Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Unwilling Sleep ❯ Perchance to Dream ( Chapter 8 )

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

See the Prologue for warnings, summaries, disclaimers, etc.

Unwilling Sleep, Part Eight: Perchance to Dream

Leon stumbled blindly down the hallway of the apartment building, his hands shoved into his pockets, thinking of nothing but the need to get out of the building and into the open air, away from D's burning body and mouth. Holy God.

This wasn't, or it shouldn't have been, such a surprise. Part of him had been ready for it, more than ready, for months. Maybe even years. Who knew how long that secret part of him had wanted D? Months of wandering, unable to get D out of his mind, ever, unable to think about taking anybody else to his bed. And of course there had been last night, touching D and getting so hard he thought he'd die from it. That all added up to something big. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't completely clueless.

But none of that stuff had been a kiss.

More than a kiss. Two kisses. Three. And then the neck, the milk-white neck. That wasn't a kiss, that qualified for a damn make-out session. Against the kitchen counter. Holding D so close, getting so hot, listening to the tiny noises D made and probably didn't even know he was making and feeling the way he trembled all over…

Leon realized he'd stopped in the middle of the stairwell and was seriously considering going back to the apartment and finishing what they'd started. But no. He couldn't do that. In spite of Shao's so-called "generosity," they still didn't have a dime to their names, and there was just too much to take care of right now. He needed a job. He needed to call Jill. And then, of course, he needed to call Phil and gloat.

D had never looked at Leon like that before. Nobody had ever looked at Leon like that before. Like they wanted him…a lot. More than anything. And to see that expression on D's face, of all people, D, who had only ever seemed to know how to smirk -- although the past couple of days had certainly taught Leon differently on that score. Was that what made D human now? The ability to show normal feelings like normal people did? Could it be as simple as that?

Leon doubted it. He reached the street and looked around, feeling instinctively for his wallet and his new key in his inside jacket pocket. He wished he had his gun, too. Not to mention a map. He wasn't sure where the nearest police department was from here. Should be easy enough to get directions, even though he always hated asking for them, because ninety percent of the time they were inaccurate.

Oh, D had whispered, looking up at him.

Shit! First things fucking first. Right.

He needed to find the police department and talk to the Chief. Needed to get a job. Shouldn't be a problem. Then he needed to call Jill and get her updated, see if she could talk to that guy in Registry who was so nuts about her, get him to cook up some official background information for D. What the hell was that name D had now? Cheng Xue Di. Whatever that meant. He'd have to let Jill know, and memorize that so it wouldn't look weird when he couldn't remember D's name in front of other people.

Although Leon had to admit he was a lot less than thrilled about that skinny bastard with the glasses giving D a name. It seemed like a pretty fucking intimate thing to do, if you asked him. Names meant a lot. They helped define who you were. Whatshisface, Zhou, had been able to give that to D, and Leon hadn't. And speaking of intimate, Zhou had practically been salivating over D. That little detail hadn't escaped Leon's notice either. And he just happened to be that Shao guy's grandson? Shao, who just happened to own their apartment? Great. Wonderful. Like Leon needed another complication in this whole…situation…with D.

That little shit. Let him try. Just let him --

But Leon couldn't do anything about that right now. First, the police station. Then Jill. Then Phil.

Then D, and D alone.

It was important to have things to do. Tasks. It was good to keep busy.

D kept all of this very firmly in mind as he locked the apartment door behind him and slipped the key into one of the tiny inner pockets in his sleeve. He could by no means afford to slump against the kitchen counter all afternoon, hoping vainly that Leon would come back and have pity on him and his pathetic human body. That -- that --

In the past fifteen minutes or so, D had thought some very uncharitable thoughts about Leon Orcot.

Currently he was trying to take them back, as he made his way down the hallway, smiling pleasantly when he passed an old Chinese woman, who stared up at him in her turn. Undoubtedly Leon had not meant to tease him as he had. He was used to controlling his own body, after all, and had no doubt assumed that D could control his too. And -- and D had initiated the second kiss. He had no one to blame but himself for that.

Of course.

In the meantime, the apartment was still unsuited for habitation. They needed things. While Leon was getting a job, D would get those things, and when Leon came back, everything would be ready. Assuming, of course, that Leon would remember where the apartment building was. He had obviously left in something of a tizzy and perhaps had not been paying attention to his surroundings. D had to hold back another growl of irritation. This was all most vexing.

Tasks. Tasks.

D looked carefully at the list of shops with which Shao had provided him before emerging into the street. It was a busy street, but not so bad as Canal, where he had to return now. It was not a long walk, and now that the time approached three in the afternoon, neither lunch nor dinner-time, when most people were still at work, the streets were not so crowded as they had been a few hours ago when Joyce had dropped them off. D took a moment to be heartily thankful that he would be spared a return trip to Long Island in that vehicle from hell. He'd had smoother rides on a dragon's back.

The first order of business would have to be clothing for himself. He supposed he could simply continue wearing his cheongsam until it fell apart, if he had to, but he wanted to preserve it. Shao had put a tailor on his list. And he would need real shoes too, of course. Leon, he decided peevishly, could fend for himself on that front. Heaven forbid D should pick out the wrong kind of tacky T-shirt for him.

He found the shop, a small, unprepossessing place on the corner. Inside was a middling selection of traditional Chinese clothing, complete with shoes, and D was pleased that Shao had known enough not to send him to a Western retailer. In the back was a small section for measuring and alteration, and a curtain, from behind which a short shopkeeper emerged. D bowed politely to him, not quite certain how to introduce himself. Perhaps simplicity was best. "My name is Coun…Cheng Xue Di," he said, the words strange on his tongue. "I believe Shao Yan Lin has told you to expect me…"

"Ah." The shopkeeper bowed in his turn. "You are Mr. Shao's friend. He did not give me your name, but said you would be, ah, distinctive." He raised his eyebrows. "You certainly are that. Please come in. He said you were to have whatever you needed, and that I should send the bill to him."

D, who had stiffened only slightly at being called 'distinctive,' smiled politely. "He is far too kind to me."

The shopkeeper looked at him appraisingly, something like greed lighting in his eyes as he saw D's fine cheongsam. D kept his smile very firmly fixed in place. Then the shopkeeper gestured to some very expensive-looking dress robes on a special rack. They were beautiful, and D's heart gave a tug of longing when he looked at them, but he only shook his head. "I will need only a few basic items, I think," he said, and moved instead towards a pile of dark-colored shirts and pants for men that were decidedly less glamorous, and probably much more useful. It would be unwise to abuse Shao's goodwill. Sorting carefully through the pile, he found some that looked small enough. Most of them were in summer-light cotton. They were going to make his complexion look dreadful, but it simply couldn't be helped. "May I try these on somewhere?"

