Something Just Like This

It was well after midnight by the time he got back home. Julius, alert as ever, bless him, had the door open before he’d even made it up the deliberately dimly lit driveway. The house itself was dark and silent, the others clearly having had retired for the night.

Ruilian allowed the large man to take his thin coat off his shoulders, which he did as gently as he always did. The familiar gesture soothed some of the restlessness that had been clamouring in his soul all evening, and he almost sighed out loud. As much as he loved the Langs, he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with them right now. They’d helped him when he was at his worst, and he would never forget that. But Julius was the only one that knew who he used to be, before. Before his hands, and his soul, were tainted with this darkness that seemed to rub off on everything and everyone he came close to…

“Will you be wanting dinner?”, asked Julius, breaking Ruilian out of his rapid descent into melancholy. “Depends, are you planning to cook?”Ruilian’s tired and near automatic attempt at banter earned him an unamused look in return. Julius’ cooking skills, or rather lack thereof, were a common running joke in the household. “Lee already did. And Lin insisted on putting some of it upstairs for your friend too, since you were clearly running late.”

Ruilian picked up on what was being implied. He’d shown up two days ago with an armful of bleeding broken boy, and it was only Lin’s medical training that had made sure he hadn’t ended up dying on Ruilian’s living room floor. Afterwards, Julius had carried him upstairs and laid him on Ruilian’s bed – it being the only room fitted with electricity so far. And it was Lixin who had since been looking up and cooking up every kind of healing broth that he could think of. Ruilian might have been the one to bring the kid home, but it was too late for him to be asking the others not to get involved. Cop or not, he wasn’t just Ruilian’s problem anymore.

He expected the guilt, but not the accompanying rush of gratitude, and had to actually blink away the surge of emotions that threatened to suddenly overwhelm him. He cleared his throat, “Thanks, no, I already ate.” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he felt. “How is he?” He wouldn’t dare be so candid in front of anyone else, not even the Lang siblings, but Julius didn’t even blink. “He was still asleep when Lin went up there. Though it’s been a few hours…”

Ruilian turned to the stairway, and Julius bowed, “If there’s nothing else…” “Yeah, I mean, no”, said Ruilian. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep.” One curt nod, a concerned glance that they both pretended hadn’t been leveled, and Julius was gone. Leaving Ruilian with nothing to do but go up and see how his newly acquired mystery charge was faring.

Dante, the boy had said his name was. Ruilian wasn’t sure if that was a fake name. And, frankly, at that point, he had hardly cared. The boy had finally woken up that morning, after a day and a half of teetering on the edge of a more permanent kind of sleep, even as Ruilian alternated between pacing the room and perching on the edge of the chair that a concerned Lixin had dragged upstairs, mentally cursing the Golden Tigers throughout. This kind of mindless brutality was precisely the reason he had never considered joining them, despite the obvious advantages.

What he tried not to do was wonder how and why he had gotten so involved. Fine, he could justify not leaving the boy to his death. But why did the thought of him never waking up again leave him feeling this cold inexplicable dread? He didn’t even know the guy.

In his years with the Company, despite playing a role that had him barely on the frontline, Ruilian had seen enough men die. Some mere boys, just as young or maybe even younger than the one breathing so shallow before him. But there was something about the way the boy had obviously fought through the kind of odds Ruilian could barely stand to think about, only to leave himself at the latter’s mercy.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about that smile.

The only rest he’d had was when he nodded off in that uncomfortable chair a few hours before dawn and woke up to Lin standing over him with fresh bandages and insisting he leave the room for a bit so that she could work in peace. He knew she was only trying to trick him into getting some real sleep, but he was tired enough not to argue. He’d stumbled into the newly delivered couch that was still lying at the bottom of the stairway and actually managed to sleep for a few hours until the morning sun climbed high enough to shine its rays through a high window and directly on to his face.

At which point he’d stumbled back upstairs, ready to argue with Lin if she tried to send him away again. Except she’d taken one look at him, quietly nodded to herself and gathered all her equipment, telling him that she had done all that she could and that the worst seemed to be in the past but that she couldn’t promise anything. It was the gentleness in her voice that had scared him more than anything.

So when the boy finally opened his eyes, only to squint them against the late morning sunlight streaming through the window, Ruilian found himself rushing about to draw the curtains and help him to some water, more relieved than he wanted to admit even to himself. And when the boy identified himself in a low groggy voice as Dante, Ruilian accepted it without question.

