Corps et âme
Chapter 2 – Galveston
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Warnings: M/M romance, mentions of depression, self-harm, rated T for teen
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Des yeux qui font baisser les miens
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche
Voilà le portrait sans retouches
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas
Je vois la vie en rose
[Hold me close and hold me fast
The magic spell you cast
This is la vie en rose
When you kiss me, heaven sighs
And though I close my eyes
I see la vie en rose]
…La vie en rose, Édith Piaf
Jean had never been so grateful for the quiet security of his elegant Galveston home. The journey had been beyond harrowing as they raced south and east, stopping only to find shelter from the encroaching sun and lift another body to keep Paul healing.
The second evening on the road, Paul's skin had started coming back in thin, red patches scattered across his torso. His throat and mouth were restored, a mixed blessing, for he could then drink well enough, but the pain of the healing process as his nerves regenerated over open flesh left him a panting, whimpering mess, curled up and clinging to Jean as they flew down darkened highways, Andrew pushing the car to its limit.
A week past that terrible night, and a dozen bodies deep, and Jean's dear friend was nearly recovered, at least in body. Paul sat, wrapped around himself, on the plush divan in the sitting room.
Jean had put on a record of French classics to break the sad silence that seemed to have settled over the house since their return, but even the soft strains of darling Édith could not lighten the mood.
He didn't need to touch Paul's mind to know how he felt, though he easily could have. As desiccated as the poor boy had been, the blood he'd drank from Jean had effectively re-sired him, remaking Paul as one of Jean's own.
If he wanted, Jean could command Paul to talk, open up to him, reach out to him as once he had when Jean had visited Santa Carla in the past, when he'd become entranced with the vibrant, sunshine-bright blonde who's zest for life had captured him as surely as a dark moth to a flame. He would never though, could never, force the light of his life to do anything he did not want to, or was not ready for. Breaking the trust that was so terribly fragile in the aftermath of Paul's trauma would surely destroy them both.
Instead, he approached his friend slowly, kneeling in front of the huddled figure to slide a light hand up the boy's back. Paul flinched at his touch, back bowing out from under his hand.
"Leave me alone!" the reedy voice thick with pain was muffled by the fabric of the couch Paul now clung to, face buried in the soft velvet.
"Ange, please… please don't turn away. Let me help you."
"I don't want your help! I want my brothers; I want to be with my brothers…why did they…leave me?"
The anguish in Paul's voice hit Jean like a spike through his heart. Pink-tinged tears glistened in his wine-dark eyes as he knelt before his troubled friend.
"Sweet ange, they didn't leave you…they never would have. You know they were taken, as you nearly were."
"Where are they? Why didn't you save them too? WHY ONLY ME?" Paul was nearly screaming, curling again into himself, nails drawing blood where he clutched his legs tight.
"Paul, dearest, I've told you, there was nothing left to save. Only ashes and pieces, burnt beyond repair. I would have, I swear, if only for your sake."
Paul turned in a flash, leaping at Jean to knock him over, crouching atop him with eyes red and face monstrous, roaring in anger. "YOU LIE!"
Jean was calm, face tinged with sadness as he spoke softly. "You know I don't, ange. You could see for yourself if you like. I will not hide the truth from you."
Paul stared for a moment, eyes hard, only to crumble like a puppet with cut strings, laying atop Jean in a shaking heap. Jean wanted nothing more than to gather the boy up and hold him tight, but held back, waiting for a sign of acceptance.
"I never wanted this!" the sad whisper came as Paul bunched up, fists clenching. He sprang up and away, heading for the doorway with a parting shot. "You should have let me die." Disappearing up into the darkened bedroom Jean had offered him, he slammed the door shut behind him, rattling it hard in its frame.
Andrew came in quietly as Jean sat up, rubbing his face and sighing.
"That's the longest he stayed out of the room yet. Perhaps he is improving?"
Jean stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his robe before retying it. Sitting down heavily on divan, he ran his hand gently over the place where Paul had rested his head.
