Here Comes the Groom?

D dropped Leon's hand as if it had suddenly burned him, looking as if he'd been suckerpunched, reeling with the knowledge of what he had seen, his legs turning to jelly as he swayed for just a moment before landing lightly on the couch beside the dazed detective, who continued to stare at the gold bank upon his finger.

"What the hell, D? What the hell?" he kept repeating, parrot-like. "You don't think.... You don't really think.... I mean.... seriously.......Me? Married?"

Count D winced at the use of that.... word.... again, pressing one slender hand against his throbbing temple. "Please, Mr. Detective, is it necessary to be so vulgar?" he said in a voice which was barely audible.

To say that Leon was confused would be the understatement of the year - Leon lived most of his life outside of his work for the police force cluelessly in the dark about many things, simply barging ahead impulsively and doing what felt good at the time. But now he was completely baffled beyond belief - and not just about his current predicament, vis a vis the lost time, the uncooked rice which trickled down from his blond hair, and the strange gold ring situated upon a finger traditionally reserved for wedding jewelry. More confusing than any of these was the impulse he had to reach out and stroke D's cheek comfortingly, to soothe and calm him and tell him that everything would be alright.

WHAT THE FUCK?

As if he had been about to act on said instinct, he grabbed his right hand with his left, and jammed both fists into his lap rather harshly, earning him a quizzical look from D.

"We must be logical about this," D began in a tremorous voice. Stop that, he chided himself. "Yes, there must be a logical explanation for this, my dear detective, and we shall certainly find it," he continued, willing himself to stay strong.

"We? What do you mean we?" Leon began to bluster, but one look at D's determined face, and his words faltered, then died away weakly.

"I need you to think," the Count said, turning his deep dark eyes upon the other man, "close your eyes and let your mind go back in time, back to that bar. I suspect that is where everything began. Relax, and let it all come back to you....."

Reluctantly, but seeing the logic in the Count's instructions, Leon closed his eyes, although he hated to do it, being the suspicious type, always thinking Count D was up to something nefarious, which of course was what he had spent quite some time attempting to prove. He was aware of movement beside him, even as he tried to picture the bar in question, which wasn't easy because frankly when you'd seen one, you'd seen most of them. And Leon had been inside his fair share of bars in his time. It was when he felt his right hand being taken, and strange soft touching sensations permeated him that he opened his eyes in alarm to find the dark haired man gently stroking it. He didn't know which was more disturbing - the fact that D was doing it, or the fact that he rather liked it. A thought which he pushed out of sight quickly.

"Huh?" he blurted out, "What the hell, D?"

"Language, Detective," the shopkeeper admonished him, mostly from habit, as he continued to stroke his hand, his cheeks taking on a light pinkish tinge. "Do not distress yourself, detective, or you will undo what I am attempting to do here...."

"And just what is that?" Leon demanded to know.

"I am trying to calm your chi so that you can recall the events of that night," D replied serenely, "so just relax, Detective, and allow it to happen.... Would you care for some tea?"

"No, but maybe a good stiff drink. You know, the hair of the dog?"

All he got for his efforts in that direction was a pained look from D. "I think not," he said dryly. "Now close your eyes, and think...."

Leon grumblingly did as he was bidden, trying to sort through his memories of bars to the most recent occurrence - at least he assumed it to be the most recent. Everything was jumbled so, it was hard to properly sort things out.

"Let's begin with the olfactory sense," D murmured in Proustian fashion, "maybe you can smell the alcohol, the drink in your glass..."

"What makes you think I was drinking?"

"Detective, please, I know you. Now quit wasting time," D admonished him, his fingers making circles on the back of Leon's hand. "Perhaps there was a kitchen attached to the bar, can you smell food cooking? The perfume of the server who took your order? Anything would be helpful..."

Leon groaned. He couldn't smell anything, his mind was refusing to cooperate, there was just so much to sift through. Too many smells, too much alcohol, nothing was standing out, nothing was coming to mind.

But then he began to hear something, and his head perked up, his mouth dropping open slightly, even as he selfishly hoped that D would not stop what he was doing.

"Yes? What is it, Detective?" D's eyes widened slightly as he watched Leon's reactions. "What do you remember."

"Music," Leon whispered, "I can hear music...."

D winced as if he'd been struck, blanching, although he never released the blond's hand. "Is it..... is it..... Here Comes the Bride?" he managed to get out, finally.

Leon listened to the echo in his head, letting the melody, the rhythm and the words sort themselves out propertly, before he replied in a baffled voice, "No, it's...... it's...... Disco Inferno...." He slumped back into the sofa, still attached to D, his head aching wearly as inside his mind the Trampps continued to play.