A/N: So, here's the next, if anybody's reading.
I'm always late with such stuff, but – the lowest bows to the lady who's been my beta for quite a while now, and lately is becoming more and more of a gamma, too – Dances With Irrelevancy on FanFictionNet. With rays of love to everybody, - enjoy!
How does this one feel?
Chapter 4. Thursday night. Istvan. Jorgen. Bjorn. Inside of the Box.
When Davy came to their room after the shower, he found Mike standing at the window in only his underwear. He was standing there stooped and didn't even turn when Davy entered the room. Davy wanted to call, but stopped. He just came up to Mike and stood beside him.
- You okay? – Mike asked quite weakly.
- Better than could be, - Davy answered with a slight smile. – And you?
- Well, better than could be, too, but worse than you may think.
- You're still so bugged over Comrade?
Mike nodded.
- And not only that.
- What else?
- I have a strong suspicion that he's to blame.
- To blame for what?
- For that attack of boys, - Mike replied darkly.
Davy looked down. Well, those boys were really strange, as if somebody had told them, as if somebody set them against him and his man… but Comrade Hatred! He couldn't really believe it. Why had he been so kind, then? Why would Comrade set somebody on his, as Mike said, 'beloved' Davy? It was not that Davy trusted the man exactly, but when he thought of all the things Comrade had done, he could see some positive sides.
- How possibly? – he asked, looking at the darkness behind the glass of the window.
- You're asking me? – Mike dropped sarcastically. – If I knew, little star, I'd find a way to prevent it… to protect you… and perhaps myself, too. But it's obvious that when Comrade Hatred is near nothing's gonna be alright.
- Well, what do you mean by alright? – Davy asked, glancing at him. When Mike called him 'little star', it meant some heavy stone on his heart. – You mean – as usual? As he's been kind to me – in his own sort of way, you see, but it all worked out well, em, I…
- First he was cruel, then kind, then cruel again, - Mike remarked with a sigh.
- Cruel when? – Davy sniffed.
- Remember Micky and Peter's morning talk? Don't tell me that you have forgotten most of the words like I did, just please. Whatever, they never talked like this before. Our dear saint Peter, he always tells me what bothers him… and he never told me anything about this. I know he'd do. Or I know I'd hear. Nothing, little star. Before Comrade arrived, nothing bothered Micky. Not a single little brat thought anything wrong about us. Nobody ever forced little Lettie to do anything without even touching him.
- Nobody gave us this much money.
- Oh well DAMN OKAY!
Mike turned to him and slapped his hands against his own hips fiercely. But his lips were trembling, and the long deep scratch on his cheekbone was already blue – some especially accurate marksman from one of the backyards had aimed a quite big sharp stone at Mike's eye, but, thankfully, had missed. Davy put his hands on Mike's shoulders and moved a little closer to him.
- Enough, - he said. – Quite enough. Comrade Mstislav isn't worth your worries. Why can't you understand? He's just an odd old lad whom we both – no, we all – would prefer had never moved here. But he's here and what can we do? Eat ourselves? Stop that, dear. You have me – and spit on all those Comrades, even if there are a thousand of them!
Mike pressed Davy to his breast and Davy caressed his neck with a slight smile.
- You know, - Mike said sadly, - the worst thing is that it's all my fault, too. And it's much deeper than Comrade's.
- Where is your fault? – Davy said quietly. – Forget it, there isn't any.
- You don't see… - Mike sighed and the tip of his nose touched Davy's cheek. – Open your eyes, little star. Can't you see – since the day I found myself in love with you I've been bringing you only trouble!
- You haven't, - Davy said, holding him tight. – You haven't! You've been bringing me your warmth and your love. And some people – and not people – were trying to fight it. And they couldn't. That's why we are alive and well now. I owe you my life, and you keep blaming yourself for every trouble you – we – are in.
Mike sighed.
- You know, - he said slowly, - this talk we had… about Lettie… about your son you want to have… please, listen to me now calmly, okay? I'll tell you something that is important to me.
Davy freed himself from Mike's arms, trying not to look annoyed. He could guess what Mike was about to say.
- What? – he asked, looking Mike in the eye. His man glanced away.
- You know… if you really found yourself a pretty ginger wife… you'd actually be able to have a son like Lettie, - he said in a strange unfamiliar voice. – And nobody would shout 'bugger' at you in the street. Nobody would be throwing stones at you. Your closest friends would not be discussing your love behind your back…
- Trying to get rid of me?
