Author’s Note: For all those who are wondering about the title of this story, it was indeed named for Matchbox Twenty’s “Mad Season.” If you take a close look at the lyrics of the song, you’ll find some correlation between the written lines and this story. Maybe if you look hard enough, you’ll even discover some spoilers. Enjoy, and feedback would be greatly appreciated. *bows lightly*
Disclaimer: This is where one usually tries to cover their ass, and as such, I do not own anything pertaining to ‘FAKE’ and all that applies with said title. I do however own the original characters contained within. ^^;
[Written off and on between January 29th to October 28th of 2004]
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"Mad Season"
Chapter Eight: Change Draws Nigh
A flash of a smile, brightly wide spread before laughter spilled out of the mouth and arms came to enclose his figure, raised him up in the air, and only then did Randy realize the figure holding him was his father, and his mother stood close by, grinning merrily before raising a hand to hold down the straw hat she wore to shelter her face from the sun.
It was warm, too warm for the middle of June, and as a bead of sweat ran down his spine, Randy felt himself put back down on the ground before his mother’s hand came to rest against his side, briefly holding him close before continuing over to the tree their belongings had been stationed at. “What are you standing around for, son? Don’t you want to eat lunch?”
A voice, too soft for his liking, too gentle for his age of eleven came out, slightly whiny before the words suddenly muted out, and as a hand grasped his shoulder, there was a splatter of red to his right, and as he came out of the dream turned nightmare, Randy panted wildly before coming to master his breath again, only to jar slightly when he realized the warm he had felt in the dream was still arranged against his side, sleep tussled head raising, and dark green eyes blinking at him questioningly.
“Can’t you let a guy sleep in peace? It’s hard to get comfortable on a pillow that won’t stop moving,” Dee complained, yawning after his words, then rested his head against Randy’s upper arm to apparently go back to sleep but having been surprised so, the Japanese-American shifted, coming to rest over Dee’s person, hands stationed by the injured man’s head closely.
Peering so intently at him, Randy felt some of his anger dissipate, mostly when he eyed the man’s recent wound, but nonetheless snapped out “Who the hell asked you to cuddle so close to me? I don’t recall asking you to the take the role of bedmate so literally.”
Dee blinked, then scowled as if Randy was the one in the wrong. “You’re the blanket hog here, don’t place all the blame on me,” He replied casually, raising a hand to prod lightly at the Resistance leader’s wound then circled the pale man’s shoulder before fingering Randy’s left cheek. “You may be all rough around the edges, but you’re not bad looking upon closer view; however a pretty face is not all that’s needed in the game.”
Feeling more dazed than insulted, Randy eyed the man below him, particularly the white scars that marred Dee’s shoulder, noting how raw they had looked so little time ago, and wondered just how he was going to begin to tell the raven-haired man his humanity was slowly slipping away, but so lost in his ponderings was he that Randy did not notice his hand had begun to trace the wound personally. When Dee stiffened suddenly, Randy blinked before coming to realize he’d brushed a somewhat sensitive spot and prompted relinquished his hand, muttering a quiet apology beneath his breath as he came to a seat on Dee’s left side.
A long sigh escaped the injured man, and as Randy turned to Dee questioningly, he grinned, sitting up and placing a hand on the Resistance leader’s knee, before leaning forward, settling in between the space of Randy’s legs easily, as if he had always fit there, before facing him dead on, stopping only when his nose was millimeters apart from the other man’s. “You didn’t have to stop, you know.”
There was a minute of silence from Randy and then he laughed, the action soundless but the quaking of the man’s shoulders told otherwise, as did the quick breaths the he took between fits of laughter, and Dee watched silently until he smirked, deciding to turn the situation to his advantage. Grabbing one of Randy’s hands, he closed the short distance, and pressed his mouth to the Japanese-American’s, gauging the reaction the body against his experienced, almost starting in surprise when a hand pressed against the back of his neck, pulling Dee closer.
There were times that when faced with an opportunity, logic presented itself not, and the body in your arms didn’t matter, for it was human affection, and despite being aware of this knowledge, Randy found his body acting of it’s own will, one of his hands coming to rest against Dee’s hip while the one on the raven-haired man’s neck moved down, dragging the nail of his thumb down Dee’s exposed spine, gratified when the man shuddered against him.
Pulling away for a moment, the need for air having been rather pressing, Randy noted though he hadn’t done much, he found his breath slightly unsteady and Dee himself lounged across the Resistance’s leader lower body, a question in his eyes, patiently awaiting an answer that Randy was unsure of. Drawing his gaze away from Dee’s, he eyed their surroundings, the faint light seeping in from the bedroom window’s binds, the bookshelf nearby he had overcrowded once taking residence in this apartment, and Randy would have noticed more if a slight tapping on his leg hadn’t disturbed him.
Sighing heavily, he looked back towards the man lying on him, noting just how close he was positioned before somewhat resignedly leaning forward, much in the matter Dee had (though much less uncertainly), and whispered a single word that immediately had an effect, as the injured man jerked back clumsily, almost falling off the bed entirely. Randy would have felt regret but in his line of work, such a thing didn’t serve one well, and so, silently, he got up, grabbing what he needed from the bedroom before relocating to the bathroom.
