A Farewell to Arms: part nine
by Angela
June 2007
He put Ash in his best room. It was lush and opulent, the bedding laden with satin coverlets and silk sheets. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked over the gardens, and a marble fireplace was there to warm any chilly evenings. Remembering what Blanca had told him about Ash's voracious appetite for reading, he'd moved almost a third of the library into the room – all the books he had that were written in English. He even had a servant assigned to him: a young man to assist him night and day with anything – anything – he desired.
So far, he hadn't had a chance to enjoy any of it.
Yut Lung looked down at the boy he'd been thinking of as his new pet. His hair was clean and shiny, his pajamas pressed and perfect. Long lashes dusted his cheeks as he breathed gently, his soft lips parted just enough to show the gleam of teeth. He was quite obviously alive – the operation and administration of the drug had been an overwhelming success – but had slept steadily through the past three days.
He supposed it was normal enough, given the circumstances. Even before meeting up with Lao Yuen-Tai, his body was almost certainly exhausted. For such a genius, Ash Lynx never seemed to figure out the negative effects of sleep deprivation on the body. He was a wreck. When he'd come out of the stupor caused by the Moonflower Cycle's first dose, he didn't even open his eyes. Instead he fell directly into a deep sleep that lasted more hours than Yut Lung thought a person could sleep in a single bout.
He was starting to get impatient.
He reached out a hand to touch that golden hair, combing it away from Ash's forehead. He didn't look dangerous. Asleep, he was just another beautiful toy for the rich and powerful. "Wake up, damn it," he urged, his fingers twisting and yanking that hair until his head lifted up from the bed. Ash didn't move; not even an eyelash quivered. Disgusted, Yut Lung let go, flinging him back onto the down pillows.
It was too soon anyway, he realized. Even if Ash did wake up, the only senses he'd have were scent and taste. It would be another day before his brain registered touch, even longer before he'd be able to hear or see. That was one of the trickier elements of the Moonflower Sequence; if Ash didn't have someone to care for him during this period, he'd almost certainly die.
He left the room, a bit cranky that it was taking so long. He didn't even know what he wanted to do with him, now that he had him, but there was no way he'd let an opportunity like this slip past him. At the very least, Ash would be indebted to him. Possibly even grateful. Yut Lung imagined his teeth-on-edge thank you, the war of loathing and gratitude in his eyes; his anticipation swelled. It was only a sliver of power to hold over his head, but he would take what he could get when it came to Ash Lynx.
He'd been keeping his end of the bargain – when Ash came through the operation he had his man call Nadia Wong to keep her up on his progress. He was irritated that Sing was nowhere to be found, but inquiries into his gang and even at his family's home offered no information; apparently he'd found someplace to hide and lick whatever wounds he imagined had been inflicted upon him.
Yut Lung had been surprised to see that Shorter Wong's sister was involved at all. She was trained in herbs and poisons about as a much Girl Scout was trained in outdoor survival – definitely not enough to stay alive when all she had was damp wood and the wolves were closing in. Her grandmother had some talent, though. Yut Lung had trained with her after his brothers brought him to New York, but he'd surpassed his teacher by the time he was nine years old, then moved on to study in California and then China, where all the real masters were. He was craving to know why Ash had wanted the Moonflower Sequence at all – certainly there were less dangerous ways to make people believe he'd died.
That was why he wanted to speak with Sing. He wanted to know why Ash hadn't followed his precious little Eiji overseas. His curiosity was intense, so he sent some men out to scour the city. Sing would have to turn up somewhere, he reasoned – Yut Lung just had to make sure his men were around when it happened.
---
"Master Yut Lung," his assistant began, bowing slightly as he edged his way into the bedroom. "We have located Sing Soo-Ling."
The young man had spent the evening and much of the afternoon sipping wine, so that by then he was on the dark side of tipsy and in no mood for games. He set his glass unsteadily on the night table and narrowed his eyes. "Where is he?" he asked sharply.
At that moment, a scuffle was heard outside. There was a shout and then the sound of someone being overtaken – possibly shoved to the ground. The servant smiled. "At the moment he is being escorted from the car, I believe."
"Send him to me at once," Yut Lung instructed.
Though it was unheard of for the young master to entertain guests in his private bedchamber, the man apparently knew better than to protest. "Shall I give you a moment to change?" he asked, motioning toward the boy's dressing gown and pajamas.
Yut Lung made a face. It was only Sing; who the hell cared if he saw him in his bedclothes? "No need," he insisted, his words slurring slightly. "Just bring him in. Now."
The man disappeared and Yut Lung slid from his bed. His head spun a bit at the sudden movement, but after a moment leaning on the night table, he felt steadier. Pinching his fingers around the delicate crystal stem of his glass, he looked at the pale chardonnay. The bottle it came from – the bottle he'd steadily worked through over the past hour – cost hundreds of dollars and was almost as old as he was. No reason to waste it, just because he had work to do. He tipped it back and swallowed the remainder in one swift gulp.
