Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Unwilling Sleep ❯ This Mortal Coil ( Chapter 13 )
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 05.06.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.3K | Visits: 4.2K | Status: Completed
Warnings, disclaimers, etc., can all be found in the Prologue.
Unwilling Sleep, Part Thirteen: This Mortal Coil
D and Leon were getting along better than they ever had in their long history. Before, they had each independently realized, fighting had stood in for sex. Yelling, going red in the face, always getting angry about ridiculous things, putting a different face on feelings and impulses they could not name and refused to analyze. Now that sex stood in for sex, they didn't need to fight nearly as much.
Which is certainly not to say that they didn't fight at all.
He had polished the counter so much that he could see his face reflected in the wood, and the whole store smelled like lemongrass.
D pursed his lips as he put the dust rag away and looked around for something else to do. Business was slow today, especially at this hour -- ten o'clock on Friday morning. Shen was closeted upstairs with one of his books, as usual; D suspected his employer had not quite forgiven him for snubbing Zhou in favor of Leon, even after over a month had passed, but at least he trusted him implicitly. And, of course, Zhou had never had a claim on him. Unlike Leon.
Leon again! D scowled at his reflection in the table. He and Leon had periodic flare-ups. It was how they were. D had long since grown used to that. But this morning…
Colder weather was upon them now, in early October, and with it came the need to stay inside more. This, D thought, led to cabin fever, which in turn led to --
"I have lost count of how many times I have asked you to recycle your beer cans, not leave them on the table overnight! Bad enough that you must drink that foul stuff in the first place -- "
"Jesus Christ, lay off! It's been the week from hell and the last thing I need is you harping -- "
"Is that it? Oh, I see. I see how a hard week would make it difficult for you to make those five whole steps from the table to the recycling bin!"
"Oh, fuck, enough with the sarcasm, I'm not putting up with your shit today, D. I gotta be at work in twenty minutes, stop being such a nag -- "
"Nag? So now I am a nag? Please, stop flattering me, Detective!"
"If the shoe fits!"
"Oh yes? If we're talking abou -- WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH CIGARETTES? YOU HAVE QUIT SMOKING!"
"What? -- Oh. Jesus, the neighbors are pounding the walls -- look, I didn't buy them, Chuck gave them to me, I just had them in my pocket -- "
"I don't care about the neighbors! I care about those damned cigarettes! If Chuck 'gave' them to you, perhaps I shall take this up with him!"
"Don't make me laugh, you've never liked him, I wasn't even gonna smoke these, it was just a reflex -- "
"Really? Then let's see how well your reflexes work!"
"You little -- stop throwing things at me! Christ, that's a fucking wet dishrag!"
"Yes, and it's wet from me cleaning up your dishes -- useful for putting out cigarettes, don't you think -- "
"That's it! I can't take this! I'm outta here!"
"And good riddance! Come back when you have learned some manners!"
Which would be never, D thought moodily. Leon had many fine qualities, but genteel manners would never be among them. D had long ago resigned himself to this, of course, and he remained resigned -- most of the time. And Leon had been trying harder, it was true. But every once in a while, Leon's slovenly ways drove him absolutely raving mad. D was well aware that his own daintiness sometimes grated on Leon's nerves in return -- at times the man seemed to think that being refined was worse than being a pig!
But even though D tried to work up a good, nostalgic fury for the spat of that morning, he couldn't quite manage it. He knew in his heart that he'd already forgiven Leon -- had forgiven him the instant the door slammed behind him when he left. He strongly suspected Leon had forgiven him by now as well. It had always been like this between them: quick, furious quarrels that sparked and raged flame, then died out as fast as they'd begun. Boneheaded though Leon could be, D could never stay angry at him for very long. Leon's sins were not born of malice, after all, but of ignorance, which was easier to forgive.
And what of his own sins? D wondered as he absentmindedly dusted a small vase for the third time that morning. What was it about him that let Leon come back to him time after time, even though he'd been shrieking like a fishwife? He felt, for some reason, as if he was on shaky ground -- that, in spite of the evidence, there would be something he could do that would drive Leon away forever someday. But what could that something possibly be? How could he avoid it?
He knew that, for his part, only one thing would ever be able to drive him from Leon's side, and that was infidelity. He also had no fear of it happening; Leon had a loyal streak a mile wide, and it was not in his nature to contemplate treachery. Besides all that, he was a terrible liar and would never be able to get away with anything of the sort. D felt secure on that score, and had precious little worry about being tempted himself. But what about something else, something of which he was as yet unaware? Some hidden flaw that might yet separate them?
It was stupid to fret about such things, he knew. But this was the sort of disquiet that lingered in him after a fight, long after the rage had drained away.
The bell on the shop door rang. D looked up.