He had been prepared for all sorts of awkward questions himself, ranging from his identity to why Ruilian had decided to bring him to what was obviously his home instead of taking him to a hospital or, god, a police station, but thankfully the boy had had nothing to say beyond a quiet thank you. Worrying that perhaps he was worse off than he appeared (- as if that were even possible, said the voice in his head harshly recounting Lin’s clipped account of three broken ribs, a gunshot wound, all the accompanying blood loss and a concussion)- Ruilian asked if there was someone he could contact for him, family perhaps? Dante had sat there looking blankly into space, for long enough that Ruilian grew even more concerned, before shaking his head softly and then wincing as if even that little movement hurt. “No, there’s no one.”

Not knowing how to react to that, nor to the complicated tangle of emotions he was feeling, Ruilian had excused himself from the room, only to return with Lin and all the food he could carry. Introducing her as the doctor that had patched him up, Ruilian watched him shrink from her even as he dutifully repeated his thanks. Lin seemed to pick up on his discomfort and assured him that she only wanted to make sure that he was out of danger so could she please just check his vitals. Dante seemed as surprised as Ruilian felt – she had most certainly never asked his permission before poking at him – but assented. By the time she was done, he even managed a polite smile, though it was a shadow of the one Ruilian remembered.

“Well?”, asked Ruilian, following her into the corridor.

“He needs to eat. And rest. I don’t even know how he’s awake, let alone sitting up.”

“But he’ll be alright?”

She looked at him, exasperated. Then her expression softened. “Yeah, long as he doesn’t move about too much and lets the worst of his injuries heal. He’s a tough kid, wherever you picked him up from.”

A pointed pause. Ruilian smiled his sweetest smile at her. She waited another second before snapping, “God, Zan, tell me he’s not a Golden Tiger.”

“He’s not a Golden Tiger.”

She stared at him for a little longer, obviously trying to tell if he was lying to her. “Whatever”, she finally growled. “Get him to eat A-Shin’s soup. And then sleep.”

“Yes, doctor”, said Ruilian, giving her a three finger promise. “Any other instructions?”

“Yes. Be careful.”

Ruilian almost laughed at that. The boy was practically covered in bandages. Like some sort of mummy. “Of what?”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. “Never mind. Just… be careful.”

And, with that, she was gone. “How can I be careful when you won’t tell me what of??” he called after her. Of course, she neither paused nor looked back. Ruilian wondered if he should have told her her that she’d probably just helped save the life of a cop. Knowing her, though, it wouldn’t have made too much of a difference. Hell, she was so nice to him even when she thought he was part of the Tigers. Cops were better than tigers, even if only marginally.

He reopened the door to find Dante sitting up and staring at nothing. But his flushed face made his attempt at eavesdropping obvious. Adorable, thought Ruilian before he could help himself. And suddenly Lin’s parting warning seemed a lot more reasonable than it had moments ago. Making up his mind, he set the tray piled with bowls of soup and bread in front of Dante, and bade him eat up, retreating to the doorway and fully intending to leave after he was done chattering about how Lin was better than any doctor he had ever met and how certain she was that as long as he ate well and rested, he would be fine in no time.

Dante had sat with his long fingers wrapped around the wooden spoon that Ruilian had thrust at him along with the tray, listening without a word, until Ruilian finally stopped rambling long enough to ask what he was waiting for.

Dante’s face flushed. “I don’t like eating alone”, he’d all but mumbled. And despite the rational part of his brain telling him to walk away and to do it quickly, Ruilian found himself pulling up a bowl for himself and settling down on the chair by the bed. He spent the next half hour talking about the most absurd inanities, ranging from the weather to the antics of the short legged cat that had declared itself master of his overgrown garden. And was rewarded by the occasional smile from Dante that never failed to remind him of the one he had given him when they had first run into each other – literally. He was dying to know what that had been about, but knew no way to even broach the topic without all the dangerous context.

Regardless, it was worth it. By the time Ruilian had finally talked his way through one small bowl of pork rib and lotus stem soup, Dante had had at least three and was struggling to keep his eyes open. Gently tugging the dishes away, Ruilian had insisted he get some more rest and promised to wake him up for dinner.

Looking a lot less troubled and more human than when he had first woken up, Dante had given him another wan smile, the memory of which Ruilian safely tucked away with all the others, and fallen asleep almost before his head had even hit the pillow.

