>part four<
Leon didn�t know what was wrong with him. Yesterday he had been so together, so certain and set in what he was doing. But this hour, this very moment�it was as if he had finally awaken. And here he was, in alien territory where the people moved beyond his perception and understanding.
And all he knew was that the Count had done this. Had taken him from his world and shoved him into something more feral.
But the pain he felt�it was so familiar, but un-nameable. Like he had lost his way, or that he had never truly been moving at all. He walked and the world inside him twisted into a mangled web, but he hardly noticed the time that passed, or the feet that carried him.
He was thinking of the Count. As a friend, as a friend that had betrayed him. Or worse yet, a friend that had only been draped in lies. It struck him like a spike in the wrist, that he had thought of D as a friend at all�that he could feel so hurt by something he hadn�t realized.
Eyes nearly burned onto the pavement, a small laugh escaped him, frightened him with its unfamiliar taste. If they knew he was so afraid, that he couldn�t face the Count now that he had felt the silk glide of his lips.
That�memory chewed on the edge of every thought he had. Until he felt that his own breath had become lace-work. He didn�t want to go to sleep, he knew it would play out a thousand times like some warped theatre. It was almost comical. That a kiss would stir such fear in him when the certainty that D had been involved in so many gruesome acts�had never really phased him.
And even now, in his aimless state he felt something urging him to turn face and run to the PetShop. It wanted to grab and shake the Count until he was limp in his hands, until he moved only as he was moved.
Leon wanted to take a knife and cut this part out of him, so maybe then it would be silent inside and he could be at peace. Or bleed to death, whatever put a stop the insistent buzz in his own veins.
The words that came back to him� �Leon, you must listen to me.� That was the problem, wasn�t it? All the time he spent listening to the Count when he should have been working. *What had he really achieved with those visits?* Nothing. They had gotten him nowhere but where he was now. He looked up, then very nearly stumbled.
Somehow he was standing *there*, staring down at that door. But he couldn�t have done it. He couldn�t have walked all that way without noticing. Could he? He shook his head, of course he did. It wasn�t that catastrophic of a lapse when he had walked there so many times before. A habit. A habit he was going to break, or it was going to break him. And for a moment he couldn�t move, he was so afraid that D would see him.
Nonsense, he chided himself, finally releasing the breath he had forgotten. As late as it was, D was likely in bed.
He found his eyes picking out the cracks in the pavement, a hobby he feared was taking root. But when he turned those eyes up he almost felt as if some dream had fallen around him, and its heavy folds were strangling what air he had left in his lungs. D was at the bottom of the stairs, eyes sharp but almost filled with pain�as if their own sharpness had cut him. He said nothing but his lips formed silently around the word �Detective�.
Leon could almost hear his voice wrapping around it, but in such a tone that he had never heard from the Count before. Something small, something hopeless.
He didn�t know what the bastard hoped to convey with such a trick.
And just like that, the anger swept in. Chased away those feelings that made him as still as a butterfly pinned to a board. His eyes became vessels to contain that manufactured hate. He glared down at the Count and prayed that he could feel it pouring over him like thick tree sap.
But D only seemed saddened. He reflected none of the hate Leon so wanted.
�I hate you, you know,� his voice only a tint above the distant whirling of engines. D�s eyes closed, he nodded. This silent answer, admission seemed to add fire to Leon�s rising fury. The last thing he wanted was to concur with the Count.
�I hate you,� he repeated, it rising far above his prior words. D seemed to sigh, with a decidedly tired expression he turned back to the door. There was only the telltale wind, but it was at its command that he braced himself. With a speed that can only be dictated by emotions, Leon gripped his shoulder tightly and manually spun him around.
�Don�t you understand,� he hissed, his eyes a snapping bright blue, �I Hate You!�
The Count relaxed, almost grew slack against the door. He stared up at Leon in frosty silence. �I understand that you want to hate me.�
�I *do* hate you!� Leon nearly cried out. This wasn�t what he wanted, the calm almost acceptant gaze. He wanted anger. He wanted D�s face to break and hurt to reflect in his words.
