Hope
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He felt weak. He had effectively masked his state before his son, but it wouldn't do anymore; he now understood why hope was a forbidden thing, as his own lay shattered within his soul, the pieces sharp, cutting, hurting him deep… «Holding hands is nothing. I always wanted more, so much more.» It was tempting to let Vesca catch up with him again; he knew for a certainty that he'd head back to the building as soon as the detective was tended to. All it would take from D would be to wait. «I have already waited long enough!»
Patience wasn't a virtue he possessed anymore; he'd lost it, along with his so-called sanity.
The task of seeing to his hand wasn't distracting enough; he kept everything in order within his private rooms, so it was just a matter of picking this and that up, and then using them. In an attempt to keep his mind from his memories and desires, he had bandaged his hand as well. Too much for two tiny bites, but it had taken time and concentration to fit them in a comfortable way.
He now sat on his bed, the light dimming as a candle melted away upon the only empty desk he had left… and he had many of those pieces of furniture, as well as cabinets and shelves; more than necessary. It was just that he had them covered, all drawers full, with things. He never had the courage to throw anything away, fearing he would forget something if the object left his hands. And so he called them his treasures, carriers of past memories he had grown fond of.
Most were from his year at the university: Albany, 1975-1976. Way over half of those were related to the group of young human students he had frequented, and, easily, the majority were objects he could relate to Vesca. He had many pictures, too! Again, mainly of him and Vesca, always several feet away from the other. «Such reluctance to come closer…» And he had been the one who had hesitated the most, while—
"Father?"
Blessed be his child… and accursed as well. He had lived what he refused to, and he surely would cherish those memories he had not.
"Here," D called, before his son went on through the narrow hallway. Having built a garden had taken so much space… and he had completely forgotten to consider the rooms he would be needing. The result was that narrow corridor; it was cozy, though, in a mental hospital kind of way. "You seek that which might hurt you, my beloved son. Isn't that an unwise action?"
His son walked into the dimly-lit room, sitting besides him on the bed. "Reckless, indeed."
"Just like your detective," he purred, smirking. "Seems you were—"
"How is your hand, father?" The interruption made him glare at the turned face.
"Better," he growled lowly. "And how fortunate is your chimera not to be here right now… Did you kill it?" he added, thrilled by the sole idea, even when he knew it wasn't possible for it to become true. Not when…
"Of course not!" his son shrieked indignantly. "I left him guarding my suitcase," he muttered after he calmed down.
«Blessed privacy.» He forced those mismatched eyes to look at him. "I need to tell you so many things…"
"Yes?" his son prompted, sounding vaguely annoyed.
Would he dare issue the warning, to deprive his child of the experience, as his own father had tried?
"I'm envious," D sighed.
A confused look was all the reaction he got. "Of?"
He rose from the bed, and he walked over to one of his desks, turning and leaning against it. "I envy you, my son," he purred, his child's dark lips parting, eyes widening, perhaps shocked, maybe scared… "Love hasn't hurt you, like hope has done to me." Confusion again.
"Love? Hope?" his voice sounded disbelieving. "Human emotions, father? What do we have to do with them?"
"Your grandfather might think otherwise, for his convenience and the accomplishment of our duty, yet, my son, we also suffer from such ailments."
His son seemed exasperated, and he turned to look at the melting candle. He didn't want to hear his words, that much was obvious; he'd stopped to, when he was taken away by his father, before he left the first time, to Hong Kong, not too far away… Still, he had to listen now; it was important, what D had to tell him. It was through the experience of the parents that the children learned, in nature, either by being taught, or carrying it within their genes.
Knowledge of hope and of love, though, could not be transmitted before it was lived.
"You loved your detective." Not a question; an asseveration, a fact.
"What—?" Indignation, mismatched eyes glaring with such intensity, they'd kill the sun.
"You also loved his younger brother." To that, his son was rendered speechless, and his face became a window, not a mirror or a mask, which opened to his own heart. He did. Nothing more, nothing less… "That is what I'm envious of," he added casually, turning to pick a framed photograph from the desk: at the zoo, by the penguins, Vesca frowning at the camera as D took the photo. It had been the winter after the Mediterranean, their second vacation together, yet on their own… «And it was all as cold as that snow.» He was to blame, of course; humans became kind to those they frequented, after all.
"You have loved?" his son inquired, bringing him back from his memories. He was now standing in the middle of the room, hiding the candle from view with his body, casting a deeper shadow upon him.
