Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Behind Enemy Lines ❯ Burning Down ( Chapter 6 )

Behind Enemy Lines

By: rainjewel

Chapter Six: Burning Down

"It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head."

--Sally Kempton, American Writer

~*~

Dilandau slowly stroked the feathers on Natal's back. His eyes rolled languidly with his hand's movements.

Back and forth. Back and forth. I just keep going back and forth.

Natal had discovered him, rather then the other way around. Dilandau had been lying in the bathtub, occasionally remembering to wash his body and hair, when the bird had flown in and dive-bombed into the water. That was, Dilandau hated to admit, one of the scariest experiences of his life. Birds usually didn't dive into one's bath unexpectedly. It's not like the owl was thinking of cleaning itself, was it?

Though, it soon became clear that that was exactly what had crossed Natal's mind. The bird had surfaced and hopped onto the side of the tub, clutching the porcelain rim with his talons and then began the extensive job of preening himself. Dilandau had watched the stupid bird in fascination. He figured that the owl had undoubtedly assumed that he was Allen.

Which was an insult towards Dilandau, and gave him very weird ideas on why Allen would ever encourage the owl to bathe with him.

Disturbing…That about summed up his feelings towards the bird's bathing habits.

So now he was simply sitting in the bathtub, petting a damp owl. Never in his life had he ever thought he would be doing such a thing. But then again, he never thought in his entire life that he wouldn't be able to kill Van Fanel. Or that he would feel so strangely about him.

"Pigeon," he said out loud. Natal turned and looked at him with obvious distaste. Dilandau felt that he was going to like this bird. "Not you," he told the owl.

"Hoot," said Natal. Not much for conversation, ne?

Dilandau felt the same draining emotion he had felt when Celena had resurfaced. Nothing made sense anymore, and everything was going the exact opposite of what he wanted. He had, for the first time in his life, wholly admitted his defeat. He was not the unstoppable perfect warrior the Madoushi had made him to be.

Stupid bastards. They should have at least taken away my emotions and let me be more machine then human. Dumbshits.

He took a breath and ducked under the water. He lay there for a few minutes, feeling warm and in control. Dilandau thought that this might have been what a womb must have felt like. He was displeased that he had never had one. If only he could stay here forever, and leave the entire messy business with Van alone. Simply sit and float in a cocoon of false happiness. However, eventually he would have to take a breath.

Dilandau came back up sputtering. Natal turned around and hooted his displeasure at being drenched by Dilandau's splashing.

"Hoooooot," growled the owl in a low tone.

"Eat me," Dilandau replied. Natal bristled and puffed up, alternately showing himself off and drying his feathers as well. Dilandau felt around for a sponge, then picked it up and began gently scrubbing his sunburnt shoulders. He had just come down from the roof only a short time ago (via "Pigeon") and was soaking in the water to help his dried-out skin. He absently wondered if Celena had any lotion. He couldn't remember any.

Even if there was any, it would probably smell horridly feminine.

For once Dilandau wished Folken were around with his medicated herbal ointment that he had used for previous sunburns. However, if he had known that Folken always slipped a skin-absorbed sedative in with his concoction, he probably wouldn't have wanted it.

Dilandau sighed and rinsed his hair. The water plastered the locks to his skull, and he looked at Natal and smiled goofily.

"Hoot Hoot!" Natal hooted approvingly.

I'm a hoot. Ha ha.

Dilandau shook his head like a wet dog, causing his hair to spike out at weird directions like a spastic child had dried it. He slid down in the tub, letting the cooling water run over his aching shoulders and lap at his Adam's apple. He closed his eyes, feeling sleepy.

The mood he was in was one of exhaustion. Dilandau had burnt himself out so badly that he just didn't give a damn about anything anymore. Everything he had ever wanted to accomplish, all of his priorities, even his emotions were completely bent out of shape. He had surrendered to this chaos, and found that if he took a look at the world with a numb disposition that covered his raw soul, life was ten times easier.

However, when the door to the washroom opened, Dilandau's soul went raw once more and he found it hard to continue his numb charade.

He heard Van (at least, he assumed it was Van) pad across the floor, coming dangerously close to the bathtub.

Not now, Pigeon. I don't want to deal with you right now.

