Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Unwilling Sleep ❯ No Squire in Debt, Nor No Poor Knight ( Chapter 7 )

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

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

I would like to thank Jade for helping me research Chinese names for D. I also consulted Zhongwen.com. Having said that, I am unfamiliar with the Chinese language, so if you feel that I've made a mistake, I humbly apologize.

Unwilling Sleep, Part Seven: No Squire in Debt, Nor No Poor Knight

"Then your studies are going well?"

"Oh yes, Grandfather. My dissertation is almost complete."

Shao Yan Lin regarded his grandson thoughtfully. Zhou sat on the plush chaise longue opposite him, cradling a cup of steaming green tea in his hands, his face as innocent and eager as a puppy's. Of his many grandchildren, this one had always perplexed him most: he had an admirable love for his heritage, as evidenced by his studies, and no patriarch could have wished for more filial piety in a descendant. But Zhou had never shown any interest in entering any of the family's many business ventures, which might have made him a rich man by now, rather than a poor student. And speaking of poor --

"But now that you are nearly finished with your schooling, what is it that you intend to do?" Shao hoped that Zhou would agree to work for him. No, he did not understand this gentle, awkward, brilliant grandchild at all -- but he loved him, and thought that, in the short time remaining in his life, he might yet manage to mold Zhou into something greater and more forceful than a mere reader of books. Books! And however timid Zhou was, he was absolutely intractable on one subject: the importance of literature and the arts to everyday life. It wasn't that Shao didn't believe in preserving the magnificence of his native culture. He understood that the role of a scholar was a role in which one could take pride. It was just…

"I am applying for jobs at various schools," Zhou told him earnestly. "I want to teach, Grandfather. That's what one usually does, when one gets a Ph.D. I have had hopeful responses from several institutions with tenure-track positions available -- two of them not so very far from here -- "

Teaching? Well, at least teaching was a profession, and an honorable one. But would Zhou make as good a teacher as he had a scholar? Could his grandson truly use his knowledge for practical means? Would he be able to support himself, and one day -- as Shao hoped -- a family of his own? "You know," he tried, "that, of course, I am always happy to assist you should you look for employment. It would do you good to work in a real business, grandson, and not waste your life away in a school. What will you know of the real world? No, no," he said, raising his hand, forestalling Zhou's protests. "I've heard what they call it. 'The ivory tower.' It is not my wish that you should have knowledge only of language and myths and legends."

"But so few have this knowledge," Zhou said quietly. "So few of us take the time, in this country, to learn about our origins. Grandfather -- can you not see I, too, am doing a noble work? That it brings honor to me and to my family?"

Not this discussion again! Could the boy not understand that books were best left to old men, while life, business, living and managing and working, was the role of the young? Zhou had a lifetime for his books. But the world would not always be at his feet.

Shao was spared from having to explain this yet again by a gentle knock at the door. His secretary entered the room, shut the door behind her, and said politely, "Forgive me for disturbing you, sir, but you have a visitor. He is most insistent."

"I am with a member of my family," Shao said in some annoyance. "I told you to explain that I was not at home."

His secretary worried her lip. She had been with him for many years, and he knew that she could judge the importance of a visitor; if she had not sent his guest away promptly, there was doubtlessly a good reason for it. That didn't change the fact that he wanted to know what it was. "He is persistent," she repeated. "He and his companion are seated in the waiting-room. He is a young man, but he insists that he has known you for many years, and he asks me to tell you -- " she paused again, frowning. "He said, 'All you need tell Mr. Shao is that he has learned much while drinking my chai.' I wasn't sure -- "

Shao was on his feet at once. Zhou stared up at him in astonishment. "You said he is here with a companion?" he demanded.

His secretary looked as surprised as his grandson. "Y-yes -- a young white man. And to tell you the truth, I was not sure at first if your visitor was really a man himself." She blushed.

"No, you wouldn't have been," Shao said, frowning. He was here -- after so long? But what could it mean?

He was thinking like a fool. It could only mean one thing. The repayment of the debt. Very well -- it was more than fair. Shao had profited greatly from his old association with his visitor; profited more greatly than he had ever dreamed. But was he wrong to be wary, when a god called for the repayment of a debt? No…no, gods were notorious for this sort of thing…doubtless, he thought sourly, Zhou would know a score of legends that could instruct him on that very subject.

"Send my visitor in," he ordered, "but request that his 'companion' remain in the waiting room. Zhou, you may stay." He smiled thinly down at his grandson as his secretary left the room. "I am most curious…let us see what you make of a legend come to life."