"There is a dressing-room in the back," the shopkeeper said, smiling less.

The clothes fit. Perhaps…they were not too ugly, D thought, looking at himself in unaccustomed Chinese jacket and trousers. Better than Western clothes, he told himself -- and here, as a human in the human world, perhaps it would be better if he…dressed more like a man. Humans placed a lot of importance on these arbitrary distinctions of birth and genetics. It would make things easier. Even if it seemed very stupid. He ran a hand over the dark buttons that ran in a severe line up the front of the jacket, fingered the stiff Mandarin collar. Leon would no doubt find it unattractive.

Leon, he thought in a sudden burst of spite, could go to --

"Is the fit a good one?" the shopkeeper called through the curtain that separated D from the rest of the shop. D twitched, jolting out of his reverie, and called back, "Yes, thank you. Do you have anything like this in a heavier weight for winter?"

"Yes, of course." At the prospect of making a larger sale, the shopkeeper's voice had become oily again. "And anything else while you are here?"

"Shoes," D said, changing back into his cheongsam, feeling the silk slide over his skin with something like relief. Then he scolded himself. He had to get used to many new things -- cotton would hardly be the worst. "And, ah, sleepwear," he added as an afterthought.

"I will bring you samples immediately," the shopkeeper said. "You have small feet…these shoes might fit…"

Twenty minutes later, D had arranged to have his purchases delivered to the apartment later that evening, when he was certain he would have returned home. That would be convenient, he thought, not to have to walk the streets laden with parcels. And there were certain items he would not be able to carry, in any case. But now that his clothing had been taken care of, he could turn his mind to the other things they would need: pillows for the bed, linens, towels, toiletries, pots to cook food in, plates to serve food on, food to be cooked. That would do for tonight, at any rate.

A few hours later, all that remained was the food, and D's anger at Leon had faded, replaced with satisfaction at a job well done. Those who did business with Shao in Chinatown were, as it emerged, extremely polite to any friends of his. More than once, D had been told that merchant so-and-so would never dream of charging Mr. Shao's account for a delivery, certainly not, they were happy to do it. It made things far simpler for him, at any rate, and made him less uncomfortable about making demands that Shao might feel were beyond his own duty.

D pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling himself beginning to sway a little. He had had nothing to eat since the two almond cakes that afternoon, and that, combined with his recent lack of sleep, was making him dizzy. He wanted to get some basic foodstuffs and return to the apartment, not least because the deliveries would begin arriving soon and he would need to be there for that. He stopped by two stores that were on the list and found rice, vegetables, tofu, beans, seasonings, teabags, instant coffee for Leon, and other things besides. Sugar, of course. He stared at the meats behind the refrigerated counters and felt his conscience revolt: Tet-chan had always prepared meat dishes for Chris back at the petshop, because the boy had needed protein, but D did not think he had it in him to handle raw chicken or fish flesh so that Leon could continue his carnivorous existence. No, if Leon wanted meat, he would just have to learn to cook it himself. It was a pity, though. D was no mean chef, but he did not have Tet-chan's extraordinary ability to make a root taste exactly like beef. That might have made things easier.

Thinking of Tet-chan, and the old days of the shop, caused a sudden, swooping sensation in his stomach that he could not entirely write off as dizziness. All at once, he terribly missed the toutetsu, who had wanted so very much to love and be loved by D, and had hated Leon so fiercely -- and, D had to admit, perceptively. It was embarrassing that Tet-chan should have known more of the subtle, inevitable inclinations of D's heart than he had himself, to respond with such jealousy to the Detective's mere presence. Still and all, he hoped Tet-chan would be well and safe and happy, along with all the others he had left behind. Pon-chan…how upset she would be, that he was no longer there to indulge her, carry her around like his own child, prize her above many of the other animals. But she had been the only pet who had ever really liked Leon, and D supposed that on some level he had responded to that. And who, above all, would take care of his and Leon's true "daughter," the Hon Long? What kind of chaos could the dragon wreak if left unchecked? His grandfather would…he supposed. There was no one else, after all.

For a moment D felt an entirely different pang as he made negotiations with the grocer on Shao's behalf. He had abandoned his responsibilities; the responsibilities he'd been born to. For his own selfish reasons. But choices always had to be made…always…

It was the fatigue talking, D told himself firmly as he took the grocery bags firmly in hand and began his walk back to the apartment. The key lay, heavy and safe, inside his sleeve, and there remained much work to do today. He wondered how Leon was faring; D had learned, during his shopping, that the nearest police station was actually quite close by, on Elizabeth Street, within easy walking distance of the apartment. That was fortunate. D knew it would be quite some time before Leon would be able to afford a car (not that D approved of cars as a rule -- horrible polluting things), and public transportation was so filthy and noisy. Walking was the natural way to get around. It looked as if they were quite well situated, all things considered: everything they needed was suitably nearby, although, judging by the drive down, Chris would not be as near as D might have wished. It would be difficult for him to come down for just one evening -- perhaps Leon would be able to negotiate weekend visits here and there, once Sampson had learned how to be reasonable. D hoped it was possible. As a human male, and one with no interest in human females, he could not produce a child of his own, and Chris was the closest thing to a son that he had. To lose that would be unthinkable.

As he made his way down the street, dodging the pedestrians (it was nearly five o'clock, rush hour, and the volume of people had swelled), something caught his eye. There was an exquisite vase in the window of an antiques shop just to his right. The shop looked nearly empty, except for a couple of tourists with cameras around their necks. The interior appeared dark, cool, and welcoming. It would be such a relief to be surrounded by beautiful, precious things, away from these pedestrian necessities of everyday life, out of this pressing crowd -- it would not hurt to step inside for just a moment.

So he did, and felt as if the air, heavy with dust and incense, embraced him the instant he entered. The store was not alive, as his petshop had been, but it was close enough to bring those wrenching feelings back to the surface for a moment. D had to close his eyes, briefly, before opening them again to behold ancient bureaus and lacquered tables, expensive vases and bowls, fine ornaments, little treasures on every available surface. He stopped to take a closer look at the vase he had seen in the window. That delicate white and blue pattern -- unmistakeably from the Ming dynasty, unmistakeably genuine, so lovely --

"Can I help you with something?" a voice asked in English, querulously. D turned around, startled, but saw that the voice had not been speaking to him. Rather, a bent old man had emerged from behind a beaded curtain to glare at the tourists who were waiting nervously by the counter.