"You ain't paying attention."
"Sorry."
Chuck had put down the casebook and was looking at Leon with that blank, thoughtful look on his face he sometimes got. Leon had learned over the past month that it meant trouble for somebody. It usually presaged the catching of a crook, or worse -- and he didn't want it turned on him.
"You have another fight with D?" Chuck asked in a low voice, after making sure they were unobserved.
Leon snorted. "How could you tell?"
"Ain't hard," Chuck said. "Trouble in paradise? Again?"
"We just yelled at each other," Leon said, and shrugged. "It happens. I'm still mad now, but by the time I get home I won't be, and neither will he. I already don't remember what it was about, except that he was pissed that I had your cigarettes." He glared at Chuck. "Last time I do you a favor."
Chuck shrugged. "Ever since 60 Minutes did that special on lung cancer, Ranjeet's been on my ass about that all the time lately. And not in the fun way."
Leon blanched. "Getting into TMI, Chuck."
"Oh yeah? Well, since we're talking about information." Chuck rose from his chair, where he'd been sitting at Leon's cubicle, and went to his own desk. He returned with a thick file, which he silently set in front of Leon.
Leon opened it, and his heart dropped down into his stomach. Staring at him from the top of the stack was a photograph of D that looked to be a few years old. He was dressed in one of his elaborate outfits. Leon shoved it aside and saw just what he feared beneath: copies of his own reports on the pet shop, complete with notes on his suspicions, and the documentation that had preceded them -- years' worth of evidence and speculation on D's shady dealings. "What the hell are you doing," he asked quietly, hearing his voice go low and flat.
"Me? I'm not doin' anything," Chuck said, shrugging and giving Leon a considering stare. "All I did was call your old Chief and tell him you wanted your files on D. Somehow I figured there would be some. I was right. He sent some copies right to me."
"You son of a bitch," Leon hissed. "Well, look all you want. I never found any real dirt on D, and you won't either."
"What if I do?" Chuck asked evenly. "You so sure? What's up with this Howell guy from the FBI? The one who died in the bomb -- "
"That wasn't D! That was his dad! D never had anything to do with -- "
"That's what your notes say. Maybe I believe it. But what if I find something else?"
"You won't. But if you do, I'll get him as far away from here as I have to. You think I won't? Fuck you! Why did you do this?"
"Do what?" Chuck asked, and shrugged again. "Like you said, there's no dirt, nothing I can make stick -- just a lotta your paranoid notes. Pretty thorough, those notes. You were way more obsessed than me, brother. Makes sense, of course -- you married the guy."
"I didn't marry anybody!" Leon yelled, and then lowered his voice when people turned to stare at them. "I mean I didn't -- "
"Chill out, fool," Chuck said. "I gave you everything he sent me. Burn it if you want. Go wild, I don't want it."
"Swear this is everything," Leon said.
"I swear. I wouldn't lie to you."
"I thought you wouldn't go digging up dirt either."
"Why'd you think that? I'm a detective."
"Uh -- "
"And I'm your friend."
"The hell? What kind of friend -- "
"Wanted to make sure you weren't shacked up with a criminal?"
"Uh -- "
"You ain't gonna win this one, buddy. Let it go."
"Fuck you, Chuck. I'm still pissed."
"'Course you are. You're Leon. Relax. I'm not going after your honey. I just had to know. I'm done."
"Are you really?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'm still not sure what's going on. But I think it is over -- whatever happened with you two, back there."
"Yeah. It is. You better fucking swear you'll leave him alone."
"I swear." Chuck yawned. "Like I said -- I'm a detective. I had to find out."
"I get that," Leon admitted. "Christ. I can't believe you -- Christ. Forget it. Let's just -- what were we doing again?"
"Our jobs," Chuck said. "Imagine that."
D carefully scrutinized the person who had just entered the shop. He was no customer, that was for certain. A young man -- in his early twenties, if D was any judge -- shabbily dressed, a ski cap pulled down low on his brow, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He was trembling slightly.
D's senses went on alert. "May I help you?" he asked, in as neutral a voice as he could manage.
The young man raised his head and met D's eyes. His own eyes were bloodshot and wild-looking, the pupils dilated. D realized that he must be in the grip of some drug. "They're after me," he whispered. "Money."
D began to edge over to the counter as casually as he could. There was a button he could press there that would sound an alarm in Shen's rooms upstairs. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Money is after you?" he asked.
"No. They are. I need money to get more. They'll stop. Robots."
"Of course," D said, nodding as he took another step.
"Dust. Dust. I dreamed I cut off her foot." The young man suddenly bared his teeth, his eyes going wide, presenting a savage rictus. "Don't walk away from me," he hissed.
