S/D: DBZ's mine. So's your mortal soul.
Prey
Chapter Four On the Subject of Life and Death...
Yeah. The towel dropped.
As I write this, I feel like a bad director. Cue the nude scene and embarrassment. Hello.
That towel just had to drop, didn't it? Right in front of the man who reminded me what a libido was and just how crazy it can be. I have craved chocolate like never before because of that man. And now... Now he was staring at me as I shrieked in the nude. Oh, please, sleep with me? I promise I won't howl like a banshee!
But he wasn't staring, and I wasn't screaming. It was more like an, "Oh fuck. How did you get in?" with an accusatory step and jabbing finger. I guess I didn't realize I was naked, or maybe I was too mad. Either way, I ignored his question.
He shrugged it like water off a duck's back. Only without the motion. "You left all the doors open."
That sounded reasonable enough to me because I had retreated back to my wet spot on the floor. You know the one: the dripping water and towel saved my place.
"I locked up behind myself."
The deliverance of this line left me in some kind of state. I couldn't help but see the glint in his eye, whether it was there or not. I was suddenly afire, my hands clutching at my hips, arms flattening my breasts as I made some attempt to recover. "Oh," was all that left my big, stupid mouth. "Oh." Yeah, people say Oh when they fuck up. Or when they're as dumb as me.
He had locked the door behind himself. Was he planning on not leaving? Was he here to cause some damage? Was he planning on getting some satisfaction out of me? Heat, an uncontrollable and boiling rise, flooded my veins in both anger and desire. I could not help but be attracted to this man: the tall, dark and handsome stranger who sat in the shadows of my living room, looking too big for my furniture. But I was also on high alert. A stranger he was... gazing at my naked body while I dimly managed to grasp the situation.
In order to save face, I'm going to say that it had been a long day at work and I was tired. This is my excuse as to why it must have taken five minutes for me to regain my towel and dignity. The idea had occurred to me that I was, in fact, in possible danger. This man was roughly the size of a small pick-up and could easily overpower me and have anything in the place he desired, including my body and or my life. I guess the towel made me feel strong.
"Can I get you a glass of milk or something?" Not, How'd you find me or Why are you here? No, those are intelligent sounding questions.
He had remained passive, quiet, and completely still while I had rewrapped myself and prepared to invite a guest into my quarters. But at my offering of a drink, he raised an eyebrow. Sure, it was an iota of a fraction, but it was there. Maybe he expected me to throw him out, or pitch a fit for his entering. He probably expected me to spew obscenities at him for seeing me naked.
"Water."
His arms unfolded, his first real movement. Perhaps he was just as nervous as I. What the Hell am I nervous about again? Oh yeah, Mr. Mysterious, on my couch. No surprises left about how I dealt with my pubic hair last night.
Stepping into the kitchen I fixed a glass of water for him and a glass of milk for me. Guess that's why I offered, right? I wanted some of my own. Returning to the couch, I offered him his glass. There was an awkward moment because he didn't take the glass from me. So I stood there, one arm outstretched with a sweaty glass of water in one hand, milk in the other, and a towel looking like it was itching to hit the floor again. I took the hint and stooped, placing his glass a magazine that was discarded on the coffee table. His eyes never left me.
You know how on Scooby-Do the pictures sometimes have real eyes that follow the ghost busting gang around? That's what it felt like. Those smoldering orbs followed my every move, never betraying a look of dissatisfaction or hatred, lust or desire. They watched as his body was fixed like a painting, perfectly cruel in every way even to the slight downward curve of his lips. His muscles were mountains, cold and unforgiving, hard and angular planes of sheer pain. His stature so cold, you could almost see the wind blowing the snow off his shoulders. His lips were roses, blooming in the most barren of places, like a diamond in the rough.
I caught myself staring.
I abandoned the drinks, straightened up and eased a hand down my towel, consciously running my fingers down my side as a young woman would soothe the wrinkles out of her dress. "Be right back. Clothes." I don't know if he heard me because I slurred my sentence as I was walking hurriedly into my own room.