Once inside, the Resistance leader leaned against the door he had just closed behind him, his face anything but impassive, a mess of emotions he had long since disregarded as unneeded yet crept back silently when he was unaware of it. Glancing into the mirror opposite of him, Randy stared steadily, until sounds from the bedroom caught his attention, and thoughtless of the action, he punched the mirror, pieces of the reflective surface falling vociferously onto the counter and into the sink.
Hardly mindful of the blood flowing freely from his hand, Randy turned abruptly and started the water at full force, drowning out whatever other sounds might penetrate his surroundings, and intentionally ignored the dark thoughts swirling about in his mind, for one never has a problem if they cannot admit it of themselves.
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The atmosphere was laden of tension, Dee himself quite unwilling to break it as his mind was rather busy replaying the moment in the bedroom repeatedly, so strong was his distress that he could not move beyond it. There had been a rather nice make-out session that could have evolved into something more but instead, Randy had seen fit to confirm just how unpleasant his personality was.
Dee had been completely relaxed, a first in the last few days when the Japanese-American had leaned forward, his expression at first blank then it had shifted, into one that disturbed Dee, as it seemed all the extreme hatred Randy had been harboring inside showed itself for what it was, and in that one word he had said, Dee felt like whatever hope he had unknowingly gathered for himself, committed suicide.
“Werker.”
Closing his eyes, the raven-haired man leaned forward; ignoring the mug of coffee placed to his left, as he didn’t think his stomach would appreciate any type of liquid, or food for that matter. Dee had many questions, the first of which was what kind of future did he have now that it was indeed confirmed that lycanthropy had taken root in his system, somehow he didn’t picture Randy (or any of the Resistance members really) calmly showing him the door.
Just as Dee was about to voice his concerns about the matter, the man sitting across from him spoke abruptly, tone not the usual harshness that had become the norm. “I realize I could have broken the news a bit more gently, for that, I apologize, but if it were me in your place, I would want to know as soon as possible instead of finding it out inadvertently later on.”
“You’re not me,” Dee responded curtly, Randy’s avoidance of the question that seemed to hang in the air, deepening his already despondent temperament, and as a result, he found his mouth speaking said question before his mind could become conscious of it. “Are my days numbered?”
There was no answer, only silence, but that was an answer in itself, and beyond irritated and more than a little devastated, Dee stood, intent on finding his ever-reliable cigarettes (at least they would provide more consolation than the Resistance leader), and had turned to do so when it seemed something exploded right behind his eyes, blinding him for more than a few moments, and confusedly, Dee tried to make sense of what he was seeing instead of feeling.
He was most certainly not in Randy’s kitchen, for the five faces looking expectantly at him across a kitchen table were not familiar in the least, and as a voice spoke, Dee found himself very much tempted to reach out and touch an object resting before him, since it didn’t feel like a hallucination, it felt like he had come to rest in another’s body for a few sparse moments.
Just when Dee had begun to study the faces around him, the scenery abruptly changed into a lush forest, but it was obvious the person running through the forest had little time to admire where he was located, as he was running almost fanatically, the source of his anxiety following closely behind, and within an instant, Dee found himself in the person’s place, though it was more like he was an observer in the body than anything else, since though the beast had finally caught up to him (them?), Dee was unable to do anything but watch as the werker’s arm rose upwards, and slashed in a blinding movement.
Though he was not physically injured himself, Dee couldn’t help but flinch, as he had been attacked in much the same way just the other night, and whilst blood spilled onto the forest floor, he wondered in an oddly detached way if some of the information Ilona had told him was correct, for Dee had an inkling these images unfolding before him were not just because lycanthropy had taken root in his system.
There was only a second to lock onto the word memories before pain took grip of his body, making his throat constrict tightly, his breath run short, and as Dee struggled to draw in a breath, the pain departed as if it had never been; a few more deep breaths and the raven-haired man realized he was resting against someone, on their lap to be exact, and as he tilted his head upwards, Dee had just a moment to catch the expression on Randy’s face, it wasn’t the harsh rage he expected, instead it bordered on empathic, with a thread of regret then the mask slammed back into place, as did the tile underneath him as Randy abruptly stood.
Staring blankly at nothing in particular, Dee tried to make sense of the situation but as much activity as his mind had been through as of late, he soon decided smoking was definitely more important, as soon as he could get up off the kitchen floor that was. When Randy returned with a dishtowel, the raven-haired man followed his movements silently, only noticing the blood running down his upper right arm when the Resistance leader pressed the towel against his wounds, which appeared to be deep ragged nail marks, though Dee hadn’t recalled doing any such thing.
“What happened? I remember getting up from the table, but after that, it’s difficult to say, do yo-“ My mind to mouth filter isn’t in order, Dee thought, mentally slapping himself for breaking the strained silence first, Randy seemed to be anticipating such a thing for he interrupted almost too quickly, as if the words had been on his tongue the whole time.