Some part of D's brain felt detached from the whole situation. It did not quite seem real. He was also interested by how his body was responding: before, he had never been too worried by physical threats from humans, and had reacted accordingly. Now, though, his heart was racing, pumping blood and adrenaline through his body at furious rates. He could feel his palms start to sweat, and the small of his back as well. His whole body felt poised for fight or flight, and, in that part of his mind, D realized he was afraid.
Afraid? That was ridiculous. How many humans had he dealt with, in his long life, and how many had been far more dangerous than one drug-addled thug? Hundreds, surely. "I am not walking away from you," he said. "You must leave this shop."
"Shop?" The man twitched. "Do you know them? I said -- you know them." He snarled again. "They're talking to you, I can hear them. Dust!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," D said. "Please, you must calm down, sir. You -- "
"It's dark in here. I'm in the room with the red spiders and they're making me eat my own hand. Money, I said money!"
"We do not have much money in the register," D said, keeping his voice steady and wondering if the man had a weapon, if he dared call aloud for Shen instead of going for the button. "Most of our customers pay us through credit cards or checks. Of course, you are welcome to -- "
"YOU'RE ONE OF THEM, AND I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"
He moved with a swiftness and ferocity D would not have expected of such a shaking wreck. There was the roar of his voice, and the flash of metal, and then --
With that feeling of unreality, he saw the point of the knife sinking into his stomach a second before he felt the piercing pain. He heard his own voice scream -- he'd never screamed before, had he? He couldn't remember it -- and he wondered if anything had ever hurt this much. The knife withdrew from his stomach and his knees buckled and then he was on the floor. He heard a door behind him open, heard Shen's voice shouting in Chinese. The man was running for the open doorway. D could see the knife lying on the floor near him, covered in red liquid. The smell of blood. His blood, then. There was a lot of it -- the puddle on the floor was growing. He hurt. He hurt.
Then -- "My God," Shen was panting in his ear. "I'm calling an ambulance, then the police. Keep your hands over the -- oh my God, so much blood -- "
Oh dear, the carpet would be ruined…it was a Persian original, though not in the finest condition, which was why it was on the floor, and not rolled up and ready for sale…D closed his eyes and saw pulses of red behind the lids.
"No!" Shen snapped, and D heard the rattle of a telephone. "Keep your eyes open! Hello! Yes, I need an ambulance immediately at Red Dragon Antiques on Canal, we've had an assault, a stabbing -- "
It hurt too much. He couldn't stay awake, he yearned for the mercy of unconsciousness -- Shen was telling him to stay awake again, but he couldn't, and the very last time he'd spoken to Leon he had been shouting and they had fought --
"Leon?" he managed, though he had no idea what question he was asking, and then everything was gone.
Leon and Chuck were halfway through the casebook when the phone rang. Leon took a gulp of coffee and picked it up. "NYPD Fifth Precinct, Orcot here." He frowned. "Sorry, I -- Shen? Red Dragon Shen? Yeah, hi -- " His brow drew into a deeper frown line, and then it cleared abruptly as his eyes widened and his pencil snapped in his hand. Chuck sat up straighter in his chair. "What?" Leon asked, his voice coming out choked. "When -- where did they -- is he gonna be okay? What hap…oh holy fucking shit. They took him to -- okay. I -- I know where that is. Shit. Who did it? Are there cops there? Fuck, of course there aren't, that's why you're calling me -- here -- " He handed the phone to Chuck, who was staring at him in confusion. "Chuck, D's been stabbed. Some robber, or something. Take this guy's statement, I gotta get to the hospital."
Chuck stood up at once as Leon shrugged into his coat. "Holy shit. Okay, man, I'll get people down there stat, but are you -- "
"Just take care of this for me, I gotta go!" And he bolted through the door.
Everything was very dark, and he was having strange, unhappy dreams. Dreams of forests, dreams of fantastic beasts, dreams of sweet, cool water always just beyond his reach. He was hot and thirsty and tired, and he was always running, he could not seem to stop running. From time to time, he saw his grandfather's face; sometimes it was cool and impassive, sometimes it was very knowing and I-told-you-so, and once it was pleading, begging him to reach out, take his grandfather's hands.
But he couldn't do that. Something bad would happen if he did. He didn't know what, but it would be bad. He had to return to…somewhere. Somewhere his grandfather did not want him to go, but it was necessary. Because of…something or someone. He couldn't remember. And he was so thirsty.
They'd stuck tubes in him.
Leon sat by the hospital bed, staring at D, who'd been out of the OR for about three hours and was still knocked out. They'd patched up the wound, but he'd lost a lot of blood, and he hadn't woken up yet. He should be okay, the doc had said. If the ambulance had gotten him here ten minutes later, well, there'd be no telling -- but they'd found him in time. Just in time. And now he had tubes in him.
