets chose each other. All of them. And the ones who died broke the contracts. I cannot disclaim all responsibility -- I fulfilled my role. But that was the way of things. They bought the pets of their own free will, they broke the contracts of the same, and that is just the way things go." He caught at Leon's arm. "My pets made many people happy as well, Leon. That was more often the case. Do you imagine I wished ill things upon the animals I loved? Or for them to go to unhappy homes?"
"I don't know. I guess not. I don't know. Oh hell, here we are," Leon said, and D realized they had stopped right in front of the antiques shop without realizing it. "Look, I'm sorry for bringing it up. What's done is done, and it's over, I guess. It just bothers me that -- hell. Forget it. Doesn't look like anybody is in, we better knock."
"We have time," D said firmly. "What bothers you?"
Leon huffed out an angry breath. "Can we talk about this later?"
"We can start talking about it now." D would have it on his mind all day anyway, now. He could have kicked Leon for bringing it up at such an awkward time. "Just tell me."
Leon looked at the street, through the shop's darkened door, up at the sky above, anywhere but at D. "Fine. It bothers me," he said through his teeth, "that it doesn't bother me MORE. You know? Like -- I know all that shit happened, and I'm a cop, and I should care. And I do care, but -- but -- " Leon looked at D then, and D saw the familiar frustration in his eyes. Leon knew what he wanted to say, he just didn't want to say it.
"But what?" he asked sharply.
Leon took a deep breath. "It bugs me that I don't care that much. That I'd rather be with you than do my job. That's never happened. I -- shit. It's all coming out wrong. Knock on the goddamn door, willya?"
D paused, not sure whether to be touched or roll his eyes. He meant for his voice to come out dry, but it came out soft instead. "If it is any consolation, Detective, I have already demonstrated that I would rather be with you than do my job, as well. Perhaps you could look at it that way?" The expression on Leon's face said that he hadn't. "Well, try," D muttered, and turned and tugged sharply on the bell-pull hanging on the door. He could hear a ringing sound coming from inside the shop.
Nothing happened for a minute or two. D tugged the bell-pull again. "Jesus, man, c'mon," Leon groaned. "I'm gonna be late."
"You need not wait," D said. "I do not want you to be late on your first day."
Leon shuffled his feet. "I want a look at this guy. I can stick around a few more minutes."
Just then, the 'guy' in question opened the door. Mr. Shen was wearing a bathrobe and squinting at them, looking irritable. Then he blinked when he recognized D. "Oh, it's you," he said. "You're here early."
D bowed. "I apologize for disturbing you," he said. "I thought I would get an early start today by cleaning the shop before it opens."
Mr. Shen looked confounded. "You thought you'd -- oh. Well, I suppose...a bit dusty...I've got the books to keep, and I can't be fiddling around with vacuums and mops and dusting things on the high shelves..."
"Of course not," D said politely, reflecting that between not cleaning the shop and not tending to customers, Shen's books must be very well-kept indeed.
Shen squinted at Leon. "Who's this?"
"This is my -- my -- this is Mr. Leon Orcot," D said. He very much disliked feeling awkward, as he was not accustomed to it. "He simply wanted to see the place where I would be working."
"Hi," Leon said, sticking out his hand and looking Shen dead in the eye. Shen raised an eyebrow and did not offer to shake back. "So, you sell antiques, huh?" Leon asked, dropping his hand after a tense few seconds.
"As you see," Shen replied. "Are you going to clog up my doorway all day, or can my assistant come in and start working?"
Leon sneered and opened his mouth to say something unpleasant. D elbowed him. Mr. Shen was plainly one of those irascible types who could be easily managed, once you learned the trick of it. He would be all too happy to leave the shop in D's care and look over his books -- which tended, D rather suspected, more to the literary than the taxable type. He smelled of old pages.
Leon glared at Shen and then glanced down at D. "I don't know when I'll be back tonight," he said. "If I'm off by five I'll come by to walk you home." He laid a protective hand on D's shoulder as he glared at Shen again. "I'm sure I'll be seeing a lot of this place. Might be on my patrol beat."
"How I'm scared by the policeman," Shen said. "Can you go away now? I have to go back to bed and quiver with fright for a few minutes before I get to work." Before Leon could reply, he turned around and stomped back into the shop.