Mike sighed and looked down. Slowly shook his head. No.
- Then what are you saying this for? – Davy asked, knowing the answer.
- Everything would be better without me, - Mike said sadly.
- Do you even remember when this all began? – Davy asked seriously, trying to catch Mike's look. – When something bit me. In the street. Because of my own carelessness. And it turned me into a monster. Where are you in this story?
He tilted his head a little and squinted. Mike looked away.
- You were the one who saved me, - Davy reminded softly. – And you actually died doing it, sunny.
Mike sighed.
- And if everything ended there, if I could find a courage to put a full stop! But I couldn't. If that only wasn't for my stupid love… Micky was right, you know – or whoever put those words in his mouth: we were okay as we were. You with girls and me with music.
Davy folded his arms and looked at Mike like he was a stubborn child.
- And do you think that I'll let it be? Or are you really trying to get rid of me?
- I want you to be happy, - Mike said softly. – You don't know how much joy your smile brings me. And now I don't see you happy. And it's all because of me.
- Oooh…
Davy covered his face with his hands and leaned on the window glass.
- You don't even know how stupid you are to say that! – he said, trying his best to hold his annoyance – he didn't want another fight like the one on Monday.
- I may be, - Mike said quietly. – But then you don't know what a fool you are to stay with me. Listen, little star, I'm serious: you'd better forget it… as I see, Comrade has a stone in his bosom only for me. And I don't want anything bad to happen to you…
Almost unwillingly – Davy saw it – he touched the wound across his cheekbone. He pressed up his lips.
- I'm telling you – it's not your fault at all, - he said exhaustedly. – You could do nothing. And please stop with this talk about curly ginger wives. It just… makes me feel sick.
- You actually want it, - Mike said, turning his back to him and heading to the bed. – You won't admit it, but… you want. Everybody wants to be happy. I appreciate… I love your attempts to be happy with me. But sometimes… actually, I don't think you should. Try. It…
- I love you.
The three words – the key words of their lives so many times – rang through the room's tense air and shattered on the opposite wall. Mike's shoulders hunched even more. Davy stepped closer to him and repeated it:
- I love you. And you know it. And you love me too. And don't you?
- You know perfectly well that I do, little star, - Mike answered with a sigh, not raising his head. – And that's why I want you to be happy. When I imagined you and your curly ginger wife – sorry – and your own little Lettie… - he smiled softly. – Well, that was the happiest picture ever.
- You know what's my happiest picture ever? – Davy asked, coming close to Mike and sitting down on the bed near him. – It's the picture of you and me. And stop this stuff, okay? They say that we hurt our beloved ones the most trying to be good to them. Don't prove it, will you?
Mike sighed.
- I'm just afraid that it might really happen, - he said. – You can find someone, and it may be just a matter of time, I mean, I can understand anything, but then… it'll be more painful to let you go, you know.
- Beginning your old story again?
Mike looked away – and Davy saw a lonely tear run down his cheek.
- My greatest wish is to keep you from being hurt, - he said, and his voice trembled. – But I myself act against my wish just following it… oh God, how stupid…
He buried his face in his hands. Davy moved closer to him and embraced his shoulders.
- Listen, - he said, trying his best to sound soft. – Just forget about it. Okay? Just – for-get.
- I can't, - Mike said quietly. – Listen, little star… I guess Comrade does have something against me. Such thoughts – I mean, like those I'm saying – have never come to my head before.
- I can't believe it, - Davy said quietly. – You, who fought the demons – you are letting some old fella win! You are so scared of him you just… you're outta your mind!
Mike didn't answer. Davy stood up.
- Listen, - he said, - I think we should have some time alone. I'll go now.
- Where? - Mike stood on his feet sharply. The green sparkled in his eyes.
- Don't worry, - Davy said exhaustedly. – I'll go for a walk. When you torture ever part of yourself – maybe you'll be able to think. And I myself need to think a lot. We'd better spend some time alone.
Mike stood unmoving for just a second, and then he rushed to Davy, hugged him and kissed him on the forehead.
- You're right, - he said quietly. – Go, little star. I'll be waiting for you.
Davy bit his lower lip as he pressed closer to Mike.
- Don't wait too soon, - he said quietly. – I love you.