"I don't understand," Zhou began, but at that moment the door opened again, to admit a figure Shao had not seen in over fifty years. The roof of his mouth went dry. So it was true: Count D had not changed, had not aged a day. Part of him had always wondered…even with the whispers throughout Chinatown, even with the evidence he had seen himself more than once of the god's extraordinary gifts, he had always wondered how it could be possible. And yet, here was the Count, looking as fresh and youthful and -- Shao could admit this much -- beautiful as ever.

Zhou rose to his feet as well, and Shao could hear him sucking in his breath. Well, he could not blame his grandson for that. "Welcome, Count," he said. "It has been a very long time."

Count D paused a polite distance from the circle of chairs around the tea-table, and bowed. The silk of his cheongsam glimmered faintly in the low light of the lamps; Shao kept his office suite dim, as bright lights hurt his eyes these days. "You honor me with your reception, Shao Yan Lin."

"The honor is mine," Shao replied, and gestured at Zhou, who had managed to close his gaping jaw, but had not yet controlled the unattractive bulging of his eyes. Would the boy never learn a proper poker face? "Will you permit me to introduce you? Zhou, this is Count D, a great friend and ally of my youth, who often honored my unworthiness with his advice and counsel. Count D, this is my grandson, Shao Chun Zhou, who is a graduate student at the City University of New York. He is specializing in Chinese language and history. I am sure you would both have a great deal to talk about."

Count D smiled a smile that was so familiar to Shao it brought a pang to his heart -- so polite, so inscrutable, so lovely! Was it really possible! Then he bowed again to Zhou and said softly, in a voice that had lost none of its music, "I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Zhou. No doubt your grandfather is correct; ancient Chinese culture is something of an interest of mine as well." His eyes sparkled with mischief. Shao had to admit, the Count had always been an enchanting creature -- and he had never been left in doubt as to what an honor it had been in Chinatown, to be favored with Count D's friendship. Insofar as gods ever really had friends. For his part, Shao had never felt entirely comfortable around Count D.

"I am pleased to meet you as well," Zhou stammered, looking more bewildered than ever, "but please forgive my ignorance -- Grandfather, how could you have known this person when you were young? Is there some kind of joke between you that I'm not getting?"

Shao gestured at the nearest armchair, and Count D gracefully sat down. Shao blinked at the sight of a strange pair of black sandals peeping out from underneath the silken hem. That was unusual, for certain. It seemed destined to be a day of surprises. He and Zhou seated themselves as well, and Shao began to pour the Count a cup of tea. "There is no joke, Zhou," he said. "Count, do you still prefer extra sugar in your tea?"

"Please," Count D said, looking at the teapot as if he had not had tea in a long time. His eyes were alight with something that looked very like greed.

"I regret that I have none of your favorite pastries or sweets to offer you. I was not expecting visitors today. If you like, I will send my secretary to the market."

"There is no need," the Count said, though he looked far more regretful than Shao felt. "I am unworthy of such a kindness," he added pointedly.

Zhou reached out and rang a silver bell on the table. His secretary reappeared. "Please go to the street," Shao instructed her, "and return with some cakes. Please bring one for Count D's companion, as well. I regret that he cannot be present for this meeting," he added to the Count as his secretary left, "but I believe I am correct in assuming that this business is best carried out privately."

"Perhaps that is wisest," Count D acknowledged, taking his cup of tea and closing his eyes, reverently breathing in the scent before taking a delicate sip. "Ah -- it is perfect. Thank you very much. No, I am quite certain that my companion, Mr. Orcot, will understand." He smiled his polite smile again. "Or rather -- he will not understand, but perhaps there is no need for him to."

"You are here, then," Shao said, deciding it was best to breach the subject openly, "to favor me by allowing me to repay my debt to you."

Count D inclined his head. "It is as you say."

Shao took a deep breath, and nodded. What would this beautiful god demand of him? What did he have that could be of interest to a deity -- even one who was not of the upper pantheon? He seemed doomed to find out. "You must know that I have profited greatly during my lifetime," he said. "I own many chains of stores; I am a prosperous landlord, in this area and others; I have been blessed with wealth, health, and a large family. Much of this I owe to our former association. Please let me know in what way I can repay you for my life."

"Grandfather?" Zhou asked, plainly at a loss. "I -- forgive me for interrupting. But I do not understand at all. This man looks…familiar to me…but I cannot say where I've seen him before."

Shao looked at the Count. "Will you permit me to explain?" At the Count's nod, he told Zhou, "This man is Count D. Over fifty years ago, he kept a petshop here in Chinatown. It is thanks to him that I am what I am today. And I doubt very much that you have seen him before."

"What?" Now Zhou looked almost annoyed. "As I said…this must be a joke. Forgive me, Grandfather, but this man cannot be a day over twenty-five."