"That -- that -- D, you can't seriously want to work for this guy!" Leon exploded.
"We will get along famously, I'm sure," D soothed. "I'll tell you all about it tonight. Now go, or you will be late." He dared to lay a light hand on Leon's chest. "Do be careful today, Mr. Detective."
He meant every word of it. It was also helpful in that it distracted Leon from Shen. "I'll be fine," Leon said, his voice a little hoarse. "Right. I gotta go. Take care."
"I will."
"See you later, then." Leon pulled away slowly, as if with an effort, and shoved his hands in his pockets before walking down the street. D watched after him for a few moments before entering the shop and closing the door behind him.
Every available surface appeared to be coated with a fine layer of dust. In the corner, D spotted an ancient-looking vacuum cleaner. At the back of the shop was a staircase to what were obviously Shen's lodgings: D could hear him moving around, with shuffling, unhurried steps.
He sighed and went to look for lemon polish.
Leon had brooded about D's asshole employer -- what was his name, Shin? -- for the ten minutes it had taken him to walk to the precinct. That was all the time he'd had to think about it, because since then, his life had gone to hell.
"This is your partner, Orcot," Chief Davies said. "Let me introduce you to Detective Chuck Phillips. Phillips, try not to break this one, okay?"
Chuck Phillips was a giant of a black man who looked to be in his early forties, towering over Leon at about seven feet tall, with the build of a major-league football player. He sneered down at Leon, his dark mustache crinkling over his lips. "This the little LA fucker?"
Leon bristled and clenched his fists. It wouldn't be good to hit the guy on the first day on the job. He was worried enough as it was, in case anybody asked him about his home life. Straight cops didn't like gay cops. It was a fact of life. Not true everywhere, but in most places. And if people found out about D, they'd be bound to leap to the conclusion that Leon was gay, and he'd be in for a whole lot of trouble. For now, he just needed to keep his head down, keep his cool, until he got the feel of the place and knew what the deal was.
Keeping his cool was really hard, though, when Phillips continued, "Shit, you can't be more than twenty-five. Chief, what the fuck you stick me with a baby for?"
"Jesus, Phillips, could you cut it with the cussing," Davies snapped. "Orcot has an excellent record of work with the LAPD and I expect you to show him the ropes. Take the day to get him acquainted with the area, show him the trouble spots, all of that stuff. Consider today a patrol day. Tomorrow you can get him caught up on casework." He glared up at Phillips, who had to be about two feet taller than he was. "I want it to work this time, Phillips. I'm serious. No more of this Lone Ranger bullshit." He looked over at Leon. "Welcome to the force." Then he stormed off.
Leon was left staring up at Chuck Phillips, wondering how many swings he could get in before he was crushed like a ping-pong ball under a school bus. "So," he said through his teeth. "Hi."
Phillips looked thoroughly disgusted. "Show you the ropes, huh? Shit. Well, let's go. I want you to learn. I ain't watchin' your pansy ass all the time, so you better learn fast. What the hell you standing there for?" He stood in the open door of the station, scowling at Leon, who stood frozen behind him. "You stupid or something? Move your feet, cracker!"
Leon moved his feet. His hands were still in fists, and he concentrated on the comforting feel of his gun against his side, beneath his jacket. Don't kill your new partner. Don't kill your new partner. Just keep cool. Keep cool.
But Phillips didn't stop talking as they made their way down the stone steps, towards the street. "So, you from California?" he asked over his shoulder with a sneer. "That means you some kinda fairy, right? I know you all queer over there. Well, I ain't puttin' up with that shit. And what the fuck is up with that stupid-ass ponytail, huh?" They reached the street and Leon followed Phillips down the sidewalk. He didn't know where they were going. He didn't care. His vision was obscured by red mist. Keep your head down...stay cool, for fuck's sake...
"That ponytail mean you're a girl? Can I call you my bitch? 'Cause that's what I think of fags. You got that? I don't like working with partners. They fuck up and I kick their ass."