After all my first dates, job interviews, and worrisome meetings, I've never struggled with clothing choices. Whatever was in front of me, I wore. I wasn't picky or deterred by small stains here or there. A tear the size of Candlestick Park was added character to a pair of shorts I'd owned since I was thirteen. And suddenly, I felt like I was unprepared. I scrambled through my messy room, desperately trying to match up items in my mind. This underwear looks great with this. These socks are good with these shoes. When I thought I'd made up my mind, I found nothing was clean. Surely something was against me!
With a cry of defeat, I resigned to wear the same casual get up I wore almost every day I wasn't working: camouflage shorts and a tank top. Woo- hoo. So stylin'. As I was pulling the white shirt down over my stomach, I turned to the entrance to my bedroom to find it blocked.
He was standing in the doorway, his shoulders almost touching the frame at each side, those black ice eyes fixed on me. First, he had seen me naked and now he was watching me get dressed.
My standard irritability arose, "Do you mind?"
"Not at all." Those terrible and desirable lips quirked into an amused smirk, his face filled with mirth. Well. I shouldn't say 'filled.' He wasn't lit up like a laughing clown and bursting with song. But as much as this dark man's face could be brightened, it happened. Maybe like a penlight had been shined in his eyes.
I let loose a low growl, the sound of warning. He was treading on thin ice with me. He's in my home, on my turf and he thinks he can get away with being a sarcastic fuck? I don't think so.
He seemed to have gotten the message and he stepped back, making a small leeway for me to get through the door. However, he refused to move so far as to make it possible for me to go through the frame without touching it or him. What is it with this guy?
Unwilling to back down to any kind of challenge brought forth by some guy who thinks he can get the best of me will not be shot down. I brushed past him unflinchingly, the back of my hand grazing his stomach as I pushed off, forcing him to the side as I barged through. Oh, that single touch; the briefest and lightest of touches. I nearly hit the floor with my knees, hands gripping my throat. No, I did not do such, but I turned, eyes tightened in an accusatory raptor stare.
Every single nerve ending in my hand was alight, tingling and ringing, shaking and rattling. The tremors cycled through my flesh, tramlines of electricity coursing through my veins, goosebumping my skin and raising every hair on end. I wouldn't say the sensation was painful, no, by far it was more pleasurable. It was a warm, liquid feeling that washed over me, drowning my senses in a current of energy. Yes, that's what it was, energy.
If he had taken notice of the chills that racked my body, he showed no sign. He regarded me with the same stare, his eyes unreadable. This man was mystery, cool and shrouded. He was calculating and cunning. He was capable of the unknown. I was terrified. I had to force myself to a standstill to keep my body from doing what it so achingly wanted: to touch him yet again. My heart fluttered in my chest and I became lightheaded. My lungs worked hard for what little oxygen they got.
I staggered a step. "P-p-pills," I stuttered, my strength leeching from my bones and muscles, leaving me a spineless mass on the floor. I heard footsteps, his dark leather boots appeared in my fading sight. "Help."
Darkness.
I woke to the green light of my VCR blinking 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. Yeah, I needed to set that damned thing.
12:00. 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. Okay, I'm up, I'm up. Hefting myself into a sitting position I came face to face with two glittering gems in the night. Death. Death had finally come for me. He was crouched before me, his scythe upon his shoulder, mouth stretched into a grin the Cheshire cat would only wish was his own. The air in my lungs grew stale, my palate tasted caked and disgusting.
Death spoke, his voice seamless, breathless, "Drink."
Water was proffered to me, his skeletal hand invisible to my mortal eyes.
I accepted and drank, the film on my tongue was all but gone afterward. Who doesn't do as Death commands?
"The bottle by the sink, right?"
A rattling noise stirred me from my delusion. He was not Death. He was something worse...
He shook the bottle in my ear, his featureless face floating in the dark. "How many?"
"Two." I suppose I understood what was going on. I had been taking these pills since before I could remember.
From his hand I extracted two pills. His palm was massive, they looked like grains of sand. The world... in the palm of his hands. He's got the whole world, in his hands. I sang in my head. I am such a freak. I put the foul- tasting pills in my mouth and washed them down with the rest of the water.
"Thanks," I had managed after some time.
The glass was removed from my hands as he stood, grunting with the effort of dealing with me, I suppose. It wasn't the weight of the glass that was a burden.