Though that was a lie. All Dilandau wanted to do was deal with Van. However, his motives had changed.

Then Dilandau felt a softness about his ears and covering his head. Gentle fingers massaged his scalp and sluiced the water from his silver tresses. He said nothing, allowing Van to towel his head dry in silence.

And in that very same silence, Dilandau dealt with the almost unbearable wanting he felt rising up within him. His body yearned for Van to be closer to him. He wanted the boy-king not only caressing his head, but much more. Heat seemed to radiate from Van's fingertips, as if it could set Dilandau-oh, the irony-on fire. Dilandau took a disguised deep breath and fought down his wild emotions.

Damn hormones. The Madoushi should have gotten rid of those too.

He felt the towel be lifted from his head, and then Van's fingers traveled through his naked hair, alternately fluffing it and slicking it down in places. Dilandau waited patiently as the older boy played with his damp locks, even though the closeness of his body was absolute torture. Slowly the fingertips worked their way down from the crown of Dilandau's head to the back of the nape of his neck. They danced for a second on the surface of the water, then took the plunge and traveled to past his neck. As they ran across Dilandau's shoulders, he felt Van leaning in closer. The boy's dark hair brushed the back of his neck, and he felt Van's warm breath. Gently the fingers began massaging his shoulders, and Dilandau let out a hiss of pain. Immediately the fingers retreated.

"What's wrong?" Van whispered.

"Sunburn," Dilandau explained.

"Hoot," said Natal. Dilandau opened his eyes and mowed the bird down with look that could make entire armies fall to their knees in fear. Natal simply turned and walked to the far end of the bathtub.

"How bad?" Van asked. Dilandau sighed and sat up, the mood totally ruined.

"Not very. I'm not shaking and hallucinating," he said. He turned around to face Van. The boy-king was kneeling, wearing a pair of pale-blue pants.

"That can actually happen?" Van said, a frown on his face. Dilandau nodded and looked down at his pinkish shoulders.

"It'll go away in a little while," he concluded. Boldly (of course) he reached out with both hands and touched Van's bare shoulders. "Bronze," he said.

I feel another color fixation coming on.

Van reached out and touched Dilandau's airily spiked hair. "Silver."

The two boys stared at each other, both realizing how close they had become.

"HOOT!" Natal screamed, annoyed with the lack of attention. Van started laughing and Dilandau turned and chucked the sponge at the owl's head. It connected beautifully, and Natal fell off the rim of the tub and a wet "plop!" could be heard as the bird hit the ground.

"Damn owl," Dilandau muttered. His frown however, turned to a smile as he saw Natal walking away, growling in anger.

"Nice throw," Van said, " I hope you didn't hurt him."

"Nah," Dilandau said. The thing had to bathe with Allen…what could be harder then that? Well, I suppose bathing with Dornkirk would be worse.

And that was such a disturbing thought Dilandau shivered and began looking for a towel, the idea of a bath losing its appeal.

"I brought you a towel," Van said. Dilandau turned and took the cloth from his outstretched hand. He noticed a slight pink tint to Van's cheeks. Dilandau smirked and stood up. Carefully he ran the towel over his burnt shoulders and over his bruised chest. He avoided Van's eyes as if he didn't care that the boy was trying-unsuccessfully, Dilandau noted-to not stare at his naked body.

Yeah, you like that Van? Aren't I a beautiful creation?

Dilandau stepped out of the tub, tying the towel around his waist.

"Enjoy the show?" he asked casually, pulling the plug.

Van sighed. "You are one vain bastard."

Dilandau cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "And I'm damn good at it."

Van "hmphed" and Dilandau turned and walked out the door. He heard Van call out in protest, but he ignored it and traveled down to Allen's room where he found a pair of loose black trousers. They were too long and Dilandau found himself having to roll up the ends. After a few more moments of searching, he found a-blood red-dark maroon shirt that he took such a liking too that he decided he had to keep it.

So off he went to Celena's room.

Dilandau curled up on the fluffy yellow bed with a miniscule needle and thread, intent on fixing the shirt until it suited him. Cold indifference flooded his veins.

A few days ago, this would have been another task Dilandau couldn't have imagined himself doing. Now, it was quite easy. It gave his numbed spirit some (although meaningless) direction.