"Oh. Hi. We were wondering if anybody was home, haha," the woman said nervously. "We'll just take this adorable little figurine, please."

"That's if you're actually interested in having customers," the man said, his voice sour. "We've been hanging around for ten minutes waiting for somebody to show up. We could have made off with half your damn shop if we weren't honest people. I thought this was New York and you were supposed to watch your back all the time -- "

"Gerald!" the woman scolded him.

"Nobody steals from my store," the little shopkeeper snapped. "Not in this neighborhood. And if they try, they regret it very quickly. Now did you want to give me some money for that, or just jabber in your stupid white man way about how I should run my business?"

'Gerald' immediately grabbed the woman by the arm and began to move for the door. "Right. That's just ridiculous. Come on, Cathy."

Later, D would be unable to identify the impulse that seized him then, but he heard himself say, "Oh, but it would be such a shame to let a treasure like that slip through your fingers, sir."

Cathy, Gerald, and the shopkeeper all turned to stare at him. D quickly set his shopping bags on the floor, hoping the dust in the carpet wouldn't contaminate the food, and stepped forward with his most charming smile. They were obviously impressed by his outfit, and the low light of the shop would serve to disguise the bags under his eyes. It was always good to present a nice impression when making a sale -- even if the sale wasn't his. "Do pardon me for intruding. But I cannot help noticing that carved Buddha is a prime example of the artistry of the Tang dynasty. I know many collectors who would love to get their hands on it."

Gerald frowned. The shopkeeper stared at D. Cathy poked Gerald. "See!" she hissed. "I told you. Priscilla Lowton will be green with envy when I get this home. Come on, Gerald. You wanted to see Chinatown, the only thing I asked was that we look in a store like this, and now you -- "

"Who the hell are you?" Gerald snapped at D. "How do we know this thing isn't a fake?" He picked up the little Buddha and let it roll around in his palm. The shopkeeper gasped, and looked as if he was about to snatch at it, when D quickly stepped up to the counter and carefully took the figurine in his own hands.

"Forgive me. I am only browsing here. But I know a tiny something about Chinese art," he said, and smiled at Gerald in such a way that his and Cathy's cheeks both went pink. Then he scrutinized the Buddha more closely, and smiled again, this time in satisfaction. "I assure you, this is no imitation. Look at this, for example…" and spent the next several minutes showing Gerald and Cathy the various features that made the piece both genuine and unique. By the time he was finished, in fact, he rather wanted the piece for himself, but the spellbound look on their faces was worth the price of knowing that he had certainly made the shopkeeper's sale for him.

"You seem to know a hell of a lot about this stuff," Gerald admitted. He glared at the shopkeeper over his shoulder and said to him, "Maybe you ought to take a lesson from him in how to be decent to customers." The shopkeeper looked at D with an inscrutable expression on his face. "All right, we'll take it," Gerald continued, and produced a credit card. "Just ring us up and we'll be out of here, okay?"

They left the shop five minutes later, with Cathy cooing over the little giftwrapped bag in her hands and twittering on again about Priscilla Lowton. D and the shopkeeper were left alone. D bowed his head. "Please pardon me for intruding," he said again. "I was on my way home, and I saw your shop…so many beautiful things…I had to step inside, and I could not let such a treasure as that be abused."

"They'll abuse it just by owning it," the shopkeeper said. "They'll probably put it on a table next to a Tiffany lamp and a Precious Moments figurine. I hate customers."

That much seemed obvious. "Forgive me," D repeated, and bowed again, returning to the spot where he had left his bags. As he hoisted them in his arms, the shopkeeper said behind him, "How much do you really know about Chinese art, young sir?" He sounded almost hesitant. D turned around to look at him in surprise.

They regarded each other for a long moment.

"I really, really do hate customers," the shopkeeper said. "But you don't."

So he had a job.

Leon made his way back to the apartment as evening rapidly fell, relief spreading warm and welcome through his chest, lending a bounce to his step. It had been a productive afternoon, all things considered. He'd finally located the damn P.D., and it turned out it wasn't too far from where he and D were going to be living. But not so close that he was right on top of it, either. That was nice. It had been a boring few hours, sitting around the station and filling out forms, waiting for calls to go through to the Long Island Chief and the Chief back in L.A., confirming that it was okay to hire him, but now Leon Orcot was once more a homicide detective. It felt damn good to have a badge again. The holster under his jacket felt even better, and the small pay advance he'd been able to negotiate felt best of all. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to get them by for a week or two, until the rest of the month's salary came in. Detective Orcot, 5th Precinct, Elizabeth Street. Not too bad. Not too bad at all. He started Monday, when he'd spend most of his time getting acquainted with the neighborhood. His partner was some guy named Chuck Phillips. The smirk on the Chief's face when he'd assigned Leon to this guy probably wasn't a good sign, but he wasn't going to worry about that right now.

He just hoped that he wouldn't learn anything too incriminating about D's "friend," Mr. Shao. That'd be awkward. And dangerous. Please, he thought, please, just for once let D know someone who's on the up and up.

Next order of business had been to call Jill. He'd done that when he'd finally finished the paperwork and was sitting around in the waiting room, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for an hour and a half to finally talk to the local Chief. He felt like a heel for the way he'd pulled it off: Labor Day was tomorrow, which meant that his cell phone minutes would refresh for the new month, but he'd really wanted to talk to her today, and knew that there was no way he could fit in everything he needed on the time he had left. So it had been another collect call, this time to her apartment. She hadn't seemed to mind, and had brushed off his insistence that he'd pay her back for it. She'd been too interested in getting the dirt on the Count to be mad at him.

Jill had always sort of thought he was nuts for looking for D. She'd been the one to tell him that the Count was dead, after all, and Leon hadn't known of any way to tell her that D wasn't dead, just on a flying ship. Well, not without sounding totally insane, anyway. She'd been sad when he'd left L.A., telling him he was always welcome back, he could call her any time if he wanted to Talk About Things. Denial was a natural part of grief, she'd said, and it might do Leon good to go on a long vacation and get his mind off things, but don't let it go too far, okay? And stay in touch?

