Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Unwilling Sleep ❯ Adversity's Sweet Milk, Philosophy ( Chapter 6 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

For warnings, summaries, disclaimers, etc., see the Prologue to this story.

Especial thanks to B. for all of her help re: NYC's puzzling geography. <G> I certainly appreciate it.

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Unwilling Sleep, Part Six: Adversity's Sweet Milk, Philosophy

Leon woke up to the smell of waffles and coffee. He was lurching out the door, salivary glands already working full-time, before his vision had completely cleared from sleep.

He'd slept pretty well last night, all things considered, after his little bathroom break. It had been agony, lying there and waiting for D to go to sleep. Eventually everything had been quiet enough that Leon had felt he could chance it. And D had looked peaceful enough, eyes closed and fingers clutching his pillow. He'd felt like a damn adolescent again, sneaking off to touch himself like he was ashamed of it. Well…maybe he was a little ashamed. Ashamed enough that he'd kept his eyes closed the whole time and had deliberately thought of nothing at all, stroking himself as quickly and efficiently as if he was priming a pump. He hadn't even dared to think of the usual big-chested centerfold babes, for fear they might change into…someone else. Someone he might have to make eye contact with the next morning. Ah, hell. At least he'd been so worked up that it hadn't taken much. And then he had slept, much better than the night before, or several nights before that.

Leon ambled down the stairs, scrubbing at his eyes, and hoped that D had slept well too. The Count had looked so exhausted that it didn't seem natural. Not on him.

He entered the kitchen to see D in Eileen's bathrobe, piling waffles on Chris's plate. Down the hallway he could hear the sound of the shower running, and decided that it must be Joyce, since Samantha never seemed to get up before noon if she could help it. It looked as if D had made enough waffles to feed an army. The table was loaded down with maple syrup, chocolate syrup, freshly-cut strawberries, and even a canister of Reddi-Whip. Leon's stomach made a loud, growling sound.

D looked up then. Leon noticed, with a faint pang of unease, that he still looked tired, as if he hadn't slept well after all. And was he imagining things, or was D's look a weird mixture of both a welcoming smile and a hostile glare? How the hell did the guy pull that off?

"Pleasant dreams, Detective?" D asked sweetly, continuing to load Chris's plate with waffles as he smiled/glared at Leon.

"Yeah, I guess," Leon said, deciding to ignore D's many weirdnesses and running his eyes greedily over the table. "Uh, you?"

"Count, I think I have enough," Chris said.

"Oh, fine, Detective. Just fine. Fine."

"Good," Leon said absently, deciding to go for coffee first. It smelled like a stronger brew this morning. "Glad to hear it. Wow, you made all this?"

"Oh, yes."

"Um, Count…I really don't think I can eat all…Count D…?"

"Though we seem to have extra, as Mrs. Sampson said she is watching her figure and Mr. Sampson appeared not to want any."

"Uncle Phil? You kidding? He loves waffles." Leon took a slow, luxurious sip of coffee. Perfect.

"Apparently, he does not love my waffles," D replied tartly. "Although he was quite willing to share his opinion on the expenses of maple syrup and strawberries and how people could not afford to eat such fancy things every day, which perhaps had not occurred to me, since I was not the one paying for all of it."

Leon nearly spat out the coffee. "What? Jesus." Even for Phil, that was pretty fucking rude. "You made him breakfast and he -- ?"

"Count -- ?"

"I made you breakfast," D said, his voice close to a snap. "Therefore, please do eat it."

"I would," Leon said, "but you're giving it all to Chris." He pointed to his little brother, who was nearly invisible behind a stack of waffles. D paused in the act of putting yet another one on the teetering pile and looked embarrassed. "We ought to save some for Joyce, too," Leon added. "Butter her up. No pun intended." He sat down at the table and went for what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Today's the big day, right? Chinatown."

D removed some of the waffles from Chris's plate and gave them to Leon, who immediately slathered them with as much of Phil's expensive maple syrup as he could manage. Then D set aside two more plates, one for himself and the other apparently for Joyce. "Indeed." He looked pensive.