“It’s one of the first symptoms of lycanthropy, having flashbacks to the memories of the werker who bit you, your episode was a bit more violent than usual, you even managed to scratch me while I was attempting to restrain you from causing yourself even greater harm. I’ve seen some werker victims become so immersed in recalling these memories; they’re never quite able to grasp reality again, you’re rather lucky,” Randy bit out while bandaging the wounds on Dee’s arm, perhaps applying more force than necessary.
Victims…Dee wasn’t sure he liked way Randy had said the word, but wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk to ask the scarred man to elaborate on just how many of these episodes he was supposed to have, it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant but experiencing memories from someone who had died shortly after the raven-haired man had met him, was a bit too eerie for his tastes.
The shrill ringing of the telephone startled both of the men though neither would admit it out loud, and as Randy rose to answer, he looked back towards Dee, helping the man up after a moment’s thought then continued on his way across the room. Notching the Japanese-American with a look, Dee shook his head then crossed over to the living room a bit shakily, intent on reaching the couch and it’s nice comfortable pillows without becoming reacquainted with the floor.
“What the hell do you mean, there’s nothing there?! A crew and I were just there, half of which was slaughtered by the werkers that were living there, and yet y-“ A sudden silence from Randy, during which something unintelligent able was uttered then the sharp slam of the phone echoed around the apartment before the scarred man stormed out of the kitchen and grabbed Dee’s arm, jerking him off the couch without comment.
“I don’t care about the fact you’re suffering from episodes, because I can’t leave you here alone without getting ideas about escaping again, so put on your damn jacket and let’s go, I have far too many imbeciles working for me.”
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Dee sat in a far corner, arms pressed firmly around his knees, and eyes scrunched together in vain hope of warding off the migraine that was slowly making itself known, not to mention the glare some Resistance member named Bradford was sending his way. It hadn’t been his choice to come here; he’d already known what one of the former safe houses for the werker population looked like, actually been held captive in it for a few days.
He shuddered as he remembered the cold ruthlessness Ilona had shown to one of her kind for disobeying her orders, and as Dee looked up to eye Randy’s pacing form, half of him was grateful for the fact the man had come and taken him back, much longer among the werkers and there was no telling what he would have discovered on the hunt Ilona had mentioned so casually in passing.
A kick to his leg drew him from his thoughts, and as Dee glanced back to the ebony face of Bradford, already he could tell Randy had taught him well, for contempt lurked beneath those nearly black eyes, glancing away quickly, he had but a moment to think before another episode descended upon him, more intense than before because William was experiencing his first transformation, and unknowingly, taking Dee along as well.
The first thing he was aware of was the smell, a deep horrendous thing that affected him far more than it should have, and it took only another whiff to realize the place they’d scrambled into out of panic so swiftly was the sewer; pressed up against a slimy wall, body racked over with pain that seemed to come from their very being, as if something had rose from the depths within in and demanded entry outside, the only problem was, the outlet was their own body.
Trying to regain some control over their ever-unsteady breath, when the spine of their body rose and threatened to break free of the skin, there was a moment where consciousness was lost and then regained when a prickly sensation spread along the line of their teeth, further investigation found the structure of his body had already shifted, the hand that was raised to feel their mouth carefully felt incisors grow rapidly, for nails had already been traded for claws.
When their vision went black, a scream built up in the back of their throat, but instead of the scream, came a single strangled howl.
“Shit, why the hell did you bring him here if you knew he was having episodes? That’s like bringing a fucking kid to a knife show, you know blood is going to be spilt,” Bradford grunted out angrily, moving from his seat on Dee’s back once it was evident the body beneath him had finally calmed.
The bitter coppery smell of blood was the first thing that greeted Dee when he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to try and figure out just what kind of situation he had gotten himself into now, though for once it wasn’t his fault (or so he thought), the one consolation was that the blood hadn’t originated from him, instead Bradford seemed to have placed himself in the line of fire (as it was). The left leg of his slacks had been sliced to near ribbons, and though it was hard to tell, thick splotches of blood ran down the leg belonging to the article of clothing as well.
Bradford wasn’t happy, that in itself, was more than apparent but when Randy stepped between Dee and the Resistance member, Dee could immediately tell violence was pending, it was just a manner of time before the volcano called Bradford blew, and the damage would definitely not be minor.
The other member, Sarah, a small woman whose bark was worse than her bite, seemed to sense this as well, and gently took her fellow member aside and into one of the many rooms surrounding them, nodding silently to Randy as she passed him, though the thoughtful look that passed on her face went unnoticed to those in the room save Dee.
“You have some very interesting members in your organization,” the raven-haired man said off-handedly, rising from the floor to resume his former position in the far corner, though his body protested the action valiantly. These episodes seemed to confound the mind but screwed up your physical body the most because it was trying to insert itself into situations that had already passed, and Dee had fast reached his limit of pain, both physical and mental long ago.
“We were afraid you were going to shift, your body temperature rose drastically, and you tore the hell out of Bradford’s leg with only your hands, I’m beginning to think the changes that go along with lycanthropy are progressing much faster in your system than normal,” the Japanese-American said, ignoring the man’s nearly panic-stricken look at these words, but notching a steady stare Dee’s way when Randy glanced back towards him.