"And he actually reached out, if being tackled counts." He smiled wryly at Andrew, who nodded back with patient sympathy.
"Care for a drink, sir? May I suggest the '63 Dartigalongue?"
"Excellent idea, Andrew, and leave the bottle."
…...
The nights seemed to merge together that summer, with little change in Paul's demeanor. The anger and hurt that seemed to bubble under the surface lingered, and he avoided almost any contact or attempt at comfort, despite Jean's gentle efforts. Only the slow deterioration of his hygiene marked the passing of time.
As a vampire with more than two centuries of afterlife under his belt, Jean liked to think he had learned something of patience, but the cloying scent of rot that clung to the layers of filth building up on his charge was pressing his limits. Sad enough that Paul seemed not to care for himself, but the decomposing dregs tended to slough off him as he roamed the mansion, leaving a charnel house aroma that hung beneath the fine French florals Jean favored. Poor Claudette was beside herself, unable to find anything that worked more than briefly to drive the odor away.
At least Paul was finally willing to leave the house, hunt with him in the hinterlands of Houston. With so many tiny towns dotted with dive bars and strip joints, there was never a lack of food too addled to notice even Paul's ripe aroma before death took them.
But Paul had changed there too, no longer delighted to play cat and mouse, draw out the chase till the quarry dropped, panting with fear of the terror hiding in the dark. He would descend, swift and brutally vicious, as soon as they were safe from observation, sooner if Jean wasn't watching carefully, holding Paul back when necessary to enforce one of the few rules he stood firm on.
More often than not, cleanup involved collecting pieces strewn about the landscape, to dispose of in the nearest waterway. The local papers thrummed with rumors of a vicious serial killer unofficially dubbed the 'Baytown Ripper' tied to half a dozen victims, or what was left of them. It was making hunting far more of a challenge than Jean liked.
After a kill, Paul would do little more than lick the blood off his fingers, seemingly content to be covered in accumulating layers of gore. Claudette refused to go into his room and change the sheets, and Jean blamed her not at all.
On a thick and sultry evening that promised storms before dawn, the pair came back from hunting, Andrew holding the door and eyeing Paul's retreating form with exceptionally restrained distaste. Jean sighed, placing a hand on his butler's shoulder. Andrew inclined his head with a pale smile.
"I believe there are bot flies that enjoy dead flesh?" Andrew's soft comment had just enough nuance to his lilted English that one could read it as either an attempt at humor or a serious suggestion. Only the tilt of his eyebrow gave his levity away.
"Dearest friend, at this point they'd not know where to stop, and we'd be back to the start where we found him." Jean winked, brushing down his coat and walking after Paul. The time had truly come.
"Paul" he called softly; thankful the tall blonde tilted his head to acknowledge his address.
"Come with me, keep me company?" he stood at the grand stairway that led to their rooms. Paul shrugged, but ambled his direction, eyes still red from their recent feeding. This was as promising a sign as any Jean had seen.
Paul followed quietly as they ascended to Jean's suite of rooms, draping himself over a chaise as Jean changed out of his hunting clothes in to a pair of black silk pants and matching robe. It took steely determination not to wince at the residue smearing his antique fainting couch. If Paul cleaned up it would be well worth a piece of furniture or two.
He made small talk about the hunt as he moved in and out of the suite's well-appointed bathroom, grabbing up a few handcloths and soap, spirits high. Claudette had left a pitcher of steaming water at the wash basin in the bedroom and he had never been more grateful.
Pouring water into the small, ceramic basin, he took a cloth and began cleaning his face and hands. Paul was quiet, seeming to be almost asleep as he lay stretched out. Steeling himself, Jean took a clean cloth and wet it, wringing out the excess before coming to kneel in front of his friend.
"Paul? Paul, will you let me wash you?"
Paul's eyes slid open, now pale blue. A frown creased his forehead as he considered Jean's kneeling figure.