"You're going to Chinatown?" Chris asked in excitement. "Can I come too?"

"Not this time, I think, Chris," D said gently. "Although if all goes well, as I hope it will, I will take you there myself soon." He gave Leon a little smile. "And if your older brother is good, he may come too." He sat down and began to cut his waffle.

For a moment, Leon felt a weird sense of deja vu. It didn't matter that they were sitting in Phil and Eileen's kitchen, sans animals and incense -- D being so kind to Chris, teasing Leon, all of them having breakfast together, all of it could have belonged back to the old days at the petshop. Although back then, D had always complained about Leon imposing on his hospitality. It obviously didn't sit too well with him to be the imposing one. The imposter? No, that wasn't right. Oh well. In this moment, no matter what the rest of the day held, Leon was happy, and he'd learned you had to grab onto moments like this.

It was a good thing he did, because about five minutes later, when Leon was halfway through his second waffle, Joyce wandered into the kitchen in her own bathrobe, her hair wrapped up on her head in a towel. So much for the family reunion. At least she looked happy as she sniffed the air appreciatively. "God, I could smell that all the way in the bathroom. They still warm?"

"They should be," D said, giving her his most polite smile. "I do hope you like waffles, Miss Sampson. We have saved you a plate."

"You made these?" Her voice was only a little bit wary. That had to be a good sign. It had to be a better sign that she sat down with a cup of coffee and began to chow down, after liberally covering her waffles with Reddi-Whip and strawberries. "Mmm. Damn. These are fresh-made, aren't they? 'Cause they sure aren't Eggos."

"Why, yes," D said, sounding surprised that Joyce might have thought otherwise. "Your mother has a very nice waffle maker. I made the batter early this morning."

"Mmm," Joyce said, and took a sip of coffee. Her eyes closed in bliss. Leon took the opportunity to grin and wink at D. Definitely a good sign. D nodded back and rose from his chair, taking his plate to the sink. "If you are finished in the bathroom, Miss Sampson, I believe I will have my shower now."

"There's two showers," Joyce pointed out in surprise. "You didn't have to wait on me."

"I did not wish to use up the hot water," D replied, scraping his half-eaten waffle into the trash. Leon frowned; D should be eating more than this, if they had such a big day ahead of them. How much good did he think he was going to be, stomach empty and half-asleep? Maybe he was just nervous and didn't feel hungry. Even if it was strange to think of D being nervous.

"Sam takes up all the hot water all the time," Chris mumbled around a mouthful of waffle. "You're lucky she's not up yet."

Joyce snorted. "Up yet? It's only eight-thirty. She's got two hours of sleep left at least. She was hogging the computer until one in the morning." She stretched. "I can't wait to get back to school. My room is small, but I'm the only one on my computer, and my dorm just got outfitted with high-speed connections. It'll be nice."

"Excuse me, please, then," D murmured politely, and drifted out of the kitchen. Leon swallowed hastily, and called after him, "Great waffles, D!"

"Thank you, Detective," D replied as he mounted the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Leon turned to Joyce, who was digging into her second waffle with gusto. "Joyce," he said, putting on his most charming smile. "My favoritest cousin."

She didn't tense, but instead gave him an amused smile. That was a good sign, too. "What do you want?"

"Can you drive me and D to Chinatown this morning? Just to drop us off? You wouldn't have to hang around or anything, we could probably take a cab or train back." Leon figured he had enough cash for that, at least.

Joyce blinked. She had a spot of whipped cream on the corner of her mouth. "Chinatown?" she repeated.

"Yeah," Leon said, trying to sound unconcerned, like it wasn't a big deal at all. "D knows some people in the neighborhood. He'll try and call in a few favors, see if he can get us somewhere to live. Might not work, but it's worth a shot." He shrugged elaborately. "Then I can check by the P.D., see if I have a job or not." He was sure he would. With luck, he could start in a couple of days. A paycheck would be nice. More than nice. Even if the prospect of learning a new city, under dangerous circumstances, wasn't exactly appealing. It would have been less scary, and more exciting, a couple of years ago. Before he'd been responsible for anybody else.