D chuckled humorlessly. "No. I wouldn't fall so low as to love," he replied, obtaining no reaction. He dropped the tease. "Yet I have hoped for so many things. Such an uncomfortable feeling…" Of not being able to interfere as much; of knowing he could only wait, most of the time. Of being just another toy for Fate to play with. "I have seen several realized," he continued, with a slightly happier tone, "but those that have not…"
The chance to see his child grow into the beautiful creature he was now; his father had kept him from it… All the animals and plants, their species at the border of extinction, that he had tried to save, using his acquired knowledge, and had failed miserably; the most recent, thanks to his own son, yet he didn't hold a grudge… Vesca Howell, with whom the game had been several steps higher in the staircase of denial than advisable for any courting, even going as far as declaring each other a personal nemesis years later, during the chase…
And, of course, the cruelest of his wishes: their noble kind being restored to its former glory, project he still hoped would be successful, and that he was still working on with all his resources, including his own body, as dangerous as it was for them all. Yet he had learned from the humans, if it could be declared true knowledge at all, and not wistful thinking, that one had to risk things to attain one's goals.
Even one's own life, and the life of others, born… and yet unborn.
"It hurts," D muttered, closing his eyes as his vision blurred and they began to sting with the already well-known presence of tears. Since they weren't made for hope, deception had long ago accustomed him to crying. Still, that didn't mean he'd shed those tears… Not in front of his son, anyways; or with Vesca and the detective at the elevator's doors. «Hoping isn't pretty.» Neither was getting shot, but he hadn't yet been stopped by a bullet, had he? It was unfair those things had to be so different from one another…
"Father?" A delicate finger brushed his cheek lightly, scooping the tear that had escaped one of his violet eyes.
"Don't touch me," he sobbed; he had never sobbed before!
"Father?" And he could tell his son had never whimpered before, either. He dared looking, and he just didn't like it, even when he'd sought for empathy for several years now; his son's face was streaked with tears, yet his eyes were… "Love hurts as well," he said simply, before he bit his dark lips closed.
"How?"
Mismatched eyes reflected great sorrow. "They took the child away… They took Chris away!" his son's hands wiped at his tears. "And it wasn't Leon the one who did. Had he been—That would have been better," he sighed, as if suddenly realizing he'd have liked it better that way. He stared at him blankly for a moment, and then everything went downhill. "And you tried to kill him," his gaze darkened. "You tried to kill him," he growled this time.
There truly wasn't a correct and safe reply for this one, was there? "I'm… sorry?" he tried, just the same.
"No, you're not!" his son shrieked. "You lured him to the garden, and threw your animals at him. You intended him to become their day's meal, which he almost did… And I'm pretty sure you would have sent him back had we not appeared right then," he crossed his arms over his chest. "How would you like it if it had been Agent Howell showing up like that, bleeding and hurt and dying?"
That brought forward a memory he just didn't want anymore. "Your grandfather had the pleasure to do that to him," he muttered, looking away, "once," he added as an afterthought. When his research for Professor Fritz had been over, and he had been intending to stay, already making plans and searching a viable place to live at, his father had shown up…
He had just once before known such despair, yet, this time, things had ended in his favor.
And why think of such sad things, when they had ended well? Hadn't Vesca just left the building moments ago, still alive? Even when the sandalwood box was left waiting, right now he couldn't do anything short of sighing in relief for having found him on time back then. How fortunate the human didn't remember the event, too… because he did, way too clearly.
"Grandfather did… what?" his son gasped, his eyes widening slightly, eyebrows set in a way that screamed disbelief.
But he wasn't going back to that topic anytime soon. "Never mind," he sighed, finally letting go of the framed photo, placing it upon the desk, noticing the glass had cracked and was tinted in red. Curious, he looked down at his hand; apparently, he had gripped his poor treasure too hard… "I must say," he began once more, "that, even when I'm glad I'm not the only one of us all who has ever suffered, it is painful to see it is you the one who shares this with me."
"Worry not; sharing it with you is shameful in its own way for me." His son walked past his side, and proceeded to examine the things that littered the desk's surface. "I never wanted to be like you… yet, it would seem, we're way too alike on this," he sighed, as he opened a sketch notebook and browsed through the pages.
