A/N: Thank you for your reviews and follows. It's re-assuring that there's more people who believe in the pair! I appreciate the reviews very much.
If there was anything worse for Gregory than the long car journey with a grumpy Frenchman who didn't believe in speed limits, it was actually arriving at their destination.
He sighed. There they were, finally living in their old apartment. How brilliant. He opened the door with such a lack of enthusiasm that Christophe pushed him to the side and entered first instead. He set his travel bag of essentials down and ran a hand along the sofa, before jumping and lying on it, as if they'd never been away.
Gregory knew it was all an act to help him accept it.
He stepped - with a slight limp due to his leg injury - into the apartment and closed the door, trailing his eyes slowly around it. Nothing had changed - Why would it? It was all so... normal, containing items they'd accumulated or inherited over the years. Many of it was the old furniture Gregory's aunt did not want to take back to England.
The main area was of an open plan living and kitchen area. The living area consisted of a blue fabric sofa. One arm of it was touching the cream coloured walls, the other a nest of tables. On the top table stood a very bright lamp Christophe's mother had bought when the Frenchman had refused to wear reading glasses. Opposite the sofa was a small TV - Gregory's one from his old bedroom. Some action DVDs and nature documentaries were stacked to the side, along with a couple of romances Christophe claimed weren't his (they were).
Continuing along from the sofa there was a blue arm charm, which backed the dining area - a single oak, square table with room enough for four chairs. There were only three chairs there as Christophe had broken one. This suited both of them fine as it left more room to pass.
Further still was the kitchen, continuing the blue and cream theme. There were all the usual large and small appliances - a microwave which no longer lit up, a toaster that only grilled on one side, a kettle with a built-in electronic whistle. Gregory turned that whistle off after the first time he'd used it. A breakfast bar with two stools linked this to the dining room.
There were hardly any embellishments or small touches that made somewhere a home, because it never had been. This apartment looked more like it belonged in a showroom: meticulously clean and cold.
Christophe sensed it, looking over Gregory's deadpan face. "Eh, eet will warm up soon."
Gregory scowled, leaving his trance. "No it won't, because we won't be staying long enough."
"Mon ami, please give eet a chance."
Gregory huffed and went to inspect 'his' room - the place where most of his old stuff from home had come to. It meant he had his double bed. He opened the door and sighed again. It was a mess, completely unlike him, with all his old items stacked and dumped in the corners. At least the bed was made with clean sheets, though Gregory had the urge to freshen them. He walked to his closet and stared at all the clothes he'd not had the opportunity to wear in a while: crisp expensive shirts, tailor-made trousers and possibly the best of all, leather Italian shoes.
...There were positive points to being back in the boring apartment then. Others included a hairdryer and the chance to arrange himself exactly how he'd often had to neglect doing, thinking about style and not just practicality, the chance for a stable diet, one that didn't consist of skipping breakfast, shovelling down takeaways and often coming to the conclusion that they had more important things to do than eat and a big, comfy, double bed of which he did not have to share if he didn't want to.
That was it. That was all he could think of. Things which were hardly worth bothering about. Clearly for such an extrovert as Gregory, it wasn't enough to put up with boredom.
Shopping... that's what he was going to do. And not even interesting shopping. Food shopping - something he hadn't needed to do in quite a while. He'd already decided that he would just buy the basics, nothing that would last for very long because they would help Christophe see that they wouldn't be here for very long. He would just buy enough to keep them 'ticking over'. He walked back into the living room.
"We need food, Tophe."
"Oui."
"And some other supplies like soap and toilet paper."
"Absolutely."
"I'm going shopping. Are you coming with me or are you going to fall asleep on the sofa?"
Christophe shook his head. "I'm going to see about zat job sign we passed."
"At the cemetery?"
"Digging graves would be ze perfect job for me for now." Christophe stood up and smiled. "And eet will 'elp us keep up appearances."
Gregory sighed and nodded. "Sounds good. I'm going to Henry's Supermarket. I'll walk with you as far as that." He flinched as Christophe rubbed one of his shoulders, and then relaxed, remembering it was just friendly contact.