That, thought Ruilian, guiltily for some reason, was nearly ten hours ago.

First encounters and final thoughts

Dante was pretty sure that he was dead.

Or, at the least, dying.

Not just because he had been shot, no. Even at nineteen, this wasn’t the first time he’d been blessed with that fun experience.

But, he thought ruefully, this was definitely the first time that he had fucked up so bad. He’d been had, no doubt about it. Thought he was heading for a regular stake out, only to end up walking -no -waltzing straight into an ambush. Suddenly, going alone to what was most likely the den of the Golden Tigers, as they unironically called themselves, didn’t seem like the wisest of choices.

He was well aware that the only reason he hadn’t been killed off immediately was because they were convinced that he knew more than he did. And it was nothing but sheer luck that a rival gang, (the Crows, most likely, as far as Dante could tell from all the black clothes and the actual feathers in their caps), had apparently decided to make a move before his “interrogation” had ended. And his life with it.

The chaos had been all the diversion he’d needed to make his escape, even with the broken rib and the concussion he was sure he had.

Except, he seemed to have made said “escape” straight into said rival gang’s vanguard – and the crossfire between the two.

Under normal circumstances, this would have only been an ordinary problem.

But, considering Dante hadn’t slept in days, most of which time he had spent being kicked around for answers he would never have given up even if he had had them to begin with, to say that these were not normal circumstances was an understatement of epic proportions.

Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure he’d been shot, at least once, even as he fled after tricking his panicking guard into unlocking the tiny room they’d hastily shoved him into once the attack began.

The same attack he had apparently just wandered into the midst of. Armed with nothing but a pistol wrested – from the said guard – with God only knew how many bullets left in there.

And as if that weren’t enough, the first person he literally walked into, even as he stumbled for cover from the bullets raining down around him, was this ridiculously handsome man, dressed in so much black, yet looking down at him with the face of an angel. The man steadied him instinctively, even as Dante looked up at his slightly out of focus expression and vaguely determined him to be about a head taller. A very pretty head, he thought, clearly losing all ability to think rationally.

His right hand was still gripping the stolen gun tightly, but he felt his finger relax around the trigger. There was no way he could shoot someone this good looking. Not without great reason. And a rapidly slimming chance of survival suddenly just didn’t seem worth it.

Maybe, he thought deliriously, even as the gun slipped through his numb fingers, maybe he was already dead, and this was the soul reaper sent up to collect his soul. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought, and at the man still staring down at him with his large clear liquid brown eyes.

All things considered, there were worse endings to be had.

Firsts

By the time Ruilian was done with his debriefing with the core committee, there were only minutes left to midnight. Walking out of the nondescript seemingly abandoned building, he paused for a decidedly casual moment before choosing a random direction to start walking in.

As much as he was itching to head straight home, he knew better. Especially now, when he had finally managed to save up enough to get a place he actually liked living in. With such a lovely garden too, even if he hadn’t yet had the time to do anything with it. Thinking of the garden got him thinking about the stray cat that had wandered in one morning as if it owned the place, and since refused to leave. And just like that, he was suddenly thinking about the boy again.

He tried reminding himself that he had left strict instructions with his small but loyal staff to make sure the guest sleeping on the top floor of his new little mansion was left undisturbed – but that was when he was expecting to be home in a couple of hours. Not six. The poor kid was probably starving.

He’s not a kid, the annoying voice in his head pointed out. He’s a man. And not just any man, but a POLICEman. What the hell are you even thinking?

Gritting his teeth against the burst of unwanted rationality, he turned abruptly into a narrow alley, where he discarded his oversized shabby coat in a lopsided bin in one fluid move, even as he pulled out a cap from its pocket and jammed it low on his head, all without breaking his stride. He already had a much thinner jacket on underneath, a little light for this time of the night, but as long as was walking briskly, he didn’t think he’d feel the cold.

He only hesitated for a second at the next crossroad, making sure to choose the darker street. The paranoia came naturally to him. The randomization of routine, not so much. Ruilian had always been a creature of habit. Which is why, he supposed, his bizarre actions over the last few days had him feeling so unsettled.

The job itself had gone off smoothly. The top brass was suitably impressed. A promotion was in the offing. Was it that heady mix of success that had led him to make the strange choices that he had?

Thinking of the cold pale boy with the tousled hair that had pretty much fallen into his arms two days ago, Ruilian didn’t believe that was it. Or, at least, not all of it.

