Author's Notes: Many thanks to all the people who left me all those lovely reviews. I too did a happy dance. I love hearing from you guys. Good to know this story still has some readers.

Trekde, hopefully this update was fast enough cuz I tried. :D Probably not, huh?

Nessy22: Yes, yes it was. :) I always wonder how hard it is to keep up with my story cuz I know it is to some extent. When I go back and read it I go WTF! sometimes. So, yeah… It's good that at least that much was clear.

Cissyaliza: That Don, he is a difficult one, he is.

Notsing: Yeah, it was a little hard introducing Amita to this story for some reason.

Young: Why, thank you! As long as I'm not dead I'll try to keep posting. :)

Guest: I seriously feel like crap for making everyone wait that long for the last chapter. Thanks for being awesome and checking!

Chapter 12

Don wasn't sure what that was about, but by what he could tell, there was some animosity between Simon and Valcic. Once in their own quarters Valcic sat himself in front of his laptop to work but not before having announced to him about another dinner they were invited to attend in a few hours. Valcic suggested he use something more casual than usual and then said nothing else about it.

Nothing else was exchanged between them. Valcic was locked in his own mind, his fingers moving across his laptop, the little clicks and clacks audible in the silence of the room.

It had to be something very important, Don deduced. He could tell by the way Valcic's shoulders stood high and robust in pride and stiff with tension and by the way his brows stayed furrowed in deep thought. Whatever it was, it mattered to him and it mattered a lot. His concentration seemed immune to any breech to the attention he set on his work for Valcic didn't seem to notice as Don glared at him from his spot at the edge of the bed.

Don now considered that maybe the information that Simon had given him held some validity but that in no means meant he trusted Simon. There was something about him, something in his eyes maybe, he just didn't trust. A likeness to something or someone Don could not pinpoint. But he couldn't ignore the warning and if what was said was correct and Valcic had climbed up the latter and Don now found himself prisoner of the new lord of the most powerful crooks on this earth then Don would have to tread more carefully. Plan more thoroughly.

"…you'll have to understand that the only way out is death." He heard Simons words echo in his head.

There's gotta be another way, Don thought. Death wasn't an option for him. Filled with nervous and anxious energy, he stood and walked over to the window. They were set on the third level and from there he could see up until where the snowy field met the dark wooden forest. He let himself massage his wrist, feeling at the smooth surface of the bracelet. He knew better than to test out its locking mechanisms, knew better than to try and pry it off there in front of Valcic but unconsciously he acknowledged it. Reminding him, despite everything Simon had said to him, that he could not let himself be a part of this world. Valcic being the dark lord of crime or not, he had to run away. He had to make his way back home.


In hindsight using Wylie the way he did had been mistake. Now, for some reason unknown still to Don, Wylie had been murdered. He was left without source or any intellect to Paul Richards' whereabouts. He took a sip from his soda and let himself lay on his back on the sofa as he thought back to the day he had beat Wylie into promising him that he would give him any information on Paul as soon as it came in. He regretted he had been so rough but he just didn't have time to play footsies.

He jolted back up to a sitting position as soon as the idea came to him. He had remembered a waitress that day. She had served Wylie a beer as soon as he had come in not bothering to ask Wylie for his order before setting the beer down on the table, and for some reason, he clearly remembered that. She was familiar with him. She had to be. And for that reason, Don felt that she could hold some piece of useful information and if not, it was worth the effort. Quickly, he was back on his feet and out the door.

.

Don took a seat at an empty table as soon as he walked into Lobo's Bar. He surveyed the almost empty bar looking for the waitress he had seen that afternoon the last time he had been there. It didn't take long for a slender, medium height, brunette came by his table and immediately he recognized her. She wore tight jeans and a black tank-top that revealed some of her decently sized cleavage but not too much.

"What can I get you?" She asked him.

"A beer," he responded.

"'Kay," She said and Don quickly reached a hand out for her arm and lightly held her back by the elbow before she could turn around and leave. "Um," she said looking curiously back at Don. "Is there something else you need?"

"It's about Wylie," Don said. Immediately, he saw her face light up. She looked around the room before taking a seat on the chair just across of him. "Is he okay? I haven't heard from him in a while. He promised he'd come see me a weeks back but he never showed."

Don bit his lip and shook his head slowly. "No, he's dead," he hated to inform.

The blood from her face had suddenly drained and her sight had fallen to her hands where they laid on her laps. "Oh," she finally said. "I didn't know him for long. We've just been out to a few dates. I kinda, really liked him," she said as tears came to her eyes.

