He was awoken by an urgent pounding on the door. A few weeks earlier he'd dismantled the intercom system as it pertained to his room because he was sick of people contacting him. He just wanted to be left alone in this one place. He ignored the loud pounding. His head and stomach hurt, and the bare crack of sunlight filtering through between the heavy damask curtains burned his eyes. The sound stopped abruptly, and he thought he could barely make out a raised voice outside his door.
Thunk, thunk.
Two rapid shots and the clash of metal on metal and the door flew open. Daylight streamed in, and a familiar shape was backlit in the empty doorframe, a faint trail of smoke still rising from the barrel of the gun in its hand. An individual in a black suit was pressed against the far wall, clearly shaking.
"Luo, you son of bitch, what the hell is your problem?" At the sound of a very, very familiar voice Fred jerked upright, ignoring the wave of dizziness and nausea that threatened to overtake him. He inhaled as the dark figure penetrated further into his room and Fred swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet were silent on the carpet, and just before he was close enough to really make out the features of the person before him who could only be a hallucination, he was overcome by dizziness. But he never hit the floor; a pair of strong hands, one of which was startlingly cold, caught his shoulders. Instinctively Fred flinched away.
But then he looked up, and he met a pair of the most beautiful dark eyes he had ever seen. Eyes he knew quite well. And they were full of concern; concern for him and him alone. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it, reached out a hand and touched the scarred face. A hand pressed his against the warm cheek. Opened his mouth again, and this time he spoke.
"Gene?" The eyes crinkled at the corners, breaking out into a smile Fred could barely make out against the brilliant backlighting.
"The one and only. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I… They told me… you were dead." Fred stared, almost as astonished that Gene didn't pull away as by his sudden reappearance.
"Oh please, you really think a lowlife scumbag could take me out just like that?" Fred was the one to pull away, and when he did, he shocked even himself with his next action: he slapped Gene. Hard.
"You bastard, why didn't you send word sooner? Do you know what I've gone through? Do you!?" Fred grabbed him by the straps of his black shirt, yanked him close enough that Gene could feel the hiss of Fred's breath against his face and instead of replying, he kissed him. Hard.
And in that moment, Fred was positive he had to be dreaming. Because in what sort of insane alternate reality would Gene Starwind kiss him? But if it was a dream, he wished he'd never awake from it, and his anger melted. He wrapped his arms around Gene and held him close, as close as he'd ever wanted to and he could feel Gene wrapping his arms around him, but then that unusually cold hand made him shiver and pull away as they were plunged into darkness once more. Someone outside must have pulled the door shut.
Fred took those hands in his hands, pulled them toward his face. One was unmistakably made of metal.
"Oh my God…" Fred breathed. Gene gently pulled his hands away and Fred could hear him get up, walk over to the bed. He watched the dark outline of Gene sit down on the floor and presumably lean back against the bedframe. He crawled over and sat next to the outlaw. They were silent for a long time.
"I couldn't send word." Gene finally said, his voice soft. "I've been in hospital until just recently." He was quiet again, and Fred didn't press him, didn't want to break the profound silence that had sprung up between them. "Much as I hate to admit it, I almost did die out there. The lower part of my left arm was so badly burned…" He trailed off, and Fred hesitantly reached for his hand, thankful he was on Gene's right. Gene didn't yank his hand away, but instead clutched at Fred's, and he could feel it shaking. "It's pretty cool though," he added in a half-hearted attempt at humor. Fred couldn't find it in himself to laugh, and instead squeezed Gene's hand tighter.
"A-and so you came here, shot the lock off my door just to tell me…?" Fred asked, barely able to speak above a whisper, words trembling.
"When I was recovering, I had a lot of time to think. I couldn't do much else for a long time because the burns were so bad. We go back a long way, don't we Fred?" He didn't answer, and Gene didn't leave time for an answer anyway. "I never wanted to believe it could possible for a "tough guy" like me to feel the way I do… The way I feel about you, Fred.
All these years, and I've been avoiding asking myself that question. A lot of the time, I was busy enough I didn't have to think about it. And suddenly I had nothing to do but think and plenty of time to do it. Fred…" And here, Fred put a finger to Gene's lips.
"Shh… Don't say it yet. I don't entirely believe that I'm not dreaming, and I don't want to hear you say it until I know for sure. Because if I'm dreaming and you say those words, I'll wake up for sure and I want this dream- this moment- to last as long as it can." Gene took Fred's hand in his own, lowered it from his mouth, and pressed his lips to Fred's once more. He kissed him hungrily, as if he wanted to devour the very essence of him in that kiss. And then there was a sharp, sudden pain in Fred's lower lip and he jerked away.
"Did that hurt?"
"Damn it, yes it did."
"Then you aren't dreaming." Gene whispered, kissing his forehead. "I love you, Fred Luo. I love you."
