Disclaimer: Do not own.

Title: Vocem Mortis

Part I

It didn't take long once people saw him to touch him, like he wasn't real. It didn't make sense, but he supposed it was better than the screaming he'd received earlier in his so-called life. "To be or not to be?" He tuned out the voice, they were a moron anyway. Someone else spoke up. "Alas poor Yorik." He would have smiled if he could for once someone had gotten it correct. "Whatever." He was dropped back onto the shelf and was alone again. He watched as people came and went. Another hand grasped him. "Romeo! Romeo! Where for art thou Romeo?" He gagged. If he could, that is. A giggle came from someone he couldn't see. All of a sudden he was falling. The tile floor hurt. Well… he imagined that it did. He didn't like it on the cold floor. He liked his shelf. He could see everything from his shelf. He heard footsteps and felt something hit him in the back and he slid along the floor. A scream came soon after when he was finally discovered. He didn't miss that noise. Footsteps quickly left him. The lights went out and he sat in the dark, cold and alone. The next morning he felt something lifting him. "Interesting." He felt his jaw drop. He couldn't believe someone found him interesting. His jaw was reattached and he looked at this creature that found him interesting. A mop of curly hair. Sharp eyes were looking him over, dissecting every one of his curves. He instantly preferred his discoverer to his shelf. He was slid into a bag and again he wanted to smile. He wasn't cold any longer.

He sat on another shelf, but this was different. He was regarded with intrigue at first. But that quickly turned to familiarity. They had many conversations. The boy talked about the oddest things, but he made sure to always reply. Sometimes his words were ignored, other times the voice would stop and stare at him. In those moments, he could have sworn he had finally been heard. "You're right. It's ridiculous." He watched with what he wished was a fond expression as the boy started pacing back and forth occasionally tossing out words and phrases. The boy suddenly stopped and he could feel fingers grasp him. "That's it!" He was picked up and spun around before being placed back on his shelf. "So obvious." With that the boy disappeared.

Time passed and he found himself searching for a new adjective to describe his boy, for he no longer was one. He didn't like man. It didn't feel right. The man looked at him. No. Just wrong. He continued to watch his boy. Until he thought of something different he was going to continue to call him that. Everything around him was being put away in boxes. There was nothing next to him on his shelf he realized. How long had he been list in thought? The boxes were slowly disappearing. He hadn't been moved. He couldn't even remember if anyone, for it had not been his boy moving the boxes, had even looked at him. The room was empty. It was starting to get cold. He didn't like this cold. It was worse than the cold of the floor. He hadn't known warmth. He didn't know what truly being acknowledged felt like. He could feel a phantom frown and wondered if this feeling would call for tears he didn't have.

Darkness started to fall and the cold stabbed at him. "Idiots. They can't even follow a simple instruction." That voice! He tried looking around but saw nothing. He must have been hearing things. "I am sorry." He felt his boys fingers on him and the warmth was back. "They must have left you on purpose. You cannot hide." He saw the smile on his boys face and wished he could mirror the joy. He always loved the rare smiles he saw. He slid into the warmth of the long jacket. He could feel the faint thumping of his boy's heart as he rested between strong arm and steady chest. He sat perched on a bouncing knee while they rode through the dark. The warmth he felt had fully refilled him and there was excitement. He was curious as to where they were going. The beating was back and he let it fill him.

He was placed on another shelf but he could see everything from his spot. He realized after some time it was not a shelf but a mantel. He was on a mantel. He couldn't place why but that thought pleased him. Maybe it was because everyone would see him too. He saw his boy, he really needed to think of a better word, collapse onto the sofa across the way. He was mumbling to himself, but no real phrases could be deciphered. Satisfied that he was not needed for discussion he set to figuring out what to call his boy. He had overheard many a phone call, and the rantings of his boy were always full of some information about himself. He knew he helped kill people. No. That was wrong. Helped people who had been killed. He always called himself something. What was it? Consultant! He ran that through. His consultant. That wasn't right either. His detective. He tried. His detective. He liked that. His detective rolled over on the couch and started talking louder. He listened and replied when there was a pause. It didn't take long before his detective was eagerly sitting up with that spark he'd seen so many times. He was near a solution. He stood suddenly. A gasp of surprise escaped his mouth. "Could that be it?" He urged his detective on. It was. You are right. Follow that thought. Go on. "Of course." He could have raced after his detective. He glanced around the room and the boxes filling it before settling in, as much as he could. He liked it here.

Weeks passed and one day he was turned around. The wall didn't reveal anything to him. He could tell something was happening in the room. He didn't like this. He wanted nothing more than to turn around. He sat staring at the wall for what felt like forever. Until thin fingers turned him back to the room. He looked up at his detective. There was something far off in the way he looked. He seemed different. He didn't like it. This odd movement. Then the strange expression. His detective was making him worry. It started happening more often. He'd be moved then that vacant expression would cover his detective's face.

One day he wasn't moved. He watched in horror as his detective set about destroying himself. That face was there once again then his detective noticed he had forgotten and that his secret had been discovered. It didn't take much more time before someone else discovered. He could see the small similarities between the man and his detective. His detective was yelling. Harsh mean words. Words he'd never heard before. Words he had never imagined his detective would say. The man, this time it felt right using that word, stood unmoved. He held his umbrella in both hands and only started talking after his detective had stopped. "You will do this." His detective started yelling again. He wished someone would turn him around so he wouldn't have to watch how the anger raising off his detective distorted his face, but there he sat watching the man take the verbal barrage without showing anything. They finally left. He knew he wouldn't see his detective for sometime, but the cold did not come. He was glad for this absence. He knew he would have his boy, his detective, back when they returned.

More time passed and the conversations started up again. He was glad. The odd words comforted him. Things were going back to normal. He heard the door open and two sets of feet walked in. He eyed the intruder as they looked around the room. He looked to his detective. Something was wrong. His detective was watching the intruder closely. Watching him as he glanced around the room. LEAVE! He tried calling. He looked pleadingly at his detective. He paused. The words felt wrong again. They left and the cold returned harsher than it ever had before.

A/N: This is part 1 of 3. I was loosely inspired by... a fic I read. I, like a fool, forgot to favorite it even though it was amazing! i am going to find it and update this note. Please let me know what you think. :D