- And I love you too, - Mike said, releasing him.
First god-knows-how-many kilometres he walked without thinking, just to get away, just to run, to withdraw, to disappear from sight. He hurried long strides down the street, barely knowing where he was going. But when he went around the umpteenth corner, he suddenly stopped, leaned on the wall of some building and closed his eyes tight.
He loved Mike, he loved him more than anyone in his life. But Mike – this strong man, his hope and his love – was now so weak, so weak! Davy wasn't used to seeing him like that. He wasn't used to seeing Mike give up. A cold hand squeezed his heart. Mike trusted him with his weakness – but it was unbearable to see him like that.
Why, Mike? Why are you so hurt? You're hurting me with your pain… Why, why, why should this all happen?! Are we cursed or something? Mike, Mike, my dear, what's happening?
- Mister Jones!
The call cut the silence and Davy started, opening his eyes wide. A man was walking fast towards him. He was wearing simple jeans and a shirt and Davy's heart fell – the shirt reminded him of Mike's…
He squinted and looked at the man's face as he quickly approached him through the darkness. There was an expression of genuine sympathy on it – and, much to his surprise, Davy recognized Bjorn from the mansion where the Official Opening took place.
Bjorn reached him and put his both hands on Davy's shoulders, like an old friend. Davy didn't even try to pull away. He remembered Bjorn very well. Not knowing what to do, he decided to trust the guy. He needed someone to trust. He didn't actually think that Bjorn was Comrade's man – he didn't know why. He couldn't imagine a 'Comrade Hatred's assistant Bjorn'. He would rather say Bjorn belonged to that mansion where the Official Opening took place – he knew who its owner was.
- Mister Jones! – the guy exclaimed.
- Hello, Bjorn, - Davy said exhaustedly.
- What are you doing here – alone at night? – Bjorn asked with the most genuine worry. He sounded like a fairytale character, only he needed also 'in the forest'. Davy smiled.
- Nothing special, Bjorn. I just… just don't wanna return to the Pad.
Davy didn't know why he liked Bjorn this much, but he had that feeling towards him he always trusted – that was the feeling that he had a reliable man in front of him. Well, perhaps it could betray him, but Davy didn't want to care. Whatever happened…
Bjorn put an arm around his shoulders.
- You can tell me everything, Mister Jones, - he said softly.
He looked like a loving uncle. Davy glanced down.
- Well, - he said, - I'm not sure. I'm just not feeling good and I don't wanna return home.
- Something wrong with you and Mister Nesmith? – Bjorn asked with sympathy.
Davy shrugged his arm away.
- How do you know? – he asked suspiciously, talking a step away.
- I overheard what Comrade Mstislav said, - Bjorn looked down. – He has a habit of making plans aloud when he's alone in his Box – and once I was passing through the Corridor and heard… though usually you don't hear what's going on inside the Boxes…
- Comrade Mstislav? Mstislav Hatred? – Davy asked, jerking his shoulder. – So you're actually Comrade's man? Some of his assistants or something?
Bjorn shrugged slightly, looking down.
- Well, I'm one of Comrade Mstislav's servants, I'd better say… but I must say, Mister Jones, I don't really agree with him in everything. You just don't tell anybody, okay?
His sigh was so genuine, and Davy wanted to trust him…
- Then why don'tcha leave?
- Well, - Bjorn said, looking down. – You can't simply leave Comrade Mstislav. It's a long story, Mister Jones. Let's say I have nowhere else to go.
- Okay, leave it. Listen, Bjorn, - Davy said quietly, - the problem is definitely between me and Mike. But I don't want to talk about it. Do you know any places where we could relax a bit? Because I need it.
Bjorn's eyes shone with the most genuine joy.
- On, Mister Jones, do I know!
Davy could only smile. Bjorn was so unlike comrade – he was simple and kind. Davy just wondered how come that this great man was one of Comrade Hatred's servants. But maybe this was quite logical – if Comrade Hatred had really come with good intentions. Davy threw those thoughts away, following Bjorn somewhere. They began to talk about the world and all, and soon Davy was quite relaxed.
- So, we're there, Mister Jones - Bjorn announced with a smile on his face. – Just a few more moments, Mister Jones.
He pressed his hand to the strange black square on the door and said quietly:
- Bjorn.