The words he had been about to say however died when Randy took in the expression on Dee’s face, there was vulnerability there, etched deep into the lines of the man’s face, and as cruel as he could be, the scarred man didn’t want to widen the chasm of that helplessness, for no reason he could cite, Randy leaned forward and kissed Dee, as if apologizing for the harsh words he had spoken here and earlier, when they had been in bed during the morning.
His face gone blank with surprise, Dee could only stare for a few moments before his hand automatically begun seeking the cigarettes he always had present on his person, and when a white cylinder had been drawn and lit, the raven-haired man eyed Randy skeptically, who only stared at him (in near boredom) when their eyes met. That had been unanticipated, and certainly turned his mind from Randy’s statement about the lycanthropy working through his body faster than usual, now Dee focused on trying to understand why the man had kissed him, of all things, so unexpectedly.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before but what had happened in the bedroom hadn’t seemed personal, it had been about fulfilling bodily desires more than anything else but Randy hadn’t been thinking quietly in his mind when his lips met Dee’s, he had been perfectly aware of what he was doing, the action had to have been fueled by some emotion, whether or not it was pity or worse, was the matter that needed more deliberation.
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The safe house located behind the false alley wall, where the werkers had lived in for however long had indeed been vacated, not one scrap that would signify something had spent time here could be found, and Randy, as a result was in a rather angry mood as he wandered out of the last room in the row nearest to where Dee was resting quietly, almost too quietly but at least the man had wiped that vulnerable look from his face, that more than anything, even the werkers’ apparent evacuation, disturbed Randy the most.
As he paced back and forth, awaiting Sarah and Bradford to return from their own searches, Randy paused in his footsteps when his heel clanged against something that thudded against the dirt floor when he moved his foot, eyes narrowing; the Resistance leader looked down to note a dark brown metal handle, almost invisible against the material it was resting on. “Camouflage, huh?”
“What is it?” Dee inquired from across the room, squinting to see just what it was that had caught the Japanese-American’s attention, and when Randy leaned over and pulled, revealing a streak of light, Dee immediately padded over and assisted the scarred man in opening up the rest of the trap door, gaping opening when a tunnel of almost six feet rested below them, winding gods know where, dark all but for one lantern which amazingly enough, still burned steadily.
It took only a few calls to get the pair of Resistance members over to investigate the tunnel, and after some bickering and one near fight, it was decided a team would be later assembled to explore the tunnel to it’s fullest, equipped properly in case any incidents occurred, though they all were aware only one kind of incident would happen in a tunnel created and used to transport werkers.
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The car ride back to the apartment was spent in silence, Dee still mulling over Randy’s previous actions, who in turn seemed to be ignoring the raven-haired man’s existence, only paying him mind when he had to, usually when another episode struck Dee, the last had been particularly embarrassing, flashing back to a time before William had been infected lycanthropy, and focused primarily on a physical interaction with the man’s wife.
So lost in his thoughts, it was only when the scenery outside the car window stopped speeding by that Dee realized they must have arrived back at the apartment already, glancing towards Randy warily, he was surprised to find the scarred man stretched out as much as he could manage inside the car, leaning comfortably against his seat with a somewhat resigned (and tired) look on his face, somehow it didn’t fit the usual image he presented to the outside world.
Never one to think things over before speaking them, Dee plainly asked what had been irking him for the last few hours. As civil as Randy had been the last few days, he figured asking the man directly would yield better results than actually trying to answer the question himself, his subconscious had never served him well in that regard in times past. “Why did you kiss me?”
Randy showed no reaction other than blinking a few times, then as if he’d stumbled upon the perfect answer, he turned towards Dee, the expression in his face darkening a bit. “Why, indeed?”
Narrowing his brow, Dee let his irritation show before concluding that Randy was obviously enjoying purposely confusing him in whatever way possible, letting out a sigh as he came to this conclusion, when a hand prodded him gently on the shoulder, he focused on the Japanese-American sitting across from him once again. “Do you dislike me?”
“In some ways, yes, in others, not so much.” He had answered so quickly, without missing a beat that Dee had to stare at him for a moment before continuing the rather interesting conversation, his next question though had less to do with him personally and on the topic of werkers.
“Why did you form the Resistance?”
“…Bikky. When he disappeared that night after nearly killing me, I was so infuriated, I wanted to kill him but as time went by, I merely wanted to locate him again so I could understand his reasons for doing what he did, but I’ve yet to find even one trace of him in all these years. The werkers only get more violent, the exterminations messier and the reasons for continuing this organization cloudier.”
Just when Dee thought he had come to understand Randy, more shit hit the fan, and he was forced to revaluate the information he had logged away so thoroughly, adding more content than he had originally thought was necessary. His throat suddenly tight, Dee had to swallow a few times before he could comment on what had been revealed so casually. “If you saw Bikky again, what would you do?”
