Part 12 "Hounds of Love"
Duo Maxwell had no more trouble breaking and entering than reciting the alphabet and it was still a ridiculously simple task for him even when cradling a laundry basket of moth-bitten sweaters and woolen socks on his hip. After the lock above the doorknob on the door of the apartment down the hall clicked, he stuffed the bobby pin securely back into his pocket and stepped inside. Not surprisingly, it was pitch dark, lit only by the distant hazy light drifting in from the windows facing the nighttime streets and the dim flicker of a TV screen.
The mortician strolled into the room as if he owned the entire building, not bothering to close the door behind him, breezily making his way through a complete stranger's home toward the laundry room. He passed that complete stranger as he lay, snoring deeply into the night, on his ratty couch, bathed in the dancing silver and blue cast of his lonely television.
Forgotten and unheard, save for by the intruder, the sounds of late night infomercials continued in their nightly, unseen juggernauts. Duo skirted around the couch, darting through the shadows as silent as a thief, and made his way finally to the laundry room, kicking his way through a multi-layered pile of neglected clothing as he stacked the laundry basket on top of the dryer. Without a moment's hesitation or even a glance backwards over his shoulders, he stuffed each sweater inside, turned the crank to the hottest setting possible, and let it run.
He then strolled back into the living room. The stranger snored on, luckily oblivious to him, as Duo casually sank back into his recliner and scrounged the remote (which incidentally, this stranger had tirelessly complaining about) out from under the cushion and flipped through the channels. He surfed through the hassling commericials and mediocre shows and aberrant movies until the buzzer sounded and summoned him back into the cramped laundry room. He came striding back through the living room with a basket of piping hot sweaters and left as quickly and as casually as he had entered, feeling not an ounce of stigma or misdoing.
He was smiling as he entered the hallway, leaving the door ajar behind him, and trotted up the stairs. The stranger, oblivious that anything had happened at all, mumbled in his sleep and turned over on his shabby substitute bed.
A few minutes later, he had crossed the threshold of his own apartment with his collection of warmed clothes radiating heat on his hip. The lights were still murky and comfortably dim, but there were very few signs of life. The dirty dishes remained dirty and untouched on the counter and spilling into the sink, the couches were musty and alone, and from behind Trowa's closed door the sound of music thudded dimly. Duo continued through the empty room and into his own. That's where he was assured he would find the vampire, in the complete darkness that soothed him so, and he did, and he squinted at Duo rather unhappily for even the soft lights that he switched on.
"Hey, Heero. Good to see you and Trowa aren't at each other's necks… er," Duo hesitated and grinned almost sheepishly. "Well, how're you doing now?"
Heero considered his monotone response very carefully before he delivered in an unenthusiastic tone. "Wonderful."
"Well, at least your humor's not affected by hunger. Otherwise, I think I'd fine you too crabby to stomach," he chuckled good-naturedly. The mortician shut the door behind him as he stepped inside, balancing his load of laundry on one hip.
"I am not crabby," Heero spoke up, pursing his lips in the most adorably disgruntled manner, giving him an edged look from underneath a head of severely bedraggled brown hair.
"Hell, if hadn't ate a decent meal for as long as you, bud, I'd be grouchy as fuck, too."
The vampire simply tightened his lips and gazed back at him, refusing to respond to that. Duo still found it an irresistible time to smile with his entire mouth, noticing the not-unpleasant lightness in the pit of his stomach.
"Got a little present for you," he announced with a grin, as the undead sat up, his disheveled hair worsened by the fact he'd been laid out on Duo's bed in the futile attempt to get some rest. If he hadn't already been driven to mad awareness by his hunger, then Duo's mystifying generosity and undying hospitality and the fact he was lying on his bed would have.
Heero glanced at the basket. A twinge at the corner of his mouth accompanied the lifting of one eyebrow. "My. You shouldn't have."
Duo's mouth widened. "Don't get the wrong idea. It's not like I'm that generous or anything like that," he quipped playfully as he ambled over and took a seat beside Heero, balancing the laundry basket on his knees as he extracted a red sweatshirt and held it up. "Here, put this one on first."
A moment later the article of clothing found itself crumpled up on Heero's lap, while the mortician busily began digging through the pile and pulling more ratty woolen things out. The vampire first looked crookedly at the sweatshirt, not quiet sure of what to make of the gesture, and then turned that gaze on Duo's face. His tone was carefully measured. "First?"
"Don't give me that look," Duo told him quickly, stuffing three more zip-up sweatshirts and a few woolen sweaters onto the crumpled pile on Heero's lap. "When an ungenerous person gives you things, you'd be best advised to take them, right?"
And when Heero opened his mouth in protest, he was very quick to continue in an unyielding tone.