Of course, he had had no way of knowing for certain that the kid was a cop, and not just because of how shockingly young he looked. But he would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn’t guessed. Then what was it that made him pick the boy up – surprisingly heavy for someone so skinny -and drag him to his car? And then take him home?

Ruilian couldn’t be sure, but he guessed it had something to do with the way the boy had blinked up at him before lowering his gun. Sure, it could have just been blood loss, for the boy had obviously been shot. And beaten up. Probably tortured. But Ruilian couldn’t help but think of how easy it would have been to shoot him in the moment they first collided. After all, Ruilian hadn’t even had his own gun drawn. But the boy had simply looked up at him, blinked twice, and then dropped his gun at his feet, giving him the smallest wan smile before crumbling next to it. And with only seconds to decide, Ruilian had decided.

And that was how he had ended up with a cop in his bed.

The first time, anyway.

Waking Up

The room was dark, except for the silver light of an oversized moon streaming in through a shattered window. A young child stood in its path, with tousled brown hair that rustled with the wind, his shadow looming ahead of him.

The boy’s gaze was fixed upon a single object on the floor. A woman’s shoe, white, but spattered with something that glistened red in a sudden flash of lightning.

Just beyond the boy, and his shadow, and the shoe, was a door, slightly open. Barely an inch. The boy knew he should go to it, but couldn’t seem to get himself to move away from the only source of light in that dark and empty house. Even as he stood there with his fists clenched, as if trying to will the very sun into rising in the middle of the night, the faint light around him began to grow even fainter. With terror writ large on his tearful face, he turned slowly towards the window, only to watch the last of the storm clouds blot out the moon, leaving him alone in the absolute dark.

The thought of crying out for help didn’t even strike him.

There was no one left to call out to.

Dante woke up with a start, only to let out a gasp-turned-hiss as the sudden move twisted something at his side. Heart thudding furiously, he tried to blink away the pain, his mind simultaneously registering the light of a soft lamp burning beside him. His first feeling was one of overwhelming relief. Quickly followed by confusion. He didn’t own a bedside table. Come to think of it, the bed he was in was a lot softer than he was used to as well.

He tried sitting up again, slower this time, exhaling gratefully when he managed to do so without feeling like his insides were tearing. Wincing at the returning memories of the previous evening’s encounter, and berating himself for his foolishness, he glanced about him, taking in the room that was both familiar yet not. Spacious, but still barely furnished, with the large bed he was occupying and two small tables on each side of it the only real pieces of furniture. There was an armchair by the window, but it looked like it had been dragged in from elsewhere. He then noticed the glass of water by the lamp, – what he assumed was water, anyway – and grabbed at it gratefully. He’d just finished gulping it down when the door opened (with an audible click, noted Dante), and Ruilian walked in.

“Oh, good, you’re awake”

“Hi”, said Dante, sounding just as sheepish as he felt in that moment.

“Hi, yourself”, said Ruilian, walking up to his side and shooting him a wry smile. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” He paused for a moment, forcing Dante to tilt his head up to look at him, before carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed so as to not shake it.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

Ruilian raised one shapely eyebrow before shooting a pointed look at his freshly bandaged side.

Dante flushed and waved it away. “It’s nothing. Just got into a scuffle. Umm, sorry for the trouble.”

“A scuffle”, repeated Ruilian, in a voice so mild that Daniel wasn’t sure if he was imagining the underlying fury. Damn. He couldn’t even blame Ruilian. Dante was quite furious with himself too. Of all the places he could have dragged himself to, why did it have to be this door? And it didn’t help that his memory of the previous evening was disjointed at best. The last thing he remembered was knocking on Ruilian’s door. He had been pretty certain he had passed out immediately after. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Yeah… I… Sorry, but I don’t remember much from last night…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling unfairly small, as he often did in the older man’s presence. I am a Police Officer, he reminded himself. Graduated with the highest score the Academy has ever seen. Promoted twice in a year. Have the highest arrests second year running.

But somehow, under Lian’s withering glare, none of that seemed to matter.

Something in his face must have reflected how he was feeling, because Lian’s face abruptly softened before he turned away, staring into the light of the lamp.

Dante followed his gaze. That lamp was lit for you, his brain supplied helpfully, even as he struggled with piecing together what had happened last night. He remembered how much you hate waking up in the dark.