He'd been pretty crappy about staying in touch. He'd called her a couple times, when he was feeling really homesick, but nowhere near as regularly as he'd kept in touch with Chris. Plus, it had been kind of irritating, her ironclad belief that Leon was on a fool's errand. Especially since, towards the end, he'd been starting to believe her.

But she'd been wrong. They both had. And he just couldn't pass up the chance to tell her that. It had been fun, being right for a change. Once she'd finally realized he wasn't joking or crazy, that D really was with him in New York, she hadn't been able to ask her questions fast enough.

"Is he okay? Where the hell has he been? How'd he survive that bomb blast? How did you even FIND him?" And on and on and on. Leon had had to tread carefully -- if he said, Oh, D's an immortal being who's decided to live out his days as a human, then Jill really would think he was nuts and it was back to square one. So it ran kind of like this: D had been trying to get away from his crazy family, which was true. He'd been wandering around the country and had eventually found his way to Leon's family in Long Island. Also true. So Leon had come here to see him, was getting a job, and now everything was going to be okay. He sure as hell hoped that was true.

Jill had been thrilled, of course. "He looked all over the country for you? Just like you did for him, only he didn't have any money? Oh, Leon, how romantic!"

"Cut it out," he'd snapped, turning red and nervously glancing around the station, as if anybody could overhear them. "He stopped by the P.D. when you were gone, actually. When you go back in tomorrow I bet you'll hear all about it. Look, it's not such a big deal, okay?"

"Well, Leon," she'd said, sounding much more chipper than the last couple of times they'd talked, "people don't do things like that unless there's some pretty strong attachment involved. Where's the Count living now?"

Oh, hell. There had been no point in lying, he'd figured. "Uh, we're renting an apartment in Manhattan Chinatown," he'd mumbled, turning even redder and just able to picture Jill's eyes going wide in glee. "No, not renting," he'd added hastily. "I mean, we're only there, you know, together and all, because D knows some people who let us have a place without charging us rent and we both really needed somewhere to live. We're, uh, roommates. That's all."

"How many bedrooms?" she'd asked.

"Jesus!"

"My name's not Jesus. How many, Leon?"

"None of your fucking business!"

"That means one," she'd crowed. "What, do you expect me to believe you're sleeping on the couch? 'Cause I don't think D would settle for anything less than the bed. Seriously, though, what's he thinking, shacking up with you? He won't be able to put up with it. You're such a slob. I give it a week, tops."

"Fuck you, Jill! And we're not 'shacking up!'" How the hell was she always able to cut right to the heart of the matter in a way that was guaranteed to make him feel bad? A week, tops -- like he wasn't worried enough about staying the course? And it didn't help that during this whole conversation he'd been trying hard as hell not to think about all those kisses in the kitchen. He'd be damned before he told Jill about that. She was bound to blow it all out of proportion.

"I have to say, it's nice to hear you sounding like yourself again, Leon," she'd said. "But this little phonecall is already costing me more than I can afford. Call me again when you have some cell phone minutes. And when the Count's there," she'd added wickedly. "I'd love to say hi to him."

"Okay -- waitasecond, waitasecond." He'd glanced cautiously around again, aware that a police station wasn't the best place to be breaking the laws. "I need a favor for D. A really big one. He doesn't have any official records -- a birth certificate, Social Security number, shit like that. You got that guy in Registry who's nuts about you, is he still…?"

"Roger and I are dating now," she'd said pointedly, "which you would know if you had called me more. And how the hell is it that D doesn't have any of that stuff?"

"He's…he's D," was all Leon could think to say. "I don't even know his birthday, Jill. Listen, he's got a name though, a real name. Do you think you and, uh, Roger, could cook up…?"

"I'll see what I can do," she said. "Might take some doing, but that's the most bribable department in the government, you know that? And I have the best bribe of all." She'd sounded smug. Leon had winced. "So," she'd added eagerly, "what's D's real name?"

Oh shit, what was it -- oh yeah. "Uh, Cheng," he said. "Cheng Shooey Dee." Or something. Close enough.

"You do know that means Cheng is his surname, right? And how does he spell that? I can guess but I don't want to get it wrong."

"Hell if I know!"

"Well, call me again when you figure it out," she'd said, sounding exasperated. Then her voice had warmed again. "It's good to hear from you again, Leon. Really good. Take care of yourself. And the Count."

"I will," he'd replied, meaning it. "I'll call you later, Jill. Tomorrow, if I have time."

"You better."

And after that it had been a much shorter, infinitely more satisfying call to Uncle Phil. Or rather, to Uncle Phil's answering machine, since nobody had been home. Just to let him know that he and D wouldn't be back tonight, they'd found a place to stay, he'd let them know more tomorrow. Give Chris a hug for both of them. Bye.

BOO yeah.

So Leon definitely had a spring in his step as he headed back to Baxter Street, his surroundings already becoming familiar. D probably thought he'd never find his way back, but hell, if a detective couldn't learn his own turf in a hurry, he'd have the life expectancy of a glass nail. He also, now that he thought about it, had a rumbling in his stomach. They hadn't had a bite of food in the apartment when he'd left -- he could do something considerate ("for once," his inner D nagged) and pick up dinner. He ducked into a McDonald's filled with many loud Chinese people and, after a wait in a line that really disqualified the term "fast food," ordered two Big Macs for himself, a salad for D, and some fries. Thought about ice cream -- D would love that -- but decided it would melt on the way back. Oh well, he'd get D some candied prunes, or whatever the hell they were, later.

He found the apartment and mounted the steps two at a time, the smell of the fast food making him hungrier as he went. And then he met a surprise: two guys, who looked like deliverymen, leaving their apartment. They were grinning and waving behind them.

"Thank you ever so much, gentlemen," he could hear D's voice saying.

"Not a problem, Mr. Cheng," one of the guys said, still grinning. "Pleasure doing business with you! Nice to meet you!"

Leon gave them a frown as they passed each other in the hallway. They blinked at him, and then glared back, their cheerful expressions quickly turning back into New York suspicion. They'd left the damn door open, too -- what if somebody just walked in and attacked D? Jesus! Good humor fading fast, Leon stormed into the apartment, and stopped dead.

D had changed out of his cheongsam, and was wearing some kind of Chinese black pantsuit thing. It didn't look half bad, even if it was a lot plainer than anything Leon was used to seeing him in. But Leon only took a second or two to notice it, before his attention was arrested by the boxes and packages all over the place. There were placemats on the table, and pots and pans hanging over the sink, and D was busily putting away dishes in a cupboard. Disbelieving, Leon craned his neck so he could see through the open bedroom door where, sure enough, the bed was neatly made with new sheets. "What the hell?" he managed.