But he was a cop. That was all he'd ever been and all he'd ever wanted to be. He couldn't give that up, not for D, not for anyone. Well, not again, anyway.

Joyce bit her lip. "Well, sure I'll drive you," she said, to Leon's relief, though she sounded uneasy. "But -- what kind of people does he know? Is this, like, mob stuff? It isn't, is it?"

"Come off it, Joyce," Leon scoffed, though he'd been wondering the same thing.

"I mean -- you could stay here for a while longer, right, if you had to? You know you can. You're family." She looked worried.

"Yeah," Chris put in, his voice almost a whisper, eyes wide with distress.

Leon leaned over and ruffled the kid's hair. "But he's not," he said, nodding towards the stairs where D had gone. "Not as far as your dad is concerned. It's getting worse, not better, Joyce. We need to get out of here, before he kicks us out." At his words, Chris looked more miserable than ever. Leon wished he knew some words to comfort him. Damn Phil, anyway -- would his uncle try to make Chris choose between his two "families"? It seemed all too likely. And there could be no question of the outcome: Phil and Eileen could afford to take care of Chris, could give him the very best. Leon couldn't take care of Chris like they could, no matter how much he wanted to. All he could do, right now, was hope it never came to that. The situation was bound to defuse once D was out of the immediate vicinity, at least.

"I bet this food softened Dad up," Joyce said, with a try at a smile.

Leon snorted. "You'd be wrong. C'mon, you know he ha -- " a quick glance at Chris, "still hasn't, uh, warmed up to D. It'll be better for everyone if we can find our own place soon. Then you can come visit." He smiled at Chris, who looked down at his lap and seemed to be fighting tears. "Hey, c'mon, buddy, buck up," Leon said, suddenly wishing D was here. He'd always been better at dealing with Chris when he got in these moods. "You think D will let it be long before you get to come for a visit? No way. You're not getting rid of us. It'll be just like old times, only better, right?"

"Guess so," Chris whispered. "I wish you could stay here."

"Yeah, well, so do I." A little white lie never hurt anyone. "But sometimes things don't always work out that way, you know? It'll be cool. You'll see." He looked again at Joyce, who was watching them both with a concerned frown on her face. "But you'll drive us, right?"

"Yeah. I'll drop you off. I could do some shopping in the city anyway, and I haven't been in a while. If Sam wakes up in time, she can come too. And Chris." She smiled at Chris, then. "You start school Monday, you know. Mom wants us to get your school supplies." She glanced at Leon. "Mom wanted to send him to private school this year, what with all the money, but Dad thought it'd be better to put it in a college fund. I think he's right."

"All the money?" Leon repeated. "Did Phil make a good investment or something?"

Joyce blinked. "You mean we didn't tell you? Well, no wonder, I guess, we've hardly been able to find you, with all the stuff that's been going on. About a week after we brought Chris back, we got a bank draft for -- " she glanced at Chris, "a, uh, a lot of money. It said it was for his schooling. No idea who sent it. But he's set up pretty good." She grinned at him. "Wish someone'd do that for me. Dad's pretty sure it's his Great-Aunt Susan. You know -- never talks to anyone in the family, but she's filthy rich? Maybe she finally felt guilty about dropping us for all those years, and you know she always treated your mom like shit, especially when Chris was born." The unspoken words 'out of wedlock' hung between them for a moment. Yeah, Great-Aunt-Susan hadn't liked that so much. "Be nice if we see more in the will someday," Joyce added optimistically.

"Great-Aunt Susan," Leon repeated. "Yeah." About a week after we brought Chris back. He knew it was stupid, he knew he shouldn't do it, but Leon's head turned once again to look at the staircase where D had gone. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly turned back, only to see that Joyce had followed his gaze and her own eyes had gone wide.

"Chris, go get your shoes on," she said faintly.