The balance of your whole life could change in ten minutes. Leon was a cop, so he'd known that. But he hadn't known it. He'd been in the hospital himself a few times, had woken up to see D and Chris sitting by his bed. Now he knew what it was like from the other side. He'd give anything, any fucking thing, to trade places. This was, without question, the absolute worst he'd ever felt in his life.
Well, no it wasn't. He'd felt worse when D had pushed him off that ship; there weren't words for that kind of pain. And right now he felt a damn sight better than he had three hours ago, before they'd wheeled D out of the OR and told Leon he was going to make it. But Jesus Christ, it sucked sitting here, wanting more than anything for D to wake up and work his injured condition to the fullest, giving Leon a small, wan smile, playing the drama queen role to the hilt. Stabbed in the middle of a store by a schizo junkie. Chuck had called to tell him they'd caught the guy -- hadn't been hard, he'd been curled up in an alley, rocking back and forth and babbling to himself, covered in blood. Leon hated him. Maybe later he'd feel sorry for him, just like he'd feel sorry for anybody that goddamn pathetic, but for right now he just wanted to blow the dude's brains out. Chuck had told him not to come to the station until they'd locked him safely away. Probably a good idea.
And all Leon wanted was to keep D safe, but nowhere was safe, not even that store, probably not even their apartment. If he thought it would help, he'd lock D up in their room and never let him leave, but D wouldn't stand for that, he was always making stupid choices and taking risks like that, if he hadn't taken a risk on Leon he wouldn't even be here right now, with tubes in him. Leon hid his face in his hands. He knew it wasn't his fault. He hadn't been holding the knife. But that didn't make it feel one tiny bit better, not any of it. He was physically okay, fine and dandy like sour candy, and the love of his fucking life was lying in a hospital bed just this close to dying. So damn close.
He'd called Chris as soon as he'd known D was going to be okay, getting him out of class to tell him over the phone that his favorite -- what? Brother-in-law? Mommy-figure? -- had almost been murdered. He'd called Eileen too, and she'd be bringing Chris over tomorrow for a visit, if D woke up. If. If.
Of course he's going to wake up. Stop being an idiot.
"Wake up, you Chinese cretin," Leon muttered to D's blank, still face, before he turned to watch the drip of the IV. "Wake up so I can kick your ass."
"…kick your ass."
The words sounded very unpleasant, but for some reason, he liked the voice that was speaking them. That was the voice he had to go back to, that was the reason he couldn't go with Grandfather. He tried to wake up, to do as the voice bade him, but his eyelids were too heavy, and a dull pain throbbed in his abdomen. It got worse the closer he got to consciousness.
He didn't want to wake up, but he didn't want to sleep any more either, he did not like these dreams. There was no pleasant alternative. But then he felt a touch on his head, the weight of a warm, large hand that stroked his hair off his forehead, the motion soothing, comforting. The touch of someone he loved. And just like that, he didn't fear his dreams anymore, and his grandfather's face vanished from view. He was walking in a meadow now, the grass soft under his feet, the sun warm on his face.
"Ahem."
The delicate clearing of a throat pulled Leon out of his contemplation of D's face, made him yank his hand away from D's forehead in sudden embarrassment. Oh, great. Just what he needed -- Shao Yan Lin and that fucking lovesick puppy grandkid of his, Zhou, were standing in the doorway of the hospital room. They bowed when Leon looked at them, and, out of some etiquette instinct long gone rusty, Leon rose to his feet. "We came as soon as we heard," Shao said. "It is most distressing that a crime such as this has happened in our own neighborhood. I understand the one responsible has been caught?"
"Yeah," was all Leon could think to say.
"Good. I daresay the young men of our neighborhood would have administered the appropriate…retribution…to him if the police had not."
"Oh," Leon said.
Then they all stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments. Leon tried really hard not to glare at Zhou while Gramps was around. At least he didn't have flowers or balloons or anything else that would require Leon to punch him.
"His condition?" Zhou suddenly burst out. Leon told himself harshly that it wasn't punchworthy.
"Doc says he'll be fine," he said as politely as he knew how, which wasn't very. "It was a close shave, though."
"They said he was stabbed in the stomach," Zhou said, looking ill. "I can't believe it…in Mr. Shen's own shop…thank goodness he was there…"
"Yeah."
Another silence. Shao sighed and nodded, saying, "When he awakens, please tell him we came by and were concerned for his health. Come, Zhou."
"A moment," Zhou said, and he lifted his chin. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Orcot alone, please, Grandfather."
Leon stared at him in disbelief. What could this little shrimp want to say to him? Didn't he reserve all the flowery words for D? Maybe he just wanted a chance to moon over the hospital bed. "Fine by me," he said challengingly.