He was straightening his dressing gown when they brought Sing in.
"Get yer hands off of me, damn it!" the boy swore, writhing in the grip of one of Yut Lung's strongest bodyguards. "I told ya I would come up quietly!"
Yut Lung raised a hand, flicking a finger toward the door. The men obeyed in an instant, releasing Sing so quickly that he had to stagger forward to stay on his feet. The door closed while he was still trying to compose himself.
He looked terrible. His face was smudged with dirt and his jeans were stained and filthy. It looked like he was wearing the same clothes he had on when Yut Lung took Ash from that hovel two days before. He studied the boy through narrowed eyes, disgusted by his appearance. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "According to my sources you've been neither at home with your family nor hanging out with your gang for days."
Sing rolled his eyes. "Pushy much?" he asked, adjusting his jacket cuffs. "It ain't your business where I go," he said, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Your business is always my business," the young aristocrat insisted, stumbling slightly over his words. "You are a part of Chinatown, and anything that happens here is Lee business." He'd heard the speech himself so often that he was almost convinced, himself. Almost. Even drunk, he didn't totally believe that he could control this particular part of his empire.
"I ain't been in Chinatown," Sing sneered. "Your stupid brute squad should've told you that. Now will you tell me what the hell you want so I can go back to bed?"
Yut Lung didn't even want to think about where he could have been sleeping. "I need to know about Ash," he said, padding across the plush carpet to sit on the sofa. The room was sloshing about a bit too much for him to stay standing. "Why did he take the Moonflower Sequence? What was he trying to do?"
Sing crossed leaned on the wall by the door, refusing to come further into the room. "I don't know," he said, looking almost satisfied that he had nothing to share. "I told you before that I wasn't supposed to know nothing about this. Ash said he wasn't gonna see Eiji anymore, but he didn't say a word about fakin' his death."
Yut Lung perked up like a cat watching a bird in a cage. "He said he wasn't going to see Eiji anymore?" he echoed, very interested. "After all these months, he's just sending the boy home and that's that?"
Not meeting his eyes, Sing shrugged. "That's what he said," he mumbled.
It didn't make sense. If there was anything in the world that was dear to Ash Lynx, it was Eiji Okumura. Yut Lung had been sure that, when all of Dino's grand plans fell apart, Ash would be on the first 747 to go live happily ever after with that simpering idiot. Was the Moonflower Sequence and his words to Sing just a cover – a way to leave the country and be sure he wouldn't be followed? Why go to such lengths? Did he really think anyone would chase him across the world for some petty revenge?
I would, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. And Ash must've known that anything he told Sing would eventually fall upon his ears. Did this mean that the whole charade was for his benefit? Yut Lung was strangely flattered at the thought – being Ash Lynx's primary nemesis had its appeal.
He carefully filed away his questions. There was no point lingering over them right then. He'd find no answers until he could ask Ash himself; even then, he might get only half-truths and refusals. He renewed his attention to Sing. "Why haven't you been home?" he asked instead.
Sing scowled and said nothing.
"Your brother," Yut Lung guessed. "Lao's fight with Ash was because of you."
Sing's eyes widened briefly and then narrowed. Yut Lung knew then that he'd gotten it right. He crossed the room and opened a cabinet. Inside there was a wine rack and a half-dozen crystal goblets. He uncorked a merlot and breathed in its heady bouquet. "A drink?" he offered, pouring the rich red liquid into a glass. He felt almost bad for the kid.
The younger boy shook his head, making a face. He watched Yut Lung as he shrugged and drank down the wine himself. It was delicious, but somehow seemed to lack the potency of the first bottle – apparently going from a little bit drunk to a little bit drunker wasn't as interesting as from sober to drunk.
"You've had enough already," Sing observed in a hard voice. He finally crossed the room and pulled the nearly empty stemware from the young heir's shaky fingers.
Yut Lung was startled – so much so that he didn't protest as Sing deposited the glass and the bottle back in the cabinet. It closed with a decided bang and the boy stepped in front of it. "Take me to him," he ordered.
For a second he was going to refuse. What right did Sing have to make demands, after all? But behind the fierce look on the boy's face was a kind of sad desperation. It was probably the wine making him feel sentimental, but he couldn't muster the will to say no. He sighed. "Follow me."
He led Sing through a door to the adjoining room. His companion's eyes widened as he took in the rich décor. When his eyes lit on Ash on the king-sized bed, he gaped in surprise.
"What did you expect? Did you think I'd keep him in a dungeon?"
Sing's face answered for him. He composed himself quickly. "He's okay?" he asked, hurrying to the bedside. "That stuff worked?"
"Of course it did," Yut Lung bragged. "Didn't I say I would save him?"