"Do you not need to rest first? Try not to put too much pressure on your leg, remember. Eet only 'appened a couple of days ago."
"No. I know." A shiver ran down Gregory's spine. "I really wish I could remember it."
"...Oui. Just... don't worry."
Gregory sighed. "Okay."
As they left and entered the cold Colorado air, Gregory noticed that someone had written beware on the side of their apartment building. He sighed moodily. Beware of what? Unrelenting boredom in a small red-neck town in the middle of snowy mountains that promised nothing but hick entertainment? God, it felt like there was nowhere to escape the monotony.
Throwing items into his shopping cart, Gregory was mainly buying the essentials. Milk, eggs, bread, tea bags, cheese, alcohol... and more alcohol. His mind was thinking over the pros of getting blinding drunk as he shopped, ignoring the cons. The alcohol aisle became the most important and that is where he overheard a rather odd conversation.
Two men had come in to buy a crate of beer as Gregory was looking between getting a bottle of wine or something stronger. The men stood by the beer, one putting his hand on the other's shoulder before speaking:
"Is something troubling you, Bob? You aint been acting the same today?"
The other man tilted his head and sighed. "It's my cows. They're acting very queer."
"How?"
"Sleeping patterns changing. They stand around for longer in the night-time and then come morning when they're due for the milking, some of them are still sleeping." He scratched his head. "Aint never happened before."
The man who had asked the question frowned. "Oh."
"Folks are sayin' that the nights are getting longer," continued Bob.
His friend laughed. "Nights is always getting longer at the moment. It's just to do with our orbit, right?"
Bob shook his head. "I'm not sure. I have a bad feeling about this. Something just don't feel right about the darkness."
"You need a beer and to stop worrying."
"My livestock's my life!"
"And I'm sure it will work out. Come on. Sarah's got a..."
Their voices trailed out as they walked towards the check-outs. Gregory laughed to himself about their conversation and began pushing his cart to another aisle. It mostly seemed bizarre and probably a product of the rancher's imagination... except for the part about the darkness not feeling right. Gregory didn't know why but he felt that as well. In fact the longer he thought about it, the more darkness seemed relevant. And then, out of the corner of his eye, possibly no more than his imagination, or the shine on an item of jewellery, he saw a flash of bright red.
Gregory fell backwards.
A blaze of red, a white face, black hair.
His hands left his shopping cart.
Step away from 'im... Is it him? ... lie to me, Christophe... Gregory... Searching...
His legs collapsed under him.
Lifted off the ground and eyes forced to tear away as his surroundings became nothing but a blur. There was a faint name. It was right there. Da...
"Are you okay?!"
Gregory's eyes snapped open and dizzily he tried to regain his focus from the ringing memories in his head. He noticed properly he'd blacked out when he felt someone pulling gently on his arm and noticed he was much lower than he had been before, collapsed on the floor against a potato chip stand. He groaned and looked up into the person's eyes.
"Are you alright?" she asked in a concerned tone. "You fell. Should I get help?"
Gregory shook his head. "I'm fine." He gripped his cart and pulled himself up, thankful it didn't flip or roll away. He winced at the pain that flared up in his leg. "Just a bad leg. Must have doubled over on it..."
"It looked like you'd fainted."
He smiled. "No. I'm fine, thank you."
She still didn't look convinced, but nodded. "Okay, well you take it easy now. Don't go running around or anything." She smiled and continued shopping.
Gregory raised his eyebrow and turned around, heading towards the check-out. He had enough supplies for them to get by for a few days.
He considered what he'd just remembered.
So it was no stranger. Christophe clearly had more knowledge to the goings on and more reasons behind the move than Gregory had previously realised.
Gregory found that he really didn't want to stay in the apartment once he'd unpacked the shopping. He was still annoyed by the fact Christophe was withholding information from him. They had never kept anything from each other before and it was aggravating him. Surely anything that Christophe knew, Gregory could be trusted with too. What possible information was there where withholding it and leaving him in this irritated state was better than just telling him? The likelihood was that he'd rationalise the information in his head and come to a logical conclusion about what to do with it, consulting with Christophe and deciding if action needed to be taken.