“You showed up here, just after midnight, slurring. I thought you were drunk.”

Dante felt the blood rushing to his face. “Sorry.”

It was Ruilian’s turn to wave Dante’s words away. “Don’t worry about it. Makes us even.”

Dante looked up at him sharply. “How?”

Ruilian seemed taken aback at the intensity of Dante’s question. They stared at each other for a moment that slowly seemed to stretch out too long.

Ruilian was the first to look away, “I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in telling me how you got that?”

Reunion

He had just finished getting the evening’s blood off his clothes, and was pouring himself a much needed drink, preparing to head upstairs for the night, when he first heard the knock on the door.

So faint a rapping, that for a moment he wasn’t sure he had imagined it. After all, there weren’t too many people that would dare approach this manor. Especially not after dark.

And those that did weren’t the kind to knock.

Then he heard it again. A little louder than before, but still muffled, almost as if someone was pressed against the door even as they knocked.

Picking up the pistol that was still lying holstered on the table before him, he quietly made his way to the window, not sure yet if he was relieved that he was the only one home at the moment. He had briefly considered – then dismissed – the possibility that it was Julius or one of the Langs returning unexpectedly. Not only did they have their own keys, of the three of them, only Lin ever used the front door. And that was not the kind of knock he expected of her.

Using his free hand to slightly lift the heavy dark curtains from one corner, he peeked outside. It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the darkness, but then his eyes widened at the sight.

Swearing under his breath, he strode to the door in five long steps and yanked it open, only for the person standing outside, and apparently completely leaning on it, to stumble into his arms.

“What are you doing here, detective?”, he asked the brown haired teenage boy that was now blinking up at him, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

“Hey, Rui”, the boy said, voice slurring enough for a bit of his usually well suppressed accent to creep in to his voice. “No detective tonight. Just Dante. Suspended.” He pushed himself up straight until Ruilian was left holding just one elbow, no longer certain who he was trying to keep upright. Dante started as if to say something, but stumbled again.

Ruilian frowned at him, “Have you been drinking?”

It was then that he noticed the ever widening pool of something dark and sticky at their feet, dripping down his arm from where it held on to Dante’s. His eyes snapped back up to the boy’s face. Dante grimaced, now swaying slightly on his feet. “Something like that.”

Then his knees buckled and he fell, Ruilian barely catching him before his head hit the floor.

Leave Me Alone

6th October 2008

Leave me alone…

Were those not your last words to me, dear Sayuri?

They must have been.

I still remember that night you know…

It was really cold, and I could tell you had been crying.

I could have asked.

I should have said something.

Asked how you were doing, whether you needed anything, if everything was okay, anything!

Instead, I tilted my new hat at you and nodded.

And you smiled back.

Just a tiny little smile, but it made me really happy, you know?

That you cared enough to try and smile for me even though you were sad…

Though, I know you would have done the same for anyone who smiled at you…

Still, as you walked away in that light rain

with the shadows growing behind you as you walked further into the dark night in your inky black dress…

I thought that there was still a chance that we could fix the mess we had made.

Thought things were finally getting better…

I didn’t say a word.

And the next morning they told me you were dead.

Wait a minute Sayuri darling.

Let me pour myself a drink. It’s been too long.

And where did I keep that damned matchbox?!

Sorry, where was I?

I remember the day we spent at the beach

It seems like such a long long time ago

Akane was there too, along with him.

That was nice.

We laughed a lot, all of us.

Sang silly songs all the way there and back.

And you spoke to me as if everything was fine.

As if nothing had been broken.

Like you could not see the past anymore.

And I don’t know if that hurt or helped.

But, I do know that I liked the way your dark hair flew about your pale face

and I liked the black dress you wore…

like the one you were wearing the last time I saw you...

Another drink, Sayuri.

Just hold on.

No, I’m not drinking too much.

Just another shot…

You know what?

I wish I knew you before…

Before all the pills, and the drinking…

I know you’d be mad at me for saying this

I know you would say it would have been the same…

But would it have?

Maybe then you would have said you loved me

Maybe then I would have said the same…

Maybe I would have stopped by that night.

We wouldn’t have had that stupid argument…

Do you remember that night?

I do.

I wish I didn’t.

But now, I realize that it was the last time I ever heard your voice…

And so, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.