Keep cool, Orcot -- keep cool --
"An' I kick your ass, you fuck up on me, hear that, bitch? God damn, I can't stand men who look like girls. They -- "
His next words were cut off because they'd reached an alley, and Leon had yanked him down it, and used all his force to slam him against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt. "Let me make one thing real clear to you, asshole," he snarled. "I'm not scared of you and I don't give a fuck what you think, but you are going to stop talking like that, and you know why? Because I am living with a guy, and I ain't gonna be scared because of you or anybody else, and if I hear you talking your shit about him I will absolutely kick your ass, I don't care how big you are, I don't care what it takes! You got that? Do you fucking got it, huh?!" Phillips was staring down at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Leon growled.
"You living with a guy?" Phillips asked after a second. "You -- "
"Yeah, it's what you're thinking," Leon snapped, let go of him, and stepped back, ready to brawl. "So, what, you wanna go at it here, or what? Is that what it takes to shut you up?"
But Phillips just stayed slumped against the alley wall, staring at Leon like he couldn't believe his eyes. Just when Leon was about to ask what the hell was the matter with him, he shook his head and rubbed a huge hand over his forehead. "You're queer," he said. "Christ. My partner ain't gonna believe this."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Leon asked. "I'm your -- "
Then the penny dropped.
Phillips glared at him from underneath his hand. "No, fool," he said between his teeth. "I mean, my partner."
They were on their second cup of coffee. They'd gone for their first in dead silence after Phillips's little confession, and had sat in a diner drinking it quietly and avoiding all eye contact. Then they each got a second cup, and Leon finally spoke. "So...you're..."
"Yeah," Phillips muttered.
"How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long've you been -- you know -- "
Leon looked up to see that Phillips was staring at him like he was crazy. "Since I was born, fool," he said. "What do you think? How long you been -- ?" he glanced around the diner, which was almost empty. "...queer?" he finished quietly.
"I'm not queer," Leon protested. "It's just this one guy."
Phillips stared at him again. "Right," he said after a minute. "You telling me you're a fucking convert? Shit. Ain't nobody gonna buy that mess. That's the kind of mess you tell your grandma when you comin' out to her, and even my grandma wouldn't fall for that. 'Just this one guy'? Hell."
"You don't have to believe me," Leon snapped, feeling his ears go red. "I don't give a damn."
"Calm down, brother," Phillips said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I'm just telling it like it is."
"Oh yeah? You were telling it like it is when you were giving me all that hating-fags stuff? Is that how you act all the time?" Leon leaned across the table, narrowing his eyes. "That how you're going to keep acting?"
"Listen up, boy," Phillips said, his dark eyes glaring at Leon. "I don't care how good you are, I been a cop a lot longer than you. Times have changed. It's easier now for you to be a queer cop. But it still ain't all that easy. Some of the guys don't like you, maybe they don't give you backup when you need it. And it was worse when I was your age, it was a hell of a lot worse, and I was a damn black man to boot. I learned how to protect myself. You best do the same." He leaned back in the chair. "Don't you worry about me, though. I got your back. People expecting me to treat you like shit, like I did with all the other partners Davies gave me -- but I won't. I'll say you earned my respect."
"Thanks," Leon said, not without sarcasm.
"Well, you did," Phillips said quietly. "Little white boy like you going after me in an alley? That takes balls. It's goddamn stupid, but it takes balls. You're an idiot, but you ain't scared to be who you is. Ranjeet's been on my ass about that for years, trying to tell me I wanna come out to the force. Not after this long. Not after all the shit I've talked. It's too hard. You'll have it easier."
Leon felt like he was a few cars behind on the conversation train. "Ranjeet?"
"My partner." Phillips looked embarrassed, reached beneath himself, and pulled out his wallet. He opened it up, and from a secret compartment, produced a photograph of a slight, smiling Indian man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. "He's a computer programmer. We met in a club. Been together twelve years now."
"Oh, uh," Leon said, having no idea how to respond. "That's...uh, that's good." This guy had it all wrong. Leon wasn't gay, not like he was -- D or no D, it felt weird to look at a picture of a guy and know that he was some other man's boyfriend. Leon had the feeling that he was about to be sucked into some sort of brotherhood that he wasn't sure he wanted to join. The Fraternity from Hell.