But when Shao left, the words Zhou spoke were not what Leon was expecting to hear. "I want to apologize," he said.
Leon blinked, and actually touched one of his ears. "Howzat?"
Zhou looked at his feet. "I said, I want to apologize," he said. "I know that he has chosen you, not me. I must have seemed very tiresome to him, following him like that. I suppose I wanted -- I don't know what I wanted."
Just like that, Leon felt sorry for the little dipshit. Hell, like he could blame him for falling for D. "It's okay," he said awkwardly. "I mean -- okay."
"I hope you will not object if I continue to associate with him," Zhou said, his eyes suggesting that he didn't much care if Leon objected or not. "Now that my dissertation is finished, I have a…another project for which I hope to obtain his assistance. He will be invaluable. It is a children's book of Chinese myths and fables. For the popular press."
Leon blinked. "D might get into that," he allowed. "He loves telling stories. Can rattle on forever about Asia if you let him. Crazy son of a bitch," he added, feeling warmth all around his heart as he glanced over to look at D, still resting peacefully.
Zhou scowled at him. "You -- you should not speak of him that way!" he said, and lowered his voice. "Don't you know what he was?"
"No," Leon said, turning back to glare at Zhou. So much for the truce. "Do you know what he is now?"
"That is beside the point! He was -- is -- a sacred creature of legend! Don't you understand what's happened? What he gave up for you?"
"That's none of your business," Leon said quietly, feeling his hands ball into fists. He shouldn't beat up the scrawny kid. Besides, he might get kicked out of the hospital. "We're none of your business. If he wants to hang out with you and write a book, great. I got no problem with that. But don't act like you understand anything that's going on here. Okay?"
Zhou turned red. "You don't deserve him!"
"Get out before I bust your face in," Leon said. Zhou turned redder, turned on his heel, and stormed out.
"How dramatic," a weak voice said from Leon's right. Leon whirled to see D peering at him from beneath his lashes.
The meadow was a pleasant place, but he couldn't stay here. He had somewhere else to go, and he could hear voices summoning him there: one of them the loud, strident voice of the person he loved most, the other voice less familiar, less necessary. The voices were quarrelling, and D was rising, up from the meadow, through the clouds, through the blue sky into a more reddish mist. The red, he realized eventually, was the inside of his own eyelids. His stomach still hurt, but with the fuzzy numbness that meant he was probably being pumped very full of drugs.
The beloved voice, he knew now, was Leon's. The other was -- D cracked open one eye -- oh dear. He certainly did not feel like enduring Zhou now. He would just feign sleep for a few more moments until he went away. Judging from the sound of the conversation, he would be going away very soon indeed, unless he wanted Leon to break his nose.
"…anything that's going on here. Okay?" he heard.
"You don't deserve him!"
"Get out before I bust your face in." Then the sound of quick, angry footsteps. Goodness gracious. His dear detective certainly had a way about him, didn't he? D judged it was safe to open his eyes, and did so to the best of his ability, smiling groggily. These drugs really were miraculous things. "How dramatic," he murmured, wincing when it came out like a croak.
Leon whipped around at the sound of his voice, his eyes going gratifyingly wide. "D!" he said, and shot over to the bedside. "You're awake! Hold on, lemme call the nurse -- "
"Not yet," D said, still smiling. "Time enough for that. I feel fine."
Leon stared at him. "Really?"
"Not really," D admitted. "I had nightmares."
Leon closed his eyes and sat down heavily in the bedside chair. "God."
"How long…?"
"You got stabbed about six hours ago," Leon said. "They caught the asshole who did it, you'll be glad to know. If you ain't pressing charges, I am."
D turned his head with an effort and took in the paleness of Leon's face, his haggard countenance. "I had nice dreams just before I woke up," he said, in what he hoped was a comforting voice. "Meadows. Sunlight."
"How full of Morphine are you?" Leon asked. "Well…good, I guess." He dropped his gaze to his lap. D wished Leon would pet his hair again. It was so unlike Leon to do so, but he felt certain it had been Leon's hand he'd felt earlier. It could have belonged to no one else. "Doc says you'll be here for at least four days," Leon continued in a low voice. "Maybe a week. I should really call somebody -- "
"Not yet," D repeated. He felt quite fuzzy and shiny, all things considered, and wanted another look at Leon's face. But Leon wasn't looking up from his lap.
"Shen called me," Leon said. "I thought you were going to die." He laid a hand next to D's on the bed, careful not to disturb the IV needle. And still didn't look up. D moved his hand so it was lying on top of Leon's, and, fuzzy though he was, came to a sudden understanding.