Count D tittered gently. "Your grandson flatters me, Shao." He took another delicate sip of his tea. "It is true that I am not very old, as age in my family runs," he admitted pensively. "I have only just completed my first millennium."

"What?!"

"Zhou," Shao said, laying a hand on his grandson's arm before an indiscretion could be committed, "you have read much in your legends, have you not, of gods and men? Here before you sits a god. He is Count D."

"I -- I have heard you, and Father, speak of the Count before," Zhou said, staring at D and shaking his head. "But…I thought you spoke of a man. Not -- " he looked at Count D, stunned. "I was brought up to revere the gods," he said. "Many of my friends and peers were not. But the things I have read, the stories I have heard…" He leaned forward, and his eyes widened. "Your eyes!" he exclaimed. Count D blinked, and glanced at Shao, who could only shrug. "I -- I know your eyes -- I traveled to China for a semester two years ago. I know where I've seen you before: on a painted scroll!" Zhou pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and wiped his brow. "A nature deity, without a name, in the most exquisite clothes -- a lord of plants and beasts -- and with eyes just like yours. It was a tiny display, in this little mountain temple…it's purest chance that I…but it was you…Incredible! I can't believe it -- are you really -- "

"You are being very rude to our divine guest, Zhou," Shao said, with some coldness. The Count had always permitted him a certain degree of familiarity -- but not very much, and Zhou had not been granted the same privilege.

Count D opened his mouth, but Zhou had already rushed in to apologize. "Oh, forgive me," he said, sounding genuinely distressed. "I certainly did not intend that. It's just -- if you could understand -- how that painting has haunted me, ever since. I've searched for it since my return, in books on art and Chinese painting, and I've never found any mention of it beyond that temple. And I never knew why its memory stayed with me. It's you -- it must be that some part of me knew that I was fated to meet that god someday. Count D, if our family is indeed indebted to you, let me be the one to repay what we owe! Whatever service I can render to you, allow me to do it!"

Shao raised an eyebrow, impressed in spite of himself. His grandson undoubtedly had a sentimental streak, and had always been far too fond of poetry -- but gods liked that kind of thing, and perhaps it would come in handy. As it was, Zhou's eyes were wide and shining, and he was looking at Count D as if he would like nothing better than to fall on his knees and light a stick of incense. For his part, the Count looked a little surprised -- and perhaps a bit alarmed? How interesting. "Zhou, you take too many liberties," Shao murmured.

"Oh, not at all," Count D said, looking as close to flustered as he ever came. "But -- please do forgive me, Zhou -- I believe your grandfather will be best-equipped to aid me now."

Zhou looked supremely disappointed, but nodded and subsided back into his seat. Shao inclined his head forward. "Then please, Count," he said, "tell me how I might be of service to you."

He could not have been more surprised by what came next. "I need a place to live," Count D said quietly. "That is, my companion and myself both do. You mentioned that you have made a profit in real estate -- it would be most helpful if you could find some small, humble space for us to call a home. We are without resources and are in dire need of your help." He lowered his head. "I rely entirely on your impeccable sense of honor, Shao Yan Lin, to help us in our hour of need. I know you will not fail us."

Shao restrained his astonishment, with difficulty. "Forgive me, my lord," he said, "but I do not understand -- why would you possibly need -- "

"I am no one's lord," Count D said, his voice still quiet and even. "I am no longer a god. I thought perhaps…but it is no use attempting to keep it from you, or from anyone. The truth will out soon enough. I have given up my immortality. I have become human."

The silence in the room felt as heavy as lead. Shao could not speak through his surprise. It was Zhou who broke the stillness, saying, "You -- you have 'given up' being a god?"

Count D nodded.

"But why? Why have you cast your lot with the humans? Worldwide, of course," and heaven help them all, now Zhou was going into his lecture-mode, "many religions have traditions in which a deity takes on human flesh for a great and noble purpose. Dare I ask if that is what you are doing?"

"No," Count D replied. Now that Shao took his time to look at him, now that he knew to look for it, he could see subtle differences from the Count D he had known. He could not properly describe it; but the old Count D had always carried about him something of the spiritual, the untouchable, and this Count D looked…just human. Was it really true?

"My purpose is great and noble to no one but myself," Count D continued. "I will tell both of you this in confidence, because of the debt that lies between us. I suppose I owe you some sort of explanation; it is only fair that you understand the nature of my request, and I know that I can trust you with my secret." He said this, too, in a pointed, warning tone. "I have become human because I love a mortal and I would rather die as a human than live forever without him." He spread his hands. "That is all."