He set the glass in the sink, I could hear the cold ting of metal and glass connecting. I couldn't see him. Not only was it dark in my living room, my vision was not at the best given my current condition. Fainting and whatnot is not exactly good for the eyes. He stood there, a dark presence in my kitchen, looming much like the thunderclouds outside.
"Why'd you do it?"
Silence echoed in the walls of my apartment as I mulled over the question. We had taken a complete circle. It was the first thing he had asked me when I found him in my living room, making my couch look smaller than it should. It was the same question he asked me, and I knew it.
"What're you talking about?"
"That woman on the highway. You saved her. Why?"
My bottom lip bore the brunt of my nervous thinking as I attempted to consider why it was I had saved her. I didn't entirely feel obligated for her life. As I had said before, I felt (and still feel) that it was the woman's own fault for driving me off the road. Not the other way around. I couldn't leave her to die. That's all I could think of. So I said it.
He made a sound of exhaling. I wasn't sure if it was in disbelief or approval. "And why not?"
This man had a five year old's habit of being annoying as shit.
"Because she would have died otherwise."
"So? What loss is that to you? What did you possibly gain by saving her?"
Life and death was suddenly a black and white issue. He was looking for reasons I couldn't possibly begin to name. Maybe I was at fault and hid behind my mask of blame and guilt.
"I gained nothing and lost nothing. I restored things as they should be. She lived and it appears as though nothing happened." I added on as a brief afterthought, "Maybe she'll stop eating while driving and take more care to chew."
Again he made a noise. Was making a snorting sound all this man did to express his emotions?
"Why did you even bother?"
I got the nerve to question my questioner. "Why do you keep asking me these questions like I just saved the worst woman in the world and she's about to kill the president?"
"How do you know she's not going to?"
That put my foot in my mouth. I really didn't know. But what were the chances of it? Seriously. An overweight woman, sucking down cornbread like a tornado in Kansas, driving down the middle of some road in Pugartory, about to kill the president? Ludicrous! Absolutely impossible!
"That's ridiculous and you know it." I was getting my spine back along with my strength. This man was paranoid beyond belief if he really bought into that! Anyone at any time could be out to kill the president. If he's so gung-ho about it, let him join the CIA and take a bullet for the man who kills thousands of innocents. Whoa, I guess that's how I really feel.
"All I want to know is why." His voice was soft, but suddenly closer. How he had managed to cut the distance between us in half in the blink of an eye left me dumbstruck. I was paying attention to him, and then he was five feet nearer. That doesn't happen. Not normally.
I looked down at my hands, wondering what it was in me that caused my feet to hit the pavement back on the highway. What had given me the strength to resuscitate the yeti? I had sighed then, my shoulders sinking as I had given up. "I didn't want her to die. I couldn't live with myself knowing I might have been able to make a difference and didn't." My own voice sounded small and weak, even to my own ears, but I kept going. "I didn't want to pretend like I didn't care. I don't like seeing people die. I don't want to let people around me die. I wanted to save her. To help."
He stared at me, this time form a sitting position next to me on the couch, his eyes dancing with a light from within. An ever-burning coal that was embedded into the obsidian that were his eyes.
I continued, somehow comfortable with speaking, "Ever since I was little I've been known to rush off at the sound of a scream. I'd drop whatever I was doing and throw myself into action, rescuing dogs, cats, babies, teenagers and even some adults. Even when the danger was high and the odds racked against me, somehow I managed to come out all right. As soon as I got there, I knew things would be better."
My hands were all I could look at. I couldn't make myself stare at his face, much less his eyes. He could see my very soul, my core, my being, everything I had tried to hide from everyone he could see with just a glance. This man was the key to my undoing.
"Why did you save me?"
At this, he got to his feet. Picking up his jacket, he made for the door.
"Where are you going? Tell me why! I could have died!" I jumped up, now wishing my uninvited guest would overstay his welcome.
"You were in no danger," he told me. "You do not fear death." His jacked slid over his shoulders, hands straightening the gloves on his fingers. "You only fear what you may become."
And like that, he was gone. The door was shut, the bolt thrown from the inside. But he was gone.
