Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Dragon Ex Machina ❯ chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Dragon Ex Machina

 

DISC: I do not own Pet Shop of Horrors or its characters. These are the property of mangaka Matsuki Akino and publishing house Tokyopop (in the U.S., anyway). I make no profit from this story. Please don't sue.

 

 

Chapter 1 - In which Leon remains in bed

 

 

 

It took less than ten seconds of consciousness for Leon to remember how much he hated hospitals. It took less than ten minutes for him to decide that hospitals hated him in return.

 

And it took less than ten hours for him to come to the conclusion that the universe, in general, seemed to be rather unfriendly toward him as well.

 

At the best of times, he'd never been a good patient. He'd never had the patience to be one. Because good patients accepted the fact that they needed to rest and recuperate, that their bodies needed to heal, which required time. Time where all he could do was think.

 

Even before he'd met D, thinking had not been one of his favorite pastimes. It wasn't that he was bad at it, oh no. To the contrary - he was quite smart. Many would scoff at this claim, he knew, but it was true. In college, and again for the force, he'd had to take IQ tests. His 139 score (and yes, he got the same score both times) was just below genius, or at least highly gifted, depending upon which scale you used. But IQ scores meant diddly-crap in the real world. He'd never understood why people wanted to act all superior about that kind of stuff. If someone was really smart, they'd put their intelligence to *use* and do something with it, not talk with big fancy words so that normal people couldn't understand `em. If someone was smart, they'd do something to make the world better. Like finding murderers and bringing `em down. *THAT* was something real, something worthwhile.

 

Why bother with the intelligentsia crap? Reading and talking pretty were for people who couldn't bother to get off their keisters and make a difference. Grades only mattered for getting him into the academy. Manners were for people who wanted to impress others.

 

Who gave a shit about that anyway? Wasn't like he had to charm anyone to do his job. And the more people underestimated him, the better off he'd be.

 

If anyone had any doubts about his intelligence, they just needed to look at his arrest record. Call it instinct, call it “his gut,” but it was good enough for him.

 

And, as one of his psychology professors had said, “Hunches are usually just a shortcut in your thinking process. You've looked at the evidence, analyzed it, and your brain has found the solution. You may not be able to lay out the steps of how you got there right away, but there is always a logical progression to be found - even if you can't see it immediately. For those planning on working in law enforcement, a hunch can save your life. You can go back and figure out the steps later.”

 

Leon usually let those around him figure out the steps after the fact. Seemed like too much paperwork to him. He'd figured it out, so what did it matter how? Paperwork was boring.

 

Sitting around thinking was boring, too.

 

Or painful.

 

This was another reason why he didn't indulge in the conscious practice of thinking if he could avoid it. In his 26 years, he'd had plenty of painful things that he could have wasted lots of time thinking about.

 

Like how his deadbeat dad had left his mom high and dry to take care of her son, all alone. Like how his mom died giving birth to a late-in-life second son, his brother. Like how he hated his brother for taking his mom away - until he'd actually held him for the first time, and then he never wanted to let the kid go, even though he still felt guilty about that moment of selfishness. Like how his aunt and uncle were willing to take in a baby, but had no room in their home for a teenager who was almost an adult - even for the few months until he became that adult - leaving him to stay in a foster home until he could legally move off on his own and find his own way.

 

Like how everyone important in his life left him behind.

 

His dad. His mom. His aunt and uncle. His brother.

 

And now the Count.

 

God damn, but he hated hospitals.

 

Because all there was to do there, was think. You were left alone. By yourself. All you could do was watch crappy tv and think.

 

You might imagine that the morphine drip in his IV would help keep him unconscious enough that it wouldn't be an issue. But he wasn't that lucky. Instead, his brain kept replaying moments in time, over and over again.

 

“I don't plan on dying with you, D.”

“Just leave me and save yourself.”

 

He'd said those things. How many bones were broken at that time? How much blood had he lost through how many bites and tears?

 

But D had saved him. He'd pulled him from a burning building onto an endless staircase through the sky. And when D had jumped, pulling Leon with him, they hadn't fallen. No, Leon had flown. He had *flown*! He'd rested on fluffy clouds and then flown some more until he saw the ship and climbed aboard.