It was probably nothing dire. It still pissed him off though.
He lasted in the apartment for as long as he could and then left, searching for a distraction from the lack of Christophe. He ended up walking aimlessly around the streets of South Park. There wasn't much there, particularly at night-time. He had three options: he could go and get a greasy takeaway from a less than sanitary looking chicken joint, he could go and get a tattoo that would probably leave him horribly infected or he could go and drink himself under the bar.
He really only had one option there.
He walked into what he perceived to be the most tasteful bar i.e. the one that did not have half-dressed women or neon sign. These were two of the things Gregory always avoided because in his experience they caused nothing but boredom. He looked around the bar he entered for a hint of excitement but saw none. He ordered a gin and tonic from the barmaid and took a long desperate sip when it arrived, savouring the flavour on his tongue and the warm feeling that spread through his body.
It was not enough to quell his anger but enough and it would numb it for a while.
Sometime later, as he sucked for the remnants of his drink, he felt the warm presence of someone sitting down next to him. He could sense that it was a man by the scent of spicy, but subtle cologne. The voice, when it spoke, was deep and unusual and vaguely familiar, though Gregory's head fuzzed at where he'd heard it before. "Jack and Coke, and whatever Blondie here is having."
Gregory sighed inwardly. Yet another guy thinking they can buy him a drink and chat him up - how very dull. This happened regularly without Christophe around. With Christophe people tended to stay away but on his own, Gregory didn't come across as fearsome, quite the opposite, his body language was always unintentionally alluring. And why was it always men? Was he that obviously gay?
He was about to open his mouth to refuse but when he turned and made eye contact, the words never left his mouth.
This man was utterly breathtaking. Pale, flawless skin smoothed over an exquisitely sculptured face with high cheek bones and intriguing dark shadows under the eyes. The eyes themselves were extremely dark. They looked a dark reddy-brown, seeping into black, and the look in them was intense enough to make his knees collapse had he been standing up. The rest of the face was manly but subtle. The features blended seamlessly to create something you could easily stare at for eternity. This man was what Gregory considered perfect.
For the first time since he could remember, he changed his mind. "I'll have another gin and tonic." He continued to stare at the man in front of him when he spoke, his eyes falling over how red the lips looked, especially contrasting to such pale skin.
The man's lips curled into a satisfied smile, one that could be intimidating if not so gorgeous. "My name's Damien."
Gregory smiled back. "Gregory."
Damien nodded and a pleased look appeared on his face. "English?"
Gregory was surprised he could tell. He thought he was losing his accent, as much as he tried to hold onto it. "Originally, but I've lived here for most of my life." Gregory was having trouble placing Damien's accent. It seemed like it could be American but he wasn't entirely sure which part. It was almost like a mixture of all of them but at the same time it was none of them. It almost felt like with a subtle change in his pronunciation and tone, Damien could have any accent he wanted. "Where are you from?"
"I've been around." Damien took a swig from his glass, drawing Gregory's attention back to his vividly red lips, the traces of liquid clinging to them just highlighting this more. "Can't tell you a hometown because I never had one." He fell silent for a moment, then smirked. "So what brings you here, Blondie? I can't see a place like this appealing to someone like you."
Gregory smirked back. "I have three questions before I answer yours." Damien seemed to smile at this, the glint of Gregory's challenge reflecting in his dark eyes. Gregory raised his eyebrow. "First, are you going to continue calling me Blondie?"
"Yes." He supposed he didn't mind it. It wasn't often he got given a nickname, though he was sure he'd been called Blondie very recently by someone else, he just couldn't recall where.
"What do you mean by a place like this?"
"South Park," replied Damien. "I'm only visiting, though I do have a house here. It's a quiet place to get away."
"South Park's my hometown... of sorts."
Damien frowned. "There's no way that you've lived here for all of your time in America. Surely you got out as fast as you could?"
"Yes," admitted Gregory.