I'm fixated on mending a shirt. Perhaps the popular opinion is right: I am insane.

But Dilandau just kept stitching away. He had sliced off the long arms in favor of shorter ones, and now he was hemming the sleeves.

Van walked through the door and stopped, a look of bewilderment upon his face.

"You're…sewing?" he finally asked.

"Brilliant observation. Give the boy a prize," Dilandau replied sarcastically, his fingers flying.

Van's face blanched. "Why?"

"This shirt doesn't fit right. I killed half of the servants here and the others ran away, leaving me with no one to mend my clothing. That is why," Dilandau explained.

"You're Dilandau Albatou, you don't sew," Van persisted.

Actually, I don't know just who I am exactly. Isn't that ironic?

"I am sewing, so that proves you wrong, Pigeon," Dilandau said.

A flash of pain flew up his pointer finger. Dilandau raised the hand to his dull gaze and stared at the blood droplets that were coursing down his finger. The sight of the crimson liquid on his bone-white knuckle ignited something inside Dilandau's heart he though had been destroyed when Van had stopped his suicidal plummet. Clarity came once again to Dilandau. He realized his fixation on Van was changing. Instead of the utter loathing he usually felt it was a sensation of a combination of fear and…lust? Is this what lust felt like? Make now mistake, Dilandau was still the maniacal assassin who gave even the bravest men bed-wetting nightmares. He had simply met his biggest enemy of all: his heart. Van had used his own tactics against him. He had gotten through Dilandau's aloofness.

Then, Dilandau vowed, I will adapt. I will not be weak. I will take advantage of everything I can. This well not stop me. But first…

Dilandau quickly finished his stitching in fewer than four nanoseconds and slipped the shirt on. He stood up and walked up to Van, seeing his old grace and purposeful pride reflecting in the boy's cinnamon eyes. He raised his slightly bloodied hand and studied it.

"I think I need to burn something," he announced.

And then his reflection disappeared from Van's eyes and all Dilandau saw were flames.

~*~

Dilandau would never know why he was a pyromaniac.

Perhaps it was because he was so good at controlling the flames that most people deemed untamable. Maybe it was because he could truly appreciate the total and utter destruction fire could bring. Or it was because everyone feared the blaze, with its terrible unpredictability. The flames never did the same thing twice; there was never a solid pattern. Fire was a good symbol for Dilandau.

And damnit, burning things just felt good.

For some reason, whenever Dilandau had gone (or was going) through a tough time or he had encountered a problem he didn't understand, his first reaction was to torch something. Anything would do.

Hence, there was always a fire extinguisher every thirty feet on the Vione and one in every room. Folken had three in his bedroom alone, and three times that in his personal lab.

So when the young captain had burst into the Strategos' laboratory with his eyes bewildered and his movements frenzied, Folken made sure he could reach at least one device.

"Can I help you Dilandau?" the older man asked, bending over to look at his beaker. Folken was pretty sure the boy had come to discuss the Madoushi's papers that he had stolen the previous week. Which might be difficult, since even he wasn't supposed to know of the boy's origins.

"Can you help me? You can't even help yourself, Folken. But still…" Dilandau said, hopping up on one of the few clean spaces of a lab table. Folken tensed at the soldier's harsh words and at the fact he was sitting near some highly explosive experiments.

"But still?" the Strategos prodded, concentrating on adequately adding chemicals. The quicker this discussion was over, the quicker he could get back to work.

"What do you think of soldiers getting 'involved' with one another?" Dilandau asked point blank. Folken felt surprise wash over him, and he even cocked an eyebrow. Dilandau grinned. "I'm not talking about me Strategos."

Why am I not surprised?

"There is no rules against sexual activity between soldiers. Questions maybe raised concerning relationships between a soldier and a higher-ranking officer. However, I know that neither you nor the Zaibach Army will stand for a pregnant Dragonslayer, so I suggest you order the female soldier to start birth control at once," Folken said, mixing chemicals. It was hard to think that he was having this conversation with a 15-year-old.

"Refina is not sexually active nor is she involved with anyone. Besides, she had her tubes tied the minute she joined," Dilandau replied.