D turned around to greet him with a smile that made his heart race. "Ah, Leon, you are home!"

"Yeah. You're lucky it's me and not some psycho nutjob just wandering through the open door," Leon pointed out, remembering his earlier ire. To make a point, he shut the door a little more loudly than was strictly necessary. "Who were those guys? Did you just let them in? Did they show you any cred? You know you can't just -- "

"You are so silly, Leon," D said, firmly closing the cabinet door. His eyes dropped to the McDonald's bag in Leon's hand. "They were most polite, and so was everyone else."

"Everyone else?!"

"We have some very friendly neighbors. I cannot fathom why people say New York is such a hostile town. The Lis upstairs are a charming older couple, and the Melucci family down the hall seems very nice. I have not had time to meet anyone else, yet, of course."

"Of course not! They're probably all in criminal syndicates, out running drug rings and killing puppies," Leon said. "Are you always this trusting?"

"Do not be ridiculous, Leon. Ah…you have brought…something to eat?" He didn't sound too thrilled by it.

"Relax, I got you a salad," Leon grumped, dropping the bag on the table and collapsing into a chair. "Probably not as good as what you made, but it'll do for tonight, I guess."

D's face softened into a gentler smile that made Leon's heart pound even faster. Now that he got a good look, D looked tired. Really tired. "Thank you very much, then, Leon," D said. "I confess, I bought food today, but I do not feel up to preparing it." Then he frowned. "I take it you had to use your last few dollars to feed us tonight?"

Leon's chest puffed up. "Nope! You are looking at New York City's newest -- and best -- homicide detective. I start Monday. And scored a pay advance."

"That is good news," D said, and sank down into the chair opposite Leon's, shoulders slumping a little. He was still smiling, but it looked a little strained. Leon thought he knew why. He wanted to tell D that it was okay, and he'd stay safe, but they'd both know that was a lie; being a cop in a big city was just dangerous, and there were no guarantees. But, whatever else was going on, Leon had somebody to come home to now, and he'd be careful, for whatever that was worth.

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, Leon wolfing down his first Big Mac and starting more slowly on the second. Thank God D had brought home some pop. Well -- it had tons of sugar, so that made sense. D picked at his salad with the plastic utensils that had come with it. It wasn't exactly gourmet, but at least Leon couldn't see any bugs in it. After a few moments of inspecting the lettuce, D started eating, and actually finished the whole thing, much to Leon's relief. He'd been worried. Not much, but kinda. "I called Jill," he said.

"Oh yes?" D looked up from his salad with that same, tired smile.

"Yeah," Leon said, a little uneasily. If D didn't manage to get some real sleep soon, he was going to start having problems. And they couldn't afford a doctor for him, or a shrink, or anything, because there was no way in hell Leon was going to be able persuade the NYPD to put D on his health insurance plan. Not yet, anyway. Mental note: pack the guy off to bed as soon as he was done eating, no matter what he said. As a last resort, find a drugstore and get him some sleeping pills. "She thinks she can get her new boyfriend to hook us up with some real i.d. for you. I'll call her again tomorrow when my cell minutes refresh. It'll be okay."

"I am very relieved to hear it," D said. "My employer will be as well, I imagine."

"Yeah, I -- your what?" Leon choked on his Pepsi.

"I got a job today," D said, and his smile was now much less tired, much more satisfied. "It was most serendipitious; I wandered into an antiques shop and was hired as the shopkeeper's assistant. Mr. Shen does not like dealing very much with the customers and would rather keep his books in peace while I run the shop." His delicate nose wrinkled while Leon stared at him in disbelief. "It is very dusty. I begin work on Monday as well, but I think I will go a little early so I can get a good start on cleaning. I would never have let the petshop fall into such a condition. People do not like to shop in a dirty place, and I certainly have no intention of working in one. And such beautiful antiques, too! But yes," he added, taking a bite of tomato, "he does not seem like the strictly, ah, that is to say, the strict type, but I imagine he would be glad if I could fill out a W-4 form eventually."

"You know what those are?" Leon asked, momentarily distracted. D merely gave him a disdainful stare. "Uh. Right. Sorry -- wait a minute! You just walked into a shop and got a job? Just like that?" Leon shook his head. "Man, you are something else, D. You really are."

"I hope that is intended as a compliment," D said tartly, "since two paychecks will be better than one."

"Sure it was," Leon said quickly, thinking to himself that he'd have to check out this 'antiques' shop as soon as possible. No way he was letting D get involved with anything shifty, no matter how dusty it was. "That's great, D. Really."

D stood up, swaying a little on his feet, and picked up the plastic container for his salad. "I'll take care of that," Leon said. "I think you should go get some sleep, D."

D blinked, and looked strangely reluctant. That was just weird. He looked dead on his feet, why wouldn't he want to sleep? Leon was probably imagining it. "It's quite early, don't you think?" D asked. "And -- there is much to do -- we have to call your family -- "

"Already took care of it," Leon said. "Whatever needs doing can get done tomorrow. It's almost eight o'clock and you look like you're about to fall over. Who cares how early it is? Go to bed, moron!" Okay, so the last part had come out sounding a little more pissed than he'd meant. But the basic sentiment was there.

"How could I resist such an invitation?" D asked coolly.

"Look," Leon said, scrubbing his hands over his face and really not in the mood to play this game, "you've had a long day. You've done more than most people could possibly do in one day. I mean, look at this place. We can actually live in it now, thanks to you. We wouldn't have it if it wasn't for you in the first damn place. And then, just to top it off, you decide to wander outside and get yourself a job. I mean, hell, I think you did great." Of course, the last time he'd praised D like this, he'd wound up swinging him around in the air and kissing all the breath out of him -- Leon quickly veered away from that thought. The man was tired, anybody could see that.

D looked pleased, and wistful. "Thank you, Leon," he said. "It is nice to have one's efforts appreciated. Though I would remind you, none of it would have been necessary in the first place if it wasn't for me." He gripped the back of his chair tightly. "I fully intend on pulling my share of the weight. You are under no obligation to feel -- to protect me, or -- you are under no obligation," he finished lamely.

Something about that little spiel really bothered Leon. So D didn't want him as a 'protector' anymore? Well, tough shit. "You aren't gonna be able to pull any weight if you're half-dead," Leon snapped. "Stop babbling and just go to bed, okay?"