"What's the matter? Not good enough for you? Am I stinking up your lovely home?" the acid dripping from Paul's words belied the look on his face, eyes suddenly bright, afraid to meet Jean's own.
"Oh, ange. It is you who are far too good for me. There is nothing in this house I value more than you and your happiness."
Paul curled to sit, still avoiding Jean's gaze, though he'd yet to shrug off the light hands Jean rested on his knees. The deep rumbling bass of distant thunder seemed to punctuate his inner turmoil.
"What if I'm never happy? What if I can't be anything but…this… ever again?" The painful whisper barely escaped Paul's bent form.
"Then I will stay with you, stand by your side, so you know you are not alone in your pain." Jean whispered back.
"you CAN'T SAY THAT!" Paul roared. "YOU'LL LEAVE! JUST LIKE THEY DID!" He stood, pulling away from Jean. "NO ONE WANTS ME!" He ran out of the room as the house shook, nearby thunder rattling the old windows and shutters.
Jean sighed, running a hand through his inky hair. So close, yet so far away. The light of his life was flickering like a candle in the hurricane of pain and loss he'd been subject to. Paul had always felt somehow lesser, disregarded and overlooked. The torture of his near-death experience seemed to have exacerbated that outlook.
Deep in thought, he almost missed Andrew's polite brush against his mind.
"Sir, Paul just left the house."
"Thank you, Andrew."
"Sir, there's a bit of a storm…?"
Jean's head snapped up, finally registering the short intervals between bouts of deep bass rumbles reverberating through the house. Moving swiftly, he flew down the stairs and out the door, barely giving Andrew a nod as he passed.
Outside was a tempest, winds whipping rain nearly horizontal as Jean stood on the porch, centering himself and searching for Paul's presence. There was just the barest flash, towards the eastern beachfront.
"Sir, do you wish our help in finding him?"
"I'll manage, but thank you, Andrew."
He took off for the beach, the weather proving almost a match for his supernatural gift of flight.
The waves were crashing high against the low dunes as he searched for Paul. Knowing it useless to try his voice, he called again mind to mind.
"Paul, please, let me help you."
"I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Try as the young vampire might, he couldn't conceal his desperation. Jean could sense the lie, knew the lost soul needed to be proved wrong, shown that someone truly wanted him.
He also tipped off his location, and Jean almost laughed at the irony. In his flight, Paul had gone towards the closest thing to his old home – the city pier filled with carnival rides. Not quite the old Santa Carla boardwalk, but pretty damn close. Even shuttered against the storm, the pier lights must have called to him.
Straining against the wild wind, Jean made for the pier, landing towards the outer tip by the Ferris wheel. Rain whipped his sodden robe, driving like pellets against his pale chest, but he stood stone still, listening, straining to sense his dear ange.
So close, he knew he was nearly on top of his frightened child, the link bright and strong as he stood at the end of the pier. Casting around, he finally saw his friend, huddled in a corner at the far edge of deck, the railings and carny shed offering no shelter from the battering wind and rain.
Moving so slowly he was nearly crawling, Jean made his way to Paul, creeping up to put his back between the storm and his friend. Ever so gently, he wrapped himself around the young vampire, sheltering him from the brunt of the weather.
"Paul, I'm here. Please let me help you."
"YOU CAN'T...I…can't…I couldn't help them…they needed me and I couldn't help them…it's all my fault."
"Sweet ange, I know you did what you could. You can't blame yourself for what happened to the others. It was all the humans' fault, you know that."
Paul lunged, laying Jean flat as he roared in anguish, the storm pounding at them, drowning out the painful noise.
"THEY WERE KIDS! I COULD HAVE KILLED THEM IN ONE BLOW AND THEY TOOK MY WHOLE FAMILY!"
"Paul, please…you couldn't have known what traps they laid."
"I COULD HAVE SAVE THEM! I COULD… But… I didn't…it's all my fault…you don't want me, I ruin everything…Max was right…I'm worthless…" Paul slumped but bucked suddenly when Jean tried to comfort him. Pulling from Jean's grasp he screamed again.