"Oh?" Folken said absently. He thought it would be amusing to see Dilandau deal with a PMS-ing female. Then the Strategos thought of the problems he that had when Naria and Eriya went into heat, and decided that he didn't want Dilandau dealing with anything like that.

"It's Dalet and Chesta," Dilandau said, his voice had a bewildered ring to it. Folken felt surprise once more and his mixture turned an undesirable orange color. He gave up on finishing his project tonight. As usual, he did not respond to Dilandau.

"They're both guys," the captain stated.

Oh really? Well that's good to know.

If you don't like their actions, order for it to be stopped," Folken said. Secretly he prayed Dilandau would let it be. The boys of the Dragonslayers had so little to take joy in; it was nice to know that they could find solace in each other.

Dilandau flew off-the handle-the table. "Do not tell me how to run my Dragonslayers!" he said, marching up to Folken (who wished for a fire extinguisher) in a terrifying manner. "I am Dilandau Albatou and if it wasn't for me and my Dragonslayers, Zaibach would be dead in the water!"

Folken stood, unperturbed by Dilandau's outburst. He noted the captain's lack of good grammar in favor of talking of himself first and foremost. He waited patiently while the soldier calmed down. After all, timing is everything.

"What is it that you want then?" he asked after a bit.

"Do you…" Dilandau's face softened, "Do you think it's possible for two men to love each other?"

Folken closed his eyes. Boys, they're just boys.

"Dilandau, I am not one to ask about love," Folken said. He opened his eyes. "However, homosexuality has been around as far back as human existence on Gaea. It has been written about in ancient texts and scrolls. It is not a widely discussed topic, but I assume it happens, as they say, 'behind closed doors.'"

Dilandau made a face. "Let's hope so."

If it didn't hurt his heart so much, Folken would have laughed at the soldier's reactions. For once Dilandau appeared to be fifteen, not thirty.

"So," Dilandau continued, "You think it's possible. But is it right?"

"I make no judgments," was all Folken said.

"Your conversation could be more stimulating, Strategos," Dilandau said, smirking.

So could yours: 'Burn this, torch that'…I mean, who cares?

Folken blinked. He'd spent too much time in Asturia. Princess Eries' attempts-stalking-at making him interested in her had consisted of conversation such as the mindless drivel he had just thought of.

Dilandau was walking away.

"Where are you going? Folken asked. The danger of Dilandau torching things to smoking bits had passed, but Folken was the cautious type.

"Gods, you are not my mother, Strategos!" Dilandau stopped, frozen. "I don't have a mother."

Folken winced.

The captain shook his head and opened the door. Standing there were two boys: one with chin-length brown hair, the other a blonde with a bowl-cut. Both knew they were in deep trouble.

Dilandau said nothing. He simply reached out and knocked the boys' heads together in a blow that should have rendered them unconscious.

But Dragonslayers have hard heads, and the two stood back up, shaking. Folken was disgusted, yet said nothing. They were not his troops.

"I will not ask as to why you are standing at the Strategos' door at 12:30 a.m.," Dilandau began, "However, if I ever catch you out of your bunks at this hour again, I will beat you within an inch of your life. And that's if I'm in a good mood. Now, go back to your rooms immediately."

"Yes sir!" the two replied, bowing. They turned and began marching off on wobbly feet.

"Oh, and boys," Dilandau called out. The soldiers stopped and turned. "Your own, separate rooms tonight. I do not care what or who you do in your off time, as long as it does not interfere with your training or abilities. Tonight, you have already missed half of a good night's sleep. I suggest you don't miss the rest."

"Yes sir," replied the two now-blushing Dragonslayers.

Dilandau turned back to Folken. "Sweet dreams, Strategos." He closed the door.

Folken sat down and put his head on the table. He never knew what to do about Dilandau, what the boy was thinking, or what he was going to do next.

The young man sat there for another couple of minutes, trying to coax his brain back into a working state of mind. He had just gotten back to his ruined concoction when the Vione's superb (not to mention well used) fire alarm system sounded.

Folken sighed and grabbed a fire extinguisher.

~*~

Van decided that he didn't understand Dilandau at all.

He was not alone in this decision. Countless others before him had given up and simply accepted Dilandau for what he was. Whatever that is.