If he had thought Randy had been affable with him a moment ago, the abrupt change in mood seemed almost like a deep chasm had developed between the pair of men, and in that chasm laid ice sickles that would draw blood if one treaded too near.
Dee had an inkling that that sudden space between them was a bit like rejection, for it seemed there was more behind his earlier revelation than mentioned, and oddly saddened by this fact, it was somewhat of a shock to hear Randy’s voice ring out so suddenly after nearly five minutes had past.
His voice seemed the most affected though, instead of the usual bland cold voice the scarred man spoke in, an emotion sat just behind the words, notable but unable to fully effect his answer. “I don’t know.”
As Randy had turned his face away, Dee in turn looked to the reflection of the man’s window, eyes widening a bit when he saw loss in that expression, with confusion lingering just near the edges, he appeared, for the most part, simply…lost. Unwilling or unable to find the strength needed to erase that pain displayed so evidently, Dee took the only action left to him, he fled.
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J.J. had spent the better part of the night with his ear glued to the receiver of telephone, calling various Resistance members from a list he had been given hurriedly by Drake, who had pleaded he had an appointment he couldn’t cancel out on, and so being too gracious for his own good, J.J. had taken up the task of organizing a team to explore the tunnel that had been discovered underneath the werker safe house they had raided but a few days ago.
He’d only gotten almost an half hour of sleep but thought visiting Randy to confirm the task had been completed was a rather good idea, though by the troubled look on Dee’s face as he appeared a bit down the hallway, J.J. was beginning to think that perhaps a phone call would have yielded better results. Regardless, he put a hand on the raven-haired man’s shoulder in a sign of comfort, not expecting Dee to crumple to the floor without warning.
It was obvious with just a glance at the jerking body beside him that Dee was having an episode, though why he would have been allowed outside whilst inflicted with such things, raised more questions than answers and shaking his head, J.J. set about restraining him as well as he could, when Randy appeared on the scene, the Resistance member motioned irritably towards the locked apartment door.
This memory was undeniably different than the previous ones, as the detail in it was almost too convincing, if Dee hadn’t been so sure William was deceased, he would have said he was spying on an event in the man’s life. While not in his other form, William Cunningham was a rather under imposing fellow, whose full height only measured up to that of five feet, four inches, he also was about ten years shy of middle age, though his hair had deemed itself already there and was balding in some places.
His occupation, aptly enough, happened to be a social worker and it was through this connection that he had been able to hire the private detective sitting across from him in the diner booth. Dee had always been particularly talented in reading people, and figuring out the strange man’s occupation was not a difficult thing; he sat with his arms fully outstretched along the booth seat edge, a lit cigarette clutched between two fingers of his left hand, that he occasionally raised to his mouth.
He also wore a trench coat in the middle of summer, despite how hot it must been, it was through these signs, especially the last, that Dee came to the conclusion he was a private detective, and had nothing to do with the fact the man himself mentioned much the same upon taking a seat at the diner booth. Their conversation ran the usual hello, how are you before taking an entirely different course, one Dee actually was very interesting in overhearing.
“What did you find on Randall McLane, Smith?” Smith smiled, drawing a thick file from somewhere inside his trench coat before sliding it across the length of the table, reaching across and opening the file up to a particular page, or photo that was. Randy was a truly frightening sight, as the glossy photo displayed him standing over a body, nearly covered in blood but the most notable feature was the left side of Randy’s face, instead of the ashen scars Dee had become so used to seeing, the wounds were bright red, still early in the process of healing.
“You really asked a lot of me, finding information on this guy made me use most, if not all of my resources, anyway, Randy started out rather normal, parents, white picket fence, all that bit then something unusual happened, his parents got into a car crash, though while the police were investigating the accident, they found someone had tampered with the brake line.
“The kid was rather young though, so no one thought to tell him, and Randy went off to live with his aunt Elena until he graduated high school, he entered into a pricey university, one that would surprise you if I said the name and three and a half years later graduated with degree in English, apparently intending to teach at a school, though through some incident I can’t find record of, he ended up adopting a kid named Bikky Goldman.
“Because of this, Randy skipped over his plan and began teaching from his apartment, but this is where it gets weird. One day, Bikky disappears, and Randy ends up in the hospital recovering from wounds that he acquired from some animal if the doctor’s reports are correct. After this incident, he quit his job and moved to a new apartment, one I’ve yet to find, I’m assuming it must be a rather ritzy place.
“As for what the guy’s doing now, I don’t have a clue, it’s like he dropped off the face of the planet like the kid he adopted; it’s fishy if you ask me,” Smith finished off eloquently, taking several puffs from his cigarette as if to make up for what he had missed whilst speaking. William merely nodded and continued looking through the file Smith had put together during his investigation, pushing the photo he had been shown first towards the private detective.
“How did you come by this then?” Dee had been curious as well and would have patted William on the back if he hadn’t been part of the memory (and dead), Smith narrowed his brow and after taking another puff of his cigarette, answered the question, his tone a bit odd, Dee suspected perhaps he wasn’t telling the whole story.
