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"From the Shadows to the Light "Written By: Hemlock Inyx Category: Supernatural/Romance AU Pairings: 2x5x2 Rating: R Spoilers: Mild, if any. Warnings: OOC-ness, yaoi, vampires DISCLAIMER: This chick does not own any of the Gundam Wing characters because they belong to Bandai and Sunrise. I am borrowing them for this fict and will return them in good (if somewhat sticky) condition. I also don’t own Lynn Erickson’s Out of the Darkness, on which this fict is heavily based (well more like a fusion/translation). This fict is written out of love and not for profit, don’t sue. Thanks and enjoy! This is dedicated to: TJ Dragonblade for all her enthusathem for this fic. Thanks for being so crazy TJ. Summary: Chang Wufei had sworn revenge on the creature who had made him less than a man—had sworn to strike him down. Then he met nurse Duo Maxwell, who reawakened all the best parts of his latent humanity. But Wufei knew he was putting Duo at risk—and not only from himself. His old enemy Milliardo took an unholy interest in all Wufei’s affairs. Duo was a fighter, though. He believed in Wufei. He believed that Wufei could be cured of his "condition," that they could find a way to have a life together. But Duo hadn’t reckoned on Milliardo, who was determined to thwart Wufei—and Duo—until the end of time.
" From the Shadows to the Light " Chapter 13 Duo has been able to see little during the train ride from the port of Southampton to London because it had been dark. He'd only gotten an impression of a land very different from the one he'd left, a land green-and-gray and misty, divided by walls and fences, every small house or cottage or rowhouse on its own neat plot. Hedges and alleys, the backyards of Britain bordering the train tracks, smokestacks and streetlights and vehicles on the wrong side of the road, fading gradually into the solid old city of London. There had been no side trips to Trafalgar Square or Buckingham Palace or the Tower of London--nothing, as dawn had been nearing and Wufei needed to be safely in his hotel room. He sat now on his first day in England in his room adjoining Wufei's staring out the window toward the mighty Thames River that was mostly shrouded in fog. The weather was miserable. Dreary. Cold. A light rain fell from a pewter sky and passersby on the street below were invisible beneath big black umbrellas. Not many people were out, either. The weather was too inclement. But there were plenty of cars and red double-decker buses and lorries, their tires hissing on the rain-soaked streets, and square, old-fashioned black cabs that looked as if they belonged in a Sherlock Holmes movie. Dreary, Duo thought again, chilled, lonely and a little depressed as he stared over the bare tree tops and squat buildings toward the river. He checked the time. Wufei had told him the sun set early here in the winter as they were farther north than New York City, and that he would rise by three-thirty this afternoon. He'd said, too, that he would then take him on a short tour of London and buy him dinner of the city's best fish and chips--at a real English pub, of course, or whatever he desired. But somehow Duo's heart wasn't in it, and he wished they were in Finland already. It was the waiting, the not knowing, that was beginning to eat at him. What if no cure existed? But he couldn't, he wouldn't allow himself to think about that. Cross each bridge when you come to it, Duo told himself. He looked at the time again as the rain slid silently across his window and a bank of fog rolled in from the river. Two more hours before Wufei would rise. Two hours. So long. He'd slept earlier and wasn't the least bit tired. Only a little anxious. And he couldn't go out. Not alone. Not in a strange city. And what if that hideous creature Milliardo... But no. If he were in London, too, he'd be asleep, just like Wufei. For two more hours, anyway. Duo rose and went into the bathroom, leaned his hands on the sink and studied himself in the mirror. He was different. It wasn't just the hair or the soft glow in his eyes. It was that loss of innocence that had seemed to radiate from him. Wufei had told him never to change, and yet he had. Together they had changed him. For the better? He tilted his chin a little then and saw them--the fading marks on his neck. And he felt his belly clench at the knowledge of what they'd done. It hadn't been wrong. It hadn't! Nothing between them could ever be wrong. And if they never found a cure, he would let Wufei, beg him to... "No," he whispered, he couldn't think about that. The cure, that was all that mattered. He left the bathroom and in his robe and boxers went to the door that stood between him and Wufei. Instinctively Duo knew he wouldn't like it if he went in, sat by him. Wufei wouldn't like it at all. Still, he turned the lock and then twisted the doorknob, anyway, just needing to look at him for a moment. It was awful feeling so lonely in this foreign city. And the weather really did have him down. Wufei’s room was dark, very dark, the heavy curtains pulled closed so that not a crack of that gray light squeezed through. But Duo could see him, stretched out on the bed in wool trousers and a dark brown turtleneck sweater, his hands folded just below his waist. He wished he'd awaken. He wished he knew what thoughts or dreams Wufei was having, if any. There was so very much Duo wished he could share with him. At first he just sat quietly in the chair near the bed. And he stared at Wufei, his long shadowed figure so still he might have been dead. But he wasn't. And even though Wufei Chang had told him he was not alive in any sense that he could comprehend, he was alive to him. Vital and subject to the same hopes and fears as he was; no matter what he claimed, he was very much alive with emotions. He stared and stared at him, memorizing each darkly shadowed line and hollow, the way a few strands of his hair fell over his brow, behind his pale ear. And, as he'd thought so many times before, he found Wufei the most extraordinarily handsome man he'd ever seen. That he'd picked him. After five hundred years, having looked upon all the beauties of the world, Wufei had picked him. A monk. Wufei had been a monk. Duo still could barely fit his mind around that knowledge, and he sat very quietly thinking about it. Wufei in his robes, his heart filled with goodness, his mind and soul so pure. And he'd never known another man, not in the sexual