A/N: It gets better.
Prey
Chapter Four On the Subject of Life and Death...
Yeah. The towel dropped.
As I write this, I feel like a bad director. Cue the nude scene and embarrassment. Hello.
That towel just had to drop, didn't it? Right in front of the man who reminded me what a libido was and just how crazy it can be. I have craved chocolate like never before because of that man. And now... Now he was staring at me as I shrieked in the nude. Oh, please, sleep with me? I promise I won't howl like a banshee!
But he wasn't staring, and I wasn't screaming. It was more like an, "Oh fuck. How did you get in?" with an accusatory step and jabbing finger. I guess I didn't realize I was naked, or maybe I was too mad. Either way, I ignored his question.
He shrugged it like water off a duck's back. Only without the motion. "You left all the doors open."
That sounded reasonable enough to me because I had retreated back to my wet spot on the floor. You know the one: the dripping water and towel saved my place.
"I locked up behind myself."
The deliverance of this line left me in some kind of state. I couldn't help but see the glint in his eye, whether it was there or not. I was suddenly afire, my hands clutching at my hips, arms flattening my breasts as I made some attempt to recover. "Oh," was all that left my big, stupid mouth. "Oh." Yeah, people say Oh when they fuck up. Or when they're as dumb as me.
He had locked the door behind himself. Was he planning on not leaving? Was he here to cause some damage? Was he planning on getting some satisfaction out of me? Heat, an uncontrollable and boiling rise, flooded my veins in both anger and desire. I could not help but be attracted to this man: the tall, dark and handsome stranger who sat in the shadows of my living room, looking too big for my furniture. But I was also on high alert. A stranger he was... gazing at my naked body while I dimly managed to grasp the situation.
In order to save face, I'm going to say that it had been a long day at work and I was tired. This is my excuse as to why it must have taken five minutes for me to regain my towel and dignity. The idea had occurred to me that I was, in fact, in possible danger. This man was roughly the size of a small pick-up and could easily overpower me and have anything in the place he desired, including my body and or my life. I guess the towel made me feel strong.
"Can I get you a glass of milk or something?" Not, How'd you find me or Why are you here? No, those are intelligent sounding questions.
He had remained passive, quiet, and completely still while I had rewrapped myself and prepared to invite a guest into my quarters. But at my offering of a drink, he raised an eyebrow. Sure, it was an iota of a fraction, but it was there. Maybe he expected me to throw him out, or pitch a fit for his entering. He probably expected me to spew obscenities at him for seeing me naked.
"Water."
His arms unfolded, his first real movement. Perhaps he was just as nervous as I. What the Hell am I nervous about again? Oh yeah, Mr. Mysterious, on my couch. No surprises left about how I dealt with my pubic hair last night.
Stepping into the kitchen I fixed a glass of water for him and a glass of milk for me. Guess that's why I offered, right? I wanted some of my own. Returning to the couch, I offered him his glass. There was an awkward moment because he didn't take the glass from me. So I stood there, one arm outstretched with a sweaty glass of water in one hand, milk in the other, and a towel looking like it was itching to hit the floor again. I took the hint and stooped, placing his glass a magazine that was discarded on the coffee table. His eyes never left me.
You know how on Scooby-Do the pictures sometimes have real eyes that follow the ghost busting gang around? That's what it felt like. Those smoldering orbs followed my every move, never betraying a look of dissatisfaction or hatred, lust or desire. They watched as his body was fixed like a painting, perfectly cruel in every way even to the slight downward curve of his lips. His muscles were mountains, cold and unforgiving, hard and angular planes of sheer pain. His stature so cold, you could almost see the wind blowing the snow off his shoulders. His lips were roses, blooming in the most barren of places, like a diamond in the rough.
I caught myself staring.
I abandoned the drinks, straightened up and eased a hand down my towel, consciously running my fingers down my side as a young woman would soothe the wrinkles out of her dress. "Be right back. Clothes." I don't know if he heard me because I slurred my sentence as I was walking hurriedly into my own room.
