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.
The Revolution Breathes Fire 