Obligatory Disclaimer: Dark Horse and Mr. Mignola own all, save for my own original characters. A special thank you to Guillermo del Toro for bringing this wonderful character to my attention.
A/N: Thank you for stopping by. And for all your enthusiasm.
The pew was, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable piece of furniture that Hellboy had ever sat upon. The seatback was at a horrible angle, there were no cushions to soften the hard wood beneath his rump and the seat of the pew managed bite to into the back of his legs. Hellboy never had any luck with kneelers, but this place barely let him – let alone anyone else – scoot forward. Dividers, too low to be armrests, too close to be anything other than torturous, dug into his sides.
And the Mass had only just begun.
Unable to concentrate on what the priest was saying, Hellboy allowed his thoughts – and line of vision – to wander.
The ceiling soared high above him, held up by fluted arches and flying buttresses, and were trimmed with intricate molding that shined in the low light. I'd hate to be the one who had to clean this place. The white walls were decorated with detailed paintings of the Stations of the Cross and ornate statuary of various saints. Light streamed through stained glass windows, casting a multi-colored tint over the congregation. A massive baptismal font, large enough for full body immersion, greeted the visitors and a choir loft, complete with fully-functioning organ, hovered over the entrance.
But it was the Alter, rising up from the back of the cathedral, that grabbed his attention. It was one of the most beautiful he had ever laid eyes upon. Made of marble and shaped like a tomb, as was indicative of Gothic churches, it housed five crosses at the top. Signifying the five wounds of Christ. The agony of the Madonna looking up at the crucified Christ, who fought not to show his pain, moved Hellboy more than he thought possible. Hellboy had never seen a better representation, let alone carving, of something so poignant and moving.
His gaze traveled from the alter to the pulpit, where the priest was reading a passage from the Bible that had nothing to do with Torie.
Snore. Snore. Snore.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…
But what have I sinned over? Lying about Torie being dead? But am I not keeping her alive by doing so? If I tell the truth, am I not just as much a murderer as whoever holds the gun? Then why do I feel so guilty? Well… maybe… it's, uhm, the fact that we had sex. Aw crap. What's there to feel bad about there? Geez! Wait! I swear I wasn't about to say Jesus. I promise. Man, I just need to stop thinking. I need a beer. Unless drinking a beer is a sin. Naw, I think drinking a lot of it would be bad, but a beer on it's own is okay. Except that I'll want more than one. Crap! I need to stop thinking. But is 'crap' a swear word?
Shit!
Trying not to look obvious, Hellboy cast a glance around the packed church. He sat in the back, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, hating the fact that there was a casket at the front of the church, supposedly holding Torie's dead body.
But it was nice that so many people loved Torie. People from all walks of life filled the church to overflowing. Diplomats, doctors, and fellow co-workers, past and present – as well as everyone in between – came to pay their respects. It was standing room only in the cathedral and everyone was fanning themselves with programs, bulletins, whatever they could get their hands on. Summer in New Orleans was brutal. And being packed in like sardines without air conditioning didn't help.
Monica was sitting in the front row of the church, acting as unofficial hostess for the memorial Mass. She had tried to get Hellboy to sit with her, but while he was a baptized Catholic, the looks he got from the fellow mourners kept him from openly embracing his faith. It wasn't that he was embarrassed by what he was or how he looked, but on that day of days, Hellboy was in no mood to explain anything to anyone. Besides, knowing that Torie was actually alive made him a horrible liar.
The problem with knowing that Torie was alive while the rest of the world remained clueless was that Hellboy still had to go through the motions of mourning her passing. Only he and Monica, as well as the Fairfield police and the FBI, knew that Torie was actually convalescing in a hospital bed under an assumed name at St. Joseph's Hospital.
It nearly killed Hellboy, flying down to New Orleans to bury the casket next to Torie's parents.
It nearly killed Hellboy to have to give a soundbite to the news stations who questioned his presence, before they got bored with him and moved on to the next celebrity.
It nearly killed him that Liz, Abe and Kate offered sympathy and condolences for a woman who, although it was touch and go in the beginning, was still very much alive.
It nearly killed Hellboy to sit through a Mass and hearing her life praised by all manner of people.
It nearly killed Hellboy not because it was deceitful and he was lying, but because it was wasted time away from Torie.
The priest knew of Torie, but didn't know her personally, so his oration was based upon her works, not upon her personality. He spoke nothing of her sense of humor, personal life or of any little antecedents. It was all about what had been published in the newspapers or broadcast on television. It was all public knowledge. There was none of the Torie he knew being spoken of in golden accolades.