Drawings he always forgot how beautiful they were, until he saw them again, passed before their eyes. It had been a gift of Vesca's around springtime, after he decided buying him a camera of his own was too expensive; he'd reasoned he might as well draw the animals and plants that were awaking once more… Of course, both had contributed to the collection of pictures here, in simple or color pencils. Occasionally, one would sketch the other, or he'd try to teach him some Chinese characters, so the contents were varied.
"A personal treasure," D whispered, a hand upon his son's shoulder.
The notebook was shut with the utmost care. "It would seem," his son replied, sweeping the desk again with his eyes,
"as are all these things." He nodded. "I also have a treasure of my own; my first," he contributed, putting the notebook where it belonged. "Of this same nature, actually. A drawing."
"Oh, my! I didn't know your detective was an artist!" he teased.
He had stepped into forbidden territory, though. "Not Leon's!" his son protested. "It was from Chris," he added, his voice low in respect and in sorrow. "It was the only thing I found worthy of taking from the pet shop this time…"
"May I see it?"
The smile he was given, so honest and pure—"No." —had him hoping it'd be otherwise.
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It had taken some time, but they had managed to fit all that mattered into a pair of reasonably heavy suitcases… which had also been full with other stuff his father had never managed to find a place for. Everything else, he'd said, could stay where it was; those memories he didn't need anymore would remain, probably to be found by Agent Howell whenever he returned.
«I hope he gets Leon to the hospital in time.» Somehow, now he dared to leave such thoughts loose in his mind. They didn't seem as terrible as before, as dooming and unwanted and tainted with humanity. "I'm heading east," D told his father. Might as well warn him, in case he had already been there…
"Doesn't matter," he replied, looking around the room for anything important he might be forgetting. "I'm sure your grandfather will want you out of the continent by the time we reach the coast, anyways."
Again with grandfather… "How can you be so sure?" His father chuckled amusedly.
"You're so innocently blind, my beloved son. It is a cute thing, but a dangerous one as well," he answered, smirking and letting his hair fall all around his face, most his features cast to the shadow. "Wouldn't hurt you to look over your shoulder occasionally, believe me!"
So many hidden meanings… Yet they were valuable lessons he had to learn on his own, as well as the truth behind those words.
"Will you come along, wherever I go with the pet shop?"
"Most probably not." He was momentarily surprised by such an answer, before he decided that perhaps it was for the best. "I don't wish to go overseas; I've never been to Europe, but I know it to be a small place. And Asia is overpopulated already."
"What about Africa? Or Oceania?" His father wouldn't stay at the United States! Agent Howell, and probably also Leon, would know of him, and then he'd be arrested before he could even blink.
The candle light wavered, the flame about to vanish, and his father gasped. "None of us has ever been to Australia. Am I mistaken?"
"No." All the koalas and kangaroos, among other native animal species, they possessed at the pet shop had been acquired through other means. "Are you planning to go there?" he inquired, smiling and clasping his hands at his front.
"Maybe." Which meant ‹yes.› "For that, though… I'd need to stay here, at the West Coast," his violet eyes became sad then. "I'll miss you."
"Don't stay in Los Angeles, though," D warned, beckoning his father to come closer.
"My beloved son," he chuckled again, "I'm just insane, not stupid." He couldn't help it; he joined in the small, humorous laugh than ensued. "I will be careful," he promised a while later, brushing aside the hair that fell upon his golden eye.
"Be," D whispered. He leant forward and let their lips touch lightly in a chaste kiss, the likes of which he remembered his father giving him when he was a child.
The only kisses they'd ever gotten on their whole lives…
The candle melted away completely, and darkness fell in the room. They hurried outside, each taking a suitcase. Going down the narrow hallway, which reminded him, with a pang to his heart, to the hospitals he'd been to when Leon had been hurt, they soon were out in the greenish light of the garden. They both breathed in deep, secretly thankful to have left their discussion of love and hope behind, ready to go on… until they needed to return and share further; they knew they'd someday be caught in such a situation, but right now—
His father gasped, dropping the suitcase he'd been carrying. D turned around in haste, and saw him kneeling by a shrub of white hibiscus flowers, partially hidden from his view. He had both arms hugging right below his middle tightly, and he was letting himself down against the plant besides him. His hair hid his face as well, but he could tell his father was wincing in pain… "Father!" he hurried to his side.
"I'm… fine, son," he said weakly, holding up his hand at him, signaling not to come closer. "Just… go for your… suitcase and… that chimera." Never one to give up, was he?
