Date Written: 9/2/05
Word Count: 489
Rating: T
Characters: Ryo/Dee, mentioned Carol/Bikky
Spoilers: All the way up through Like, Like, Love
Warnings: Angst, character death, language
Notes: For some reason, I just started abusing Dee and Ryo. Part one of two.
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The bed was too big, so Dee slept on the couch. He took Ryo's pillow and some sheets, setting to make himself comfortable.
He buried his face into his lover's pillow, deeply inhaling Ryo's scent. Pheromones and sweat and sex still clung to the cotton strands, remains from last night.
Last night... Last night had been their last time. Some small part of him was happy that they had gone slow, content in feeling than just losing themselves in blind lust. He would need that last bright memory in the dark days to come.
Ryo's body was currently in the city morgue, a gunshot wound through his still heart.
Remembering having to go down into that dark, chloroform-scented Hell to identify Ryo's pale, blue-tinted body, Dee felt sick. He rushed to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet as he emptied his stomach of the remains of breakfast, lunch having been forced out earlier. When his stomach finally stopped heaving he spit twice and fell back onto the tiled floor, numb.
He took little comfort in knowing that the shit who had killed Ryo was behind bars, but he knew that killing his lover's murderer wouldn't bring Ryo back, and that the blonde wouldn't want him to do that.
However, he knew that despite his upbringing, he could never, ever forgive him.
Bikky had cried when Dee called him earlier that night. He was probably on a red-eye to New York from LA right now, using Dee's credit card number. Carol was going to pick him up at the airport.
Those two kids had lost two fathers. He couldn't even begin to imagine or understand their pain, but he knew it was nothing like the pain he was feeling.
"Damn it, Ryo," he muttered, pounding weakly on the tiled floor. He slowly rose to his feet, bracing himself on the sink and looking at his grief-stricken reflection in the mirror in front of him for a split second before putting his fist right through it.
Silver glass fell in shining pieces, the remaining glass holding onto its frame by spiderweb delicate cracks radiating from the impact of the detective's fist. Dee scowled at the stubborn mirror. The glass was taunting him.
Long fingers ripped the mirror off its mount, throwing the rectangle across the bathroom, where it landed in the corner with a satisfying shatter. Dee was dimly aware of a shallow cut across his knuckles, but it couldn't--wouldn't--kill him, so he didn't care. Instead, suddenly very drained physically and emotionally, he stumbled back into the living room. He flopped onto the couch, his face falling onto Ryo's pillow.
"Damn you, Ryo!" he screamed into the feather-filled bag, hot tears falling thick and fast. "You fucking bastard, I was supposed to die first! Damn you..."
Sobs drowned out the screams, grief washing over angry pain, and he fell asleep with Ryo's name on his lips.
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