"You're not even dressed yet," Chris protested, still in a sulk and pushing the soggy remains of a waffle around on his plate.

"I will be soon. Go on. I'll do your dishes. And wake Sam up, too, if she wants to go shopping." Chris got up and slouched out of the room. Christ, but his brother was a mystery sometimes, Leon thought: all sweetness and light one minute, snotty pre-adolescent the next.

The minute Chris was out of earshot, Joyce leaned across the table, and hissed, "He didn't."

Leon raised his hands. "Hell if I know. He never said anything about it to me. But I wouldn't put it past him."

"But -- but -- " Joyce clutched her head in consternation. "I don't get it! That was tens of thousands of dollars, Leon! How the hell could he have that kind of money just to throw away on Chris, and then come here and say he has nothing?"

"Joyce, take it from me, he's got nothing," Leon said, part of him grumpily wondering why D hadn't sent him a bank draft. A few thousand bucks would have come in real handy on more than one occasion in the past three months. Well, maybe D had just spent his last dime on Chris, figuring he'd be leaving Earth soon anyway. It sounded like the sort of thing he'd do. D certainly wasn't above melodramatic gestures. "He's…he's starting over. We both are. Trust me, it's not what you're thinking. He wasn't a criminal, like I thought." Because being a criminal meant that you broke laws, and as far as Leon knew, there were no laws against being some kind of spirit who took revenge on the evils of humanity. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you what happened. Not yet. But he's…okay."

"It's like a bad TV movie," Joyce muttered into her coffee. "He's a hard-boiled L.A. cop on the mean streets of New York. His only friend is a Chinese transvestite with a past who wants to make a new life for himself. And they're possibly gay."

"Shut up," Leon snapped, going red.

"Shut up yourself, Leon. If you two are so poor, why don't you just tell Dad who sent the money to Chris? If he really did." Her lips pursed. "I bet Dad would never accept it -- if he knew."

"Joyce, no," Leon said urgently. "D wouldn't take it back." Worse -- he'd be mortified. Tens of thousands of dollars sounded really good to Leon, but he stacked it up against the look on D's face if his gift was thrown back at him like something foul, and decided they'd make do without it. Plus, there was always the possibility that Uncle Phil might not think the money was as tainted as all that, and would refuse to give it back. Asking for the money back could be considered as an emergency measure -- but no more. Even he wasn't that tacky. "Just don't, okay? Let Chris have it. Unless something awful happens, we'll be okay. Besides, I haven't even asked D if it was really him," he added logically. "Could still be Great-Aunt Susan for all we know."

She frowned, then nodded, appearing willing to settle for that, if not entirely content. "Yeah," she said. "Do you know how long you guys will take in town today? I can pick you up again if I'm still in the city."

Leon shook his head. "No idea. If we can, we'll get a cab back. Or -- " he hesitated.

"Or I can loan you train fare," Joyce said in resignation.

"You really are my most favorite cousin," Leon said sincerely.

"I know that, dipshit," she said. "I'm the one with the car."

---

Leon had forgotten what a terrifying driver Joyce was. She was worse than he was, by a long shot. Whoever had said men were more aggressive on the road had never met his cousin. She and Sam sat in the front seat, casually arguing about the radio station, in between death-defying darts between huge trucks on the Long Island Expressway. Leon, D, and Chris all sat squashed together in the smallish backseat, which at least kept them from sliding around too much with each sharp swerve. Leon, veteran of many car chases, felt nauseated, and wished he hadn't eaten so many waffles. D looked even paler than usual. Between them, Chris kept his eyes closed.

"I hope she doesn't get another ticket," he mumbled to Leon.

"Does she get a lot of those?" Leon asked through gritted teeth, shutting his eyes as Joyce once again changed lanes without signaling, this time cutting off an adrenaline-crazed young guy driving an SUV who almost rear-ended them. Horns were honking in rage all around.

"Well, the last time she almost ran over a patrolman, so -- "

"What're you guys talking about?" Joyce yelled over the blare of the radio. "Sam, turn it to the fucking classic rock, will you! I'm not listening to that boyband stuff of yours, and I'm driving, so do it!"