“I took it off a corrupt cop, apparently the police had been investigating the incident where Randy had gotten injured but never past a certain point, it seems like someone powerful took to protecting him. The cop got sent the photo in the mail but never received any other clues about the case afterwards, whoever sent it must have gotten snuffed out for butting his head in affairs that weren’t his own.”
Again, William nodded and after reclaiming the photo, put the file into the briefcase beside him, before he set about paying the detective, who had done a rather fine job overall; at this point, the memory began to fade gradually, and it was with a sharp gasp that Dee bolted forward off the couch he had been put upon and ever so gracefully fell face first onto the floor.
He could taste blood when he raised his head but the laughter of J.J. never died off even as Dee sat up and held up his arm, using the sleeve of his shirt to sop up the blood dripping steadily from his nose, deciding to hush up the Resistance member once and for all, Dee used his other arm to throw a pillow at the man sitting across from him on the opposite wall.
J.J. blinked stupidly for a few moments then smirked before throwing the pillow back, hitting the raven-haired man squarely on the right knee, despite his throbbing and bleeding nose, Dee indulged in the pillow fight and fought all he was worth, earning nothing but defeat in the end, but he had smiled during the scrap more times than in the last few days.
Randy had walked in during their little battle, saying nothing but clearly disapproved of the activity, as evident in the rough way he collected the misused pillows from across the room and hurled them back where they had come, though one he inspected closely and took into the bathroom after a moment, Dee and J.J. exchanged a guilty smile at this then went into the kitchen so the nose that had gone untreated could get the attention it deserved.
“I don’t think you broke it…if you could have seen how you fell, I swear you would have been laughing as well,” J.J. said, his voice nearly breaking halfway through because of half-stifled laughter. Nudging the Resistance member lightly, Dee merely let the man hold an ice cube to the bridge of his nose, which sorely protested the action but after a few moments, thought better of it.
“You don’t think Ryo’s going to kill me for bleeding on one of his pillows, is he?” J.J. thought the question over for a moment as he twirled one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it, his knees coming with a soft thud as they hit the edge then shook his head, noting a bit too much relief in Dee’s expression after he did so.
J.J. had initially been against leaving the man in Randy’s care, given how malicious his leader seemed to be towards Dee, but one got used to such treatment after a while and hardly was aware of it (at least that was the case for J.J.) but perhaps the raven-haired man didn’t have such a thick hide, and had been suffering emotionally for the length of time he had been stationed here. Apprehensive now, he reflected back on the troubled expression of Dee’s before he had fallen into the episode and pondered on whether or not to ask Randy if he could take the man into his care for at least a few days.
Before J.J. could verify his theory though, Randy wandered into the kitchen and begun making a pot of coffee (he hadn’t even been aware the Japanese- American owned one) without comment, though he turned and eyed Dee hesitantly, as if he was unsure of how to act around him, J.J. caught on to what was occurring easily, having been in a situation like it before.
It wasn’t emotional or physical abuse, just metaphysical crossed wires, hiding a smirk as he thought this, J.J. reported that Drake had passed on his assignment, and it had been accomplished without any problems. Randy notched him with a questioning look, one that usually signified he wanted considerable reason for why Drake had not been able to finish his own assignment.
Though it wasn’t his business to tell, J.J. figured Randy would discover the knowledge himself sooner or later (despite that, he still apologized to Drake in his head). “He and his wife have been having a few marital problems for a few years, it was only now that all the papers for the divorce at last came through, and the appointment he had to attend was so they could finalize everything.”
That clearly hadn’t been the answer Randy had expected though after a moment, he nodded and went back to the task of acquiring a cup of coffee, and after he had done so, almost violently, he took a seat beside Dee, his body language screaming uncomfortable but simple pride prevented him from leaving the room, and all because he couldn’t come to terms with what he was feeling; color him odd but to someone who embraced emotion for all it was, that seemed the saddest thing in the world to J.J.
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He pressed closer to the body he was being carried upon, noting with an odd detachment, that for having such a cold personality, Randy’s body had yet to take that into account and was quite warm, Dee doubted many people were aware of this fact, as the Resistance leader kept even the members of his own organization at a certain distance. Closing his eyes, he reflected on what he had learned in the episode that had hit him quite unexpectedly; easily, he slipped back into the small diner, his memory of it only lessened but a bit.
It was their second meeting, quite obvious by the way Smith had dropped the casual front he had adopted last time and leaned intently across the table, gaze firmly fixed on William’s figure, as if trying to seek out an answer to something his mind had inquired about internally. Finally, he closed his eyes and as Smith opened them, whatever he had been intent on learning seemed to have been dismissed for now, and without further ado, he slipped his hand into his trench coat pocket and slid a glossy photograph across the table.
A Polaroid in fact, but that was a mote point, and Dee couldn’t recognize the middle-aged man in the picture, who had turned halfway, as if he knew someone was watching him through a viewfinder, but obviously William did, as his slight gasp indicated, and he looked towards Smith incredulously. The private detective merely nodded, but his expression indicated he was not having fun continuing the task he had taken on, and his next words only confirmed this.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten me into but I’m not pleased with sneaking around in dark alleyways, following very powerful people and getting myself into shit that’s beyond my spectrum. Your guy, Randy, is definitely not average, he met with more than just the general in the photo, and there was certainly some negotiating going on between them, your guy having more leverage than you would think.