I won’t be able to forget the screaming

the thunder

the shattering of the vase (the crystal one Inari gave you for your b’day)

the yelling

the tears that filled up in your eyes – the ones you rubbed away before they ever had a chance to fall…

I’ll never forget the way you looked at me that night

The anger

the disbelief

and the pain…

‘Just leave me alone.’

Want to know a secret?

It wasn’t the screaming that made me leave…

It was that look.

Your words.

I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you…

and I realized I had.

Over and over,

So, I packed up my bags and left.

Didn’t even kiss you goodbye.

Left you alone, with only your “substances” for company.

Left a shaky you trying to pour a drink into a glass.

Didn’t even offer to help.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t bat an eyelid when that other guy moved in.

Didn’t say a word to you when I ever ran into you anywhere.

Didn’t say anything when I saw the first bruise.

Didn’t listen to the rumors…

I didn’t know.

I didn’t know he hurt you.

I didn’t want to know.

So… I didn’t.

I don’t know why I smiled at you last night, Sayuri.

Perhaps I thought it was finally time.

Maybe it was the fact that it was raining, and I always love you more when it rains.

But I didn’t say a word…

Would things be different if I had spoken to you?

Would it have changed anything?

Would they still find your body in that bathtub?

I wonder what the last thing you thought of was…

Were you scared?

Did you close your eyes when you drew that line?

Did it hurt?

Leave me alone…

Those were your last words to me…

and I wish I had never listened…

Unforgiven II: Flashback

It looked like rain, Lord Stone thought distractedly, as he made his way towards the North Quadrant of the Castle grounds. He could see her at the top of the tallest tower, the deep red gown framed against the twilight sky. A familiar sight, he thought warmly, despite the cold and exhaustion seeping through his bones.

He climbed the long flight of stairs to the chamber at the top. Home, came the unbidden thought. For now, he corrected himself sternly. The war was moving North, and he would have to set off with his men, soon.

He flung off his cape as soon as he entered the room, not pausing as he moved to the balcony, where she stood leaning against the railing.

She smiled at him as he walked up to her and kissed her forehead, and somewhere in time and space, a heart shattered into pieces. But the two of them didn’t hear a thing over the thunderclouds that hung over them like carrion birds come to claim their prey.

They stood together in silence for a while, watching farmers and village folk scurry around in the distance, preparing for the incoming storm. Another familiar sight he would miss once the war began in earnest. Suppressing a sigh, he inclined his head slightly towards her, and she smiled without turning to face him.

“What?”, they said together, and her smile turned into a grin.

“Why are you sighing?” she asked, sniffing at him curiously.

“I am not,” he replied, indignant.

“Okay.. Why are you not sighing?”

He looked at her for a moment, before turning away and fixing his gaze on the horizon.

She followed his stare.

“Storm’s coming.”

“I know.”

“It’s not safe here.”

“I can look after myself.”

He shook his head, frustrated at her stubborn refusal to go back to the city, where he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

“I will leave soon”, he said, a coldness creeping into his voice that he wasn’t proud of.

She turned to face him, and he could feel her eyes searching his face for something he damn well was not going to let her find.

She closed her eyes and turned towards the setting sun again.

“I will wait for you. Here.”

I don’t want you to, he thought. I’d rather you be safe and happy. I don’t think I will return. And, I cannot take you with me. I won’t be able to protect you. I only want to protect you.

He said nothing. Only took her cold hand in his own as he watched her raise her face to catch the rain that had just begun to fall, fixing the memory of her smile in his mind and hoping she would someday forgive him for what he knew he would have to do.

She opened her eyes just as a flash of lightning illuminated the skies, and for an instant, he saw a glimpse of the path she could have taken, the severity with which she could ensure retribution. But then she turned towards him, only mercy in her eyes, and he knew he had nothing to worry about. She’d forgive him nearly anything.

Nearly.

Song as Sung by Prince Lir to Lady Amalthea, from “The Last Unicorn” (by Peter S. Beagle)

“When I was a young man, and very well thought of,
I couldn’t ask aught that the ladies denied.
I nibbled their hearts like a handful of raisins,
And I never spoke love but I knew that I lied.

“But I said to myself, ‘Ah, they none of them know
The secret I shelter and savor and save.
I wait for the one who will see through my seeming,
And I’ll know when I love by the way I behave.’

“The years drifted over like clouds in the heavens;
The ladies went by me like snow on the wind.
I charmed and I cheated, deceived and dissembled,
And I sinned, and I sinned, and I sinned, and I sinned.