If Leon died, then D knew he would die as well. He saw no shame in that. He'd come back to Earth to be with Leon, after all, and once Leon was gone, there would be no reason to continue. He had lived a very long life already, and as far as he was concerned, was well into its final stage. But if he died...Leon would decide to keep living. That was the kind of man he was, that was how he had been brought up, that was his view of the world. But it would be no less of a punishment for him. Looking at Leon's hand beneath his own, at his bowed head, D realized that he must not let anything like this -- or worse -- happen to him again. It would not be fair to Leon, who would not follow him, and who would be left alone. He would have to survive. It was the only thing to do.
He tried to speak, and it did not sound as coherent as he might have wished, but it was good enough. "I am still here," he whispered. "I will not go."
"I know you won't," Leon whispered, and his voice sounded creaky, almost as if he was trying not to cry. Leon never cried. Leon should not cry. That would be horrible. D did not want to see that. "I'd kill you. I'd bring you back, just so I could kill you again, for doing that to me, you stupid son of a bitch."
D tried to smile, but it hurt, so he gave up. He must look a mess. And his hair felt dirty and greasy. "Someone must clean up after you. That's me."
"Yeah," Leon choked.
"Leon?"
Leon stood up and whirled around, staring out the window, never letting D see his face. His shoulders were rigidly set, and his hands were curled into fists at his side. D did not understand. He knew bedside vigils in hospitals were unpleasant things -- he'd certainly attended Leon's sickbed more than once. "Leon," he repeated, not sure what to say, "I'm fine."
"Not yet you're not," Leon said. "In a while you should be. Holy shit, I hope so -- you think we can afford this place -- worse than the fucking Hilton -- " D saw him raise his hand to his eyes and scrub at his face. When he turned around, his cheeks were bright red and his eyes were shining suspiciously. "I got here and saw you on the table and you had blood all over you," he said. "I didn't know -- you were just lying there, you FUCKING bastard. When they were done, they were pretty sure you'd wake up and be okay, but they weren't totally sure and you know what that does? Not being totally sure? Just that one little bit of not being totally goddamn sure?"
D thought about explaining about how it wasn't his fault that a lunatic had stabbed him, but what he heard himself say instead was, "I have woken up, Leon. And I am fine. Does that mean we can go home now?"
"Doubt it, with a hole in your guts. You'll be here for a couple more days. At least that's what they said. Christ. I don't know. I'm calling somebody now." Leon reached over, mashed the nurse's button on the arm of D's bed. D saw that he was biting his lip. He raised his hand and gently touched one damp cheek.
He did not know what to say. It was not the first time this had ever happened, with Leon. Many times he had not known what to say, and he had always needed to say something, even if he hadn't known it at the time. What was it he needed to say now? If only he could discover it...if only his head were not so fuzzy...
Perhaps it was the drugs that prompted him to say what he wanted to say, without knowing if he needed to say it. "I am sorry I was hurt," he said. "I love you and I do not wish it to happen again."
Then he watched with vague interest as Leon turned to stare down at him, with a funny mixture of incredulity and rage.
He took D's hand, clasped the palm to his face, bent and kissed it almost savagely. Said, "You fucker. If you love me so much, don't get your skinny ass almost killed again. Okay?"
"Okay," D said happily as another timed shot of Morphine rushed through his veins. This really was marvelous stuff. The nurse came in, looked at them, and her hand fluttered over her heart for a moment, apparently before she could stop herself. Well, it was no doubt a very touching tableau, D thought, and smiled broadly at her. "Hello," he said.
Leon didn't look at the nurse -- strange, she was reasonably attractive -- but kept looking at D as he muttered, "Ignoring the fact that he's high as a fucking kite, can we get a doctor to look at him?"
"Language," D scolded.
"I'll go fetch him," the nurse said, and bustled out. D stopped frowning, and smiled at Leon again. "You must not think I only said that because of the drugs," he said. "I know you, and I know that is what you are thinking."
"Nah," Leon said, and looked down in his lap again. "I know you...that's why you put up with me. I'm glad. You gotta know that. And that's why I need you to get better."
"Of course," D said, and smiled brilliantly as a lovely thought occurred to him. "I'm sure I can't walk anywhere. Will you carry me?" Then he giggled.
"I'm gonna make you pay for this," Leon said, but at least he sounded like himself again.
"It will take most of my paycheck this month," D said, mournfully looking around the room. "And it isn't even nice here. I don't even get a whole room."
"You don't get a whole room back at our place either," Leon reminded him as a man in a white coat, apparently the doctor, twitched aside the blue curtain. "Hey, doc."
"No, but it's our room," D confided, before giving the doctor his most charming smile. "Hello, doctor. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Count D. Oh." He frowned. "No, I'm not anymore. But I was. Did you know that?"