"No way, nuh-uh—I don't want to hear any more of your guilt trip. Take 'em. You feel like a goddamned refrigerator, for heaven's sake, 'Ro. I'm likely to get freezer burn from just sitting here with you." His eyes lingered strictly on Heero's tentative face, physically reiterating the message, and finally, he let out a low, weary sigh and began to weakly shimmy his way into the first sweatshirt, freshly warm from the dryer.
Then another, and another following another, until he seemed to have gained nearly forty pounds and a considerable amount of bulk on his hungry frame. The mortician couldn't help but feel a little surge of affection glowing in his face as he watched the vampire, pale face set into a dogged, disgruntled pout, as he struggled in his exhausted condition to conquer the challenge of the final, red and black horizontally-striped sweater over the ridiculous amount of clothing he already wore. He readjusted himself, the mattress squeaking as he turned and helped yank the woolen garment over Heero's head with a final, sharp yank.
Heero sputtered, spitting out a piece of lint, making a sour face as he did so. "Were all of these really a necessity?" he ground out, trying to smooth down his static-charged mop in futility. He pinched his lips together and looked up at Duo, who lent a hand as well and combed his fingers through his thick, chocolate brown locks one more time with a grin.
"Ah, maybe not in your opinion—but you're warm now, right?"
"I guess," Heero admitted, folding his arms against his chest. His expression flickered within a few moments, as he felt the heat oozing from the wool deep into his skin, and due to the entire wardrobe of sweaters he sported, remained trapped against him. It almost felt as good as Duo's heat. Almost.
The mortician beamed. "See, what did I tell you?"
"I don't know," Heero answered, smirking to himself with the telltale corners of his mouth. "I don't remember what you said. After a while, it all sounds the same. One constant drone."
Duo's look twisted mischievously. "Oh, we got a wise guy, eh?" he drawled in a ridiculous gangster tone of voice as he sat up on his knees on the comforter, gazing devilishly down at Heero, whom was completely unprepared for Duo taking him by the shoulders and tossing him down on the bed. He even let escape a dumbfounded grunt of surprise, which escalated into a growing flush as Duo, snickering wickedly, straddled his stomach, snatching down at his exposed, cold toes. And, above the distant, throbbing din of Trowa's heavy metal music, Heero could hear himself making all the oddest whimpers and sounds as Duo's fingers attacked the sensitive bottoms of his feet and in between his toes.
"Duo!"
"Yanno, it's even harder to listen when you're being viciously tickled, 'Ro!"
He let out a bark of surprise, desperately suppressing a completely involuntarily burst of laughter, and the onslaught only worsened.
"My, you are a loud one once somebody gets you into bed!" Duo teased impishly. "Bet you haven't made his much noise in your whole life, huh?"
"No, and I don't intend to ever again!" Heero managed out, still kicking and thrashing and resisting every peal of laughter that came bursting out of him, and that was rather frequently as Duo discovered and exploited every ticklish inch on his foot and began poking his fingertips into the backs of his knees.
"Ha! Wonder what the neighbors will think, with us making all this noise? We'll be keeping the old Andersons up all night long," Duo drawled fiendishly, relishing every little reaction he could pull out of Heero, the vampire that had been dead only few hours ago and now lay on his bed, in his old sweaters, begging for mercy. Well, actually, they were quickly escalating into death threats of every shape and color, but who was counting?
"Duo, stop, I swear—!" Too busy gritting his teeth and squirming to respond, Heero instead let out a mangled laugh, his defenses slipping as the attack continued.
"Me too, Heero, every damn day!"
"Stop!" he cried out breathlessly, one last time, before he gave in, unable to bear it as a knot began tightening in his stomach.
Duo let off his own devilish laugh as Heero's protests degenerated into uncontrollable laughter, unable to resist any longer. "What's that? I didn't quiet catch that last part, Heero," he grinned, filling with a certain swell to hear his breathless, deep and illegally elicited laughter.
It could be considered rather cruel, you know—sitting here, torturing a poor deceased man when he's much too tired to retaliate in the slightest… but it's too much damn fun to be bad, right?
"Right!"
"Duo—knock it off—stop—Duo!"
"Well… I guess could—" The mortician's smile spread as he temporarily relented and let go of Heero's poor, assaulted toes. His expression turned wistful and musing, but his fingers were claw-like and at the ready. "But then again…"
"No, no—"
Oh, yes, Duo's mischievous voice told him, and he started up again with renewed zeal, sending Heero into round of laughter, though it had begun to come naturally, and Duo had to steal less and less of it from him.
"Duo, please! I can't breathe!"
"That's the point, 'Ro!" he laughed.
Then, suddenly, Heero had stopped laughing. He abruptly felt as if someone had taken a hand to the caverns of his chest, clenched it around his heart, and jerked it like extracting a plant by its roots, pulling it every agonizing inch out of the soil where it belonged.