Shao was too stunned to speak. Zhou, however, looked positively enchanted. "It is the stuff of legends and poetry," he breathed. "The spirit who took a human bride. Only, er, a little different." He coughed. "Your companion, in the waiting room -- ?"

"It is he," Count D said, his expression inscrutable once more, looking at Shao steadily. "I would prefer you not mention the matter to him, however. It is a somewhat…delicate issue."

"He…ah. He does not know?" Zhou sounded incredulous.

"He knows as much as I wish him to know," Count D said flatly, still looking at Shao. "Will you still honor your debt? Will you give us aid?"

Shao sipped at his tea, more to calm his own nerves than anything. He then had a welcome reprieve, in the form of his secretary entering the room with a tray of Chinese pastries and sweets, which she set on the table before them. Count D was invited to partake first, and he actually seemed to forget about his quest for a moment as he began to nibble on an almond cake, his long eyelashes fluttering shut in what looked like pure bliss. Shao took advantage of the moment to think.

This was an unexpected development, but it did not follow that it had to be unwelcome. After all, a god who was not a god was also a god who could not exact divine retribution. He would pay this debt off, and handsomely, and breathe more easily thereafter, knowing that his family was free of the matter forever. It would not be practical, of course, to refuse the debt outright, even if Count D no longer had his powers. He did, after all, come from divine stock, and it would be most unwise to annoy any other gods or spirits who might still be protecting him. No; he thought he could see his way clear to ending this at last.

"You can have no need," he said, when he had finished his tea and the Count had eaten his second cake, "that I will not supply, Count. It is my family's honor and pleasure to do such a service to one who has made such a sacrifice." Even if the sacrifice was for a white man, and not a faithful Chinese subject -- but that mystery would wait for later. For now, Shao very much wanted a look at this 'companion.' "I own many apartments in Manhattan, a very few of which stand vacant. You may have the best, and consider it a lifetime gift. What else do you require? When you say," he coughed delicately, "that you have few resources…"

"You are very generous," Count D said quietly. "We have no resources, Shao Yan Lin. My companion has fallen into his relatives' debt because of me, and I have only the clothes I wear now." Shao tried not to stare at what looked like a mended tear along one of the silk sleeves of the otherwise-magnificent garment. "I do not anticipate that this deplorable state of affairs will remain so for long; he will be employed shortly. But for now, we have nothing."

Shao took a quick look at his grandson. Zhou looked absolutely enraptured. Well, he would. And, Shao had to admit, Count D made a magnificent tragic figure: delicate, pale, beautiful and sad. Even a businessman's heart could go out to one such as that -- to a degree. "We will be delighted if you will allow us to help you," he said. "I will supply you with a list of shops with which I have lines of credit. You will have only to mention my name, and they will give you whatever you need to establish yourself. My secretary will call them so that they will expect you."

It was quite something, to see such relief on the face of a god. In the years of their earlier association, Shao had never seen any expression other than cool courtesy on Count D's face. Amazing, how the great could fall. Well, it couldn't hurt to assist a divine being, former or otherwise. Could it? "I have only inadequate thanks," Count D said.

"The thanks are ours," put in Zhou, his eyes still wide and dazzled. "I am so glad my grandfather can help you. Please, if I can ever be of assistance to you -- if I might beg the favor of speaking to you sometime, about Chinese history, if I might dream of imposing -- "

"I would be delighted to speak to you at any time," Count D said, smiling kindly at Zhou, who blushed. Then Count D looked thoughtful. "Actually…Mr. Zhou, I do have a favor to ask of you. And then the debt will be on my side, if you can do this thing for me."

"Oh, do not think of debts, sir," Zhou said eagerly. Shao restrained a groan. Would the boy never learn subtlety? "What can I do? Just tell me!"

Count D paused. Then he said, quietly, "You can give me a name."

Zhou and Shao looked at each other in surprise.

"You do not have a name?" Zhou asked.

"Not a human name," Count D replied. "You are a student of Chinese language and culture; I have told you of my circumstances." He spread his hands again, and gave them both a friendly smile. "I will need a human name if I am to live in a human world. Will you honor me and give me a fitting one? I place myself at the mercy of your expertise."

"I -- yes." Zhao's face became rapt, absorbed. "Yes. I think I have just the thing." Zhou rose and went to Shao's desk, from which he retrieved a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen. "It should really be painted on rice paper," he muttered, sounding discontent. "I have some, at my apartment -- I will make it for you later. But…" he tapped the tip of his pen against his lips, then bent and scribbled something down on the paper. "How about this?"