"Will you be alright?" he was worried, after all; nothing should cause them physical pain of a sudden, even when they'd just proved the emotional kind was possible. His father nodded. "Then, stay here," he knew further questioning would irritate his father.
As he was given another silent nod for an answer, D rose again and went back the way he had first gone into the inner rooms through. He caught the bitter scent of blood seconds later, yet decided against glancing over his shoulder at his father; death quickly followed, and he just increased the speed of his steps. The sooner he had his suitcase's handle grasped by his hands and Q-chan fluttering by his side, the better; he'd return to look after his father… and not before that.
"Q-chan!" he called, just to make sure he had picked the right path. A squeak told him he had, so he hurried even more; he ran. "Q-chan, we're leaving," he said simply, thankful that his bat rabbit was already off the suitcase, which he picked up immediately. His pet landed upon his shoulder, loyal as always—
Hadn't his father mentioned he should look over his shoulder and see?
He did as he'd been told, not really sure why he was giving his father's passing comments any value. Q-chan's eyes met his, and his mismatched gaze killed the eagerness on the bat rabbit's little face. And, suddenly, those tiny black orbs weren't as dark as they were bright and golden… "How do you manage to sleep at night, knowing what you do?" he asked, bothered and slapping the little creature off his shoulder. "I can't believe what you're doing!"
Q-chan looked at him confusedly, tilting his head to the side and putting on an expression of extreme innocence, while pointing at his small chest with a paw, squeaking cutely. ‹Who? Me?› D could almost hear him ask.
"Yes, you!" D sighed as that only elicited another random squeak, instead of the words—"Grandfather, please…"—he knew were within the capabilities of his ‹pet.›
He hadn't truly expected it to become true right before his eyes, though.
The sound of the tiny bat wings fluttering was replaced by the rustle of a long, heavy, black cloak of unknown material. He remembered it too well… "I can't believe you lied to me," he declared first thing, not letting the cloaked male speak.
"You were too young to be left alone," his grandfather justified himself. "I was worried about you."
"So said my father, the stalker," he growled lowly. "Your method, though, was more original, though less sane," he added. After all, had he not slept besides him on his own pillow? Wasn't him always eating sweets from his hand, that he'd previously bitten, or licked even, himself? And always poised on his shoulder, so close… All that he saw, so had his grandfather. All that he heard, too.
He couldn't see his grandfather's face, but the frown carried to his dark lips. "Don't compare us," he warned in that tone of voice, making sure the topic would be dropped. "And hadn't I been by your side all that time, you would be dead by now. You're so careless, and so reckless…" D glared, letting his suitcase down again. "No wonder you associated with that detective."
"Who, at least, never lied to me when helping me out." His grandfather turned to face him; he'd said he was staring, but he couldn't be quite sure. "He was just in denial," he explained quickly, before he was reminded of Leon's true reasons to be at the pet shop in the first place. «At least, I think he was…» Chris's presence at the pet shop for nearly a year was the most obvious hint towards that possibility.
"Good Heavens, he better not!" his grandfather exclaimed.
"Do you prefer him following me with intentions of arrest?" He couldn't believe it…
"Yes, I do." Then he smirked again, clasping his hands together, yet keeping them hidden underneath his cloak. "After all, we can bend human law to our convenience. You'd be free before he could even begin to understand he caught you."
"Free to return to your pet shop," D clarified what was left unsaid. "A prison I'm already used to, yet a prison just the same… No wonder father left," he muttered.
"All he touches, he spoils," his grandfather sighed dramatically, thing that vaguely reminded him of his own father. They were truly all the same, weren't they? "And he didn't only touch you, he actually kissed you!" Both his hands were keeping his face in place suddenly; they were cold, unbelievably so…
"How did you—?"
"It's called age, my child. Even when many think I might be a clairvoyant, I assure you it's only accumulated experience."
Old and all-knowing without physically aging… And he would be the same way, someday.
"Let's leave now, my dearest grandson." He spoke with the tenderness he remembered from his childhood, and he was tempted to agree and leave on his command, yet…
"Father," he gasped. He pulled on the cloak of his retreating grandfather. "My father! He's—I fear that he might be—!" Hurt. Dying. And away from them while he was either or both. "He must still be in the garden…"
His grandfather held him in place, though, and he struggled for a moment before surrendering to his will. "He will be fine," he assured him. "This is something he has brought upon himself many times in the past, and he has yet to be weakened by it. I'd even dare saying it has increased his endurance."