"So what brings you back?"
"A break I guess." Gregory sighed; he hated being reminded of it. Everything in his old town was so depressing. "A little bit of quiet for a while. My... partner thought it was a good idea."
Damien looked with all intensity into Gregory's eyes. He looked and sounded so familiar but Gregory was sure it was just his imagination recognising what he dreamt of for most of his life. He was faced with his dream guy and it was like they'd already met. Damien's brow creased in confusion, there was almost a put out look to it. "You're seeing someone? That's a shame."
Gregory smirked. "Well now why should I tell you?" He loved the way that instead of answering, Damien just raised his eyebrow and waved the question off. He posed his third question with a sly grin. "What did you mean by someone like me?"
Damien smiled again. "You're after thrill and adventure surely? Why, the second you walked in here you took in the whole place to check for trouble or something fiery happening. When you saw there wasn't, you ordered a drink and sat on that bar stool bored."
"You were watching me?" asked Gregory curiously. Something in the confident, almost arrogant way Damien was talking drew him in. It secretly excited him that the man described perfectly what had happened.
"Of course, you're very eye-catching." Damien leant in closer. "I'd be a fool not to notice your stunning face. It's almost... angelic."
Gregory rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a pleased smile. He found himself mirroring Damien's body language, happy to get a little closer. "You're not too bad yourself." Understatement of the century. "Actually, you're rather handsome."
"You're going to boost my already very high ego."
"In that case, I don't like your shoes," teased Gregory looking down. He ran his eyes back up Damien's body in obvious slowness. He guessed he must have been quite tall. Gregory himself wasn't short at five-eleven, but Damien looked six-foot-something. His eyes lingered over Damien's chest and then moved up to his face, which was sporting a flirtatious grin. "And it wouldn't hurt to add a little colour to your outfit. A splash of orange never went a miss."
Damien smirked. "Would you prefer it if I took my outfit off... You could see my brighter skin instead?"
"Getting a little ahead of ourselves aren't we?" Gregory took a sip of his drink, grinning into it. "I don't even know your full name."
"...Thorn, my surname is Thorn." The look on Damien's face was searching, like he expected it to trigger something. He seemed cautious to whether Gregory would have something to say to that. Gregory had never heard the name before in his life. Damien leant closer. "What's yours?"
"My surname is Ro... Williams. My surname is Williams." He felt his heart speed up. He never gave out his true surname for safety reasons and it would not have been good practice to tell it to a stranger he'd just met in the bar. Only those from his childhood knew his true surname.
Damien raised his eyebrows, obviously sensing the lie but not questioning it. At that moment, Gregory could have sworn he saw Damien's eyes flash red. It was only momentary and he put it down to the lighting, thinking no more about that fact, but that flash of red had triggered something else in Gregory's mind.
A blaze of red, a white face, black hair.
Gregory gasped.
A faint name. Right there. Da... Damien.
Gregory rapidly drew his face away from how close it had grown to Damien's and stumbled off his stool.
"Oh my God! It's you. You... You tried to kill me!" He felt no fear, just shock. He was more than ready if Damien suddenly made a move to kill him again. "That night, that person standing over me... it was you. You had an argument with Christophe because you were trying to kill me."
There was no way it was a coincidence they'd ended up in the same redneck mountain town. Coincidences like that just didn't happen.
Damien's whole persona changed. His lips curled from a smile into a scowl, his eyes narrowed and at was as if everything around them fell into shadow, though the bright lights of the bar remained. Damien's words came out barely above a growl. "No... you were... the wrong person." He shot up then, so fast that Gregory barely registered it, muttering more to himself than anyone, "I have to get out of here." And before Gregory could disagree or say another word, Damien had left.
So, Damien knew exactly who he was and what he'd tried to do to Gregory even before talking to him. Gregory wanted to believe that he was the wrong person very bad but he knew he couldn't. He also knew that whatever went down, Christophe knew the truth. And whatever reason they'd both ended up in the same town definitely had something to do with him. He was going to tell Gregory whether he wanted to or not.