 

And damn it! He KNEW that was impossible. People can't fly. Even Chinese people. That's what he'd been taught. People can't fly. And clouds are just water vapors. There is no way someone could rest on one - he'd just pass right on through like walking through fog. It was impossible.

 

Sure, D had saved him. Something had to have, because nothing else on that floor had gotten out alive. But, he had been found nearby the remains of the building, without any animal bites. Without any proof that any part of what he remembered had happened except the explosion. The broken bones - and corresponding holes from where they'd ripped through his own flesh - were the only marks on him, and those were easily explained by a fall from that height.

 

Plus, he'd noticed that he'd been healed when he was flying in the clouds. Logically, that would only prove that anything from the moment he'd entered that penthouse suite could have been a hallucination. For all that could be proven, there was only one D - not three. Howell had come in to help save him and had been blown up in the explosion and D was a psychotic killer.

 

It was physically impossible to fly. There were no such things as flying ships. Animals did not turn into people through magic - and they certainly couldn't talk.

 

And that was what EVERYone believed. Except for one Detective Leon Orcot - because he'd been there. He'd lived it. And after everything he'd lived through with D in the past two years, he knew it was real. Unbelievable, un-provable, but unmistakably real.

 

So, he'd told the Chief only about D's dad. He didn't mention Q-chan. He didn't talk about the animals. He'd talked about D's dad, who had attended the University with Howell. THAT could be proven. And since D was - by all accounts - too young to have gone to school with Howell, it was accepted. And gave a reason for Howell to have been so fixated on D.

 

He'd told them about how D's family had been slaughtered by a mass murderer, and how Papa D went crazy because of it, had finally decided that if he couldn't have his family then everyone deserved to die. It was a reasonable fictionalization of the real story. And they bought it - which was what mattered.

 

D's dad's remains had been badly burned in the fire, so there were no worries about their near identical appearance. And, with Leon's “first-hand account” written up so prettily for the record - with all references to anything supernatural omitted, of course - the blame for Howell's death and the explosion that caused it was laid solely on Papa D.

 

Of course, the FBI would have still been interested in finding Leon's D to see if he could corroborate the story. But Leon told them that there was no way anyone else could have survived the fire. The local fire department backed that assertion up one hundred percent.

 

He really didn't have to do that, lie for D. It wouldn't have mattered either way.

 

But D wasn't the bad guy here, so why should the government waste money trying to find him. It wasn't like they'd be able to anyway. What were they going to do? Search the skies for a flying ship? He could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

 

No, the FBI was better allocated to finding *human* suspects here on terra firma.

 

The story he'd told wouldn't have been a problem at all, if it weren't for the fact that he was stuck in a hospital. With time to think.

 

Why had he lied about D?

 

Yes, yes. All the reasons previously mentioned. No sense wasting money.

 

But… WHY?

 

Didn't he still believe D was responsible for all those peoples' deaths?

 

That poor couple who had purchased a rabbit in the hopes they could replace their dead daughter. And just like their daughter, they ended up spoiling the rabbit until it was out of control and destructive - not only to itself, but to others. Did they truly deserve death for that? Wasn't their loss enough?

 

Part of him, though, agreed. If they didn't learn from their first mistake and repeated it again, they'd just keep repeating it. And usually the person who doesn't learn from his mistakes ends up taking a lot of innocent people down with him. So while it wasn't exactly pleasant, and while it seemed overkill, there was a sense of justice there.

 

No. D wasn't solely responsible for those people's deaths. He may have sped them along, and Leon couldn't say he always agreed fully with their “fate,” but he couldn't fully blame D anymore either.

 

Still, that didn't fully explain things.

 

They'd become friends. That must be it. D and he were… friends.

 

If it came right down to it, he trusted D - more than just about anyone. It wasn't because he'd saved his life. It wasn't because he'd helped with Chris. It wasn't because of all the food and tea they'd shared. He just… damnit. He just…

 

D was smart. He could read people. And he cared about animals. Okay, he cared about animals more than people. But knowing the history of his family, was that really a surprise?

 

He cared more about animals than people.

 

Any people.

 

He'd left with his animals.

 

Why had he lied about D dying?

 

Just so that the Feds would leave him alone - give him some room. D wanted to be alone, away from people and Leon would give him that.

 

He'd left.