"We're not talking about anything," Leon yelled back, "and will you OH JESUS will you KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE MOTHERFUCKING ROAD!"

"Language!" D admonished, but his voice sounded a little more squeaky than normal as he placed his hands over Chris's ears.

"What the hell does language matter? We're all gonna die!"

"Perhaps," D said through his teeth, "but I would prefer to go to the next life with something other than your obscenities ringing in my ears." He dropped his hands to clutch Chris's shoulders rather tightly.

"Jesus!" Joyce shouted at the car in front of them and laid on the horn. "Park it or drive it, grandma! Let's go, already -- " Another swerve into another lane, causing more honking. Leon saw D waving apologetically at the drivers they passed, and biting his lip in embarrassment. "Sam, for the last time, change the -- thank you. Sweet Jesus, I can't drive with that stuff going. Oh yeah! Oh hell yeah!" She reached down and turned the volume dial as high up as it could go. The speaker right behind Leon's head began booming full-blast, and he clapped his hands over his ears, wincing in pain as Joyce began to sing along at top volume. "You say yes -- I say no -- you say stop -- and I say, go, go, GO -- " On the last word, she pressed firmly down on the gas again and the car roared by a Mac truck, taking advantage of a stretch of road where the shoulder was extra-wide.

"Joyce," Samantha said, filing her nails and looking way too damn calm for someone in the Front Seat of Death, "Dad's gonna get mad if you get pulled over again."

"That's only if the pigs can catch me. No offense, Leon. You say high! I say low!"

"Two weeks," D whispered, looking faint. "I didn't even survive for two weeks."

"Oh, God, cut the drama," Leon moaned. "I'm not going with that in my ears, either."

"You guys are fucking pansies, you know that?" Joyce called. In the rear-view mirror Leon could see a slightly manic look in her eyes. "We're almost there, so chill, okay? God, I love driving. You say goodbye -- and I say hello!"

Leon looked over at D, whose posture was ramrod-straight as he placed one arm protectively around Chris's shoulder. He was wearing his cheongsam, and it looked almost as good as new, although it was anyone's guess how pristine even D would be after this ride was over. Damn, and Leon had once loved this song, too. D looked back at him, into his eyes, and they both blinked over Chris's head. In the background, The Beatles were loudly singing, "I don't know why you say goodbye -- I say hello!" It seemed weirdly appropriate. He and D had never been able to meet each other as anything but opposites, after all. Then Leon realized, to his horror, that he and D were having some kind of Moment in the backseat of Joyce's car and he wrenched his gaze away from D's to stare at the back of Joyce's head and yell, "Could you please turn that shit down!"

"Can't hear you!" Joyce called back. "Okay, everybody, here's the Tunnel! I love driving in tunnels, it's like being in a video game. Next stop, Chinatown!"

"I want to get out with you and the Count," Chris whimpered.

"Be strong, buddy," Leon muttered, patting Chris's shoulder, and incidentally brushing his fingers over D's hand. "Be strong."

A harrowing twenty minutes later, Joyce had whipped her car into a fire lane just long enough to let D and Leon out on Bayard Street, a block away from Canal. "We're heading for East Village," she said. "See you guys tonight. Call if you need a lift. Or bail," she added, with a glance at D, who stiffened. Then she winked at Leon and sped out of the lane, nearly mowing down several pedestrians who shouted after her in many different languages before turning to glare at D and Leon with various levels of hostility.

D opened his mouth, as if to explain that it hadn't been their fault, but Leon seized his arm and began dragging him towards Canal Street. "Trust me, just come on," he muttered. "So -- where are we going?"

"Canal Street will do very well," D said, his expression sharpening, changing from the shell-shock he'd displayed in the car to a look of determination. "Come, Detective."

A couple of people looked at them oddly, then, and Leon muttered, "Don't call me that here, okay? I don't even have a gun."