Don looked back at her sympathetically. He didn't know what to do, if to comfort her or just sit back where he was. He ended up doing the latter because he didn't want to give that brawly man sitting at the entrance of this establishment the excuse to kick his ass out for inappropriate behavior.

"Did you come by just to tell me that?" She suddenly turned to him with a small suspicious look in her eye.

"No," Don said. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about him."

"Why?" She asked still with that suspicious look. "Are you a cop?"

"I just want to help," he said avoiding the question.

"Figure out who killed him?"

"Yes." Don said and it wasn't a lie. "Was there anyone he'd often talk to or if you've ever seen him with someone else?"

"No, he always came by to drink alone."

Don thought about this for a moment. He was now beginning to doubt she would be able to help him at all.

"I know where he lives," she said. "Well, where he used to live," she corrected herself, once again her eyes renewing with tears.

"Where?" Don asked. This was the sort of information he had been hoping for.

She pulled a notepad from her back pocket and wrote an address on it and handed it to him.

"Thanks," Don said as he got to his feet.

"Um, I know I shouldn't ask," She began a little reluctantly. "But what happened to him?"

Don hesitated to answer but he felt he owed this poor woman as much to let her know what had happened to him. "He was trying to help an acquaintance," was all he could think of telling her.

But that had been enough for her. She nodded her head a few times letting Don know she had understood and Don knew that that's all she needed to know.

He looked down at the piece of paper she had just previously handed him before slipping it to his pocket.

As Don looked the address up on a map he discovered that Wylie's place was quite a distance from where he lived but he deduced he still had time to go back home and catch some proper Z's before heading over to the address given to him at a more appropriate time.

"Drinking, again, Eppes?" Was the first thing Don heard as he stepped out of Lobo's Bar.

"Are you still following me, Ian?" Don asked annoyed after briefly turning to see who it was. The sun was still shining light from the sky but he knew it was only a matter of time before night fell and he had the opportunity to quickly drop by the direction given to him. Though, he knew he was not going to get anything done tonight with Ian tagging along. "Don't you have better things to do?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you're running around trying to get yourself killed."

Don suddenly stopped walking to turn and finally face him. Ian had a keen intellect when it came to this sort of stuff. He had Don pretty figured out probably since the moment he had first seen him back. Don didn't really know how much Ian knew or if he knew anything at all but either way Ian seemed pretty intent to continue to bud into his business.

"Can't a man get a drink?" Don responded rhetorically.

"Not at this place, Eppes. You know you shouldn't be around here. They sniff a badge around here and shit starts hitting the fan."

Don had his hands up in the air as if completely clueless by what Ian referring to. He turned around to continue his on his business. "I'm heading home," he announced in a tone that did him no favors in hiding how pestered he felt. "And stop following me. I'm pretty sure there are people out there who actually need you."

"Keep running. I'll eventually know where you're heading." Ian avowed.

Don ignored him, pleased to see that Ian had not taken to following him back to his new lodging.

By the time he had locked the door of his apartment behind him he was feeling the wear of fatigue weighing heavily on his body. He found his way over to his bedroom and plopped himself down onto the mattress. He hadn't bothered to strip himself of any of his clothes feeling his arms really weren't up to that kind of task. He could do little to relax. His body was tense and he was afraid to allow himself to shut his eyes but he knew that fighting the sleep away would be futile. He was tired and soon whether he wanted it or not his body will force him to rest. So he let himself give in. But not before a single thought ran through his head as his eyes shut, surrendering himself to sleep: for freedom.


Valcic was still hard at work when Don stepped into the bathroom and began to fill the tub up with warm water for a bath. As he waited, he stepped in front of the mirror and continued with his thoughts.

He thought about the snowy wooden forest, he thought of how dark it was, how well it would do if he wanted to disappear in it. It could very well be his way out, he chewed on that idea for a while. The snow, in the other hand, would work against him. The cold would kill him if he spent out there long enough. The white would make him stand out like a nail on a board. And what would he find at the end of the forest? No, he reasoned, that wouldn't work.

Then he thought of the sin, the lie in his lungs and on his lips not yet sung but merely whispered. He hated it. The thought of it made his skin crawl. But home was an idea that he wanted to be real again and this was a hell he wanted to vanish from. What he had to do… well, there was so little options.

A click was heard alerting Don of someone coming in. Don turned the faucet on and ran his hands under the water pretending to wash his hands hopping beyond hope that Valcic would just walk in for a quick tinkle and leave and just let him be. But things are never that easy.

Valcic came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Don's torso. Don had to rest his hand on the edge of the sink to support Valcic's and his own weight up as Valcic leaned, pressing his entire body against him, nuzzling his head up against Don's neck, tracing his nose up into his hair. He inhaled deeply, taking in his scent.

