I Lurv You

The TV gave a whirring spit before the picture popped out of sight, disappearing into blackness. Hellboy peered into that blackness and saw himself reflected back. Great and red, stretched out on that ancient, dirt-brown couch that he loved so much. It wasn't surprising, considering he'd had it since before he'd met Liz, so by now it was worn and weathered—broken-in to perfection . . . even if the springs were visible.

The ragged duster that the paranormal investigator usually donned was draped over the sleeping form beside him. He smiled to himself—an expression few would recognize—and lifted his left hand to touch Liz's halo of raven hair. She had passed out not but minutes ago and now she sat half on the couch and half on the floor. She had practically dropped over with exhaustion, sitting and all. Hellboy brushed hair from her eyes.

"I'm glad she's resting," he thought and he gave a smirk, "She's so pretty . . ."

Hellboy's smile disappeared as his thoughts glided out of his grasp. His eyes raced away from the delicate head resting on his chest, and his mind left the room completely, traveling far—across the ocean, recalling that day a year ago in Moscow.

"She was asleep then too . . ." he reflected.

"No, a voice in the darkness of his mind hissed, "she was dead."

"Asleep," came Hellboy's protest, "She was asleep."

"You killed her. You chose to kill her. Does she know?"

"It was either her or the world!" Hellboy screamed at the voice. That seemed to quiet it, but only for a moment.

"So . . . you chose the world? What has the world done for you? The other voice sounded sinister, "She cared for you . . . does the world care?" Hellboy silenced and a small, throaty chuckle sounded in his head. The voice sighed, "I thought so. To the world you are just another freak. The Yeti, a second Elephant Man . . . you—"

"Shut up!" Hellboy shouted mentally. "I chose right!"

"Did you?" another snigger, "D'you really think that the world would have cared? D'you honestly believe that the world cares about your decision? They would have all died in their sleep, and she would never had to have seen Hell."

"Dammnit! Would you shut up!" Hellboy commanded, his tone was threatening and the voice seemed to fade away into nothingness. His mind swept it away, into the back of his memory. Faintly, he thought he recognized the voice, but he stuffed it away into whatever dark trunk it had been prowling in for all those years. It disturbed him that he knew it—knew that the voice was somehow part of him—a part he had locked away for good.

And it had slipped through the keyhole like a dark shadow.

Hellboy stroked Liz's ebony tresses, trying to calm himself. She seemed calm and at rest—almost departed from the world. His large, stone hand was resting at his side, a heavy reminder of his inhumanity. He grimaced spitefully as if that part of his anatomy was something bizarre to him. As though it were something not his own.

"Oh, but it is yours," hissed the voice as it slithered out from that dark, locked trunk in his mind. "Forged in hell, of woman flesh on earth." The tone cited the words of a prophet Hellboy had heard in a dream once. It had been a very unpleasant dream. "It is yours, my son, bound to you by your own flesh and blood. Our sinew, our bones. They bind us to it with the vengeance of Hell itself: To burn the heavens. It is our duty."

Hellboy frowned in his mind, "Go back to the brain-cell you came from."

"Do you think she would love you any less if she knew?"

"She knows." Hellboy murmured and his golden eyes roamed to her dark head. He took a deep breath, his massive chest expanding. His heart did a summersault against his ribcage, and before his brain could really tell him what to say, he spoke.

"D-d'you know?" His voice was shaking as it came out, barely a whisper. Liz shifted uncomfortably, her face slightly contorted as she stirred. However she did not wake. Relieved, Hellboy laid his head back on the couch with an allayed sigh.

"Yes . . ." a little voice, soft and groggy came and Red snapped up, suddenly alert. Liz was still asleep, but her tiny hand had gone to his leg and she was patting him there lopsidedly. "I lurv you too, H.B.:" Her hand drooped off of him and fell to her side along with a large curtain of her hair. Hellboy sat stunned, a tiny laugh escaping him.

For several long minutes his brain idled and no thoughts drifted across its plane: But then, thoughts were suddenly races in his mind like thousands of tiny, black, houseflies. And the only thing he could say in his breathless state was those two, huge, meaningful words. The phrase told volumes.

"She knows."

Fin

What did you think? Review please; I really like it when you do it. ( Sorry that sounded wrong) I think I'm going to keep adding to this "thing" until I have a collection of Hellboy drabbles. So! Next little tidbit—Baby H.B. tries to imitate Gene Autry, the Singing Cowboy. Won't bode well for Bruttenholm I expect.

Keep reviewing, and I'll keep writing.

Peace out!