"Is he ill?" he inquired, worried, remembering the quantity of medicinal tea he'd found in that cabinet, and the little closet he'd passed by in the narrow hallway, with boxes and bottles of items that went beyond the level, not only quantity, of a simple first aid kit.
"He enjoys of a rather marvelous health… physical health," he corrected himself. "Yet he finds his daily amusement in his genetic engineering lab; at times, he'll become his own test subject…" D gasped, and his grandfather shook his head lightly. "Indeed, he does what he should not. And, for that—"
"—a price is to be paid," they finished together. Just like when judging humankind, he was now put before his father's sins. «His only sin is hope.» He found no other crime. «Mine is love.» He had just discovered. «And grandfather's fault? Which might that be?» Did he even have one? Could it be a flaw of his father only, which would forever taint their kind? «No…» The origin had to be higher up their family tree…
"Pick your case, and follow me," his grandfather ordered with an unusually gentle voice, caressing his cheek lightly with ice-cold fingers. D didn't have anything left to say against it. Or, more likely, nothing else to tell his grandfather at all.
He obeyed, his movements nearly automatic. The way his suitcase was light, when his father's had been so heavy, without mentioning they were two, was a reminder for him: he could have loved, but it was over. Chris was gone, Leon was gone, and, in some minutes, so would he; nothing was left of it, asides from feather-light memories… His father had clung to his hope like he clung to him whenever he saw him; in more ways than one, it had weighed him down.
Still, after such a moment alone and together, sharing their dreams, he suddenly came to the realization his short life was what kept him so pure.
"Your treasure is the pet shop," he abruptly said, without meaning to. His grandfather stopped dead on his tracks, but didn't turn. "We didn't have a pet shop before you." They had traded and gifted animals and plants to humans for a long while of their history, but a shop had never figured there… His own grandfather had even admitted that in the past. "It is yours for a reason."
"Very clever," the bitterness in that didn't beat the curiosity that overtook him then: what was his grandfather's sin, anyways? "Again, no wonder you associated with that detective."
"Leon. The name of ‹that detective› is Leon," he couldn't believe he was actually chuckling that. But he felt relief. «My father and I… We're not the only ones.» Even when it would be difficult to take it out of his grandfather's lips. Very difficult. "Let's go look for my father; I'm sure he'll appreciate the company while he waits for a reasonable medium and hour to depart for Australia." Then, he and his grandfather would head East, if they still desired to by then, moving the pet shop along until they reached another safe spot where to set their home at.
The leaves in the garden were rustled by approaching beings, which left the shadows to gather around them both. His father came afterward, carrying both heavy cases on his own, and looking insanely enthusiastic… "Hello, father, son," he greeted, placing his things besides his son's, and then doing a mock bow at his father. "Sorry for being late, but I was forgetting I had to do something before we left."
"You weren't wearing those clothes a moment ago," D noticed, remembering the scent of blood as he walked away from his father.
"Those weren't fit for traveling," his father said, waving a hand dismissively. The hand Q-chan… grandfather had bitten, as strange as it sounded. The bandage was tinted in red, yet superficially; no wound that could be underneath had caused it, which could only mean—"Father, could you please do me a favor?"
His grandfather turned from where he'd been petting a young dragon to face him. "Depends on the favor."
"It's small. Tiny," his father childishly replied, even putting his clasped hands against his dark lips.
"Doesn't say much… Go on."
"Would you take my pets with you? It's taken me time to breed them all, and effort too… Yet they can't come with me this time."
His grandfather didn't ask why; perhaps he already knew. D himself wished to know, though, but he thought it'd be rude to break in between the pair. "Understood. I'll see to them."
So like when his father had let Leon and Agent Howell leave…
"Perfect!" his father squealed, clapping his hands and then reaching for his full suitcases again. "Well, what are we waiting for?"
D sighed as he lifted his own from the floor, looking at his grandfather's rustling cloak as he entered the garden, followed by his father's waving long hair, both being shadows darker than those created by the lush plant life… «Yet also the lights that guide my path.» He walked in after them.
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Read & Enjoy & Review, please!
Thanks to all those that have reviewed so far! We are still missing the Epilogue, by the way... This is not over yet! (stay tuned for the next update XD)