Then he showed the paper to the Count, who raised his eyebrows. Shao wished he could see, although Zhou's knowledge of Chinese characters far outstripped his own; he had never been a scholar, himself. Perhaps he would not even recognize what was written there. For the first time, he felt a pang of envy for his grandson's talent -- that Zhou could render such an exalted service to a god, even an ex-god.

Zhou hastened to explain his choices. "Cheng Xue Di," he said. "That particular character for Cheng means 'journey' -- I, ah, thought it might be appropriate. And Xue, of course, means 'snow.' You, ah." He turned red. "You have very pale skin."

"Zhou!" snapped Shao, shocked at his grandson's impropriety. But Count D merely smiled modestly. "I believe it also means 'blood,'" he said.

"Ah -- well, yes, but the usual meaning -- "

"Fine," the Count said, his eyes gleaming in a rather unsettling way. "I find both definitions appropriate. Very good. And the third? My given name?"

"Well -- Di, of course, to remind you of 'Count D,'" Zhou said, sounding rather helpless. "And usually, of course, it means 'earth', or sometimes 'god,' which I thought would be appropriate for…uh…but yes. This particular character for 'Di' means…er…bamboo flute. Because -- because -- " he was floundering and turning even redder. "Well, of course bamboo is very graceful and beautiful and -- "

"Zhou," groaned Shao again. Count D saved them all from mortal embarrassment by smiling graciously again. "It is a fine name," he said. "I will adopt it as my own. Cheng Xue Di. Yes. Thank you very much, Zhou. I am indebted to you."

"Oh, no, not at all," Zhou babbled as they all rose to their feet. "Thank you, Count. Thank you."

"I am not a Count anymore," Count D said with a little smile. And it was true, but Shao knew he would never be able to think of Count D as "Mr. Cheng." These were interesting times. "Your kindness is more appreciated than I can express, gentlemen."

"I will take you myself to a nearby block of apartments," Shao said. "You will find the location convenient to many places, and I am sure you will wish to stay in Chinatown, where you will find many friends willing to assist you." He knew very well that he was not the only one who owed the Count a favor, and wondered how many others would be called in. And how many would heed the call. Memories could be short. "You and your…companion -- will you require much space?"

"I do not believe so," Count D replied. "As I said -- we have so little, save what you have kindly provided for us." He bowed humbly.

"Then I have a good choice for you," Shao decided. "Are you at leisure to accompany me?"

"I believe so," Count D replied. "My companion and I are at your disposal." He looked keenly at Shao. "He will be allowed to accompany us, of course?"

"Of course," Shao said, shrugging. "It will be his home as well. I hope he will find it satisfactory."

"I am sure," Count D murmured.

"I am most eager to meet him," Zhou said. "We are about to leave -- why do we not call him in, Grandfather?"

Since Shao himself was also very curious -- after all, what kind of human could induce Count D to give up godhood? He must surely be a remarkable man -- he did not reprimand his grandson again. But they would have to speak. Instead, he nodded. "By all means, Count, please introduce us."

He did not think he was imagining the suddenly-wary look on Count D's face, which made him all the more curious. Count D bowed, and headed for the door; when he returned to the waiting room, Shao and Zhou could hear a rough, American voice saying something in a belligerent tone. But instead of listening more closely, Shao turned to regard his grandson. Zhou was watching the door through which D had passed, still with that spellbound look on his face.

"Grandson," Shao said coolly, "I know that this is an exciting and no doubt unusual opportunity for one who has your interests. But I would advise you to remember…" he caught quickly at Zhou's sleeve, "that he has not given up immortality for you."

Zhou blinked, and then looked as if he had just woken up from a very pleasant dream. He stared down at his grandfather, a stricken expression on his face. Shao patted his arm. "It is for the best," he said. "You must have a family of your own, of course, and give me great-grandchildren who will be more practical than you. Gods are not worth the trouble," he added philosophically. "I pity Count D's human."

"I thought you were his friend!"

"I suppose that is the nearest word to it; but you can never trust a god, Zhou. Even one who has become mortal. They are not like us. Remember that."

The door opened again, and Count D walked in with his arms folded serenely in front of him. Behind him shuffled a tall, broad-shouldered white man with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and a sullen, suspicious expression on his face. Shao supposed he was handsome enough, but could not immediately spot any qualities in him that would induce an immortal to give up…well, everything. He also had a few crumbs of almond cake on his shirt.

"Shao Yan Lin, and Shao Chun Zhou," Count D said politely in English, indicating his companion, "may I introduce my friend, Mr. Leon Orcot? Mr. Orcot, this is my old friend Shao Yan Lin and his grandson, Zhou. They have very graciously agreed to provide us with housing and many other things we need, and Mr. Zhou has even been kind enough to give me a name."