 

Even before Howell, D had left. And Leon hadn't even given him the chance to say goodbye. Not that D had tried that hard. But he supposed the Count *had* tried in his own way and that, in and of itself…

 

D hadn't even been sad when Chris had left.

 

Except maybe he had. He was a master of masks. And the bigger his smile, the less you could trust it was real. D kept a mask on for everyone. It made Leon wonder if he was ever honest, even with himself.

 

Except, there at the end… He'd let his mask slip.

 

Oh, he'd been smiling. But it hadn't reached his eyes. It made Leon wonder exactly how many times he'd missed the chance to look at his eyes to see what was real and what wasn't. Would he have learned more if he'd just bothered to look at D's eyes more closely? He was a detective, dammit, why had he never noticed?

 

But D's eyes were so disconcerting - the two colors, purple and gold, violet and amber, each was unlike any one else's eyes. Unique. Together… He couldn't stand to look at them too long. Really, he'd avoided it almost entirely. Every time he caught himself looking at the Count's eyes it was just so hard to look away. He felt like a deer in headlights. The feeling was… He just didn't like looking into the damned Count's freaky eyes, okay?

 

He cringed even as he thought it. D's eyes weren't freaky, they were…

 

They'd been overflowing with tears the last time he'd seen them.

 

And he'd pushed Leon away.

 

D had been crying. And he'd shoved him away.

 

Would he ever see the Count again?

 

He'd left him. Found him unworthy. He'd pushed him away.

 

God, he needed more morphine. Maybe then he'd be able to sleep and he wouldn't have to think about anything any more.

 

 

X

 

 

A nurse had come in and given him something to help him sleep. He could have kissed her. Except for some reason he thought it would have felt inappropriate. Weird. She was a looker, too.

 

And now, Leon was dreaming.

 

God dammit. He'd thought sleeping would help. But no. Here he was, standing on the deck of the ship as it sailed among the clouds. Still he couldn't help but marvel at the pets that he could finally - finally - see as people, not just mindless animals. Why was he reliving this again?

 

In reality, he'd stopped thinking of them as animals a long time before he actually was able to see them, he'd talked to them and seen them interacting with D and Chris - and himself - too often to not on some level realize they were people in their own right. He reached toward D, saw the tears streaming down those porcelain cheeks.

 

It was wrong. They'd survived. It should be a happy moment. They'd made it out of the chaos and were here, among the clouds. He was here, here with D - and he could finally see the pets, which had to mean something! Right? Didn't that mean he was…

 

Tears were flowing down D's cheeks in streams. No. D. Please don't…

 

But before he could wipe even one tear away, the Count pushed him off. The Count pushed him off the ship and he fell over.

 

No. Please, D. Let me… He tried to swim against gravity even as he knew it was pointless. But D was there and he was crying and Leon knew he had to…. Had to…

 

He woke up with a start.

 

“Dammit, D,” he muttered softly and began to cry. It was okay to cry. He was on all kinds of drugs. They were messing with his system. People cried in situations like these all the time. It didn't mean that he was sad or anything. It didn't mean anything.

 

Silently, his tears continued their trail, his body shaking, convulsing. D.

 

It was just the medicine.

 

D.

 

 

X

 

 

He'd fallen into a routine during the first of three weeks he would stay at the hospital. Yeah, three weeks was a long time for just a few broken bones, but when the doctor found out he lived alone and didn't have any family that could stay with him, he refused to sign the release papers.

 

Jill offered to let him stay at her place, but then he'd have to be all neat and careful because she was a girl and his partner and he didn't want to fuck up the one friendship he had left in the world.

 

He swallowed at the thought, held back from letting himself even say the letter in his mind. Still, purple and yellow flashed in his brain at the thought.

 

No. He was better off alone.

 

So the doc was going to keep him prisoner in the hospital for three whole friggin' weeks. Three weeks of thinking the same thing over and over again.

 

After the first week of thinking, he had been forced to some conclusions.

 

For example, D was his friend. In fact, D was his best friend. That was pretty fucked up, he was certain, becoming best friends with someone you had thought to be a felon. But it had happened, and it wasn't like he'd planned it.

 

It was just… D was someone who he could be himself with at all times. Not that he ever put on airs for anyone. No, Leon prided himself at being the real deal. But people everywhere you go are always judging you, sizing you up, seeing where you fit into their plans and how they could use you. And you always had to worry that if you fucked up, did something stupid in front of someone, they'd turn their back on you, throw you to the wolves.