"Ignore everything he says," Leon said quickly, which D thought was rather rude.
"Patient has weird reaction to Morphine," the doctor said, making a notation on a clipboard. "See it all the time. We had a girl in here once saw M&Ms on the walls, and kept telling the nurses to pick them off and give them to her."
"I was a god," D said, deciding to ignore Leon's breach of etiquette. After all, perhaps his former divinity was something they would need to know for his medical records, too.
"I just bet you were, young sir," the doctor said, and leaned forward, prying D's eyelids open and looking critically at his pupils. Then he took his pulse. "Damn fine one too, I'm sure."
"I was excellent," D said proudly. "The animals all loved me and I took wonderful care of them."
"Jesus Christ," Leon groaned.
"No, not that one," D scolded.
The doctor grinned up at Leon, which D found strange. "I'll give him some other painkillers that shouldn't make him so loopy. Let me check the incision -- I'll come back in another hour or two when the Morphine wears off, just to make sure he's okay when he's making sense."
"Let me know when he starts," Leon said. "I haven't seen any sign of it in three years."
D scowled at him. "How rude, Detective. I am not surprised, of course." Then he held still while the doctor carefully inspected his abdomen and took his temperature. His stomach was very sensitive to touch.
When he was finished, the doctor winked at Leon and stood up. "I think you'll be in fine shape. Really lucky, you know. I'll be back in an hour. Until then, Your...uh, Divine Highness."
D beamed at him, and waved his free hand graciously as the doctor left. Then he frowned at Leon. "That was a polite man."
"Spare me," Leon said. Then he pulled out his cell phone. "Now we know you're gonna live, I'll call Chris. He was really scared. Wants to visit you."
"Oh, I am sorry to frighten him," D said vaguely. "Tet-chan would be cross with me."
"Don't start with that stuff," Leon said. "They'll lock you in the psych ward, for sure. Dammit, it's busy, get off the phone, Sam! Bet you anything it's Sam."
"Hmmm," D said, his eyes beginning to drift shut again. "I'm sleepy."
"Then go to sleep," Leon said, his voice unusually gentle. And then -- how lovely! -- there was that warm touch again, that hand on his forehead, smoothing back his hair. "Just rest, idiot."
"Idiot," D huffed, and because he couldn't resist, added, "Zhou was right -- you do not deserve me."
"Hell, I didn't deserve measles when I was ten," Leon said, "but I got 'em."
I love you and I do not wish it to happen again.
I love you.
So, they'd finally said it. Or one of them had, anyway. And it hadn't been him. Leon sat by D's bedside and tried to look like he wasn't thinking about the L-word while Chris and Eileen fussed over D. They'd arrived this morning with flowers, which sat in an elegant spray by the telephone. Eileen had an eye for color, Leon'd give her that. And they'd brought candy too, apparently at Chris's insistence. D was currently cradling the box in one hand, staring mournfully at it from where his back was propped up with pillows. He wasn't allowed to eat solid food yet.
"Did you get the guy with your kung-fu, Count?" Chris was asking excitedly.
D's cheeks turned faintly pink. "I'm afraid not, Chris. I was not fast enough."
"Chuck dropped by last night to say hi after you fell asleep," Leon said. "He said the guy who did it was drugged to the teeth with PCP. That shi -- stuff can make some people super-fast, and super-strong. Don't feel bad, D."
"What's PCP?" Chris asked.
"A drug, Chris," Eileen said, looking vaguely worried. "Something you should never take."
"Of course I won't," Chris said, looking scandalized. "Detectives don't take drugs."
"Unless you count beer," D muttered.
Leon rolled his eyes before grinning at Chris. "That's what I like to hear, buddy."
"Detectives?" Eileen asked, looking puzzled.
Oops. Didn't take a genius to know that she wouldn't want Chris to be a cop, and the last thing Leon needed was for her to side with Uncle Phil in the keep-the-kid-away-from-his-brother stakes. He cast about for some way to change the subject when D said, "You have brought a checkers set!" He sounded a lot more delighted than he probably was. Leon patted his arm and hoped that conveyed his gratitude. This teamwork stuff wasn't that hard.
"Oh, yes," Eileen said. "You know how Chris loves to play, and we thought it might be nice…"
"What an excellent idea," D said with a smile, as Chris set up the checkerboard on the bed's dining tray. But while they played, and Eileen advised Chris on strategy (usually badly), Leon brooded again.
D had said it. Leon hadn't.