D blinked, and then bit his lip, looking confused, as if he didn't know what had set Leon off. Which was weird to see, because Leon suspected D always knew exactly how, when, where, and why to push his buttons. "Since you are so insistent," D said, and then added, hesitantly, "you -- are you coming?"

"Still too early for me," Leon said. "I'll be along in a few hours, I guess, I'll just watch -- " he looked around, and came to a horrific realization. "Oh, God. I forgot. We don't have a TV." Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

Funnily enough, D looked as if he was trying to stifle a smirk. Probably was; the smug bastard had never approved of television, saying it rotted the brain. Chris had told Leon the petshop had a television, but that the Count had only ever watched the news, and had not permitted Chris to watch anything at all. "Not even the Discovery Channel or National Geographic," Chris had said mournfully.

Well, that was one more adjustment D was just going to have to make. No way in hell was Leon going through life without the boob tube. As soon as that first real paycheck rolled in…In the meantime, he just said, "I'll just go out and get a magazine or something and read until I'm tired." Christ, how fucking boring.

D arched his eyebrow again. "I see," he said a little frostily. "Well, given what I've seen of your usual reading material, I must ask you not to wake me up when you shove it under the mattress when you have finished."

That asshole. "Very funny," Leon said through gritted teeth. Even he wouldn't be stupid enough to bring porn anywhere near D, who'd just rip it to shreds, like he had Leon's precious girlie posters. And to be honest, porn wasn't working for him like it had once. Not for months. "I want Sports Illustrated. Not the swimsuit one, either. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," D said, and swayed again.

"Jeez," Leon muttered, got to his feet, and took D by the arm, dragging him towards the bedroom. It was undecorated, save for the bedlinens, but decently furnished: the bed, a bureau, a nightstand, and a closet. "Just lie down on that fucking thing and close your eyes and dream sweet dreams about man-eating lizards or whatever, okay?"

"Understood, Detective Orcot," D murmured, managing a small smile for Leon, though something strange and discomfited still lurked behind his eyes. Leon was suddenly glad that, even though D was human, his eyes' strangeness and brilliance hadn't diminished one bit. That would have been a damn shame. "You…you will not be long?" he added hesitantly.

Leon laid a tentative hand on D's shoulder. It was weird to feel cotton underneath his palm, instead of fine silk or satin. "Nah. I'm pretty bushed, too. Not long."

"Good. I mean…fine, Detective, that sounds fine." D reached up and gently laid his hand over Leon's. They looked at each other for a moment, Leon's breath suddenly coming faster, until D broke eye contact and moved into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Leon stared at the closed door for a few seconds, and then looked blankly around his new home. Home. With D. He was actually living and sharing an apartment with Count D.

Shacking up, you could say. And there was no couch to retreat to, this time. Not even a comfy armchair. Just one single, solitary bed.

How the fuck did he get himself into these things?

After D shut the door behind him, he looked around the bedroom in some confusion. He was so very tired that he wasn't even sure he knew what to do. His body was begging him for sleep that even now he was not certain he would be able to provide. He knew what Leon expected him to do, of course, and it was very simple: put on pajamas, lie down on the bed, close his eyes, and go to sleep. As if it was such a simple process. For Leon, undoubtedly it was.

Well, he could do the pajama part, and did. Then he slipped under the sheets, resting his head on the left pillow, careful to leave ample room for Leon on the other side. And then he prepared for the routine he knew very well by now: closing his eyes and awaiting sleep that never came, possessed instead by thoughts that would not let him alone. Although, he was so tired tonight, both from today's exertions and the gradual buildup of fatigue, that his body might well be weak enough to let him rest for a few hours, as he had on the night he'd arrived at the Sampsons'. Then he only had to worry about the dreams, which were almost as bad. It was like being chased by twin dragons, with no hope of escape.

His eyelids were very heavy. How he wanted to rest! He had taken sleep for granted, before: it was something he did for a few hours each night, and something he could go for days without, if necessary. Old habits died hard, it seemed. He had to admit: he did not really want to sleep. His body was nowhere near as predictable as it once had been. What if he…dreamed? What if it was a certain kind of dream? What if, oh heavens, he made noises while Leon was in the bed with him, or worse, what if he actually -- sometimes when they slept, and were sexually frustrated, human men would --

It was unthinkable! No, no, he must not go to sleep under any circumstances, not until he finally had this body fully under control. Until then, he would have to make do as he'd been doing, that was all. Leon would worry, though. D would have to feign sleep when he came in. And then Leon would go to sleep, and snore, and D would just lie there and feel the weight on the other side of the bed, the additional warmth beneath the blankets, and take what comfort from it that he could.

It would be easy enough to trick Leon into thinking he was sleeping, D thought, as the room fuzzed in and out of his vision. He would just have to close his eyes -- like so -- and breathe deeply and evenly -- like so --

…just…so…

Leon closed the apartment door behind him, Sports Illustrated in one hand, bagged six-pack of beer in the other. It was nice outside, a cool late-summer evening. He'd have to enjoy the warmth while it lasted. He'd gotten soft, living in the California sun for so long. Really cold winters were going to come as a nasty surprise, and he'd bet anything that heat was as expensive as hell around here, just like everything else.

He set the beer on the table, took out a can, popped the tab and took a long, cold swallow. He could still hear that freaky vampire guy's words in his head: Your American beer is truly terrible. Yeah, well, fuck you too, buddy, he thought, wiping his mouth on his sleeve in satisfaction.

The vampire…that had been the first time he'd ever held D in his arms. And the last, back in what he was starting to think of as his old life. Leon shook his head hard, put the beer down, and crept as quietly as he could to the bedroom door, pressing his ear up against it. He couldn't hear anything. He took a chance and dared to open the door, peeping around it and seeing D curled in a little ball under the sheets, sound asleep. He'd rolled over right into the middle of the bed. Leon rolled his eyes, but was so relieved he couldn't get all that annoyed about it. At least D was out, hopefully for the night.

He didn't look all that peaceful, though. Just like he had that first night at Uncle Phil's, D looked tense, worried, even in sleep -- maybe moreso asleep than awake, since he pulled off that nothing-bugs-me act so well all the damn time. But now D clutched at his pillow as if he was trying to embrace it. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths.

Leon scratched his head as he closed the door again, returning to the common area and his magazine and beer. He'd seen D sleeping back in California, so he knew the guy could do it. But maybe sleep was different for spirit-people, or whatever, than it was for humans. D would get used to it soon enough. Or…well, he would. He had to. And D was good at doing things he had to do.