Phillips wasn't letting up. "What about your man?" he asked, sounding almost eager. Christ, he'd probably been wanting to talk about this shit to someone for years. Leon couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him. "How long you been with him? Not long, right?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You too young to commit. Bet you ain't been together long."
"Just a few days," Leon admitted. "We, uh..." Was he really going to talk about D this way? "We knew each other for a couple years, but just recently…uh, we moved in together."
"What's he do?" Phillips's tone turned mocking. "He's gotta be special if he turned you. Was he always queer, or did he go gay for you, too?"
"Let's get one thing straight," Leon said quietly. "I don't let anybody talk shit about him. Say what you want to me, I don't give a damn. But not him. Okay?"
Phillips had both eyebrows raised now. "Sure, man," he said. "Okay. So what's he do?"
"He works in an antiques shop," Leon said.
"Oh, then he was definitely queer before he met you," Phillips said. He held up his hands. "That ain't talking shit, man, it's just talking truth."
"Maybe," Leon snapped. It was true that D was good in bed. Really good. Like he'd had a lot of practice with guys who weren't Leon. Leon didn't like thinking about that very much. "I don't have any pictures."
"He good-looking?"
"Yeah." Good-looking didn't even cover it. "He's Chinese."
"Mm. You go for the exotic Asian type, huh, man?" Phillips laughed. "I'm just messing with you. It's funny watching you get all riled up. Chill out, man, it's cool." Leon forced himself to relax. "So where you two live?"
"Chinatown," Leon said, determined to divulge no more than that, for now. The last thing he wanted was for this guy to hang around D before Leon knew if he was 'cool' or not. "What about you?"
"We got a place in Hell's Kitchen," Phillips replied. "Ranjeet loves the theater. You have to come over sometime, man. He's a good cook. Bring your Chinese boy. We can have a big old gay-cop party." He laughed. Leon managed a smile. "I gotta say, this is cool," Phillips added. "Just so long as you can keep your mouth shut about me."
"Don't worry," Leon said dryly.
"Good. I think you're a good man." Phillips looked at him piercingly, with a kind of perception that surprised Leon. "I'm a good detective," he said, after a moment. "Let me tell you right now that this ain't gonna be no Lethal Weapon thing. I ain't Danny goddamn Glover, and you sure as hell ain't no Mel fucking Gibson. I'm good at my job. You good at yours?"
"Yes," Leon said, feeling no need to elaborate.
"Then we're okay." Phillips rose from his seat. "Come on. I'm supposed to show you around. You need to know the territory. You got a gun, right?"
"Yeah," Leon said. What the hell did the guy think? That he strolled around unarmed?
"Good. Maybe after work we can grab a beer. Coffee ain't cuttin' it for me today, you know?"
Did Leon ever. He'd never wanted a beer or four so much as he had in the past half hour. "Yeah, that'd be fine," he said, deciding that he could always ditch Phillips by pleading that he had to go pick up his boyfriend from work. Or he could have a beer. Either way, he won.
"I got it, man," Phillips said, waving Leon away from the bill.
"Thanks, Phillips," Leon said, and then felt really stupid as he said it. Phillips looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Think you can call me Chuck," he said. "Your name's Leon, right?"
"Yeah," Leon mumbled. "Uh. Thanks, Chuck."
Chuck grinned. "Oh, girl," he said. "You are too cute."
Cleaning the shop had taken much longer than the mere half-hour before the store opened, of course. D had donned a kerchief and apron, and armed himself with duster and vacuum, and for a little while it was almost as if he was tending to the petshop again. But he'd never gotten tired at the petshop before, and his arms had never ached from reaching for things on high shelves or trying to push heavy objects out of the way.
But now everything looked better, and he'd gotten a good look at all the merchandise. The variety and value of it all took his breath away. He could understand a little of Shen's impatience with customers: so many would have no idea of the worth of all this beauty, and it would be almost painful to part with it.
But still and all, one had to eat, so D graciously greeted the few customers who wandered in and out throughout the morning. Business was slow, but at least the people who came in appeared to be regulars, wealthy Manhattanites who had realized what a treasure trove Shen had hidden away in an unlikely Chinatown shop. In this respect, it was not unlike D's own former business. The patrons seemed surprised to see him, but most of them warmed to him quickly, as patrons and customers generally did. Shen had made precisely one appearance: when the first customer wished to make her purchase, he came downstairs to show D how to record the transaction and how to operate the a cash register as antique as the items it rang up, both of which operations D had been perfectly capable of learning for himself. Then he promptly disappeared back upstairs, but not before D had noticed that the book in his hand was a very well-worn copy of The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, not an accounts ledger.