And if he was going to be honest with himself, he hadn't planned to. Not exactly. They were hard words to say, and Leon had always figured actions spoke louder, anyway. And they both had plenty of action going for them -- D had given up immortality, Leon had given up everything else that he could. He appreciated all that. He hadn't needed to hear frilly words from D. Except that when D had said that -- when D had said, like it was no big deal, "I love you" -- something in Leon had lit on fire and hadn't gone out since. The words had been spoken and there wasn't any un-speaking them. But what did that mean -- that D wanted Leon to speak them back? He wasn't going to be any good at that. He knew he wasn't.
It wasn't like this was the biggest problem he had to deal with. There was the little matter of the hospital bill, after all. D had health insurance from Mr. Shen, but it wasn't gonna cover everything, and he and Leon hadn't been living together long enough to qualify as "domestic partners" or whatever, so Leon couldn't put him on his own plan. It looked like Leon was going to have to put off getting that DVD/VCR combo he'd had his heart set on for a while, and they'd have to cut back on beer and that pricey organic food D liked getting. But they could swing it, if they tightened their belts, and would D get mad if Leon didn't say it back? A lot of times he got mad about stuff Leon couldn't even fathom, so what kind of fit might he pitch for something big like this?
Shit.
He couldn't stop thinking about it, the whole week D was in the hospital. He had to go back to work two days after the attack, so he could only be with D in the evenings, and it fucking sucked going back to an empty apartment when he left the hospital at night. It especially sucked knowing that D would kill him if he let it get messy. D was better off than Leon was -- Shen had brought him a bunch of books to read because he couldn't stand the television, various pals from around Chinatown came to visit every day, and of course he had the nurses and doctors eating out of the palm of his hand. What did Leon have? An empty apartment. Oh, and Chuck.
"He said he loved you?" Chuck asked during Tuesday morning's patrol.
"Rub it in," Leon said.
"What the hell's wrong with that, you idiot cracker? Ain't he supposed to love you? Why else does he stay with you?" Chuck took a swallow of coffee from his travel mug. "I don't know why the hell you make everything so complicated, Orcot. 'I ain't really gay.' 'He said he loved me, oh shit, I don't know what to do.' 'Somebody help, I got my head stuck up my ass.'"
"Fuck you," Leon snapped.
"'Fuck you, Chuck, for bein' so much smarter than me.'"
"I don't know why I talk to you," Leon grumbled as he stalked off down the street, Chuck's laughter following him.
Well, Leon wasn't going to crack. Even though by the end of the week he sort of thought D was waiting for him to. D was as calm as ever, as goddamn infuriating as ever, with that little smile on his lips, but something warm and fond in his eyes that made Leon's heart skip with exhilaration and fear. He looked like a guy who'd finally gotten something off his chest. For his part, Leon felt like he had a two-ton weight sitting on his. But he wasn't going to crack. He'd say the words when, and if, he was good and ready. And that was that.
D was released from the hospital on Thursday morning, a week after the attack. He said he felt fine, but Leon could tell he was tired, and still too weak to do much for himself, especially if it involved bending over or anything that used his abdominal muscles. He kept his arm around D as they got out of the cab and entered their apartment building and then, his face burning, he scooped D up in his arms -- after his hospital stay, he was even skinnier than usual, and alarmingly light -- and carried him up the stairs. D had started in surprise, but soon subsided quietly in Leon's arms with only a faint wince of pain. "You okay?" Leon muttered.
"Never better," D said, laying his head on Leon's shoulder with a dramatic little sigh. "Carrying me over the threshold, are you? How old-fashioned, Detective!"
"Aw, shaddup," Leon said, almost by rote. He didn't put D down when they reached the top of the stairs, but kept going until they reached their apartment door. Without being asked, D reached into Leon's jacket pocket and unlocked the door. "I'm sure it's a terrible mess," he sighed. Then, when the door swung open to reveal a reasonably neat apartment, he exclaimed in delight, "Why, Leon! I didn't know you had it in you."
"Yeah, well," Leon mumbled as he finally set D gently on his feet. "It's not like you're well enough to start cleaning anyway. You know what the doc said, you better go lay down."
"I have been lying down for a week," D complained, looking around the room restively as Leon shut the door. "It is very boring. I have never had to do this before -- I am not used to being incapacitated. I would much rather do something meaningful with my time."
"Recovering is meaningful, dummy," Leon said, ready to pack D off to bed whether he liked it or not. "You just gotta suck it up and wait to get better. It'll happen."
D pouted, but his eyes were soft and mischievous as he looked up at Leon. "Why on earth do I put up with you?"
"Holy shit, I love you," Leon blurted, just like that. "More than anything else, ever." D's eyes widened. Because he couldn't think what to do or say next, Leon bent and kissed him, trying to be gentle, but succeeding better with clumsy. When they parted, he could tell his face was still red. "So go to bed, will you?" he mumbled.
"Of course I will," D said, and now his smile matched the warm, gentle look in his eyes.
Comments and criticism welcome.