"DON'T TOUCH ME! YOU DON'T WANT ME! YOU'RE JUST LIKE ALL THE REST…YOU'LL LEAVE ME…everybody leaves me…"
Jean sighed, reaching up to pull Paul close, only to have the boy scream again, trying to push away. They rolled across the deck, Paul pushing and fighting as he tried to break free from Jean's slowly tightening hold.
In the end, Jean had the advantage, holding Paul close as the younger vampire screamed and writhed under him, the storm raging on around them. Time seemed to still, Jean's senses narrowing to the weight of Paul's pain flooding his mind, the sound of his agony pouring out, the press of Paul's body as he thrashed, trying to move both towards and away from Jean's comfort, and the flash of bright lightning in the deep night, setting everything to a strobe-like vignette, the smell of ozone thick in the air.
Gently, Jean started a litany of love and comfort aimed at Paul's fractured mind, songs and words wrapped in the memories he'd treasured and saved, images of their times together; walking the boardwalk hand in hand, the thrill of a shared hunt where Jean drove the terrified prey towards a laughing Paul, a sparkling tiara Paul had found deep in the old hotel offered tenderly, Jean's gift of a vintage guitar in return, sitting on the sand simply enjoying the stars and sea and each other's company.
Paul's tortured wail was fit to break Jean's heart.
"NO! I'm nothing…you can't mean it! YOU DON'T WANT ME, I'M NOTHING…I RUIN EVERYTHING!"
Jean reached out, turning Paul to face him. Around them, the storm finally blew itself out, rolling east and out to sea.
"I don't believe you, ange. You are light and joy. Bright moonlight on sand, tang of fresh blood on your tongue, flash of lightning in a bottle. Mon étoile filante*, you are my love. In my eyes, you are priceless."
As he spoke, he again bathed Paul's mind with tenderness, and slowly, Paul opened up, mind unfurling as his body stilled. Shielded by the curtain of Jean's soaked jet locks, he stared up in wonder, eyes bright and tinged pink with unshed tears.
"You really…want me…even now?" the timid thread of thought flickered in his mind.
Jean smiled at his shooting star; kissing his forehead, one eyelid and the other, all as light as the brush of a petal.
"Always and forever, dearest. I know you hurt, but if you let me, I will share your burden, and lighten it as I can."
Paul's breath hitched, a watery smile finally gracing his lips. He reached up slowly, cupping Jean's cheek.
"My prince come to save me…does that make me the dude in distress?"
"You have fought stronger dragons than any storybook princess, dear one." He sketched as much of a bow as he could perched over his friend, before lifting his head to smile softly.
"Allow me the honor of standing by your side, ready to defend you and share your battles for the rest of time."
Paul's eyes crinkled, shadow of his trademark grin ghosting his lips.
Jean's smile was radiant as he uncurled, pulling Paul upright along with him. Laughing, he brushed the blonde's lank hair away from his face. Paul looked himself over, sighing.
"I guess I did get a little ripe, hmm?"
"Will you let me help you clean what the storm didn't manage to wash off, ange?"
Paul stuck out his tongue, making a rude face.
Jean bit his own lip, trying not to laugh. "There may be a few dead buzzards in your wake."
Paul glared for a minute before laughing weakly. "Yeah, I probably deserve that. How did you put up with me?"
"Love, ange. Because I love you, even when you're not sure you love yourself."
Holding his arms open, Jean tilted slowly toward his dearest, smiling when Paul leaned in, returning the embrace. The subtle change in the sky caught his eye, and he pulled away reluctantly.
"We'd best head home, ange. Would you like to come back sometime when this place if open?"
Paul glanced around, a wistful look on his face. "Maybe later, yeah?"
Standing, Jean offered Paul a hand, and they both took to the sky to beat the encroaching dawn home, the last few stars twinkling brightly as they went.
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*My falling star