Knowing there was precious little he could do about it, and still too wound up to think of going to bed himself, Leon sat down and started reading an article on Jason White, latest winner of the Heisman Trophy, and took another swig of beer.

He was a child again, and chasing something through the forest. The forest was darker than he remembered, darker and colder, but D wasn't frightened. He thought he heard someone calling him from somewhere behind him -- from the forest edge, perhaps --

"D? D!! Don't go in the woods! It's not safe, for fuck's sake!"

-- but it didn't bother him. This was his forest, after all, and nothing in any forest could hurt him, or would. Animals and plants loved him, and he loved them. That was the way things were. If only he could find what he was chasing! It had just been hovering in front of his face, and then it had darted away, deeper into the woods, compelling him to follow. Where had it gone? And what had it been? It had seemed so familiar…something he wanted, something he had been desperately missing…

"Q!"

D stopped and turned, looking above him, and then clapped his little hands with glee. "There you are!"

"Q! Q q q q q!"

Q-chan hovered in the air before him, darting teasingly around him, in and out of his grasp, making happy chirping noises. Thank goodness he'd come back! Where had he been, anyway? D had missed Q-chan so much, had looked over his shoulder so many times in the last week, only to see no bat-rabbit there, ready to rub his cheek with soft fur, soothe away his troubles with little squeaks and coos. If he could reach out and catch it, all would be well. And Q-chan finally looked willing to be caught. D reached out his hands --

-- wait. Why had Q-chan not been with him for the past week?

The memories came back in a rush then, sudden and overwhelming, and D snatched his hands back just in time. He was no longer a child, and he looked down to behold his adult, human body, clad in the black clothes. He was not so short now, nor so young, but all of a sudden the forest seemed even more threatening than before. Far, far more threatening, considering what had nearly just happened.

"No, Grandfather," he said quietly, looking at Q-chan with both regret and disappointment. "I won't be tricked like that."

Q-chan stared silently at him for a moment, flapping his little wings -- and then the wind whipped up around D like a sirocco, causing him to throw a hand over his eyes, as the bat-rabbit transformed into another, more familiar and altogether more frightening shape. When the wind died down, Sofu D stood before him, face hooded by his cloak, lips drawn into a hard line of displeasure.

"Why must you persist in this madness?" his grandfather demanded. "You've been a human being for a week, child. Surely you have come to appreciate by now how insupportable an existence it is."

"No," D said stubbornly, trying not to remember all the times he'd thought that very thing. "Deception is not the way to win me back to you, Grandfather. What would you have done, at any rate, once you had trapped me? I am mortal now. Even you do not have the power to grant me eternal life, once I have given it up."

"I don't," Sofu said grimly, "but I know those who do. The gods who formed the cosmos and now live in the Hidden Islands -- I would have taken you there and begged their forgiveness for your stupidity. I still can." He extended a long, pale hand to D. "You must see that I am speaking reason. I command you, in the name of filial piety, to take my hand. It is not too late to remedy all this."

"Yes, it is," D said. "I am sorry, Grandfather. I miss you, and the forests, and the animals, beyond any telling of it. But I will not go with you."

"And why not? For love of that human?" Sofu's lip curled in disgust. "I will have him killed, if I must. If that's what it takes. Do you think I wouldn't?"

D's heart nearly collapsed in on itself in fear. But he managed to say, with a voice made steady by truth, "I am certain you would. You must also know that I will not be slow in following him into death, whether by your hand or another's. Do not think that I will return to you instead." D clasped his hands together tightly while Sofu snatched his own back to his chest, apparently in shock. "I have lost much of my power, it is true. But I remember things, and there is magic that is accessible even to humans. I will do what I can to shield him from you, make no mistake."

"You can't shield him from everything," Sofu snapped. "He will die, you foolish child, as you said -- by my hand or another's. That's what they do. Unless you go first, you will lose him. That is the way of their life. Your life now." He looked D up and down, his lip curling again. D wished he could see his grandfather's eyes. "I cannot believe how you have lowered yourself."

Then Sofu waved his hand in a graceful gesture, and a shimmering apparition appeared beside him. As it settled into focus, D realized with a jolt that it was himself -- at least, as he had once been. The image of spirit-D stood before human-D, proud and beautiful, gorgeously dressed, holding himself like an emperor, face inscrutable and flawless. The very picture of a young and powerful god. "This is what you were," Sofu whispered. "Everything I raised you to be. A creature of wonder. The pride of my life, the closest thing to my heart, more dear to me than even my son. I could not -- I never did -- abandon you. Do you think I stayed for years in that ridiculous form because I found it a pleasant experience? Do you think I watched over your dreaming and waking hours because you meant nothing to me?"

D bowed his head. "Grandfather -- "

"And now look at you," Sofu said spitefully, and the image of spirit-D vanished, replaced by -- a mirror. And now D saw himself as he had become: a small, thin, pale man with exhausted eyes, dwarfed by the trees around him. It was as close as his grandfather had ever come to striking him.

He closed his eyes, unable to bear it for a moment. "Do you think I didn't know this?"

"I thought you might need reminding," Sofu said.

"Well, I didn't," D snapped, opening his eyes to find, thankfully, that the mirror had disappeared. "As you said, Grandfather -- I've had a week to think about this."

"But you did not know I would come for you," Sofu pointed out. "You made your decision on the ship, without a moment's consideration, it seems. What could you have been thinking?" He shook his hooded head. "I blame myself. I knew you were…reluctant to leave him. I should not have left you alone. If I had been faster…if I had caught you…we would not be having this conversation now."

"No," D agreed. "I daresay we would not be having any conversation at all, in fact."

"Do not be ridiculous," Sofu said. Then he tossed back his hood, and D found himself gazing into the face that was so similar to his own, even now. To his shock, the golden eyes, normally so pitiless, were glimmering, and Sofu's pale cheeks were streaked with tears that the hood had obscured.

For a moment, in spite of the circumstances, D was rendered breathless by the magnitude of his grandfather's grief. Their kind so rarely shed tears, and then only in times of the greatest, most unbearable sorrow. D had wept at losing Leon -- but even he had only shed a single tear. To see his grandfather like this…

"If you will not think of yourself, then have pity on me," Sofu whispered, and held out both of his hands. "I lost your father to madness and despair. I cannot lose you. You are the treasure of my life, the most precious jewel of my heart -- this kind of love does not die, my grandson. It does not weaken, it does not fade. Would you give up your family, your life, all that you have ever known and all that has ever sheltered and adored you, for the sake of a filthy human who could -- who WILL -- use you and cast you aside? That is the way humans are. Do not count on his fidelity. Humans do not understand the meaning of 'forever.'"