Leon Orcot blinked. "A -- name?"

"Of course," D said smoothly. "Let us thank the nice gentlemen, Mr. Orcot."

Shao and Zhou watched in fascination as Orcot glared at the Count before striding forward to offer them his large hand. "Thanks a lot," he said. "We, uh, really appreciate the help."

Shao shook his hand, noting the strength of the grip. "It is our honor and duty," he said politely, as Zhou shook Orcot's hand in turn, apparently unable to refrain from giving him a hostile glare. Orcot frowned, and Shao had to repress another groan. Zhou was a slight young man, scarcely taller or broader than the Count himself, and had a scholar's muscles. He would have another stern word with his grandson, and very soon. In the meantime, he said quickly, "Count D said that you were looking for employment. I run several businesses…"

"I'm a cop," Orcot said bluntly. "A homicide detective. I'm looking for work with the NYPD. I transferred out from L.A."

After a fairly awkward silence, Shao said, "Ah. A noble profession."

"The city's citizens are grateful to you," Zhou said sardonically. He glanced at Count D, who stood placidly observing the proceedings, although the clasp of his hands was a little tense. "Interesting -- I suppose you would fit in the warrior/protector tradition…"

"Yes, quite," Count D said, with that same polite smile, before Orcot could say anything. Then he clapped his hands together. "Well! I am most curious to see these accommodations, Mr. Shao. Are you quite certain you can spare the time?"

"Of course," Shao said, at the same time Zhou said, "I can, if he can't."

Shao glared at Zhou. "I will have my driver take us, Zhou. I do not wish to keep you from your studies."

Stung, but obedient (he was the model of filial piety, this grandson!), Zhou murmured, "Thank you, Grandfather."

"You're a student, huh?" Orcot asked Zhou.

"I am about to get my Ph.D.," Zhou replied, with not a little challenge in his voice. "In Chinese literature and language. Did you go to school in New York, Mr. Orcot?"

"UCLA," replied Orcot. "Got my Bachelor's in Criminal Justice. Finished in three years."

"Really?" Zhou asked. "I finished my undergraduate work in two and a half."

"Good afternoon, Zhou," Shao said. His grandson gave him a wounded look, gave Orcot a glare, and gave Count D a look of such admiration and longing that Shao could have cuffed him on the head for it. Then, thank all the little gods (and ex-gods), he left.

"Smart grandkid you got there," Orcot said, watching him go.

"You honor me," Shao said, clenching his fists and vowing that he and Zhou would speak very soon, indeed. "Shall we go?"

And it was with no small amount of relief that he rang the bell to summon the driver.

Leon appeared stunned as he looked around the apartment to which Shao had brought them. D watched his reaction anxiously. The accommodations appeared perfectly suited to their needs: the one-bedroom apartment was furnished and stood on the corner of Baxter and Canal, the part of Chinatown that slid into Little Italy. There was a Buddhist temple just down the street. It would be noisy, no doubt, but Leon would be used to that, judging by that pigsty he'd inhabited back in Los Angeles. D suspected his own adjustment would be much more difficult: though the petshop had been surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city on all sides, its magic had kept him insulated, buffered, provided a cool sanctuary from the squalor and noise of the human world beyond its doors.

There was a bedroom, a small sitting area, a bathroom, a kitchenette complete with microwave, and a tiny room that D supposed was intended to be an office or a storage space, but would undoubtedly come in handy for whenever Chris came over to visit and needed a place to sleep. It was not a new building, but everything seemed to be well-maintained, and the fixtures had been recently replaced. D could not have asked for better. If only Leon would not cause difficulties…D did not think he could bear to pass another night in that horrible house…

"It's…it's great," Leon stammered, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck in a gesture D had always found rather endearing. Shao nodded and smiled modestly, waiting by the door; the driver had remained with the car on the street, in what D was fairly certain was an illegal parking spot. "I mean -- wow. It's perfect. But…" he turned a dull red, "I'm sorry. Like I said -- I'm just a cop, and I don't even have a job yet, and neither does D -- there's no way we could afford…"

"There is no need to speak of price," Shao said politely. "I owe Count D a great deal. Please consider this humble apartment my repayment, along with a few other trifling matters. You may stay here as long as you like. It is your home now. Although I, as landlord, will of course bear the expenses of maintaining it." Ah yes, D thought a bit sourly, Shao would not go so far as to place the actual ownership of this prime real estate in their hands. Well, that was a minor matter, and easily overlooked. What was not so minor was the way Leon was gaping unattractively.

"You…what…" Leon swallowed. "Free?" he finally managed, his voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. "You're letting us stay here -- for free?"