D paused at that, and looked Leon up and down. "Oh, yes. A pity. But you are tall and broad. You'll do fine. Very well, then -- come, Leon."

"Fine as what?" Leon asked, his face still burning with embarrassed pleasure at D's…what, compliment? 'Tall and broad.' Huh. Not bad.

"Why, as my protector, of course," D said with a coy little smile that made Leon want to -- to --

To ask him questions. Yeah, that was it. "Your protector. Okay. Well, while I'm protecting you, you can practice some more of that 'honesty' thing you were telling me about." Purely for protective purposes, Leon took D by the elbow as they made their way through the throngs of people, dodging vendors who kept trying to sell them firecrackers and suspicious-looking meats on sticks.

D looked up at him, less coy, more cautious. "Yes?"

"Did you send Chris all that money?" Leon asked bluntly. "For school? Joyce mentioned it this morning."

There was a pause, before D admitted, all traces of coyness gone, "Yes. Before I…left. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Leon growled.

"That you would have greater need."

"Me?" Leon snorted. "What about you? I don't begrudge Chris a damn cent. It makes me feel good that he won't be going to college on Phil's money, if you want the truth. But did you give him everything you had?"

"I thought I wouldn't need it," D said. "And no, it was not…everything. I do not have access to all the funds my grandfather has accumulated, and rightly so. But I know how difficult it is to finance a proper education in America, and…I wanted him to have the best." He looked up at Leon, his odd-colored eyes as earnest as Leon had ever seen them. "He deserves the best. As do you, Leon. But you are a grown man, and able to provide for yourself. I wanted to do for Chris what I could." He sighed and looked away as they continued down the street. "As I said…I had no notion we would ever be in this situation. If I had, I might have been more circumspect." His lips twitched. "More selfish, you could say."

"Don't be a moron," Leon said gruffly, tightening his grip on D's elbow. "You've done some selfish shit, don't get me wrong, but this isn't it. You've set Chris up pretty good. The only thing keeping him out of Harvard now is his brains, at least from what Joyce told me. But we can't let Phil know," he added.

"Of course not," D said stiffly. "I did it for Chris, not for him." He practically spat out the words.

"D…if we want to see Chris, ever, we are going to have to learn to get along with Phil and Eileen. They're his parents, for fuck's sake, and they've got the adoption papers to prove it. They can keep him away from us, and they will if they want to. At least until he's older."

D's arm stiffened in Leon's grip, and he looked furious, but he did not protest the point. Well, he couldn't, could he, Leon thought. "Look," he added, "I don't like the way Phil's been acting any more than you do. But Eileen's been okay. And Joyce and Sam are warming up. Once we're out of the house, and he can't treat you like shit, it'll be do-able." Because Leon couldn't take much more of that, regardless of whether D could or not. "We just have to suck it up," he finished, more for himself than for D.

D looked back up at him, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I never thought I would see the day," he said. "Leon Orcot, lecturing me on the delicate ways of diplomacy."

"Aw, shaddup," Leon muttered, feeling his face turn red again.

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by the noises of the city, while they dodged yet another vendor. Then, as they drew closer to the main drag of Canal Street, D asked hesitantly, "What did you mean…I have done other selfish things?"

Leon sucked in a deep breath. "I meant leaving," he said. "I meant acting like you didn't give a damn, and then leaving without even a friggin' goodbye."

"Chris said much the same thing," D said softly, "although more politely, of course."

Leon stopped in the middle of the street, forcing the annoyed crowd to part around him and getting cussed at in languages that he didn't understand. He didn't care, either. "Good, dammit!" he said. "You needed to hear it, didn't you? Selfish. That was you. And now you need to hear this. You aren't leaving any more." He shook D, ungently.

"I never said I was," D said calmly. He tried to pull his arm away. "You are hurting me -- "

Leon loosened his grip, but didn't let him go. "Big crowd," he muttered, and continued to walk on, shortening his strides so D could keep up. "Don't want to lose you in it."