Don did not react. Not a shudder nor any expression of disgust escaped him. He just shut his eyes and waited patiently for it to be over. He could feel Valcic's hands rub against his chest just over his shirt, pulling Don into him. Finger tips, digging into the small crevasses between muscles and ribs. The ones that weren't so prominent before when life was anything but a learned tolerance of torture and abuse he is forced to endure, now.

Valcic continued to hold him tightly, demanding acknowledgement. And as those hands refused to end their intent to grope and harass, Don gripped the edge of the sink more firmly because it was about control and he couldn't lose it. Lose his grip or lose his strength. An attribute so tested into frays and tears here, but not from him. He had to fight them and not let them blind him from his sights: home.

Suddenly, Valcic swirled him around, making him face him, using the strength so natural to him to lift Don up to sit him on the sink counter. Valcic could almost devour him with his mere sight as he studied a fear he could still induce in those dark brown eyes though Don tried to hide it.

"You think I haven't noticed how you look at me. I disgust you." Valcic said as he pushed Don's knees apart with his hips so he could stand between them. "I fill you with hate." He said, all the while Don half-glared at him and half-tried to avoid his malevolent stare. "Think twice about how you feel about me, Donny. Think twice about who you want to be. This here can be your life. This here can be your royalties. No one will ever harm you as long as I'm here. As long as you're here with me." He growled deeply while his hand came up to firmly grab Don by the face.

He stared Don down with a hungry ravenous look. Inspecting what he considered his meat, his property, his prize and his royalties. "I'm sick of talking to myself," he said his face now mere inches away. "I know you have a tongue. Say something."

Don felt a mixture of anger and sorrow as Valcic's fingers squeezed at his cheeks. He was sick of seeing him, sick of the bastard talking to him, sick of him touching him. But through the tightness of his throat and the rage in his chest he managed to speak. "And what do you want me to say?"

He didn't mean to mock or sound sarcastic but he un-deliberately did.

At first Valcic seemed angered but then his expression quickly changed to amusement. He released his face and both of his hands slipped down to Don's hips and he pulled him closer to himself until he could feel Don's warmth on his crotch. "Anything that's in that pretty little head of yours. Speak your mind."

Don's gaze fell. It wasn't a down-right refusal, Valcic could see that. It was something else. Don was in his mind and to let him was a hazard like any fire.

"Hey," he said snapping Don back to attention. "Let's start of simple," he began. "I want to hear you say my name."

Don visibly swallowed, his eyes fixed square on Valcic's. "Valcic." He said with a tint of malice in his voice and that emotion and the sound of his voice mixed with the utterance of his own name made Valcic's blood rush south.

He knew Don could feel him. He could tell by the small tension-filled tremors that were now radiating from his body.

And that look in his eyes was changing, morphing into something greater than fire – greater than anything on this earth – and Valcic wanted everything to do with it.

Then Don looked away. Valcic's hand was on Don's face again, suddenly, forceful, squeezing Don's cheeks, holding his head and sights where he wanted them: solely on him.

Don grimaced in pain and moaned when Valcic's grip became tighter and then loosened.

"You will never be anyone else's, in life, or death. You are mine." Valcic declared, his eye fueled by a drive to conquer and initiate. "I'll make you never," a pause, a growl from deep within his throat then he inhaled, "ever want to leave." Valcic pressed his head up against Don's. His blonde whiskers tickling and massaging the skin on Don's cheek previously abused.

He turned to look behind him, noticing the bath tub had filled almost to the top. "Your bath is ready," he informed as he began to undo Don's shirt, beginning with the top button. Don's breathing was heavy. Valcic could feel the push of it fall against his fingers as he worked on his shirt. When he was done he slowly pushed the material apart baring a pale and perfect shoulder and smiled when Don let it slip off his arm the rest of the way. Valcic leaned to kiss it and continued his way up to Don's neglected cheek hating to leave – hating to separate – but he had to get back to work.


By the address given to him, Don could tell that Wylie had been getting paid the big bucks to do whatever all he was doing for these criminals.

He lived in a building kind of prestigious and pretentious. It stood tall, bricks white with many pillars and balconies, many with hardly any purpose besides a luxury look. One could live comfortably there, he concluded.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so bad about whether the man had met his demise, or how. The fucker had it pretty good living off the misfortunes of others. He deserved death.

Maybe that was little too harsh but after you have lived through what Don had you begin to have little sympathy for those omniscient of such crimes and do nothing. How someone can become so un-sensitized to the suffering of innocent others Don would never know. Human life was just a job for Wylie. It's much less for many people, like Paul Richards and the others like him. And there's no way to deal with these people other than like the monsters they are. They need to go down, even if it's only one by one.