That was quite odd, but Davy just raised his head to glance at the stars – he didn't want to think of anything. But something suddenly caught his eye. He looked at the sign over the door and gasped.
'Comrade Hatred's Boxes' – it said.
- Boxes?! – he exclaimed.
Bjorn looked down.
- Actually I hope that Istvan is still away, - he said. – Because with him it'll be the fires of hell, I guess.
- What do you mean – you hope? Who's this darn Istvan? – Davy exclaimed, taking a few steps back – but the door suddenly flew open. The bright orange light blinded him and he almost fell back.
- I'm the darn Istvan, - the man's voice said mockingly. Davy looked at the orange rectangle of the doorway, squinting with the brightness of the light – and saw a man in a dark suit. His features were barely visible, but his hair was sleek and Davy could see the sharp triangular shape of his face.
- Istvan?.. – Bjorn mumbled, stepping back himself. – I… I thought you were… with Comrade Mstislav… away…
- Comrade Mstislav returned earlier than he planned, - Istvan cut off sharply. – Come in, Bjorn. And take the client.
- Wait, what? I'm not the client! – Davy tried to argue, immediately regretting that he ran away from the pad at all. He glanced helplessly at Bjorn. Maybe if this guy doesn't like Comrade, he'll at least try to help? But the poor guy's stare was just as helpless. And Davy understood that Comrade could easily to something to control his servants as well – as he did to Lettie.
Davy looked at Istvan and took another step back – and suddenly stumbled and fell. The next thing that he felt was somebody heavy and sharp over him and a sudden quick flash of pain in his shoulder. He gasped, but a hand in a glove – white, as he could notice when it flashed at the corner of his sight – covered his mouth. Davy felt strange weakness. His sight blurred.
- Help me, Bjorn! – he heard Istvan's imperative voice.
- Get off of him, Istvan! – Bjorn's voice exclaimed desperately.
- Shut up and help me! You wouldn't bring him here just to give him some tea, ha? Comrade Mstislav said he needed help – he'll get it!
Davy was almost unable to think. But he tried his best to stay conscious when he heard a voice he hadn't heard before.
- Shut up, Istvan, - it said calmly.
And Istvan didn't say a word. A sound of light footsteps – and that voice again:
- I know what Bjorn wanted. He didn't want you to attack poor Mister David. But, as you already injected the Liquid – I can't do anything here. Bjorn, help us, please.
Somebody's strong hands held Davy under the armpits. Another pair of hands – they were big, Davy could guess they were Bjorn's – held Davy's legs and they carried him somewhere…
- Bjorn… - Davy called hoarsely.
- Shhh, Mister Jones, - he heard Bjorn's soft voice. – Jorgen knows what he's doing. Right, Jorgen?
- Yes, dear, - that unfamiliar voice answered. – Don't worry, Mister David. We won't do anything wrong to you.
They put him in something like an armchair – it was soft and large. Somebody's hardened hands held his head and touched his face slightly. It was Bjorn, Davy was sure…
- Listen, David, - the voice of the one called Jorgen said. – The Liquid will put you to sleep pretty soon, but please listen to me while you're still conscious. Listen and remember.
Davy held on to those words. He was feeling like falling to the dark abyss of sleep – but not the usual sleep, and it was scary to fall…
- David! – Jorgen's voice called to him. – David, I want you to know we're sorry for Istvan. He didn't mean to do anything wrong to you. You'll now be placed into your Box. David. David! You hear me?!
Bjorn's hands began to tap his cheeks, but Davy only uttered a quiet moan.
- Is he okay?! – Bjorn's desperate voice was fading as Davy felt himself falling, falling. He tried to hold on to the words, to the sounds – and he couldn't.
The Box… so that's what they were going to do to him… Bjorn, Bjorn, how could he? And those two others – who? Ist… Istvan? And who was the third?..
- David! – Jorgen's voice broke through the darkness. – I can't guide you any more now. You're falling asleep. Don't fight it. Let yourself fall. It'll be okay. You hear me?
The voice was calling from everywhere. Davy groaned quietly. He tried desperately to stay conscious.
- Don't hurt yourself. Don't fight the Liquid. Don't fight its power. We want you to wake up on the bottom.
- He doesn't want to fall, - it was Istvan.
- If he keeps on holding on, he dies. David!
Davy sighed. He couldn't die now. Because perhaps there would be a way out of the box. And would there be a way out of death?