“Really, the only information I was able to overhear was that Randy is getting funded, in more than just money, he specifically asked for some weaponry, and the people he met with had no reservations about giving him what he requested,” Smith said hurriedly, the puzzlement showing plainly on his face as he raised the cigarette he had lit but a moment ago to his lips, and inhaled deeply.
William said nothing, but his enclosed hands perhaps said he had already held knowledge of what the detective had reported, but nonetheless, he pocketed the Polaroid, pausing when Smith’s gaze wandered back over to him, his attention drawn away from the white cylinder between the fingers of his right hand. There was a feeling of nervousness, William was intensely uncomfortable but underneath that, there lurked something dangerous, if the private detective saw fit to investigate why the social worker wanted Randy spied upon, blood would be spilt without regret in but a second.
Perhaps Smith sensed this, as he looked away so quickly, it had to have hurt him for a moment, finishing off his cigarette, and mashing it accordingly into a nearby ashtray, he inquired about his payment quietly. William had just retrieved an envelope from his briefcase, when Smith’s hand shot out suddenly across the table; it’s intention unclear until William gripped the detective’s hand tightly but halfway across the table, the calm exterior shed and the werker’s face meshed together in almost fervent fury.
Something passed over Smith’s face, and it was then Dee knew the man had held back more information than he should have, he already had some idea of what Randy needed the funding and weaponry for, and that William had been connected somewhat, his inhuman reflexes and painful hold on Smith’s hand had been the only evidence the private detective needed to put most of the pieces together.
“-carry you any longer. Dee?” He snapped back from the memory to find Randy glaring at him over his shoulder, inches away, obviously not happy it had taken him so long to get Dee’s notice. The raven-haired man grinned nervously; loosening his hold on the scarred man’s back, as he thought Randy had mentioned something about being unable to carry him anymore.
“I still don’t understand why you even brought him if he was still having episodes,” came a voice from somewhere behind them, it’s speaker only revealing himself until the light of the lantern the member next to Randy carried, hit his face. Bradford, still injured but for all intents and purposes, an active member in this survey team of the Resistance’s, and though it was clear the man had difficulty walking correctly, he had insisted upon coming anyway.
“I’ve already explained my reasons for bringing him along, and I don’t care to repeat them, if his presence irritates you that much, you were better off standing guard with Koji at the tunnel entrance,” Randy bit out, his hold on Dee’s legs tightening unconsciously, perhaps he wasn’t feeling particularly confident in Bradford’s abilities anymore than Dee was.
A flash of emotion, too fast for Dee to catch, passed over the injured Resistance member’s face and then Bradford muttered quietly to himself as he fell back and melted into the members walking but a few feet behind them. Despite mentioning his discomfort, Randy had yet to actually ask Dee to remove himself, which the raven-haired man wondered about but as long as he didn’t have to force his very uncooperative body to walk, he wasn’t going to protest.
When they barely just begun to walk the length of the tunnel, the episode had hit and Dee had been officially claimed as baggage though the Japanese-American had said nothing, offered his back and had since then, not a word had been said about what had occurred, Dee couldn’t discern whether or not the man pitied him or just didn’t think anger would have suited the situation.
Whatever the reason, they had been walking for little over two hours, the over two dozen or so Resistance members walking among them chiming in with all clears (meaning no openings had been found) ever so often, the tunnel itself wasn’t so bad, it was evident it had been dug hurriedly, as only thick planks of wood held up the tunnel edges every few feet but beyond the deep pungent smell of the earth, there was nothing unpleasant about the excursion so far.
Muttered curses just to the right of him made Dee look back, noting that a strangely tall woman had taken to covering her eyes and pushed back up at the tunnel ceiling gently, revealing a small slit of light that the Resistance members around her immediately took note of, and stopped accordingly to lend her assistance if she had need of it.
Dee looked towards Randy’s neck again, and figuring if he had not frustrated the scarred man yet, he may as well take advantage of his strange mood, positioning his mouth just so, Dee nipped a small section of Randy’s skin, not expecting himself to be promptly dropped to the tunnel floor so swiftly. He waited for the world to resume stability, as his vision had gone hazy for a moment, but also for the Japanese-American’s further reaction.
It never came; curious now, Dee experimentally sat up, cursing but finding his body allowed him that at least, Randy no longer stood where he had been, his attention firmly focused on seeking out the opening the female member had found, when no furred hand or werker activity commenced, he gave the signal to go investigate just where the opening led.
One of the Resistance members disappeared into the light, some words were said then a head popped back down, and shook itself, mentioning that this safe house was just as abandoned as the one they had entered to seek entry into the tunnel. Some sighs rang through the group but they continued on, and swallowing the sudden knot in his throat, Dee watched as Randy approached, expecting him to walk on completely and come back and collect him when the excursion became too tedious.
