Author's Note: If you’ve been following what I’ve written thus far, it should be no secret I prefer this story to ‘Three Little Words” as evident by my recent lack of updates in the aforementioned story. Even though the tone of “Mad Season” is darker, I feel I can explore more in this story than in “Three Little Words;” not that I’ll quit writing it altogether though.

[Written between December 11th to the 17th of 2002]
[Last edited on May 29th of 2004]

Disclaimer: Matoh Sanami once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, all original characters contained within belong to me (not that it matters much in the end).
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"Mad Season"
Chapter Two: Into the Fold

An angry scowl was thoroughly grounded in Randy's expression as he eyed the man lying on the couch before him with disdain. When they'd finally located their briefly lost quarry, they'd found him, one Dee Laytner wounded and teetering on the edge of consciousness, something that was not lost as Diana had volunteered to keep him aware of his surroundings until they reached Randy’s apartment, the location being the closest at the time.

Leaving Dee where he lay would not have been a wise decision, as he'd seemed more than Randy cared for, particularly his face, and that was dangerous knowledge to carry these days, especially as of late. The man had lost consciousness shortly before Doc Campbell had left, giving Dee a clean bill of health save for the wounded shoulder, and had slept undisturbed since, though Randy was sure he would awaken soon as it was already nearing nine ‘o clock in the morning.

The Resistance had made short work of the already wounded berwerker (1), finishing the creature with a silver bullet in the center of his forehead, shortly after receiving the killing blow; the werker had shifted back to its human form, an unexpected event, but not at all unusual, for it merely meant that the man hadn't been a willing victim of the beast who'd marked him and made him what he was, which brought him back to this Laytner fellow.

There was a 50-50 chance he too would shift in one of the horrendous creatures himself, or the infection would dissipate and never lay claim to the body it had taken root in, either way, Randy couldn't bring himself to care. Dee was a bother, luggage to carry around until he proved dangerous, or completely harmless. People's immune systems were strange things indeed, Randy himself had been stuck by the creatures more times he could count and never had he begun to show signs of the change.

Someone cleared their throat, and Randy torn his gaze from Dee's sleeping form to focus on the woman standing in the lighted kitchen doorway, who merely stared for a moment then smiled lightly, as if entertaining amusing thoughts. "I know he's handsome but that's no reason to glue your eye to him the whole night. It's not just him that had a rough night, you know?"

Crossing his arms, Randy shoved past the tall blond woman and leaned against one of the kitchen counters, feeling none too pleased with how the evening had panned out, despite the fact the Resistance’s objective had been accomplished and not one member had been injured extensively. "I know. You did your fair share as well as the others," He said mechanically, the words pouring out without emotion, as Randy was tired, emotionally and physically.

Diana Spacey frowned, sensing a tendril of fatigue before crossing the space between them, and placed a hand on his shoulder, exerting a bit of pressure so she could maneuver him into one of situated kitchen chairs nearby. "How long has it been since you took time off from the Resistance for yourself?" Expertly, she massaged the tense muscles in the man's shoulders, shifting down his unclothed back and up again in long slow movements.

Considering for a moment to push the woman away, Randy merely closed his eyes, chin falling against his chest as he sighed heavily while skilled hands brought some peace of mind to him; aware he did not answer her inquiry, the pair fell into comfortable silence as Diana’s hands continued shifting onto the confines of his body.
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A spear of light stabbed against his closed eyelids, drawing a long groan from Dee as he began to gain consciousness, the first thought being, who the hell did he infuriate to get hit in the chest with a 2-ton beam? Every time he drew breath, it seemed differing sensations of agony took hold of his body refusing him much-needed relief of his injuries.

Injuries? A tan hand rose to bother at the heavy white bandages encasing his shoulder and upper chest, losing it's strength a moment later as the man spied the set of long claw marks that ran in deep crimson lines down his body, it was clear he'd been unconscious for quite some time, as the wounds had ceased bleeding into the gauze, which meant the events of the night before had indeed occurred.

As he recalled them, they flashed in bits and pieces, random images and words, that slowly formed a whole that both intrigued and disturbed him; the strange creature had struck him, there had been pain, immense pain that was a pale thing compared to the hurt he felt now, then he vaguely remembered that strikingly scarred face, along with the last words he had heard before complete darkness had overtaken his consciousness.