He let go of the words, of the phrases and sounds. For a second he felt the letters, he almost saw them crawl out of the three men's mouths. He smiled – that looked odd. And he felt like falling.
- He gave up. Good job, David. Now don't worry… - it was Jorgen's voice, calm, Davy could hear a smile. – You'll be okay… yes… yes, Bjorn…
The voice faded and Davy flew, fell – no, floated – down…
The fall ended unexpectedly: there was a snap – and suddenly Davy found himself lying on his stomach on something cool and solid, his face down. He lay like that for a moment or two as his thoughts and memories filled his head again. Then he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes – and had to shut them again and wince. The bright light blinded him.
In a second or two, though, he half-opened his one eye, then the other – and sat up, not raising his head. He was feeling quite good – nothing reminded him of a black fall into the dark deep abyss. He recalled the voices and everything that had happened. So, now, he must be in his Box…
Well, if Jorgen said it – Jorgen 'knows'!
He rubbed his eyes. Okay, he said to himself. Whatever he was to see – he'd now raise his head and face it. No matter what he saw there.
He looked up and took a deep breath. He was sitting on a bright lit empty stage in front of an empty auditorium. The seats were blue with armrests of some honey-coloured wood. The wood of the stage was smooth and golden. Davy squinted. There was something strangely pleasant about the place, but the thought that flashed in his now clear mind was calling him.
The pad. Mike. I have to get back there. I have to get back to him.
Davy stood up and jumped quickly off the stage. He passed down the aisle and ran out of the room. He found himself in a short corridor – or, better to say, a long rectangular room with four doors on each longer wall and one on each shorter one. It was lit quite dimly. The carpet on the floor was blue and incredibly soft.
All the doors looked exactly the same. Davy decided to check the shorter wall doors first – they promised more hope of finding something like a staircase out. But when he opened one of them, he found nothing but the same room – with blue chairs in the auditorium and the goldish stage. He checked the opposite door, but found the same. Puzzled, he checked each and every door three times or so, and finally he just leaned on the wall helplessly.
And that's when he heard the utterly familiar voice:
- At last.
He jerked his head – and met a straightforward amber stare. Another Davy was standing in the middle of the corridor looking at him calmly. His arms were crossed on his chest. He was there, straight and looking exactly like Davy himself, only his clothes were different. While Davy was wearing his simple t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, the copy had his special shirt and grey trousers on, his boots – Davy recognized them easily – were shining.
- What? – he asked, quite surprised.
- At last, - the copy repeated simply, stepping towards Davy. – I was waiting for quite a while till you woke up… then even longer till you finally gave up whatever you were doing. Well, what you? Actually it's me…
Seeing Davy's absolutely perplexed stare, he sighed and smiled at him softly.
- Let me explain everything from the start now, okay? You're in your Box…
- That I know, - Davy interrupted a bit hoarsely. He paused and cleared his throat. The other Davy shrugged:
- Then ask anything you want to know.
- How do I get out of here, first of all! – Davy said, still hoarse, folding his arms.
- Well, very easily. What's more, you can do it any time you wish.
Davy looked at the copy suspiciously. But there was not a trace of mockery in his simple calm stare, or in his posture, or in his face.
- How? – Davy finally asked.
The copy reached his arm out and touched something right between Davy's collarbones.
- You didn't notice, - he said with a slight smile. – You don't feel it.
Davy touched the little recess and felt something smooth and round in it – like a little stone.
- Don't push accidentally! – the copy warned with a triangular smile – Davy recognized himself and chuckled.
- Okay, okay, - he said. – Now tell me who you are. Or what you are.
- That's easy, - the copy shrugged. – I'm you. And you're me. Simply – I'm made of you. Talking to me is like talking to yourself. The only difference is that you can't lie to me. I can't help but say your own secret thoughts out loud. You shouldn't worry, though, nobody can hear us.
Davy bit his lower lip.
- You have a problem, don't you? – the copy said softly, putting an arm around his shoulders. – We need to talk, Davy. I know that we have to.
- You're Comrade's creation, - Davy said darkly. – Why should I trust you?
- I'm not Comrade Mstislav's creation, - the copy said with a smile. – I'm just you. Simply – a part of your mind. Don't worry. You can trust me. Let's just return to the room, sit down and talk a little in comfort and silence.
- How do I know that you're not lying? – Davy asked with a grin. – I can say a lot of stuff, too. But it doesn't mean that it's the truth.