At noon, Shen poked his head out again. "Are you hungry?" he demanded irritably.
"I could eat," D acknowledged. He had not thought to pack a lunch -- sloppy, sloppy, he knew. At least Leon had given him some money.
"I'm frying up dumplings," Shen muttered. "There's enough for two. Lock the door and put up the 'Closed' sign before you come upstairs!" Then the upstairs door closed with a thump. Intrigued by this turn of events, D obediently locked up, although he couldn't help but wonder what sort of employer would fret about locking up for lunch, but not about leaving a near-total stranger in sole charge of priceless antiques and a cash register filled with money.
Shen answered his unasked question a few minutes later, as they sat down to a small table, rice dumplings in a large bowl between them. "I have been a friend of the Shaos for many years," he said, in a voice that was almost conversational, but not quite. His beady dark eyes were sharp when they gazed at D.
D merely swallowed a bite of dumpling and smiled politely to show his appreciation. "Mr. Shao has been very kind to me."
"I know who you are. I knew as soon as I saw you, though I wanted to be sure. I remember you, though perhaps you don't remember me. I've lived in this neighborhood for as long as Shao has. Longer." D said nothing. There appeared to be nothing to say. "You were fascinating to me, when I was a child. But my parents would never let me near your store. And after a time, it was easy to become afraid." He sipped at a cup of hot green tea. D dropped another sugar cube into his own cup. "At any rate, everyone knew Shao had been your only confidante in the city. I called him after I had hired you, and he confirmed what I knew in my heart. And some things I did not know. You've become a human?"
D bowed his head in silent acknowledgement.
"For that man I saw this morning, yes?" Shao persisted. D nodded again, but let a faint tightness register around his eyes, felt his face grow hard with warning. Shen had obviously been no more impressed with Leon than Shao and Zhou had been, but employer or not, D was in no mood to hear harsh words concerning his choice of lover. Thankfully, Shen seemed to take the hint, and shrugged. "We humans are a sorry lot," he said philosophically. "Welcome to our company if you want it, I suppose."
Amused at Shen's presumption to speak on behalf of all of humanity, D only smiled and said, "Thank you."
"You'll only be working forty hours a week, mind. I can't afford to give you overtime pay."
"Of course." Just then, the bell jingled as the front door opened and closed. D rose from his feet, a little alarmed. "Forgive me -- I know I locked the door -- "
"He has a key," Shen said, completely unperturbed as he took another sip of tea. 'His' mysterious identity was revealed a few moments later, when the hurried sound of footsteps coming up the stairs revealed none other than Shao Chun Zhou. His face was flushed and sweating, and he was clutching some kind of plastic cylinder.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he stammered, apparently speaking to Shen, but never taking his eyes off D. "I know I said I'd be here at noon, but I got caught up in some things, I'm sorry, you know how it is, thank you for inviting me."
D hoped that his horror wasn't showing on his face, and made sure to keep smiling. Why on earth was this one here now? Zhou's instant infatuation had been embarrassingly obvious from the start, of course, but D had hoped for a longer grace period before having to deal with him. What business could he have with Shen -- worse, why were the two so familiar that Zhou had a key to the store? D had a sudden, sinking feeling.
"You always have your head in the clouds," Shen sniffed. "Sit down, Zhou, and have a dumpling. I made plenty for all three of us. What have you got there?" he gestured at the cylinder.
Zhou needed no further prompting to thrust the cylinder forward, but he gave it to D, not to Shen. "It's good to see you again, Count," he mumbled, eyes still fixed on D's face.
"How nice to see you too, Master Zhou," D said, keeping his smile very firmly in place. "Although you should use my name, don't you think? After all, you gave it to me." Perhaps having a different name on his "birth certificate" would not be such a bad thing after all.
"How funny you should mention that," Zhou said eagerly, as he pulled out a chair. "Please open the tube. It's a gift. For you," he added, as if this wasn't clear. "Mr. Shen told me you were working here."