"Of course," Shao said, and withdrew a list from his breast pocket, which he handed to D. "Here is the list of stores my secretary drew up. They should provide for your basic needs. As I said -- mention my name, they will know to expect you -- "

"We are most grateful," D murmured.

"It is I who am grateful to you, Count," Shao said, and bowed low. D could not restrain a faint smile, and decided that it would in fact be inappropriate to do so. Shao then gave D another folded slip of paper. "Your lease. If you and Mr. Orcot will sign it, please?"

"Can I see that?" Leon demanded, snatching the paper out of D's hands. D bit his lip and sent an apologetic glance to Shao, who was regarding Leon with raised eyebrows. Ah, well, what was it people said -- you must never take a lover thinking you would be able to change him. Undoubtedly there was wisdom in it. Nevertheless, D thought with a bit of temper, if they were to live together in any sort of harmony, he would definitely be instructing Leon in the most basic parts of etiquette.

And, he thought with some hot discomfort, it would be best not to think of Leon as a…as a lover…right at this moment, when he could not afford to be distracted.

"No termination date," Leon said, staring at the lease and sounding stunned. "No…no rent. Oh, my God. It's…" he stared at Shao, wide-eyed. "For real?"

"Of course it is 'for real,'" D said, letting a little snap into his voice. "Do not insult Mr. Shao by treating his offer as a joke, Mr. Orcot."

Leon glared fiercely at him, and then looked at Shao with ill-concealed suspicion. For a moment he seemed to struggle with himself, then he mumbled, "It's…it's a hell of an offer. Thank you, Mr. Shao."

"Then you accept my repayment of the debt?" Shao asked, looking at D.

"With all my heart," D said, meaning it. "The repayment is most timely, I assure you. Sign the lease, please, Mr. Orcot."

"Right, right," Leon muttered, gave the paper one more good look, and then signed his name at the bottom. D took the pen and signed his new, Zhou-given name twice: once with American letters, and then below in Chinese characters. Leon leaned over and squinted at it. "Uh -- Cheng…?"

"Cheng Xue Di," D said quickly, before Leon could butcher the pronunciation. "It is the name so thoughtfully provided me by Mr. Shao's grandson."

Leon scowled, but only mumbled, "Yeah. Real thoughtful."

"I will explain the meaning to you later. In the meantime, let us once again thank Mr. Shao."

"Thanks," Leon said, actually sounding sincere, for which D sent up his own little prayer of gratitude to any higher deities that might be listening. Then Leon extended his hand for a brisk handshake that seemed to rattle Shao's small frame more than was strictly seemly. Shao and D glanced quickly at each other, and then bowed.

"Our gratitude," D murmured.

"This gift is nothing," Shao replied. "I hope you will permit me to see to the connection of the utilities? You will have power and phone lines connected by tonight. I will leave you two to get settled in. Here are the two keys." He gave them to D. "Please let me know if I may be of service in any way." He bowed again, and left.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Leon whirled on his heel to stare at D. "There's gotta be a catch."

Typical! "There is no 'catch,' Detective," D said, a little annoyed. "If I asked for further favors, then I would indeed be indebted to Mr. Shao. But as it is -- we are now, as you would call it, 'quits.'"

Leon gaped. "You -- but you gotta be kidding. A free apartment in Manhattan that we get to live in forever? A-access to stores and clothes and food and stuff? What the hell did you do for this guy? Sell him an animal that ate all his competitors?"

"I never sold Mr. Shao an animal of any kind," D said, and gave Leon one of the keys. "Once in a while, Leon, there will come a human who is wise enough to sit and listen to whatever sources of…unusual information are at hand. Such a person can both learn a great deal from these sources, and recognize the debt incurred by such knowledge."

Leon stared at him. "Are you saying that guy owed you just because you let him listen to you?"

"In a way," D admitted. "I met Shao when we were both new arrivals to New York. I had not been to America before. I found him agreeable, for a human, and his ambitions for himself and his family were not distasteful. He can be ruthless -- but he is not a bad man. Although now that he has repaid his debt to me," he added wryly, "he will not be in a hurry to involve himself in my affairs again. He wanted to learn what I was willing to teach him about the world, and about human nature, but at the same time, he feared me." He smiled wryly at Leon. "Rather the opposite of you, in fact."

But Leon was looking around at the apartment again. The furnishings were functional but spare, the rooms devoid of any decoration, but Leon seemed as awed as if they were in the Forbidden City itself. D wondered how long it would take for him to realize that there was no television.