After all my first dates, job interviews, and worrisome meetings, I've never struggled with clothing choices. Whatever was in front of me, I wore. I wasn't picky or deterred by small stains here or there. A tear the size of Candlestick Park was added character to a pair of shorts I'd owned since I was thirteen. And suddenly, I felt like I was unprepared. I scrambled through my messy room, desperately trying to match up items in my mind. This underwear looks great with this. These socks are good with these shoes. When I thought I'd made up my mind, I found nothing was clean. Surely something was against me!
With a cry of defeat, I resigned to wear the same casual get up I wore almost every day I wasn't working: camouflage shorts and a tank top. Woo- hoo. So stylin'. As I was pulling the white shirt down over my stomach, I turned to the entrance to my bedroom to find it blocked.
He was standing in the doorway, his shoulders almost touching the frame at each side, those black ice eyes fixed on me. First, he had seen me naked and now he was watching me get dressed.
My standard irritability arose, "Do you mind?"
"Not at all." Those terrible and desirable lips quirked into an amused smirk, his face filled with mirth. Well. I shouldn't say 'filled.' He wasn't lit up like a laughing clown and bursting with song. But as much as this dark man's face could be brightened, it happened. Maybe like a penlight had been shined in his eyes.
I let loose a low growl, the sound of warning. He was treading on thin ice with me. He's in my home, on my turf and he thinks he can get away with being a sarcastic fuck? I don't think so.
He seemed to have gotten the message and he stepped back, making a small leeway for me to get through the door. However, he refused to move so far as to make it possible for me to go through the frame without touching it or him. What is it with this guy?
Unwilling to back down to any kind of challenge brought forth by some guy who thinks he can get the best of me will not be shot down. I brushed past him unflinchingly, the back of my hand grazing his stomach as I pushed off, forcing him to the side as I barged through. Oh, that single touch; the briefest and lightest of touches. I nearly hit the floor with my knees, hands gripping my throat. No, I did not do such, but I turned, eyes tightened in an accusatory raptor stare.
Every single nerve ending in my hand was alight, tingling and ringing, shaking and rattling. The tremors cycled through my flesh, tramlines of electricity coursing through my veins, goosebumping my skin and raising every hair on end. I wouldn't say the sensation was painful, no, by far it was more pleasurable. It was a warm, liquid feeling that washed over me, drowning my senses in a current of energy. Yes, that's what it was, energy.
If he had taken notice of the chills that racked my body, he showed no sign. He regarded me with the same stare, his eyes unreadable. This man was mystery, cool and shrouded. He was calculating and cunning. He was capable of the unknown. I was terrified. I had to force myself to a standstill to keep my body from doing what it so achingly wanted: to touch him yet again. My heart fluttered in my chest and I became lightheaded. My lungs worked hard for what little oxygen they got.
I staggered a step. "P-p-pills," I stuttered, my strength leeching from my bones and muscles, leaving me a spineless mass on the floor. I heard footsteps, his dark leather boots appeared in my fading sight. "Help."
Darkness.
I woke to the green light of my VCR blinking 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. Yeah, I needed to set that damned thing.
12:00. 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. Okay, I'm up, I'm up. Hefting myself into a sitting position I came face to face with two glittering gems in the night. Death. Death had finally come for me. He was crouched before me, his scythe upon his shoulder, mouth stretched into a grin the Cheshire cat would only wish was his own. The air in my lungs grew stale, my palate tasted caked and disgusting.
Death spoke, his voice seamless, breathless, "Drink."
Water was proffered to me, his skeletal hand invisible to my mortal eyes.
I accepted and drank, the film on my tongue was all but gone afterward. Who doesn't do as Death commands?
"The bottle by the sink, right?"
A rattling noise stirred me from my delusion. He was not Death. He was something worse...
He shook the bottle in my ear, his featureless face floating in the dark. "How many?"
"Two." I suppose I understood what was going on. I had been taking these pills since before I could remember.
From his hand I extracted two pills. His palm was massive, they looked like grains of sand. The world... in the palm of his hands. He's got the whole world, in his hands. I sang in my head. I am such a freak. I put the foul- tasting pills in my mouth and washed them down with the rest of the water.
"Thanks," I had managed after some time.
The glass was removed from my hands as he stood, grunting with the effort of dealing with me, I suppose. It wasn't the weight of the glass that was a burden.