For a long time, Sing stared at Ash. Yut Lung watched. The boy's feelings were written on his face – joy, relief, awe, and something a bit more troublesome. Darker. It was as though something inside him had changed, like some little bit of faith in the world had broken off and wedged himself in the dark corners of his soul. Yut Lung knew the feeling well enough to know he didn't like seeing it in Sing.
He wondered why. He didn't like the way Sing looked at Ash, either. It was admiring – almost worshipful, like a little kid looking at Superman. It pissed him off. They weren't so very different, he and Ash Lynx. So why did Sing think Ash was so terrific even while he treated Yut Lung with haughty disdain?
"He'll be asleep for hours yet," he told him. He realized that he was trying to make Ash look soft. "And then weak as a kitten after that. Maybe for days." Why? Why did it matter to him that Sing considered Ash a friend? It wasn't like Yut Lung valued such pedestrian bonds.
Sing nodded absently and then they didn't speak. Yut Lung was troubled. He wanted another drink. He wanted to send Sing away so that he could be alone – so that Sing would stop looking at Ash and thinking whatever it was he was thinking.
"My mother kicked me out." The boy's voice was soft, and Yut Lung wasn't sure if he was speaking to him or to Ash's sleeping form. "She said that I killed Lao, even if it wasn't my gun that did it."
Yut Lung looked at him, mute. The boy's shoulders were trembling but he'd never learned how to be comforting.
"How did she know?" Sing continued, turning to look at him. His eyes were dry, but bright.
Yut Lung shook his head. This was new territory. No one had ever confided in him before. "Where are you staying?" he asked after too long a pause.
"Here and there," the boy said, his voice steady. "Wherever."
It felt wrong, knowing that Sing was sleeping on the street. It felt wrong to care. "Go stay with your cousin," he urged. He knew there was no way Sing would stay with him, but he might go to Nadia Wong.
An irritated expression crossed the boy's features. "You want me to spy on her? To find out what she and Alex were up to?" He shook his head. "She's my family, you rat. There's no way."
A jolt of surprise coursed through Yut Lung. He hadn't even thought of it. But it was a good idea, really. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "It would make things easier," he said, pretending it was his plan from the start. "But I guess I'll have to take certain . . . measures . . . to get the information from Ash."
Sing's dark eyes widened. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back at Ash, seeming to seek answers in his peaceful face. It doesn't work, Yut Lung wanted to tell him. He'd stared for hours and all he'd gotten were more questions.
"Fine," Sing said at last. "I needed a place to stay anyway." He looked at Yut Lung, his face vivid with loathing and disgust. "But now you can't hurt him, got it?"
Yut Lung smiled. Even if it was just the wine that had mellowed him, he knew he'd sleep better knowing that Sing had a roof over his head. "Go," he directed. "Tell her Ash is okay, that you saw him with your own eyes, but be careful."
Sing nodded. "Charlie Dickinson," he said, businesslike. "I won't breathe a word while he's in the house." The prospect of a mission – even one given to him under such dubious terms – seemed to lift some of his gloom.
They agreed to meet over the next few days and Sing was gone. Yut Lung watched him dart out the door, wondering if he should've forced him to have a shower and change clothes first. But maybe the filthy street rat look would be a plus – Nadia Wong did seem to have a soft spot for wayward children.
Once Yut Lung was alone with Ash, he approached the bed. The static of drink was still heavy between his ears and his sentimentality was at an all time high. He climbed beneath the sheets, curling his body around Ash's still form.
"They all adore you," he whispered into the blond's unhearing ear. "No one cares for me that way. Not even Sing, and he was raised to worship me. It's in his blood." He touched Ash's face, letting his fingers trail down his throat and across the open collar of his pajamas. He'd already memorized his body – the smooth line of his jaw and his tapering wrists. When he closed his eyes he could see Ash's skin burned into the darkness behind his eyelids.
Yut Lung pushed up to his knees and brushed his mouth across Ash's parted lips. For a moment he thought he felt movement, the slightest flutter of a returned kiss – it brought his whole body to blazing life. It was impossible, of course. Ash was sound asleep, and probably his brain couldn't register touch yet, anyway. If his lips had moved, it had been by subconscious instinct.
It suddenly seemed very sad to Yut Lung that Ash's body was so accustomed to kisses that he could return them without even being aware of it. He wondered how many times he'd been accosted in his sleep just like that. How many others had taken what wasn't offered? And now wasn't he just another of that vile number?
It made him ill.
He rolled over and laid his head on the other pillow, far enough from Ash that his body heat was just an illusion. His whole body was sloshy and drunk. It made him tired. Not caring that the light was still on or that he was bound to be discovered the next morning, Yut Lung let his eyes fall closed. It was comfortable there, close to Ash Lynx.
Maybe that's why everyone adored him.