�No. I don�t see hate, I see confusion�and fear,� D�s hand moved, gently covered the fingers that were fiercely biting into his shoulder. He was so much more at ease with this, this passion dressed by rage. This was how Leon was supposed to react. �And I see hate of these emotions, Detective.�
�No, no, NO! I hate YOU� He shoved the Count against the door as if to add emphasis, as if he could drive his words right into him. But D offered up no resistance. The pain that momentarily weighed on his lashes wasn�t a physical one.
A low, harsh growl grated through Leon�s throat, his eyes flashed with it. It was clear he was on some edge and about to throw himself off. His fist rose as if to strike, but it slammed into the door as he fell against the Count, breath uneven.
D stood, simply shocked as Leon buried his eyes in his shoulder. He was torn between the slight pain from how hard he had been shoved back�and the sensation of Leon�s gold hair brushing against his cheek. But he blinked once, twice�his hands traced along Leon�s shoulders then came to a soft rest around his neck.
�I do hate you,� he could feel the words spoken against cloth, plain and almost choked.
*Hate* he thought, *you keep saying hate�but do you realize how interchangeable those two words, love and hate, are?* He worked his fingers under Leon�s chin, forced his head to raise.
�Open your eyes,� he whispered, brushing stray gold streaks aside, but Leon did not respond. His eyes remained closed, almost as if he were asleep. The Count remotely wondered if he understood anything about what was going on. But instead of letting whatever it was holding him still play out, he grasped Leon�s face between his hands and kissed him. His bottom lip pressed gently into Leon�s top. It was a chaste kiss, more like a kiss between long-standing friends, but it lingered�so soft that the lightest breath could have changed it.
D waited several explicit seconds, waited for the face beneathe his palms to tense, to change shape�but there was nothing more than a slight flutter of lashes. The tip of his tongue ran along the indention between Leon�s lips, but he didn�t go farther than that. He wasn�t certain how much the American would allow before reverting back to denial. For the moment, he was content enough in this closeness.
He drew back with a sigh, let his hands fall to his shoulders. �Let me know you are conscious, Detective. Please.�
Everything was silent a moment, then Leon laughed. It being one of those half-choked sounds that bordered on irony and madness. D waited quietly for the episode to pass, his hands still along Leon�s collar. The wild blue eyes became still and all laughter died. He sucked in a ragged breath.
�That�didn�t happen.� Leon glared down at D as if he could make the words true simply by his will alone. Slowly his hands raised to the ones on his shoulders, removed them o so lightly as if he couldn�t believe they were there. The Count fluidly obliged him, allowed him to take up his hands then wrapped his fingers around Leon�s.
�It did happen, Detective.�
Leon�s head shook from side to side, but he made the mistake of finally raising his eyes to D�s. It was so clear there, what had happened. He paused, jerked his hands free, but not away. They slipped up, around the Count�s neck, his fingers tangling in the silky black threads that scattered there. D leaned into it, not exactly believing the intent in those blue orbs.
�Detective Orcot!?�
Leon scrambled back as if from a furnace. His eyes swung to a point just to the side of D�s face then up onto the street. The intent had snapped, the Count didn�t even say a word, followed the American�s movements until he disappeared from view.
�Detective Orcot!!�
Leon clattered over the pavement, collided with a figure on the street, nearly knocking it down. He hesitated just as an arm wove through his.
�There you are! When you weren�t at home I thought I might find you here,� the emerald eyes narrowed studiously. �Are you okay? You look like�well�like you�re about to go throw yourself off a bridge.�
�Delmonte? Get off me, Damn it,� he snarled, flinging her off his arm. He straightened his jacket, then started down the street, glancing back every so often as if to make sure she didn�t follow. She crossed her arms over her breast and let out something between a growl and a whimper.
�He does not want you.� The Count stated, appearing at her back. She cocked her head to the side as if she found his words highly amusing.
�And he won�t let himself want you,� she spoke lightly. �But I�ve got an advantage.�
�And what is that?�
�Every time he runs from you�he runs a little closer to me. And�boys in his predicament tend to look for ways to prove themselves---�
�And you could do that to him?� D�s eyes widened slightly. �You would do that to him?�
Gracie gathered her hair to one shoulder, smiled. �It�s what I do. But you shouldn�t worry too much about it, Count.� She put a finger to his lips, leaned close as if to kiss him then slipped past. �You yourself said you didn�t want to lay any claims to him.