"I know that," D said shakily. This was worse than before -- far worse. Sofu's weakness clawed and tore at D where his strength had not been able to touch him. "Grandfather, you are not alone. Think of the child. Where is he?" His father's reincarnation…could a god ever really leave the past behind? Would it be any easier as a human?

"He is safe," Sofu said, "and you may be very sure I will not make the same mistakes with him I seem to have made with you. But he should know his brother. He should grow with the aid of your counsel and care, not mine alone."

"Perhaps I will meet him one day," D said, "but not as his brother. I'm sorry, Grandfather. I am sorry you think I am a 'mistake.' But I have made my choice."

"But of all things -- " Sofu darted forward to seize D by the shoulders, looking deep into his eyes in agony. "To become mortal -- very well. That I could accept, if it was only that you could not bear to…but a human? You have become a human!" His grip tightened on D's shoulders until it was painful. "In this your father was right. They butchered our kind. They drove us into hiding. They destroy the earth piece by piece, every day. And now you have dared to throw your lot in with them? Do you even understand what that means? I thought you did, but now you have become your own murderer!"

"I did not know that would happen," D admitted. "I thought I would only become mortal, as you said. But…" he closed his eyes. "I think…even that…would not have worked. I could not live with Leon merely as a mortal creature, and not of his own kind. The difference would still be too great." It was only as he spoke the words that he knew them to be true.

"Oh, now I understand," Sofu said, and his voice became cold as he let go of D. "I understand. The larger issues do not matter to you anymore. Just so you can live in so-called happiness with your human -- that is all that matters to you now. What's their asinine saying? 'All you need is love'?"

"I don't even have that," D said. "I do not know if he loves me, Grandfather. I don't know if he ever will. It is you who do not understand the larger issues at stake here." Then he shivered as a cold wind blew through the trees, chilling him to the bone.

"You dirty yourself by touching him," Sofu whispered, appearing unaffected by the change in climate. "You are obstinate? You will persist in this lunacy? Then let me tell you what I see, grandson." He bared his teeth in a snarl. "I see a graceful deer of the forest lying down to slop with the pigs. I see a slug crawling over a rose. I see every beautiful and tender thing made base and foul."

D trembled, though whether in anger, or exhaustion, or fear, he could not be sure. "Grandfather, I know their weaknesses," he protested. "How could I not? But not every human is evil. You have met enough of them, in your long time, to realize that. And what of Chris?" he added, in a moment of inspiration. "What of Leon's brother Chris? You knew him, and you loved him, as I did. Do not deny that!"

"Every once in a while, an extraordinary human will come along," Sofu admitted. "I know that. But he is still a boy. We don't know if he will grow into a good man, especially now that he is beyond your influence again." D opened his mouth to protest, to say that Chris was not out of his reach yet, that he could still teach and mold the boy, when Sofu continued, "And I persist firmly in my belief that his brother, your love, is nowhere near as promising. I saw the danger, from the beginning. I saw what was happening. I tried to warn you." That was true. Q-chan had always hated Leon. It had saddened D, but he had never understood that hatred, beyond his vague belief that it might be motivated by jealousy. The matter was now unpleasantly clear. "But you did not hear me, or if you did, you did not care. He's a complete lout. If you had to destroy yourself for a human, why him?" For the first time, Sofu looked less angry, less grieved, and more aghast. "He is rude, uncultured, unworthy of anyone, much less you. He is obsessed with imaginary women from disgusting magazines. He has a filthy temper. And he drinks inferior beer."

D couldn't deny the beer part. Instead, he reminded Sofu gently, "He is also a kind and generous older brother to Chris, dedicated and brave in his work, uncaring of his own safety when the time comes to protect others. He is…rough, I know, but he has a noble heart, and, I believe, a true one. If -- if he should ever come to love me, as I hope he will, I will not worry about his faithfulness. I have not given myself over to this fate because I love all humans, Grandfather. I do not. Only him. But I do love him."

Another wind rattled the branches then, and D shuddered at the onslaught. He felt half-frozen, his thin cotton clothes no real protection from the cold. Even the hard, unforgiving earth seemed to chill the bottoms of his feet through the soles of his shoes. "This is your choice, then," Sofu said, his voice hollow. "Very well. Very well. Expect no help from me."

"I never did," D whispered. "Grandfather -- I'm sorry, I love you -- "

"Enough!" Sofu held up one trembling hand, while another wind chilled D even worse than before. Could humans freeze to death in their dreams? He huddled in on himself, clutching at his arms and shivering. But Sofu appeared to be shaking from grief, not the cold. "I will not hear this. Understand: you have turned away from what you are, by your own choice, not mine. I cannot help you. I will not see you more."

"Grandfather -- !"

Sofu's image was already fading before him, wavering, growing transparent. He leaned forward, and the tears on his cheeks shone like stars. "Farewell," he whispered, "all I loved the most."

D felt ghostly lips brush his forehead, their touch cool but still warmer than the wind that whipped and buffeted him. Then Sofu was gone, and D realized he was crying, too. Well -- that was not so strange, now that he was a human -- he dashed his sleeve across his face to dry the tears before they froze on his skin. He had to get out of here. He had come so far and given up so much, he could not die here, not now, not like this…

"D!"

He turned his head in the direction of the voice. He knew that voice.

"D. Hey, D!"

Wracked with shudders, D stumbled blindly towards the sound of the voice, Leon's voice, as it called to him from beyond the forest. Yes, it must be the woods that were so cold. They had sheltered and loved him before, but they were not safe for him now. As he ran, nearly tripping over his own feet as his joints refused to cooperate properly, he tried to call out a response so that Leon would not give up and go away. But he couldn't seem to speak, or scream, no matter how hard he tried. Where was Leon's voice? Would it call again?

"D…"

There it was. Thank all the gods, there it was. D ran towards it as fast as he could, brambles and branches tearing at his clothes, his tender skin, but not able to slow him down. And yes -- finally -- the cold was receding. It was getting warmer, as if he was running straight into a beam of sunlight. He could have wept again, for sheer relief this time.

"D…D?"

Towards the warmth, away from the cold -- towards the warmth --

"Holy Jesus, D! Will you wake the fuck up?!"

Comments and criticism welcome.