- Well, - the copy said thoughtfully. And agreed: - It doesn't. But I can't actually prove it to you. I have nothing to make you sure. But you know what? Let's try, okay? Just try.
Davy sniffed nervously, but followed the copy to one of the rooms. He led the boy to the front row and told him to sit down – and sat down himself on the edge of the stage and looked at Davy, smiling and wiggling his feet.
- Come on, take it easy! – he said softly. – You can trust me as you trust yourself – well, why even 'as' if I'm nothing but you!
Davy sighed and looked down.
- What can I tell you? – he asked quietly.
- What's wrong with you, - the copy shrugged. – If you didn't have any problems, you wouldn't be here, would you?
- I didn't want to be here, first of all.
- If Jorgen let you in and didn't give you a painless way out immediately – it means that it should be this way. Jorgen knows!
And again – 'Jorgen knows'. 'Jorgen knows what he does'. Davy shook his head.
- Who is Jorgen to know?
The copy sighed and didn't answer.
- Who? – Davy repeated.
- If I could explain, I'd probably do, - the copy said a bit sadly. – All I can tell you is that everybody knows that Jorgen knows better – but nobody knows actually why. Nobody except Jorgen himself. Maybe he'll tell you if you ask.
- M-m…
They sat in silence for quite a while.
- So what's wrong with you? – the copy finally asked.
- Well… - and Davy doubted. He looked up at the copy and then glanced away. He saw Mike clearly in front of his eyes, he saw his man, he heard him saying those self-tormenting things…
He felt a warm arm embracing him and started. The copy smiled at him, stroking his shoulder softly.
- Is everything really so terrible? – he asked friendly.
Davy bit his lip.
- It's… Mike, - he said with an effort. – He… you know… he's… blaming himself for everything… like he finds pleasure in eating himself, tormenting himself so cruelly! And I… you know that I love him. If you're me – you must know… I adore him. And he… we…
And he suddenly felt that he could trust this young man – trust himself. Because some vibration inside him told him that. Something sudden. He didn't know what it was. But it was like something suddenly opened inside he told the copy everything – about the fights, about Comrade, about everything strange. And when he finished, it took him a lot not to cry as he suddenly realised how much of a pain the whole thing really was for him.
The copy sat silent for quite a while, softly caressing Davy's shoulder – he looked so absentminded he probably wasn't even noticing it. He finally glanced back at him and said:
- You know, it looks like it's really all Mike's fault. I mean, you know, he knows how it hurts you. He could at least stop being so 'oh-poor-me'… Feeling so sorry for himself – that's what I didn't expect from that Mike Who Gives Himself For Davy! – he sniffed.
Davy frowned.
- Don't say that! – he said crossly. – It's just how he feels, it's good that he's sincere at least with me. He's always been so thing-in-itself…
- I'm telling you, you can't hide anything from me, - the copy interrupted, squeezing his shoulder and looking him right in the eye piercingly. – You will never admit it, but sometimes you think – subconsciously – that you'd really be much better with some sort of a curly ginger wife. Mike was right!
Davy tried to push him away, angry. He didn't want even to think about it. He would never let even a half-thought like this in his head.
- I love him, whatever you say! – he exclaimed crossly.
- I didn't say you didn't, did I? – the copy asked, smirking with the corners of his lips and letting Davy go. – I just told you the truth. Bitter truth, but pure.
- It's not, - Davy cut off sharply and turned away.
The copy was silent for a second or two. Finally Davy felt a warm hand on his shoulder and tried to shrug it off. The copy put his other hand on Davy's other shoulder and turned him face to him. His face was smiling slightly.
- Listen, - he said softly, - there's no use in being angry. I'm just saying it out loud because I told you – I can't help it. Do you want to know what you really wish? You wish to be happy. And every man does. Mike doesn't make you happy – yet.
- Ah but he does! – Davy slapped his own hips. – Can you imagine – I'm happy! Happy! And you know what? No matter what you say or this damned Comrade thinks – I won't trade Mike for thousands of girls!
- Well, but you have both, - the double smiled. – You have Mike – and you surely still have thousands of chicks in love with you. So only you choose. And Comrade Mstislav… you surely think it's his fault.
- Who else's? – Davy sniffed.