He said nothing as he knelt down once again, and just when Dee thought the incident would be ignored just like everything else that occurred between them, Randy turned his head slightly and whispered “no more biting” before once again focusing on the tunnel length before them, while Dee smirked against the man’s back amusedly.
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They discovered nine more openings, but only one showed signs of werker activity for as soon as the opening as been prodded, something heavy thudded against it, making the small door slam violently, one glance from Randy and the members of his organization took action, one collecting all of the lanterns and placing them on the sides of the tunnel, another drew his weapon eagerly before someone kicked the door surprisingly hard with a mere kick of their leg, the wood door almost coming off the hinges completely.
There was a moment of complete silence, everyone holding their breaths together unknowingly, their gaze all drawn to the same location, anticipating what the empty space just beyond them held then the shit hit the fan and something half skin, half fur leapt down, striking down the Resistance member whose kick had been so powerful. As blood flew, more shapes crept down, and Dee, justifiably, was dumped onto the floor as Randy stretched his somewhat sore body and drew out a shiny new switchblade from his pocket.
Dee had but a moment to study the expression on the man’s face, he certainly wasn’t dreading the werkers’ approach, as his mouth had spread to an unnaturally wide smile, one that was neither happy nor any other emotion the raven-haired man could put his finger on, then one of the werkers ran near, and he watched as Randy made short work of the beast’s throat, catching a claw mark down the shoulder but relatively unscathed in all.
Stumbling to his feet, Dee watched as the Resistance fought the enemy they had made their own, and their skill in this area varied, some of the members were taken down as easily as a child but others had experience and they used this to their advantage, striking where they knew the flesh would easily break, and conserving their strength if the confrontation went on longer than necessary.
The woman who had kicked the door had managed to survive, minus an arm, but was very thoroughly exterminating whatever werkers were idiotic enough to come close enough, only using her body as a weapon. Almost entranced, Dee could merely observe her skill, as she kicked one of the creature’s faces in with the heel of her foot, then turned around and knocked a werker’s shoulder with her elbow, the blunt strength alone causing the bone that had been hit upon to break with a very audible sharp crack.
She was indeed a force to be reckoned with, though after a few more minutes, the sheer number of werkers tipped the scales and the woman ceased to breathe after incisors plunged into the meaty flesh of her neck. They had indeed hit a safe house and though they had enough members with them, Dee wondered how long they would be able to hold out before losing ground and going back the way they had come.
A voice shouted a command, and though Dee couldn’t hear it, his body reacted nonetheless and as he hit the dirt, there was a painful bellow then fire exploded out of the small open door above them, scorching the air just above Dee’s body then the heat receded and smoke filtered down and coughing, the raven-haired man stood back up, noting that not all had heeded the voice’s call, and were burning, Resistance and werker alike.
This little exclusion was now a certified fucking disaster, and as his eyes watered from the smoke filled atmosphere, Dee had just a moment to catch familiar amber eyes and before his mind could catch up to speed with his body, he moved towards the square door, and climbed through, eyeing the damage the grenade had done but not seeing more than he had to, the day had been stressful enough as it was, Dee followed the figure he had seen until it stopped abruptly.
“So you’re with Ryo now, are you? Have you taken his side in this conflict as well, Dee Laytner?” Bikky inquired as he glanced back, eyes narrowed angrily, and understandably so, the place he had gone to for sanctuary had turned into a war zone, and it seemed the teenager had no other choice but to go elsewhere, a quick look around told Dee that many of the werkers were doing much the same, though a good number had stayed behind to fight.
His throat suddenly tight, Dee would have answered but as a blade flew inches by his head, landing with a thunk into Bikky’s left leg, around a somewhat tender area that reduced the teenager to his knees (struck a tendon?), Dee swallowed sharply then turned where he knew Randy would be standing, as the blade sticking out of the amber-eyed boy’s leg was the scarred man’s own switchblade.
He forgot how to breathe for a second, the pain, rage, shock, exhaustion, all the emotions on Randy’s face was so cavernous, so twisted together that it was hard to see where one ended and one began, so raw was that expression that Dee had to look elsewhere, it was almost the same as the time in the car, he couldn’t take away any of Randy’s pain, and to look upon it was almost like peeping at a private moment, so Dee took the only vice he had left, he pretended he had never seen it, and would not mention it unless the other man did first.
While he had been frozen in place, Randy had taken action of his own, he had passed Dee and as he kneeled down in front of Bikky, he pulled out the switchblade he had thrown out so rashly, and just as the raven-haired man caught a glimpse of the beginning of tears, threw his arms around the teenager, squeezing so tightly, Dee was surprised he didn’t break Bikky’s ribcage.
Hesitantly, arms came to encircle Randy’s waist, and there in the middle of a recently turned war zone, amidst the sledded blood, violence, death, cries, and bellows of beasts, a vast rift had been mended or at least on the way to be crossed, and if there was any upside to the exclusion they had undertaken, then this was it. Dee had all but the space of a few minutes to appreciate the sight then Bikky touched Randy gently on the arm and just as he randomly as he had appeared, he took to the air, and as if imitating a master magician, vanished.
To Be Continued…