“But I said to myself, ‘Ah, they none of them see
There’s part of me pure as the whisk of a wave.
My lady is late, but she’ll find I’ve been faithful,
And I’ll know when I love by the way I behave.’

“At last came a lady both knowing and tender,
Saying, ‘You’re not at all what they take you to be.’
I betrayed her before she had quite finished speaking,
And she swallowed cold poison and jumped in the sea.

“And I say to myself, when there’s time for a word,
As I gracefully grow more debauched and depraved,
‘Ah, love may be strong, but a habit is stronger,
And I knew when I loved by the way I behaved.”

Late Goodbyes: First draft

It was a cold winter evening, the full moon already making its way slowly up into the stormy sky, sometimes hidden, then shining brightly through angry clouds. There was no other source of light in that cold English graveyard. Something that sounded like a clap of abnormally loud thunder startled a young owl into abandoning his hunt with an indignant hoot, immediately followed by a mad scrabbling sound, eerie until identified as badly laced shoes shuffling through the fallen leaves and twigs scattered all around, and over, the unkempt graves.

A girl scrambled out from behind an old twisted tree, and her eyes were wide with fear. She clutched at her side as she stopped to catch her breath, and the owl gazed sympathetically at the still-bleeding cut on her forehead. A muffled shout in the distance made both girl and owl turn warily towards the distant church, long abandoned to the elements. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, and as the moon shone momentarily from between the clouds, it reflected off the steel he carried in his hand.

The girl seemed to have frozen in her place, and she watched the hooded man slowly make his way towards her.

“Don’t make me hunt you down, sweetheart.”, he called out, and she trembled at the toneless sound of his voice.

He kept moving towards her, a deceptively relaxed finger poised above the trigger. She no longer believed he would not shoot her dead if she ran.

“Why are you doing this?”, she asked him, eyes full of grief and confusion.

He was close enough now for her to see him glaring at her, and her eyes widened as he raised his arm slowly until the gun was pointed at her, but she made no other move.

He smirked at her, and then fired.

The bullet flew off into the open sky, and the Owl took flight. She couldn’t stop her heart from sinking at that fitting final act of betrayal as she stood alone before him.

“You don’t have to do this”, she whispered, voice low and steady.

The hooded man took another step towards her, “You know you left me with no other choice.”

She bristled at that, “Don’t pretend like my choices had anything to do with what happened! That was all you!!”, she snapped at him, stepping forward herself.

He waved the gun at her gently, “Stay still, babe.”

“You don’t get to call me that”, she muttered under her breath; nevertheless keeping still, her eyes fixed warily upon his gun.

A moment of silence passed, and the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

The girl watched him as he took one out, lit it and inhaled deeply.

“Are you really going to kill me?”, she asked, plaintively, after he was halfway through his cigarette.

He looked at her thoughtfully, “I think so, yes.”

The girl glared at him, then looked sadly at the ground, “In that case, can I have one as well?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I thought you weren’t supposed to be smoking.”

A moment of silence, and then the both of them burst into laughter, the sound echoing strangely across the empty graveyard. They held their sides as they laughed, and she had to kneel down and he had to lean against a tree, and yet they could not stop laughing.

Until she rushed at him with something she had pulled out of her boot, and he instinctively raised his weapon and shot her. She cried out, then smiled, then fell in slow motion to the ground. He kicked over her outstretched hand to find a red rose clutched so tightly that the thorns had poked holes into her skin and embedded itself there, even as she bled around it. And around the bullet wound in her chest. She tried to speak, then coughed up some blood, painfully, and he stared down at her with eyes full of horror.

He knelt down then, cradling her blood soaked hair in his hands, “Why did you do that?” “Why did you make me do that?!”

She smiled at him, and tried to speak again.

He leaned in and pulled her closer even as she whispered something over and over again.

But understanding the 9 words she said in quick succession until he lost her to all the blood seeping into the earth no matter how hard he tried to keep it all inside her, that understanding drove him mad.

And after that night, his face lived under a cloud that never seemed to leave, his laugh never sounded quite the same, and at night, it was said that you could hear him cursing and raging through any thunderstorm, though curiously enough, he appeared perfectly calm and composed the next day, and his loyalest circle of servants made no mention or explanation of the absurd quantities of chinaware, mirrors and glasses they would constantly be acquiring and disposing stealthily off.