- Well yes, - the double looked down with a smirk. – If you think, it really looks like it. If we look at Mike as just at the victim of circumstances… Comrade Mstislav surely looks like the circumstances to me. What about you?
Davy just sniffed.
- Okay, okay, he is to blame, - the double agreed easily. – You know, as nobody hears us now – I can tell you that not everybody who serves Comrade approves of his methods.
- What methods? – Davy flinched.
- Well… - the double looked down. – I can't tell you. Just can't utter. I'm controlled from all sides, you see…
- I see, - Davy said quietly. – Listen, man, you're here to help me, no? If I really have a problem – and I do, and even your celebrated Jorgen knows. And I don't want to sit here for such a long time. I have to come back home not to make anybody worry. So please tell me – without this 'Mike is bad' stuff – I've heard quite enough of it from him personally. I just don't know how to live on when I imagine that every evening… - he swallowed and looked down and finished suddenly hoarsely: - we'll fight like last Monday.
The copy nodded, understanding. He looked around.
- Okay, - he said softly. – Now I'll be serious. You don't have to worry about the time because no matter how much time you spend here – over an hour or just a few seconds – five minutes only will have passed outside. Time barrier, you see. Here the time doesn't exist. Nor does space actually exist here. But if you don't want to sit here, you won't. So, you want to stay with Mike, right? You love him.
- More than my life, - Davy said quietly and passionately.
- I know that, - the double said with a tender smile. – And you wanna keep it. He loves you too, but you know him. He can't help it. You opened him up. And now he feels wrong. You can't change him – Mike is too strong to be easily changed. So all you need is patience. Endless patience, my dear Davy. The patience of a water drop falling on a huge rock. You have to forget yourself sometimes, you need to just say 'no' to yourself once in a while – and when he sees that you do – he'll follow you. It'll be difficult. I know your character, too. It'll be hard for you to break yourself. But if you want to stay with him, you'll have to. Be patient.
- And you think everything will be alright? – Davy asked in hope.
- The best way! – the copy smiled.
Something suddenly flashed in his dark eyes, but Davy didn't understand what it was. He glanced at the copy gratefully.
- All right, dear, you need to go, - the second Davy said quickly. – Oh, if you only knew how adorable you are in your love!
Davy shrugged slightly and looked down, blushing. The copy put a hand on the top of his head.
- Go with my blessing, - he said. – And with all my best wishes.
And right when Davy raised his head and held his arms out to hug him – it didn't bother him that he'd be holding himself as deep in his heart he felt the copy was a different, absolutely different man dressed in his body – right at that moment the copy stretched his arm out and pressed his finger between Davy's collarbones.
Something splashed out on him – it was hot and cold at once, and for a second he became blind, deaf and dumb, unable to breathe.
The senses returned all of a sudden and he opened his eyes wide, took a deep breath with a gasp – and he saw three faces – three men leaning over him.
- Very good! – the one who was the closest to him straightened and sniffed proudly. Davy recognized his voice – he was Jorgen. Now let me have a look at your celebrated Jorgen who KNOWS! – Davy thought to himself, looking at Jorgen, squinting a little.
He was wearing a pair of black tight-fitting trousers of a light material – as Davy looked down he noticed that they were too short for him – dark brown perforated shoes and a quite old-fashioned white shirt. Bristle covered his chin and cheeks, it contrasted with his greenish-bronze skin – well, it wasn't unusual for bronze to turn green, Davy thought absently – and under the dark eyebrows – their lines reminded Davy of spread wings, - under the curly mess of coal black uncombed hair there shone his scary black eyes… the nostrils of his thin nose flared, he looked like a bird, like a horse, like a predator – and like a madman.
Davy tilted his head back – he was still sitting in the armchair. Bjorn was immediately by his side, worry written all over his face and the third man – he had a sharp triangular face and piercing crystal blue eyes – Davy could tell was Istvan.
He sighed and straightened. Jorgen folded his arms and looked at him proudly. Davy looked around again, sighed and stood up.
- So am I free to go now? – he asked with a bit of mocking, glancing at Istvan. Istvan frowned and looked away.
- You're absolutely free! – Jorgen said, smirking with a corner of his mouth. – I and Bjorn will walk you out of here so you don't accidentally fall into one of the Boxes.
He smirked – that must have been their kind of humour. And he led the way through one of the doors and down the long corridor. Davy followed him and Bjorn went after Davy. They came up to the door and Jorgen simply pushed it – it opened.