He set the glass in the sink, I could hear the cold ting of metal and glass connecting. I couldn't see him. Not only was it dark in my living room, my vision was not at the best given my current condition. Fainting and whatnot is not exactly good for the eyes. He stood there, a dark presence in my kitchen, looming much like the thunderclouds outside.
"Why'd you do it?"
Silence echoed in the walls of my apartment as I mulled over the question. We had taken a complete circle. It was the first thing he had asked me when I found him in my living room, making my couch look smaller than it should. It was the same question he asked me, and I knew it.
"What're you talking about?"
"That woman on the highway. You saved her. Why?"
My bottom lip bore the brunt of my nervous thinking as I attempted to consider why it was I had saved her. I didn't entirely feel obligated for her life. As I had said before, I felt (and still feel) that it was the woman's own fault for driving me off the road. Not the other way around. I couldn't leave her to die. That's all I could think of. So I said it.
He made a sound of exhaling. I wasn't sure if it was in disbelief or approval. "And why not?"
This man had a five year old's habit of being annoying as shit.
"Because she would have died otherwise."
"So? What loss is that to you? What did you possibly gain by saving her?"
Life and death was suddenly a black and white issue. He was looking for reasons I couldn't possibly begin to name. Maybe I was at fault and hid behind my mask of blame and guilt.
"I gained nothing and lost nothing. I restored things as they should be. She lived and it appears as though nothing happened." I added on as a brief afterthought, "Maybe she'll stop eating while driving and take more care to chew."
Again he made a noise. Was making a snorting sound all this man did to express his emotions?
"Why did you even bother?"
I got the nerve to question my questioner. "Why do you keep asking me these questions like I just saved the worst woman in the world and she's about to kill the president?"
"How do you know she's not going to?"
That put my foot in my mouth. I really didn't know. But what were the chances of it? Seriously. An overweight woman, sucking down cornbread like a tornado in Kansas, driving down the middle of some road in Pugartory, about to kill the president? Ludicrous! Absolutely impossible!
"That's ridiculous and you know it." I was getting my spine back along with my strength. This man was paranoid beyond belief if he really bought into that! Anyone at any time could be out to kill the president. If he's so gung-ho about it, let him join the CIA and take a bullet for the man who kills thousands of innocents. Whoa, I guess that's how I really feel.
"All I want to know is why." His voice was soft, but suddenly closer. How he had managed to cut the distance between us in half in the blink of an eye left me dumbstruck. I was paying attention to him, and then he was five feet nearer. That doesn't happen. Not normally.
I looked down at my hands, wondering what it was in me that caused my feet to hit the pavement back on the highway. What had given me the strength to resuscitate the yeti? I had sighed then, my shoulders sinking as I had given up. "I didn't want her to die. I couldn't live with myself knowing I might have been able to make a difference and didn't." My own voice sounded small and weak, even to my own ears, but I kept going. "I didn't want to pretend like I didn't care. I don't like seeing people die. I don't want to let people around me die. I wanted to save her. To help."
He stared at me, this time form a sitting position next to me on the couch, his eyes dancing with a light from within. An ever-burning coal that was embedded into the obsidian that were his eyes.
I continued, somehow comfortable with speaking, "Ever since I was little I've been known to rush off at the sound of a scream. I'd drop whatever I was doing and throw myself into action, rescuing dogs, cats, babies, teenagers and even some adults. Even when the danger was high and the odds racked against me, somehow I managed to come out all right. As soon as I got there, I knew things would be better."
My hands were all I could look at. I couldn't make myself stare at his face, much less his eyes. He could see my very soul, my core, my being, everything I had tried to hide from everyone he could see with just a glance. This man was the key to my undoing.
"Why did you save me?"
At this, he got to his feet. Picking up his jacket, he made for the door.
"Where are you going? Tell me why! I could have died!" I jumped up, now wishing my uninvited guest would overstay his welcome.
"You were in no danger," he told me. "You do not fear death." His jacked slid over his shoulders, hands straightening the gloves on his fingers. "You only fear what you may become."
And like that, he was gone. The door was shut, the bolt thrown from the inside. But he was gone.
A/N: It gets better.