D bestowed his frozen smile on Shen then, who seemed to be able to read it rather better, judging from the faint twitch of his lips. "You certainly are a great friend of the Shaos," he said.
"I have known Zhou from the time he was very small," Shen said. "We share a love of fine literature."
"Mr. Shen has always encouraged my love of learning," Zhou said. "He is a mentor to me. It is thanks to him I pursued my degree -- thanks to him I ever went to China and saw your painting. I owe him more than I can ever repay." He still had not looked once at his venerable benefactor.
D remembered, then, what Shen had told the tourists on Friday about his shop never being robbed. It made sense, if he was a friend of Shao's. "I am sure your studies do him honor," he told Zhou, as he plucked the black rubber top off the cylinder. Rolled inside was a thin sheet of paper. He withdrew it gently, trying not to wince, knowing what he would find, just as Zhou had promised: the characters of his new name, painstakingly painted on the finest rice paper. The godlike part of him was enchanted by the offering. The more practical part -- the human part? -- wondered what on earth he was supposed to do with the damned thing. Frame it so he could look at his own false name all day on the wall, next to Chris's drawing? "How lovely," he exclaimed, hoping he sounded suitably impressed.
"Do you like it?" Zhou asked anxiously. "Calligraphy is something of a hobby of mine. Mr. Shen used to help me practice -- we'd copy out whole pages from the oldest books in his collection."
D could practically hear Leon's voice echoing in his head: Wow, I bet you really know how to have fun on the weekends. "You are a man of many skills, I can see that," he said, and carefully rolled up the paper, tucking it back into the cylinder. "Thank you. How thoughtful."
"My pleasure," Zhou said, and beamed.
"Have some tea, Zhou," Shen said pointedly, offering Zhou a cup. Zhou suddenly appeared to realize his bad manners, and made an apologetic grimace.
"I'm sorry. Hello, Mr. Shen. How have you been?"
"I've been better. You haven't visited in a while. Perhaps we'll see more of you now."
"Oh, I'm sure," Zhou said absently, turning again to regard D. D took another determined bite of dumpling.
"How is your dissertation coming?"
This finally dragged Zhou's attention away. He turned to regard Shen with shining eyes. "It's ready to go. I defend it next week, and then the committee will sign off on it."
"If you pass the defense."
"Don't scare me! I'll pass. They like my work. And only the chair really knows my subject well." He looked again at D. "I've already received offers from various presses to publish it."
"How nice," D murmured.
"It's about the folklore of southern China, with some musings on the evolution of Cantonese as a language. Of course, I speak Mandarin too."
"Marvelous," said D, who spoke over twenty languages fluently and could get by in several more.
"And several of the other dialects," Zhou said desperately. "Including, um, Uyghur."
"Very impressive," D said, casting a look at Shen that was full of his own kind of desperation. "Mr. Shen, I am being a very lazy employee, don't you think? I should go open the shop."
"You've hardly eaten your food," Shen said. "Customers won't be any more foolish if you wait five more minutes. And as you can tell, Zhou and I will have a great deal of interest in speaking to you about Chinese history and myth, if you would be so kind as to indulge us."
"Any time," D said, resigned to it.
"Actually, I would like to ask you something," Zhou said, very seriously. "I already have an idea in my mind for my next book. It will be a very different sort of book from this one. But I hope you will be willing to help me with it. You would receive full credit as a co-author, of course."
"I am flattered," D said, absolutely appalled at the idea. "But I desire no fame. I'll be happy to help in whatever way you wish, of course." Spending hours with Zhou writing a book -- he could just envision trying to explain that to Leon. Hopefully the boy's infatuation would die soon, and this idea with it. But the memory of Leon gave him an idea, at least. It was worth trying. "Mr. Orcot was very pleased to make the acquaintance of both you and your grandfather on Friday."
At the mention of 'Mr. Orcot,' Zhou blinked, and then looked dismayed. He turned a dull shade of red and took off his glasses, polishing them on his polo shirt. "Oh yes?" he asked in a low voice.