- See? – Bjorn whispered quickly to Davy. – Only he can leave like this!
Davy smiled and glanced at Bjorn – he looked guilty. He was still feeling wrong about the fact that he actually brought Davy to the Boxes – and to Comrade's so-called help. It seemed he was of the ones who served Comrade Hatred, but 'didn't support his methods'.
Jorgen looked at Davy piercingly.
- Okay, - he said, - David. I'll now go, I have to. There are a lot of things to do. Bjorn! – Bjorn looked up at Jorgen quickly. Jorgen stretched his arm out and tapped his shoulder. – Don't worry, dear. Look after Istvan and take care of Mister Jones. Best luck!
Bjorn smiled slightly and softly pushed Jorgen's hand away from his shoulder.
- I will, - he said.
- Love you, brother.
And Jorgen turned and went away. Bjorn followed him with his stare, still smiling. Davy had to call him:
- Hey Bjorn!
The guy turned to him with that same smile.
- Forgive me, Mister Jones, - he said quietly. – I didn't mean to bring you here…
- I have to thank you, Bjorn, - Davy replied, smiling back. – I actually got help from the Box inhabitant I met today. It's all because he doesn't support Comrade Hatred – like you, like me…
Something like the fear splashed in Bjorn's green eyes.
- Don't say that, Mister Jones, - he whispered, squeezing Davy's shoulders. – Please don't… not here…
- Don't worry! –Davy laughed quietly. – I won't tell anybody. Thank you. Give Istvan a punch from me, will you?
Bjorn smiled.
- 'Course! – he said, lively. – Not a problem.
- And what is that with you and Jorgen? – Davy asked with a little smirk.
Bjorn looked down with a wide smile.
- We're brothers, Mister Jones, - he said. – Istvan, Jorgen and me – we're three brothers. And three parts of one.
Davy raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
- You have to go, Mister Jones, - Bjorn reminded modestly. – It's late.
- Ah! Yeah, you're right, - Davy nodded. – Thank you again, Bjorn. Don't forget to punch Istvan! See you.
- Goodbye, Mister Jones.
The young man quickly went away and disappeared. Bjorn followed him with his stare and sighed.
Davy went through the darkened backyard to the Pad, feeling much better. He was so glad somehow that the copy wasn't 'for' Comrade Hatred! And the fact that he had helped him and 'didn't support Comrade's methods' brought a smile to Davy's face. The only thing he felt he had to do was thank the copy. He didn't even manage to say a normal 'thank you' before the copy pressed that thing between his collarbones. Davy decided that the next morning he would go to the Boxes and hug the copy – just to thank that man dressed in his body!
He entered the Pad quietly, went upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind his back. Mike was sleeping alone on their bed, curled up in the embryo pose. He was still wearing only his underwear. Davy took his clothes off quickly and climbed under the thin blanket. Mike began to toss nervously. Davy put his arm around him. Mike turned his face to him.
- Sunny?..
- Shhh…
- What happened?
- Nothing, - Davy said with a bit of annoyance, but bit his tongue quickly, remembering the copy's words and repeated softly: - Nothing, my love.
- Ah…
- Shh! Sleep, - Davy whispered, stroking his face lightly. – Sleep, sunny. I love you.
And he smiled and kissed Mike on the forehead before lying down close to him. Mike hugged Davy and buried his face on Davy's breast. He was so warm and so alive. Davy ran his fingers through the thick waves of his unruly dark hair and whispered:
- Good night, my dear. Love you.
- Good night, little star, - Mike answered with a smile before falling back to the sleeping depths. Davy sighed and looked at the moon hanging in the middle of the window. Patience. Endless patience – that was what he needed. He looked down at Mike, who was breathing warmly into his chest and felt that he was the dearest thing in the entire world. Davy would never let him fall, he would never release his hand.
The precious heart of his love was beating somewhere near his tummy – Davy could feel it. Davy had lost that heartbeat once. He never would again. And he'd never sell this feeling – the feeling of Mike so close – for any definition of happiness. Mike was his happiness. That was all he knew.
Patience. Okay, my copy. I'm starting my way. My fight. Whatever Comrade wants to do – we'll beat him, right?
He leaned his head down a bit and kissed the top of Mike's head.
Goodnight, my lover, my friend, my brother, my whole life…