And the women he was involved with, only they knew of the nine words he would whisper in his sleep after a tiring, fun-filled evening at home. (Though the ones who mentioned it to him, or anyone at all actually, they never saw him again)

“I love you, I forgive you, We are free.“

The Night Begins

He came to her, as he always did, to their chosen secret place, and she smiled as he appeared, breathing heavily from the long walk uphill.

“You’re too happy”, he grumbled, even before she’d managed to greet him.

“Sorry”

He sighed, “Don’t be like that.”

“Okay.”

Damian frowned, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything further. After all, she had returned to see him again, just as she had said she would. He knew it must not be easy. The tired lines around her eyes as she turned to smile at him made him feel a twinge of guilt. But he shivered at the thought of that empty, aching loneliness which was just waiting to envelop him once she was gone for good, and he cast aside those feelings of guilt. Now was not the time.

Cerid was watching him closely, a strange expression on her face as she watched Damian’s distracted frown go through a series of minor transformations, until he suddenly snapped his icy gray eyes on to her warmer brown ones, and even though she smiled comfortingly at him, the haunted look in his tired eyes made her want to cry.

But, Cerid had not cried since the war had ended. Not once. Not even when she had spent two weeks watching Damian destroy everything around him, until the cursing and swearing and whiskey and screaming was all done with, and all that remained in its place was his pale gaunt frame, surrounded only by endless destruction and stony silence. Her heart had ached as she’d watched, but she hadn’t shed a single tear.

Damian liked to believe that it was because she had run out of tears, and not because other people’s agony and pain affected her more than his. Cerid thought it had something to do with the last battle she’d been part of. Because she had had plenty of tears to shed that day. An all of a sudden, the picture of little Remo, lying in a pool of his blood, flashed through her mind.

He had been a day away from his fifth birthday. She had promised to gift him a real kite. He had been counting down the days. The day of the last air-strike… it was Roberto who had found out first. Damian had been in the middle of his own dilemma. Straddling both sides of the war, he had a difficult decision to make. Even though, technically, he would always be of the Shadow Tribe first. Ceridwyn had been at the forefront of the battle. And she had watched Remo die.

Ceri! Ceri!

She opened her eyes to find Damian kneeling over her, eyes full of worry, “Are you alright?”

She laughed, then, suddenly aware of the bizarreness of the situation. “We have to stop doing this”, she whispered, leaning up into the familiar frame of his body. He swallowed, once, twice. “I understand”, he said, “But what am I supposed to do?”

She shook her head at him, despondent and unsettled, “I love you.”

He looked down at her cautiously, then swallowed again, “I have always loved you.”

“And that’s why you can’t stay”, she whispered, smiling up at him gently, even as her eyes sparkled with waylaid tears.

The baby wouldn’t stop wailing. She knew that it was Arianna’s son. Arianna, who had trusted her and helped them escape when the entire kingdom was against them. Arianna, who now lay buried not far from here, shot in the heart with a poisoned arrow, even as her husband fought on in the Outer Circle with the other Marine Corps. Arianna’s son was trapped inside the burning building, and his mother was injured, and there was no one around to help him. Cerid had already lost a lot of blood. But she could hear the shouts in the distance, and it was clear that victory was imminent. She was just steps away from the designated Tower. She’d get medical attention there, and probably be able to send someone for the baby.

But it would be too late.

And as she turned away from the tower and towards Arianna’s home, for some strange reason, she thought of Damian and the last thing he’d said to her.

Dead to me.

He stared at her for a moment, memorizing every detail of her face as she smiled at him encouragingly. “It’s going to be alright. I’m always going to be here, with you.”

“So,” he began, in a shaky voice, stopping to take a deep breath and continue, “What you’re saying is I’ll never be walking alone.”

She beamed at him then, and for just one tiny moment, Damian forgot all about the last night of the Quarter Century War, when he had returned to the village only to find her overwhelmed and outnumbered against Assassins intending to eliminate all the noble-born children.

He had joined in the battle, and afterwards held her blood soaked body in his arms, as the cheer of celebration and jubilation rang out all around them, and the last of her life ebbed away from her. “Forgive me” he had cried, but it had been too late, and the only answer he had was the silence of the blankness in her empty eyes, just as she had promised him.

Sudden darkness. The hill was empty now. A cold wind rustled past the nearby trees, and a whisper trembled at his ear.

“You’ll never walk alone.”

Damian fell to his knees.

The night had begun.