But bless Monica for standing up and praising her friend in a way that only girls who knew each other from childhood could know one another. She spoke of late nights spent whispering about their futures… of long distance phone calls and flurries of emails because of, say, a boy… of achievements, failures and adventures the two of them had – together and separate…
If Hellboy didn't know better, he would have gotten choked up by Monica's eulogy.
But after going through the motions of traveling, grieving and feeling empty, Hellboy returned home to Fairfield where he could finally set up vigil at Torie's bedside. He told everyone at the Bureau that he was taking a sabbatical to regroup and think, but in reality all Hellboy did was go over to the hospital where he camped out on the hospital room floor, eating food out of the vending machine and watching bad television.
A week had elapsed since the shooting and while Torie had moments of awareness, most of the time she remained in a state of semi-consciousness. The doctors told him, as well as Monica, that the longer she remained unconscious – but not comatose – the better her body would heal. Frankly, Hellboy thought it was a load of crap, but it seemed to make Monica feel better so he kept his trap shut.
Monica kept vigil at Torie's beside throughout the day, but retreated to the waiting room at night, giving Hellboy privacy with Torie that he much appreciated.
It was one of those nights when Hellboy was getting ready to make his pallet on the floor, when a voice – thick with pain and exhaustion – quietly whispered, "What the fucked happened? Where… Where am I?"
His heart was in his throat and his tail whipped through the air. "Torie! Oh, thank God!" Rushing over to her bedside, Hellboy smiled down at Torie, brushing hair off her face, his red hand in stark contrast to her deathly pale skin. "Don't worry, everything is going to be fine." But even to him, his words sounded trite and silly.
Casting him a withering glare, Torie then looked at all the tubing and wires attached to her person. The machine keeping track of her heart rate began to beep faster as panic set in. "I feel like shit. No, worse than that. Wha… What the fuck happened to me?" She winced in pain as she struggled to push herself up into a sitting position, completely ignoring Hellboy's suggestion. "Fuck me harder! That hurt!"
Biting his bottom lip, Hellboy considered for a moment suggesting again that she stay flat, but just as the thought entered his head, it was replaced by the idea that she might feel better upright. After all, healthy people sat up and sick people laid down. A pad had been placed under her to help the hospital staff move her when changing the bedding, so Hellboy used the pad to slide Torie higher up on the bed, then pressed a button to adjust the height of the bed. "You got shot, Torie."
Struggling to push past the fog of pain medicine, Torie started to remember parts "No shit, Sherlock!" Realizing that her words came out harsh, Torie touched his right hand and squeezed slightly. "Sorry. Pain. Confused. Don't mean to be a bitch. But why? Why me? I mean, what the hell happened? And how long have I been out?"
Wishing Monica were by his side to help soften the news, Hellboy closed his eyes and sighed. "We can talk more when you're stronger. Right now you should just rest."
Gads, she didn't want to be babied! Torie wanted someone to tell it to her straight. And the man before her never skirted issues before and like hell she would let him start now! "Sam. I was shot. More than once. Someone tried to kill me. What happened?"
The desperation in her voice tugged at Hellboy's heartstrings, making him feel about three inches tall. She didn't remember. She didn't remember what happened to her. And Hellboy didn't want to be the one to bring it all back. What happened to her was all his fault. Her eyes bore under his red skin and demanded an answer. Who was he to deny her anything?
Even at the risk of losing Torie…
"You… You were shot three times." He sighed heavily, then continued. "Once in the shoulder. Once in the leg. And they nicked your gallbladder. But, you don't really need that anyway, ya know? And you'll have some cool scars. And guys dig girls with scars…" Seeing that his attempt at levity wasn't working, Hellboy answered bluntly, "I fucked up and brought that totem back to you. Someone, or someones, were trying to kill you to get at that totem. I'm… I'm sorry…" His voice was a ragged whisper.
Frowning slightly, Torie racked her memories to see if she could retrieve what happened. Sam left and she followed him out into the night, under the pretense of walking Lance… Then, nothing.
But she was shot because of the totem.
Then anger flashed in her eyes. "Wait… You think that this is your fault? Is that what all you moping is all about? You're not worried about me? You're worried about you? Sam, when I feel better, I am so kicking your ass! And guess what? You didn't bring the totem to me. The totem came to me via you."