"Indeed," D lied. "We are both so grateful for your grandfather's generosity. We think we will be very happy in our new arrangement. We really cannot thank you enough." Good heavens, if the boy was as bright as he seemed, he'd pick up the hint. Any more 'we's,' and D would be speaking French.
"No need," Zhou said unhappily. "It's our pleasure to do it."
"Does Mr. Orcot take a great interest in Chinese history and culture?" Shen asked.
"No, he doesn't," D admitted.
"Then you'll find Zhou something of a relief, I'm sure," Shen said. "We don't have to open up the shop again just yet. Zhou, why don't you fill him in on the particulars of your dissertation?"
Zhou looked up from the table, where he'd been staring at his hands, and his eyes began to shine again. "Oh, I'd be delighted to," he said.
"Lovely," D said, keeping his shoulders from slumping only through sheer force of will. It was going to be a very long afternoon.
At ten past five, by the grace of God Leon was standing in front of the door to the antiques shop. He'd never been so happy to get off work on time in his life, and he'd ended up begging off the beer. What a day. D was never gonna believe it.
He walked into the shop. There were no customers, but the place was still unlocked. To his relief, he saw no sign of the old guy who'd yelled at him that morning -- but he did spot D, who appeared to be tidying up behind the counter. At the ringing of the bell, D looked up, and their eyes met.
A darkened shop, full of Chinese mysteries, the air perfumed with incense, strangely quiet compared to the world outside. An impossibly beautiful man who watched him from behind the dark curtain of his hair.
Leon cleared his throat and sauntered towards the counter, his hands in his pockets. "I'm here to investigate a murder connected to this antiques shop," he said. "Don't try to snow me, pal. I know there's something fishy going on."
D rested a pale hand over his heart. "I never, Mr. Detective," he said. "We sell only things of beauty here -- nothing dangerous."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Leon said, now at the counter. They looked at each other for a moment; then Leon reached out, tugged D close by the material of his shirt, and kissed him like he never wanted to stop.
"So your partner is gay?" D asked that night, in bed.
"Looks that way," Leon said, running the flat of his palm over D's pale back. He must have developed some kind of fixation from that first night, when he'd caught D undressing. He loved the slope of the spine, the cool perfection of the shoulder blades, the way he could bring D to the edge just by tickling or licking in the right spot. D was complicated outside of bed, but pretty simple in it, he was learning. He might know tricks that'd put any call girl to shame, might love to try out those tricks on Leon's quivering body, but for himself he only seemed to want a few things. D loved being held, kissed, and petted, loved having warm pressure against his cock; that was all he needed to get him going, at least so far.
"Well, that's..." Leon could feel D hunting for an adjective. "...interesting."
"He's okay, I guess," Leon said. "He keeps thinking I'm gay, though."
"Dear me."
"Well, I'm not!"
"Of course not," D said soothingly.
"I mean, I don't even know any ABBA songs or shit like that! Except that one about the dancing queen, they played it at the prom -- "
"You are the very model of American masculinity, Leon," D said, and yawned politely behind his hand. "Never fear about that."
"Well...okay," Leon said uncomfortably.
"Must I prove it to you?" D asked, and pressed a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. Then he added, a little snittily, "At least he isn't interested in you, or telling you all about his dissertation."
"I really could beat the piss out of that kid, if you wanted me to," Leon said.
"I know you could, Detective, but I'd rather not be evicted within a week. The situation will fade with time, and without encouragement." D yawned again. "At least Chris had a better day than we did." This was true. They'd called him after dinner and they'd all shared a few 'first day' stories: first day on the job, first day back to school. Chris was glad to see his old friends, and there was a new girl in his class who was really cute, apparently. And his teacher was really pretty, too.
"We're gonna have to lock the kid away when he hits puberty," Leon had said, after they'd hung up.
"We will teach him to be a gentleman," D had replied, and then had looked at Leon with a frown. "Well -- I will, at any rate."
Leon had decided to prove it to him that gentlemen weren't always the most fun. And now here they were. He grinned and ruffled D's hair, grinning more widely when D scowled and swatted sleepily at him. "You know the really fun part?" he whispered, as he reached over to turn off the lamp.
"What?" D murmured, body already going soft and slack against Leon in the first stages of sleep.
"We get to do it all over again tomorrow."
Comments and criticism welcomed.