Fuck. He desperately needed a cigarette, as the nicotine fix would calm his nerves and allow Dee to think this incident over rationally (if what he had gone through could be called rational at all). He looked around the room he was situated in, taking note of the plain white walls surrounding him and the low coffee table resting upon a light straw mat nearby, which made it quite obvious that the owner of this apartment did not take interest in luxurious items and focused on the bare necessities.

Just a little beyond his position on the comfortable couch, there was an opened wooden door allowing Dee a glimpse of a large bed before a flash of pain consumed his thoughts, and he turned from his examination of the surroundings to focus on the task of sitting up and making to find his absent dress shirt and jacket. The top lining of Dee's jeans was smeared with dried blood that flaked off in tiny bits as he sat up, pressing the small of his back against the couch and the large throw pillow situated behind him.

He scanned the floor, brow narrowing determinedly as he discovered a familiar rumple of clothing lying on the hardwood and upon taking a deep breath, Dee stood, nearly cursing loudly as his injuries made reminder of themselves, but he managed to suppress the outburst into a low whimper. Once he was able to kneel down, and take hold of his clothes, he found them a bloodied mess, dirt and heavy scarlet liquid nearly coating the shirt and leather jacket completely, ruining any chance he had at making use of the items once again.

Dee's cigarette box survived intact, oddly enough, with only a few drops of blood resting on the white sheen that covered the box, and never one to waste time, his fingers drew a cigarette from the container with practiced ease, grasping the lighter from his jean pocket a moment later to light the white cylinder. A long contented sigh fell from his lips as he exhaled, the smoke curling about his face a moment before floating upwards and dissipating in the air above him.

Nicotine fix fulfilled, Dee inhaled once more before crushing the cigarette into the dirt of a potted plant nearby, glancing around before heading to the lighted kitchen door. As he closed the distance between the kitchen door and himself, a male voice began speaking softly, echoing softly in the confines of the room he was currently occupying.

"This nest is relatively small, therefore, it shouldn't be more than a few more days before the rest of the werkers (2) are cleared out and then we will be able to proceed to a new location. Let's just hope those damned creatures have the sense to go down easy this time, we lost too many members during the last raid."

The sight that had greeted him as he wandered into the room was well worth the effort he'd exerted to get here, as both the man and woman situated in the kitchen were both very excellent eye-candy (yet mentioning such a thing out loud would only stain his first impression). Though the man's left eye was scarred, it did nothing to diminish the soft delicate lines that made up his body, even seated at the table, Dee could tell the stranger was fairly tall, with skin that seemed deathly pale even with the sunlight streaming in from the window above the sink.

Dark gray eyes turned his way, and Dee nearly smirked in their general direction, as the honey-colored locks upon the man's head was a wonderful combination, it was also apparent the scarred individual kept in shape, as Dee could tell he had some sort of exercise program, built solidly as he was yet not grotesquely so.

The smirk he'd been hiding revealed itself fully as he turned to examine the woman at the strange man's side, and once again, Dee was reminded of the fact there were some days when he was extremely grateful of his bisexual nature, as it allowed him to view both sexes in the flip of the same coin (oh, the things those poor heterosexuals were missing out upon [3]).

The woman was a little shorter than Dee's own height, with a thin lean body that looked so very appealing after the sort of night he had had. Long curly blond hair cascaded around her trim face and shoulders, accentuating dark green eyes not so different from his own and finished with his observation, Dee thought to speak the questions that had been plaguing his mind upon awakening but ten minutes ago.

“Just what are those damned creatures, anyway? Or do you not wish to tell me what left my shoulder in a mess of bandages and my head an aching ball of hurt?”

While the blond woman started in alarm at Dee's sudden appearance, the strange man merely sent a glance Dee's way, one eyebrow arched in curiosity then his lips quirked before he spoke, seeming only amused that their captive had finally seen fit to grace the pair with his presence. "Oh, seems we acquired a poet unwittingly."

