Only Human
See I bleed and I bruise, oh, but what's it to you?
I'm only human on the inside.
And if looks could deceive,
make it hard to believe.
I'm only human on the inside.
I crash and I burn, maybe some day you'll learn.
I'm only human on the inside.
I stumble and fall, baby, under it all.
I'm only human on the inside.
There's blood in these veins,
and I cry when in pain.
I'm only human on the inside.
And though looks may deceive,
make it hard to believe,
I'm only human on the inside.
And the damage is done…
The Pretenders – Human
Half an hour later, they were seated on the double bed in Devlin's hotel room, exchanging not-so-surreptitious and uncomfortable glances with each other. After Devlin had fixed her dress, she'd dragged Tristan with her eight blocks down the street, and, apparently having already checked in, unlocked the door and shoved him inside. They'd been sitting there in uncomfortable silence ever since.
"So…ah…why do you have a room here?" Tristan asked.
As conversation starters, it was a little weak, but since she really didn't want to get down to what they were actually there to discuss – like, ever – Devlin decided to answer.
"I have a business meeting in the morning, in downtown Tokyo," she said. "It's at seven in the morning, and I didn't want to get caught in rush hour traffic, so I just decided to spend the night before here so I wouldn't be late."
"Plus, you could hit the Phoenix," Tristan added.
She nodded, at a loss for anything else to say.
Normally Tristan didn't say something without at least giving it a cursory thinking-through, but this evening's events, combined with the three beers he'd had, made him both short on tact and long on bluntness. "So…are you really a girl, or did you, like, have a sex-change operation?" he burst out, face falling as he realized how indelicate his question had been.
Short and to the point, yes, but still not the most diplomatic of queries.
Devlin snorted. "Yes, Tristan, I am a girl, and no, I haven't had a sex-change operation."
"Are you planning on having one, and that's why you've been dressing as a guy?" Tristan wondered, remembering something about all candidates for such procedures living as the other sex for two years beforehand, or something.
"No, that isn't why I do it," Devlin said, a melancholy expression on her face.
Sensing there was a story there – and one that Devlin obviously needed to tell somebody about – Tristan asked gently, "Then…why?"
Devlin looked at the floor, the bedspread, the walls – anywhere but at the boy sitting across from her in the room's lone chair. "My father…he wanted revenge on Yugi's grandfather, remember?"
Tristan nodded, having gotten the whole story from their shorter friend after the Crown Game Shop had burned down. "Yeah, though I never heard why."
A lopsided smile graced her lips. "He was mad about his face getting burned. He wanted revenge for the disfigurement – he always was exceptionally vain. But he wanted to use me to get his revenge…only he's very old-fashioned, and thought his plan wouldn't work if I were a girl. He'd always wanted a boy, anyway; not me," she finished, sounding less distressed than one would think at the pronouncement.
"So he forced you to dress like a guy?" Tristan clarified. At her nod, he continued softly, "For how long?"
Uncomfortable with all the revelations she was having to make, Devlin twirled a strand of hair around her index finger. "Since my mother died when I was eight. We moved to a different town and he made me dress like a boy, act like a boy…everything. I've spent half my life pretending to be a guy."
They were both quiet for a moment, Devlin reluctant to reveal more than she had to, and Tristan still slightly stunned by all that had happened. Finally, the brunet broke the silence.
"Duke isn't your real name, is it?" Tristan said more than asked. "'Cause if it is, then your parents were even more screwed up than I thought."
She chuckled softly, though there was a slightly bitter edge to it. "No, Duke isn't my real name. When my father started my masquerade as a boy, he said I could pick my own name. I think it was more of an inducement not to fight him than anything else, but I appreciated it nonetheless."
"How'd you come up with 'Duke'?" Tristan asked, forgoing finding out what her real name was for the moment.
Quirking a grin, she said, "Would you believe that my mother loved John Wayne movies, and that's where it came from?"
Tristan snorted. "No."
She looked at him, mock-hurt in her smile. "Oh? Well, how about that there was a John Wayne movie marathon on TV when I was trying to come up with a name?"
Tristan just shook his head, patiently waiting for the actual answer.
Devlin sighed sadly. "Actually, I just wanted something easy to remember; since my real name starts with a D, I figured I should choose a fake one that did. I thought about David, but that sounds funny with my last name; so does Daniel, and I hate the name Dennis. I finally gave up trying to think of something by myself and scrounged up the baby name book my mother had used when they were trying to think up names for me. Apparently, I had a close call with being Angela Devlin." She smirked at the contrasting images that conjured up – her in a pair of white-feathered wings, and instead of her trademark headband, a set of red horns and matching pointy tail – and shook her head before continuing, "Anyway, Duke was the last name on the boys name page, and I thought it sounded okay. Rather macho, which I thought might help cover up the fact that I'm not, so…" She trailed off, a pensive expression on her face.
"What is your real name?" Tristan asked softly, guessing that this was at the center of her uneasiness.
She looked at him for a moment, head titled slightly to the side as she examined him. Finally she sighed and said, "Dara Elise Devlin, at your service, Tristan. Pleased to meet you." There was a slightly mocking smile on her face and her tone was almost fragile.
"No one's called you by your real name in a long time, have they?" Tristan realized.
"Once I told my father my choice, he wouldn't call me anything other than Duke," Dara agreed, eyes on the floor. "At first it was hard to get used to telling people that my name was Duke when they asked. I kept thinking, 'No, my name is Dara'…but after a while, I stopped thinking that." Her laugh was brittle, broken. "A psychologist would have a field day with me. Not only did I probably end up with a gender disorder from pretending to be a guy for so long that I now think I'm dressing in drag whenever I wear a dress, but I also have an identity disorder. I'm a wonderful package, aren't I?" she demanded sarcastically, turning tear-filled eyes toward Tristan. One lone tear fell, smearing a painted line of black ink down her cheek.
Unable to sit by and watch her cry – especially since he felt guilty for causing her distress – Tristan came over to sit beside her on the bed, wrapping one arm around her in comfort. Reaching up, he brushed the salty wetness away; a second tear followed from the other eye, and the boy's right hand joined his left. As Dara's tears fell faster, he gave up using his thumbs and started using his lips, kissing the tears away, drinking them down, until finally they stopped falling. Dara's and Tristan's faces were only a breath apart, and she looked into his eyes searchingly.
"Yes, you are," Tristan answered honestly.
Dara let out a shuddering breath, wisps of strawberry-scented air wafting under his nose. Then she smiled a small, bittersweet smile and leaned into his kiss.