Soil, home sweet soil
He nearly screamed at Duo, some terrifying, strangled noise as the pain instantly spread to every inch of him, to the tips of his fingers down into the hollow of his bones. "Stop!" he grit out, blinding reaching out for Duo as he felt all the air flying out of his lungs again, and thrashing once, racked with pain. He felt his fingers wrap around something, which Duo knew best as his hair, and then felt said mortician being spun around and flopping gracelessly down on top of him, the music of his laughter absent.
For a few, pained seconds, Heero was blind except to the dizzy, spinning colors behind his eyelids, his ears rushing with what little blood he possessed. And then, those sounds faded, along with the hot waves of agony, ebbing away eventually, leaving him aching and breathless, with Duo's warm body flat on his and in silence. The only sound for a moment was the mortician trying to catch his own breath as he stared down at him, the space between them so very meager.
"Heero," he breathed, stunned. "I…—Shit! I'm sorry! Oh, man, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear, Heero—"
He put his palm to the side of Heero's face without conscious thought, staring anxiously at the severely pained lines in his crushed expression, gritting his teeth, breath hissing through. He'd come back from the dead, had a scalpel buried pretty securely in his head, and had been stitched up, without a drop of anesthesia or so much as a flinch, and now he lay, chest heaving in pain, beneath him.
"Heero? What happened?"
"N-nothing." He sucked in a deep breath, though it didn't sound well nor comfort Duo in the least. He still had his eyes closed tight, grimacing. "I'm all right—I just… overreacted. Hurt myself… Only a little—"
"A little? Sorry again, but bullshit, Heero! You call that 'a little'? You were just about screaming—"
"I'm fine," he grit out, not daring to open his eyes. The pain had faded by now, leaving only the shock to dissolve, but Duo's hand was solid and warm against his skin—and agonizingly so. "Really, I'm fine."
The mortician remained where he was resolutely, with absolutely no intention of moving without an answer to his questions. "Then open your eyes," he told him in an unreadable tone, his mouth set in an unhappy, thin line. And he did, once Duo had removed his hand from the side of his face and replaced it upon his shoulder, merely repositioning Heero's discomfort. The vampire eventually, almost cautiously, did obey the command, though he knew immediately by the fierce expression in Duo's face that he was unpaid and overdue in explanation.
"You're not fine," Duo said in a soft voice. "I can tell that you're not. I can see that you're not."
"But I'll be all right," Heero tried wearily, shying his gaze away to his pursed lips when he uttered the lie. "Don't worry about me."
"That's not as easy as you think sometimes," Duo told him. "And it's not as easy as you think to trick me into believing that you're alright when you're definitely not."
The vampire stared up at him ambiguously, masking his expression as best as he could. "It wasn't your fault."
"Yes, but it is my fault if I let you ignore your own well being. After all, if you're unwilling to do it, then it's my job."
Heero looked up at him as if he'd just claimed an impossible thing, and before he could smother the emotion, Duo had caught it. It involuntarily yanked a heartstring, and he felt himself wishing he would never have to see that so utterly sad look in his eye, once he'd heard him laugh. "Now," he said, pulling himself off of the poor vampire and settling on the bed next to him, "I want you to tell me what's wrong."
After cautiously sitting up, Heero spoke up with even more caution. "Why do you care, Duo?"
"Heero!" Duo cried out, exasperated.
The thin vampire, buried beneath layers and layers of old, ratty sweaters stopped at that, blinking at Duo, visibly on the edge of something in his expression.
The mortician looked at him almost as if he were crazy, but smiled gently despite it. "Because I want to, and it's as simple as that—and no, you're not a monster, and no, you're worth it completely, and no, Heero, I'm not just saying that to make you feel better because I think you deserve to be happier." He let out a sigh, let the smile grow back again, and smirked over at him. "I think that just about covers it, right?"
Heero glanced down at his hands for a moment, noticing that the sleeves of the red and black sweater over top were much too long and only the tips of his fingers were exposed, then nodded silently, though a corner of his mouth managed to twitch upward without quite knowing why. "Sounds right," he murmured.
"Good," came the reply, gentle, but not untainted with his usual mischief. "The sooner I help heal you, the sooner I get to tickle you again, you know."
"I can hardly wait," Heero said, turning his gaze up and meeting eyes with the living person who had done more for him in a single night than the sum of humanity had during his long and lonesome existence. A hint of a smile was an inevitable thing when he looked at him, and he felt surprisingly warm when Duo returned it, a seeming billion watts brighter.