Dee cursed colorfully underneath his breath as he walked that small journey, shoulder burning and doing a very good job of attempting to convince him to go lay back on the couch but as he had resolved himself to seeking out answers, he refused to give up, even if his body was against his decision.

The woman standing near the man’s shoulder sprung into action, taking one of Dee’s arms, and laying it astride her shoulders, lending her support as he continued to move forward. “You should be aware Doc Campbell insisted you have at least 24 hours bed rest before you attempt any movements. He claimed you had a light concussion though you should have slept that off by now. That shoulder of yours won’t allow you any broad movements for a few weeks.”

"Who are you and who is this Doc Campbell, not to mention that man glaring at me with one eye from across the room?" Dee asked, situating himself in the kitchen chair across from the pale man, resting his wounded arm on the tabletop; for his part, the scarred stranger stared at him for a moment, as if assessing how resolute Dee was to gain some answers to his questions, and then motioned to the blond woman, who began brewing a fresh pot of coffee without any further prompting.

"I thought you wouldn't remember much from last evening. The woman making coffee behind me is Diana Spacey, and I’m Randy McLane. This Doc Campbell we speak of is a retired physician that usually submits his assistance when any of the Resistance members’ injuries are beyond basic first aid."

"That's not your real name," Dee stated matter-of-factly, ignoring the mystifying reference to a Resistance, light smile playing about the corners of his mouth as he watched the man's reaction, noting how hot-tempered this Randy was indeed…

"Excuse me? I do know who I am," Randy practically spit back, casting a leveled glare in the obnoxious man's direction, pondering silently that perhaps picking up this Dee would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Ah, but there's where you're mistaken, because I do vaguely recall you from the park tonight, though at the time I was barely able to focus, I do know you were and are of mixed heritage, maybe American and something else…something oriental, correct?"

Randy said nothing to confirm this, but his lips were pressed thin and white in a obvious strained effort to not reach across the table and throttle Dee, instead of following through on his sudden discontent, he looked away, locking his one good eye on the wall just above the Dee's skull.

As Diana set two cups of coffee on the kitchen table, she grinned at the wounded man, taking a seat when the strained silence went on for more than a few moments. "You're very right, for Randy is Japanese-American and as such, he has a Japanese name as well, but he'd rather you call him by his American one though. He may not look it yet Ryo can be so testy at times."

Despite the intense glower on Randy's face grounded in her direction, Diana remained happily oblivious as she sipped from her cup of coffee casually, while Dee snatched up the moniker with gusto. "Aha! So, your name is Ryo. That's what I'm calling you from now on, Ryo."

"Are you trying to piss me off? Because you're doing a right fine job of it!" His hands slammed down upon the tabletop with such force, the mugs full of liquid threatened to spill over. After making sure none of the coffee had indeed spilt, Diana looked up at Randy with impossibly wide eyes, quite astonished this man Dee had gotten underneath his skin so swiftly. "Jeez, getting violent with me already, are you? I don't usually get that until the second date."

Diana coughed and sputtered on her drink, trying to clear her throat and not break into laughter simultaneously. Dee was flirting with Randy, of all people, and actually getting a response (not a very positive one but a response nonetheless). Whenever any man or woman in the past had made such an overture, the man would freeze up, and say nothing in answer.

Besides, hadn't Dee given her a fine look over after turning from Randy? Ah…the man swung both ways. Very interesting, Diana noted as she observed Randy's slowly reddening face before he closed his eyes, counted up to twenty underneath his breath, and then deposited himself in the chair once again, all hints of anger no longer evident in his body language.

Without further ado or any type of forewarning, Randy began speaking, providing the explanation Dee, it seemed, could not do without. Whether it was just the experience he had recently been through, or pure curiosity, Diana couldn’t help but feel pity for the wounded man; for she could practically feel cracks begin to run down the length of Dee's world, and shatter into a million crystalline pieces around them. And so another is brought into the fold…

To Be Continued…
Onto Chapter Three?

(1)Berwerker/ ber-weker is one of two Norse words for werewolf. Better than werewolf anyway…
(2)An abbreviation of the aforementioned term berwerker.
(3)A light poke of fun not meant to offend anyone. Hopefully ^_^;

Questions? Comments? Any and all replies will be welcome. [email protected]

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