 

It wasn't like that with D. D knew every bad trait he had, and he still was always… well, he was polite with everyone, so that wasn't it. No. It was more like… like the more D learned about Leon, the more happily surprised he was. At least that's how it felt.

 

Of course, now that he knew D's history, it made sense. He already had a dislike for humans, so there was never a need to worry that a human would fall short of expectations. Still, it always felt so good when he did something that made D truly smile, truly happy. And the times he'd brought expensive candy didn't count.

 

This was why he now knew that D had been his friend. Because really, when had he ever tried so hard to make someone he didn't actually care about happy like that? D was his friend. And he had thought he was D's friend, too.

 

The other thing he had to admit was that he missed the skinny little twirp. No one else argued with him the way D had. God, the fights they'd gotten into. It got the blood racing. It made him want to laugh, remembering. D standing there, toe to toe with him, both of them screaming at the tops of their lungs. D's eyes would absolutely blaze. They'd face each other, so close that he could feel D's warm breath - it always smelled like fresh tea leaves and sugar - on his face. They'd argue until he'd want to just grab the man and… throttle him. Yes. He wanted to just shake some sense into him, but that would be rude, so instead, he'd storm out.

 

Or the Count would throw him out.

 

But no matter how much they yelled, they always fell back together. No hard feelings - just happy to see the other again. Like best friends.

 

Which lead to the third thing: D's leaving hurt like fucking hell.

 

Worse yet, he wasn't sure if it hurt because it felt like only *he* had thought they were friends, or if it hurt because he had brought this on himself. How could he stay by D - how could D let him remain his friend after he'd killed his father?

 

Which was worse? Having the person you cared most about tell you that you weren't important at all, or having him leave because you hurt him so bad that he couldn't stand to be near you anymore? No matter how you looked at it, one of them had chosen something else over the other. Either D had chosen vengeance on humans, or Leon had chosen the survival of the human species. It seemed a simple conclusion: their friendship took second place no matter which way you looked at it. Either way… it fucking hurt.

 

If he could only see the Count, he'd apologize. Sure, it hadn't seemed like there was a choice. It was D's dad or the entire human race. But still… he wanted to apologize - to let D know that he never meant to… God damn it, if only there had been another way.

 

And if D didn't care about that, if he didn't care about him at all, then he'd just slug the bastard and walk away.

 

He stared at the drawing that had been left behind.

 

He'd been taking it with him until Leon had shot his dad. Did his leaving it behind mean something? Or did it just get dropped in the craziness of the explosion?

 

“Leon, are you okay?”

 

Jill's soft query finally penetrated, and he looked up to where she was standing in the doorway, an odd expression on her face - one that was terribly close to pity. Well, fuck that.

 

“Me? Oh, just peachy! I've got casts on both my legs, several broken ribs, a broken clavicle, and the shoulder that was dislocated is still pretty swollen. Plus, they've got me hopped up on so much medication that I can barely tell what time it is. Not to mention I have to stay in this stinkin' place for another two whole weeks. What makes you think I would be anything less than super-duper?”

 

“Well, at least your sarcasm-generator is still in perfect functioning order,” she replied cheerily, entering the room and sitting by his side, casually glancing at the paper he still held in his hand. Her voice softened as she commented, “You know, I bet Chris misses you, too. Why don't you call him?”

 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion until he noticed her looking at the picture. Then he shook his head and grimaced. “Nah. The twirp doesn't need to be bothered. He's home and doing pretty good at school. Don't want him worrying `bout me or nothin'.” He shrugged as he saw Jill gear up. It looked like she was going to go all “mom” on him, so he decided to say something to nip it in the bud. “Wasn't Chris I was thinkin' `bout anyway.” Well crap. That's not what he meant to say. This could only lead to…

 

And just as expected, Jill's eyes widened for a second and then the corners softened as she looked at him sadly. “You know, most people don't feel a thing when it happens like that.”

 

Yeah. Rub it in, why don't'cha? Okay, I got it. The Count didn't care about me…

 

“All things considered, D's probably pretty lucky to be… to have passed in a way that's so painless. Really, I'd have expected one of his pets - or one of his angry customers… And that would probably have… well, it would have hurt a lot more.” Her voice sounded dubious in its conviction.