Then Leon turned back to look at D, and D forgot to wonder about anything at all. Leon's eyes were wide, stunned, delighted -- he was looking at D as if, as if --

"Shit," Leon breathed, sounding at once disbelieving and overjoyed. "You did all this. You did it." And then, before D had any idea what was taking hold of them both, Leon had reached out and seized him by the waist, and was swinging him up and around in the air. The room spun around D, and for the briefest of seconds he felt that sense of deja vu, of disorientation -- he had jumped, was falling from the ship, hoping against hope that Leon would be there to catch him when he landed -- and now Leon was below him, holding him up, whooping and repeating, "You did it!"

Breathless, stunned, overwhelmed, was this what joy felt like? And then the spinning stopped and Leon had lowered D back to the ground, but had not let him go, thank all the gods, had not let him go. He held D close, pressed to his chest, grinning down at him, and said, "God, what I wouldn't give to see Phil's face right now. You're amazing."

Leon said I was -- But D didn't even have time to savor the rare compliment, because Leon had suddenly, impulsively cupped his face in his two large hands, and kissed him on the lips, swiftly but firmly.

It was over as soon as it had begun, and it left them staring at each other, breathless. Leon looked shocked. D felt…he felt…

"I did it," he repeated in a whisper, "I did," and reached up to pull Leon's head down to his own again, standing on tiptoe so they could kiss once more. For a moment he was certain that Leon would not want to kiss him again, and that the world would end, but then he felt two strong arms close around him and pull him close. Then it was happening again, with Leon grabbing D by the waist and D grabbing Leon's face in his hands as they kissed.

It was the most beautiful agony D had ever felt.

It was everything he had wanted for days, and it was not enough: finally, Leon's body pressed all along his, Leon tipping his head back and holding him still, their mouths opening, Leon's tongue rolling hungrily over his own. So warm. So close. Why could D not get closer? Why must human bodies have such limitations? And that fire in his belly was back, worse than ever, and he only wanted more, and he began to pray, to beg, that Leon would not stop kissing him -- not yet, not yet!

Leon's hand dropped to the small of D's back, holding him firmly, a faint growling sound coming from his throat that ran up and down D's spine and made his knees weak so that he had to grab Leon by the shoulders. He heard himself whimper, and all of a sudden Leon had crushed him even closer, so close that he could barely breathe. That was all right. He did not want to breathe. He wanted to clutch, and be clutched, and kiss and be kissed so hungrily -- all of his sleepless nights, this was what his body had wanted, this and so much more --

It was almost unendurable, to be offered what he had wanted so badly -- it was too much, too much --

But then Leon stopped kissing him, pulled his mouth away with a wild gasp, and D realized what 'unendurable' really meant.

He was still stunned, shaking with the loss, when Leon pressed their foreheads together. "I gotta go to the P.D.," he said in a choking voice.

D tried to make his hands loosen their death-grip on Leon's shoulders, and was not successful. He could not stop trembling. He understood, however, that Leon had obligations in this mortal world, and that it was essential for both of them that those obligations be attended to. He opened his mouth to say this, and said "Oh" instead, unable to stop looking at Leon's mouth.

"Sweet God," Leon whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Don't look at me like that -- " Then he was kissing D again, as hard and fierce as before, and everything was all right again, at least for a few moments. Yes…this drove away thought, drove away unpleasant daydreams and nightmares, this simplicity of touch and desire. And it was Leon who held him, and that made all the difference to everything, this embarrassing, horrible body almost made sense when Leon clutched it and touched it and moved it so…"Oh," D said again, into Leon's mouth.

"Don't," whispered Leon, pulling away. "I have to go." He tugged at D's collar until some of the flesh of D's neck was exposed, bent, and pressed one burning kiss there. Two. D let his head fall as far back as it could go, his breath coming in sharp pants. His body arched up into Leon's clasp and his clothes felt hot and suffocating around him. For all the care he had taken in restoring his cheongsam to a decent state, he hated it now and wished it would fall apart into a thousand pieces of silk. How could this be -- this human body -- he wished for so very many things that even the thought of some of them was delicious and unbearable.

"Oh..."

"Hell," Leon gasped, and pulled away so fast that D staggered backwards, bumping into the kitchen counter, which was all that kept him standing upright. He automatically braced himself against it, staring blankly at Leon, who stared back at him even as he took a few steps backwards towards the door.

"Going to the P.D.," Leon said, his voice hoarse and low. "I'll be back. Got my key. Stay, uh. Stay out of trouble. God. Shit." The doorknob rattled under his grip, the door closed behind him, and he was gone.

D stood, supported by the counter, face on fire, body aching with need that had been teased to the surface and left to simmer there.

"Oh," he managed.

Comments and criticism welcome.

If you want to see what D's human name looks like in Chinese characters, go here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/richelieu/7952.html#cutid2.