First Dilandau hated him with a lethal fury. Next he had seemed to be a broken thing that could care less if Van were alive, dead, or somewhere in-between. Now he seemed to have returned to his usual self (what, just exactly, was Dilandau's usual self?), save for the fact that the boy wasn't trying to kill him. To Van, it felt like they were dancing on knives.

Currently Dilandau was tossing more of Allen's clothes onto a huge bonfire in the front lawn. He had decided to do away with most of the Knight's clothing and his huge array of cologne and hair care products. Van had mostly watched in silence, deciding not to press the subject of how incredibly flammable the latter belongings were.

And so Dilandau burned the remnants of Allen's room (he insisted that he must rid himself of the man's putrid presence). Van burned sausages.

Dilandau came up behind him, carrying the last of the clothes. "You're cooking sausages? This is a bonfire, not a campfire, Pigeon."

"I'm hungry," Van said bluntly. "Couldn't you have at least left the chef alive?"

"Couldn't you have left my Dragonslayers alive?" Dilandau retorted.

Ouch.

"You know, I think you and I need to have a serious chat," Van said, taking his sausages out of the flames.

"You and I don't need to have anything," Dilandau replied. He sat beside Van and took a sausage for himself.

"You need clothes," Van pointed out, biting into a sausage.

"I kept all the clothes I wanted," Dilandau said. He set his sausage on fire.

"Oh, I see," Van said. He eyed the albino's flaming sausage warily. Dilandau looked at it for a second, then blew the flames out.

"I want Celena back," the pale boy said after a bit. Van sighed.

"I don't know if I can let you," he replied.

Dilandau frowned. "Let me? I will go and get her, make no mistake."

I can't let him get away. I don't know him well enough.

"Dilandau, you are the person who incinerated entire countries, killed hundreds of people, and made thousands suffer. You are wanted, or you shall be, for war crimes in Freid, Asturia, and Fanelia. If any of the other countries' governments knew of your existence, you would be hunted down and eventually killed. You may be a fantastic soldier, but even you can't take on three armies and come out victorious," Van said slowly. He turned and looked at Dilandau. "Right now, I'm the only friend you got."

"I know," Dilandau sighed, eating his sausage. "I've thought through my situation and I'm left with very few options. I can get by without Celena. It's early in the separation, which is the only reason I'm missing her so badly." The albino began to laugh, a loud and frightening sound that Van remembered so well. Dilandau stood up and looked down at him, cocking his silver head. "Isn't this a strange turn of events?"

"What are you thinking?" Van asked patiently.

"I'm wondering why you don't hate me. I'm wondering why you aren't charging me with those so-called 'war crimes' of Fanelia. You have a duty to your country to seek and destroy the enemy that decimated your land. That, of course, would be me," Dilandau said, abruptly switching topics.

Folken would have said it was because Van had a gentle soul.

Hitomi would say it was because he was a genuinely good person.

Van said, "Because I like you. Regardless of your past actions, I see before me a changed person who is not the same individual I met and fought with during the Great War."

"The only change is that I'm not randomly switching genders," Dilandau said dryly. "You will find that I am very much the same person I was."

"Then I'm seeing a different side of you," Van said. He looked down at his feet.

Dilandau nodded, enlightened. "I suppose you are, Pigeon."

"Well, then that makes two of us," Van said with a smile. He looked up at the soldier, but all he saw was a flash of alabaster skin as Dilandau hit him squarely in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

~*~

A/N: Another boring chapter that was mercifully short. *Scratches head* Currently I have lost all direction this story is supposed to be taking. Though I do have a new idea. I know, I know, you're all waiting for some Dilly and Van snoggin', but-

Van: Hold everything! I did not sign on to do pornography!

Allen: I did!

Dornkirk: Me too!

rainjewel: Now that's just plain wrong. As I was saying, I know you're all waiting for-

Dilandau: Finally! A chapter in which I got to burn something!

Folken: So, why didn't I get fire extinguishers in the series?

rainjewel: I'm trying to do an Author's Note here! Folkie-poo, I'll deal with you later. *wink* Dilandau, I have a very large supply of water balloons. I'll make this quick: Dilly and Van snoggin' (or at least some action) is a great possibility in the near future.

Van: Get me my manager.

Dilandau: Get a life.

Van: Get some sanity.

rainjewel: Okay boys, back to your cages.

~*~