 

It wasn't the quality of her voice that made Leon laugh. It was surprise. God, it hurt to laugh like this, but he couldn't stop. A full out belly laugh that was making his broken ribs scream. She thought he was upset because D died? Oh, but then he hadn't told her yet.

 

And it was clear he was going to have to because she was inflating like an angry balloon that was about to burst.

 

He reined in his laughter, sighed and smiled sadly at her. “Sorry. It's just…” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “D's not dead, Jill.”

 

She gasped. Which almost made him laugh again. Maybe it was the drugs, but to see someone gasp like that - it was like a soap opera. It was probably the drugs.

 

“Leon,” her whisper had the tone of angry bees, “you told the Chief - you told the FBI! - that D was dead! Are you trying to ruin your career? When they find out…”

 

He held up a single hand to stop her. “They're not going to find out. D left, Jill. He's not coming back. And they'll never be able to find him where he's going.”

 

Her face scrunched up tight the way it always did when she was confused or upset. “What do you mean?”

 

He gestured for her to come closer. “I'll tell you what really happened, but you won't believe me. And if I had told them what really happened, not only would they not believe me, but I'd have ended up in psych for about a year. They'd've zapped me `til I didn't know what was real anymore and started saying whatever I thought they wanted to hear, just so I could get out. And I don't want to forget it, Jill. It's too important.

 

“So listen up. And if you tell anyone what I'm about to say, I swear by everything that's good and holy, I'll deny it until my last breath. I'll make it seem like *you're* the one who's crazy. You got me?”

 

She nodded so he continued.

 

“D saved me. He pulled me out of the burning building. Out the window. And we flew. We flew through the sky `til we got to his pet shop - which is actually a ship. That flies. And once we were on board, he told me that humans weren't allowed. And he pushed me off. I fell and landed where you guys found me.”

 

She blinked twice. Opened her mouth to say something. Then, she blinked twice again, shook her head and tried one more time. “You… flew.”

 

Leon nodded.

 

“Leon, human beings can't fly.”

 

“D isn't human, Jill. He's a god.”

 

A god. A god? “You… Do you realize how crazy this sounds? Never mind. Of course you do. That's why you didn't say anything before. So why the hell are you telling me now?”

 

With a grimace, he replied, “So you'll stop talking about D like he's dead. So you'll stop feeling bad for him.” His voice turned just a shade bitter. “He's just fine. He's got everything he needs - his pets and his shop. He'll turn up at some other Chinatown and turn some other person's life all crazy and then disappear on that guy, too.”

 

Jill froze as she looked at him. “Oh, my god.”

 

“What?”

 

“It's… true.” She looked just a touch surprised, but also as if she'd always guessed.

 

“Of course it's true. Just think about all the strange shit that happened at the shop - all those endless corridors that weren't there after D left. It's some freaky god magic. The ship somehow settles in on a place and then you tour the rooms of the ship, not of an actual shop. What, you think I'm so imaginative I could make this shit up?”

 

She shook her head. “Not that. Or… that, too, I guess. That's true, too. Oh, my god.”

 

“True, too? What are you talking about?”

 

Muttering, “I thought I was just joking all those times…” she suddenly realized that Leon still hadn't put it together yet. Oh, dear Lord. No wonder he was so depressed.

 

She stood up and kissed his cheek and grinned when he blushed.

 

“I believe you, Leon,” she said softly. “But the question is, what are you going to do now?”

 

“Now? I'm going to sit in my hospital bed like the prisoner I am for the next two weeks.”

 

“And what about after? After you get out. After you're healed. Are you going to come back to the force?”

 

What? “Of course I'm coming back to the force, why the hell wouldn't I?”

 

She smiled sadly. “Good. I'd miss you if you weren't there, you overgrown idiot.”

 

She stayed a little while longer, played a round of cards with him to break up the monotony of his day, listened to him complain a bit. But even when he was joking and laughing, she could see a shadow in his eyes that made her wonder when he'd figure it out, and how things would change when he finally did realize how much D really meant to him.

 

What was she thinking? He was a detective. A hunter. He'd be on the chase as soon as he realized that it was an option.

 

And, she supposed, she'd be cheering him on from the sidelines. The two of them deserved a little happiness in their lives.

 

 

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