"I have no intention of being lost," D said, walking even more slowly, as if he was in no particular hurry to get anywhere. It was only then that Leon noticed something different: whenever they'd gone anywhere together before, especially in L.A.'s Chinatown, crowds had parted naturally around D. Nobody had ever jostled him, no matter how busy the street was, no matter the time of day. Today D was getting elbowed and shouldered and buffeted just like Leon was -- worse, because he was smaller. Leon cursed softly and slung his arm around D's shoulders, drawing him in closer and making him walk faster. Protector. Okay. He was a cop. He could do that.

D said nothing, but stayed quite close to Leon as they emerged into the chaos that was Canal Street. This was the main street through Chinatown, and Leon realized quickly that L.A.'s version was nothing to this one. He'd never imagined such an explosion of color, sound, such a babble of language. The smell of cooking was everywhere, weirdly combined with exhaust fumes from automobiles, sewage, human sweat. He felt D shiver next to him. "You okay?" he asked quickly, glancing down.

But D was only looking at a vendor on the street. "Candied plums," he said with a dreamy look on his face. "Look, Leon -- and cakes filled with sweet bean paste -- "

Goddamn candy! Well, some things never changed. Leon fiercely wished he had more money, that he could splurge and get D some weird Chinese sweet without feeling guilty about wasting potential cab fare, or even food for lunch. Soon, he told himself, soon.

"Now, look over there," D said, standing on tiptoe to speak more clearly in Leon's ear. They had paused in a nook by yet another vendor, out of the sweep of the crowd. Leon felt a warm shiver run up and down his spine at D's breath on his neck. D was pointing at a shortish, fairly nondescript building, in front of which stood a vegetable stand. "If memory serves -- and I believe it does -- that is where we will find Shao Yan Lin. He was young and poor when he arrived here, and by the time I left he was well on his way to becoming the head of one of Chinatown's most powerful families. I have kept up with news of the area, and he did not fail to fulfill his potential."

Leon tensed. "D -- what kind of 'family' are we talking here? Like, the mob? I mean," he swallowed hard, "I'm not a cop now, but I will be soon, and I don't want you to get involved with anything shady. Not again. That shit catches up with people, and you're not -- what you were. It's better if we don't get involved in all that." D looked up at him in astonishment. Leon gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Look -- it's okay -- we don't have to. We'll make it on our own, we don't need them. It just might take more time…"

He was cut off by the soft weight of D's head landing on his shoulder. D was looking up at him with a faint, amused smile on his face, and something far warmer in his eyes. Heart pounding quickly, Leon glanced around to see if anybody was watching the little display, but D nudged him with a faint sound of irritation. "This is a large city, Leon. People have better things to do than gawk at you. At any rate, I appreciate your concern, and I do understand it, but I assure you that your fears are unfounded. It is Mr. Shao who owes me the debt, and he is a man of honor, at least. With luck, I will get us what we need, and there need be no danger to it. Trust me," he added over Leon's protests. "Please, Leon. Trust me."

That had always been their problem, hadn't it? Half of Leon had always trusted D implicitly -- at least, enough to leave him in charge of his little brother all day. The other half had always been suspicious, knowing that secrets and lies lay waist-thick between them. The hell of it was, neither half had been wrong. He…cared about D. But did he trust him?

Did he have a choice?

"You better know what you're doing," he muttered. "I'm not working for the mob. Are you gonna tell them I'm a cop? Bet that'll go over real well. We might get killed, D."

"What nonsense you talk," D said serenely, taking Leon's arm and leading him back across the crowded street, weaving gracefully in and out of the throng. "I will tell Mr. Shao exactly as much as I feel he needs to know. If he is not willing to help us, then we will seek our fortunes elsewhere. And he will certainly not kill us because you are a policeman."

"If he's not willing to help us, then we get our asses to the nearest P.D. and see if I've got a job," Leon said. "Deal?"

D blinked slowly up at him as they passed the vegetable stand and arrived at the entrance to the building. "Such language," he murmured. "But yes, Leon. As you say -- 'deal.'"

---

Comments and criticism welcome.