Trowa felt rather peeved, to find upon his next venture out of the safety of his room a little while later, with one corpulent rat in hand, to catch the final glimpses of his roommate's dark silhouette flittering out into the flimsy light of the hallway, in his dark clothing, and with his undead friend close behind him, one hand on the door as he prepared to leave as well. To where, Trowa had no effing idea, but somehow he found it irritating that Duo would breeze off early in the morning with a vampire and not at least give him a heads up. It was nearly dawn, anyway! To what else was bothering him, he couldn't quiet put his fingers on—which may have been due to the oversized rodent squirming in his hand. Before Heero stepped through the doorway, in a ridiculous red and black striped-sweater and countless others beneath it, he hesitated, taking notice of Trowa at the door of his room, staring out analytically at him.
His deep, stoic blue eyes flickered to the rat, then up to Trowa's face as it dropped a shade whiter, making the connection. And, without the slightest expression otherwise, curled a corner of his mouth and ran his tongue once over his top lip.
Trowa threw him the finger immediately and slammed the door shut, clutching his rat protectively to his chest and giving it access to his clothes, which he immediately began gnawing upon.
It would be exactly fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds later when Trowa realized that Duo had abandoned him on rent-day with all of the money.
Heero sat again in the passenger side of Duo's dented-to-hell Camry, fully clothed with garments to spare this time. But time was becoming dreadfully short for him. Twilight was creeping ever so gently into the skies above, tinged a hazy pink by the wear and tear of pollution on the city's skyline, and it made his stomach uneasily turn in his stomach, his head ring with a distant, warning tone. They were traveling the emptied streets, in that rare moment when the city actually slept, between the retiring of the night owls and the awakening of the early risers, toward a neighborhood where the darkness was deeper and more crowded. Heero kept his eyes keenly trained on the blacktop in the headlights, avoiding the glances of the certain, pale people he could see hovering just out of mortal sight, in the spaces and crevices void of light.
Duo again turned to look at him, not meaning to blatantly do so but doing so anyway. He pursed his lips slightly. "Hey. You okay, Heero? You're looking kind of pale."
"When do I not?" he said dully, snorting once. "But yes, I'm fine. For the moment, at least."
"You wan' take my shades for a little while? It's getting a little bright out, and I know you don't like the sunlight. I don't want you exploding on me, pal."
The corner of Heero's mouth twitched. "I'll be fine. Anyway, that's nothing but Hollywood corrupting your imagination. It's an overly romantic notion. The truth is far less attractive. Far less neat and clean."
Duo's face turned a shade whiter itself as he looked over at Heero. "There's something messier than an explosion? Bloody hell," he drawled.
He shook his head and turned his gaze onto the windshield, watching the skyline slowly warming, drawing closer to dawn with every passing second. "A vampire dying of extreme sunlight exposure is somewhat similar to the Wicked Witch of the West's reaction to a bucket of water."
"You mean—" Duo started, swallowing awkwardly as a corresponding image sprung to life in his imagination, complete with horrific screaming noises and a large crooked nose disappearing into a pile of sizzling green goo. He didn't know what quite to make of it, instead picturing the man sitting beside him, and quickly flushed it out of his mind.
"It's not good for white carpet," Heero continued, secretly relishing the reaction he could pull from the mortician, of how bright his skin could glow when he smiled, or filled with a flush, filled with liquid warmth. It was a shame that he had to go and ruin the moment by letting his lips escape his control. "It's almost as bad as what remains of those who slept without their native soil," he muttered quietly. He soon realized that the silence that followed was thick with unspoken concern on Duo's part.
"That's not going to happen to you, Heero, so don't even think about it." His voice was thick with some nameless color, and it made something warm twist within the vampire's chest, and only intensified it when he made eye contact, meeting a pair of violet eyes that simmered determinedly.
"I promise you, you're going to be just fine. We'll go to your apartment, get your dirt, and then we can conk out for a while at my place. God knows we both need it," he said firmly, his words growing even more reassuring when he looked him in the eye. He smiled. "Can't have you bleeding all over my seats again, now can I? And besides," he said, tilting his head happily, watching the road, "we're almost there."
Heero glanced out of the window and again laid eyes on the dark, uninviting apartment building that had once been his home, before he had died and ended up on Duo's doorstep. "Drive past," he said, eyeing it warily. There was no sign of life in the windows on the third floor.
"Rather shady looking place," Duo muttered. "Hell, the whole neighborhood looks it's got a set of teeth. I hate to say it, but I expected to find a few undead around here in the physical sense, but a few here are pretty deceased hygiene-wise."
"Yeah, well," Heero answered while they crept past, "I did say that we're overrated."
Once parked around the corner, safely doused in the shadow cast by the building, Duo caught the eye of his undead companion again, and asked, "You ready?" The vampire nodded a silent affirmative and both slunk out of the car in unison, stepping foot on the rain-damp sidewalk ringing the uninviting building of brick and crooked windows that seemed to almost sway and shiver in the wind.