The security of the high-end apartment complex wasn't high but still that didn't mean Don didn't have to get creative about how he was going to get in.

He never truly appreciated the effort thieves put in to breaking-and-entering until he found himself at the bottom of the building looking up the side to see if there was any easy way up. Under the veil of night it didn't seem impossible but still he thought better of it when an opportunity arose as he saw a couple approaching. He pretended to be on his phone as they punched in the code to unlock the door, and while they let themselves in he simply slinked on in behind them. They didn't notice and there was no harm done, he was only there to uncover a few things. That's it.

He took the stairs up to the sixth floor where he was careful not to arise suspicion when he pick-locked the door numbered 612, just as the waitress had scribbled on that piece of paper.

Inside, the apartment was darkened by the night. Don turned on a flashlight he had been carrying in his back pocket and carefully began to inspect the place. He walked by the kitchen, the living room and a bathroom. Finally ending up in what would be the office. But after a few minutes of checking drawers and bookshelves filled with comics and action figures still in its packaging, he had come up with nothing useful.

Don picked up a Batman action figure and leaned back on the desk just a ways behind him. He looked at it with fondness. It brought him back to his childhood when things were simpler. When bad and good was black and white and Batman was always the hero. And what kid didn't want to be Batman when they grew up? Well, maybe, except for Charlie who rather have been Albert Einstein or something nerdy like that.

But Don wasn't Batman and the world wasn't black and white anymore. Batman would never kill for justice and one would never, too. But then one grows up and doesn't become Batman but something lesser.


Don shook when Valcic had gone. His whole body trembled in a way he hadn't in a while. He tried to catch up with his thoughts but the adrenaline had him panicking. He felt physically sick. His gut had taken to revolting and Don hugged himself afraid he was going to puke. He knew he would need help to overcome that feeling because his will alone wasn't enough, as his body so proved to him. He would need something stronger and he had an idea of how although it would take another line he thought he would never cross. But desperation made one do that. Desperation made you do a lot of crazy things, apparently.

When he felt like he was ready, he undressed and led himself to the bathtub. He thought back to the dark wooden forest with a heavy feeling in his chest when considering how much of a long shot it would be to try to go home that way, and somewhere in the processes of his mind he thought maybe he should try because a frozen death was a better fate than this. But that idea was quickly wiped away with the simple remembrance of what he would be leaving behind and what he would never see again if he did. Then he looked down at his bracelet and knew there was no other option and tonight was the night to sing the song of sin.


He put the Batman action figure in its place. He was about to call it quits only until he considered checking one more time the one place that is still nagging him: the bedroom.

By some power of deduction, he led himself to the information goldmine he was looking for. Inside Wylie's bedroom he found notebooks filled with notes he didn't understand but knew held importance and Wylie's laptop. He didn't have time to examine its content properly but he did find a book bag. He packed what he could into it and slung it over his shoulder.

Then the apartment echoed back to him a noise coming from its reaches. Don stood immobile, as silent as he could, waiting to hear it again, to see if he would or if it was something from his now-ever-questionable imagination. But it did come back to him again and he could swear he did not imagine it. He switched the flashlight off, a disadvantage he did not really consider beforehand.

The noise again, and the reach was much closer this time. Whoever it was, it was approaching him. He pulled his gun out, making sure the silencer was on, and then he waited up against the wall, just around the turn from the hallway, listening in carefully as whoever was out there neared. He could hear him around the corner; breathing, drawing closer evermore. Startling him when he heard the distinct forewarning click of a revolver's hammer being dropped but Don managed to remain calm. When he thought he was close enough Don swung at him. In the dark he hardly saw him coming and whoever it was fell to the floor when Don's elbow met a face.

Then, Bang!

Don touched his side as he stumbled back a bit. His hand felt a thick warm substance soaking through his shirt. At first he didn't believe he had been shot, after all what he felt was sharp, sudden and then nothing. That nothing was deceiving for the slow re-awakening pain now coming from under his hand told him otherwise. And the pain was brutal. He lost thought. And he lost sense. He saw flashes of his horrific past between the darkness. He heard a motion and suddenly he feared the guy was going to get back up and hurt him even worse. But somehow, through the brief and unexpected confusion, he regained momentum.

By now, his eyes had become adjusted to the lack of light and he could see the man on the ground trying to get back up and Don didn't give him a chance as he approached him. He kicked him on the head then kicked the revolver away from his hand… the rest… the rest got lost in his memories.