way. Never. Yet so many centuries later he was ready to know one at last. Him. It just seemed impossible, or perhaps destined somehow. And how unfair it would be for them to have come so very far seeking a cure and the chance to build a life together, only to have their hopes dashed. That simply couldn't happen. Duo was not certain exactly why he finally rose and went to sit very carefully on the edge of the bed. He knew only that he was desperate to be close to Wufei, to perhaps reach out and touch him very lightly. Surely that wouldn't hurt. And so he did. He gently laid his hand over Wufei’s cold ones and whispered, "I'm here, Wufei. I'll always be here for you, no matter what." And his heart swelled with love and that deep, forbidden yearning. Duo knew it was wrong to go any further, and yet still he lay down on the bed beside him, his eyes wide, fixed on his face. Did he know he was there? Could he sense him? Did he feel the same terrible ache in his belly? Duo lay there motionless for a long time and let his fantasies run free, even though he realized Wufei would be angry if he knew. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but being close to him, sharing this bed, dreaming that he'd roll over and pull him against him, cover his face and neck and body with kisses--warm kisses--as his hands would stroke him, love him. To be one with Wufei in that way, to feel their bodies join... Gently, carefully, Duo held his breath and ran his fingers along Wufei’s side, down his hip, feather-light. And then Duo dared, his pulse racing, to touch Wufei there, to feel with his fingers the bulge of him beneath his trousers. His breath caught, and there was no shame, only that piercing desire to have Wufei whole, mortal, and to share a passion that neither of them had ever known. Duo lay there beside him for longer than he knew was wise. He languished there and dreamed his impossible dreams while outside the cold rain seeped from the sky and dusk began to gather. ~ ~ ~ (***) ~ ~ ~ Wufei’s eyes opened and sparked with knowledge, instant knowledge of Duo. He was everywhere around him, enfolding him, his scent, his warmth, his very aura. He sat straight up in the dark room and felt Duo’s presence as if he were beside him. And he remembered. Duo’s body stretched out alongside him, his hands on him, smooth and warm, trembling. Then lower, his touch, on his hip, his... A terrible silent wail rose in Wufei. Was Duo mad, coming to him like that? Didn't he know that he would awaken and feel him all around him, in him, probing the depths of his dark soul? The memory of Duo’s sweet, coppery taste assailed him suddenly as if he had tasted of him only moments ago. Tasted the hotness of him and been denied fulfillment. And with that memory the hunger came swiftly. It came to Wufei as a predator, clawing at him; his arteries were threads of agony in his body. He staggered to his feet, shaken, inhumanly cold, the thirst unbearable, the need for Duo draining his strength, twisting whatever rational thoughts he desperately tried to muster. For a time he fought the monster within. He paced, tried to collect himself, but it was useless. And then Duo knocked at his door. "Go... away," he groaned, sudden fire blazing in his eyes. Duo. Just on the other side of that door. Duo. Stretched out next to him. The scent of Duo still on him, his clothes, his hands. Wufei put his hands to his face and drew that irresistible scent into his nostrils, and his body cried out with a thirst he could no longer control. "Wufei? Are you awake? Wufei? I thought I heard..." "Go away! Damn you, go away!" he breathed, weak and yet possessing the strength to burst through that door and take him. Yes, he had all the strength in the world for that. "Wufei, what…what is it?" He stopped dead in the room, a shadow among shadows, and he stared fiercely at that flimsy wood, his eyes burning embers. "You fool," he rasped. "You fool, to have come near me!" And then suddenly he spun around, snatched up his long coat and threw open the door leading to the hall. The last thing he heard was Duo’s cry, a sobbing plea to forgive him. It was raw outside. Raw and raining, and the streets leading to the river were deserted. Wufei staggered down them, fog swirling around his legs, his eyes searching, searching, wholly unaware of the gathering of shadows that stalked him, moving alongside a warehouse only yards behind him, relentless. Duo, Duo, Wufei's brain cried. What had he done to him, accused him of? Was this his fault? He was a fiend, too weak to destroy himself, too weak to resist the simple beauty of the only person on this earth who mattered to him! Duo. His warm, lovely body beside his and he could do nothing, he could fulfill neither of them. He could only hunger. Wufei moved along the river's edge, where the darkness concealed his misery, just as it dampened the din of the city. It was in this dark slipstream that he felt a certain freedom. It was almost as if he were viewing the world from behind smoked glass--he could see out, but no one could see in. He strode along the old lanes and alleyways, searching for that inner safety that the shadows always granted him, but tonight no peace would come. He could still sense Duo all around him, and his accursed hunger only grew. It was futile, he knew, to fight it any longer. He spotted the woman moving through the mist by the river's edge. She looked drunk. Swaying, stumbling, bumping into the side of a pier house, staggering on. He followed, telling himself, promising himself, that this one he would let go--she'd done nothing save imbibe too much alcohol. Still, he followed, moving with the shadows, the curls of fog his silent vehicles. He came to a dockside pub and he watched, praying that she would go in, hoping she would not. He was torn, his thirst rising like a fever, when suddenly there was someone else there, also stalking the woman who stood, swaying, at the door to the pub. The woman, sensing potential trouble, began to move along again, half looking over her shoulder, half tripping. And then the man who'd followed went up to her. When she put up a hand to ward him off and then let out a strangled yelp, Wufei moved in. What became of the woman he neither knew nor cared. Surely she'd scrambled off, terrified, maybe never to touch a drink again. What Wufei did care about was the man. And as he sank down to the ground with him, the fog enshrouding them, he thought only of assuaging his need. He fed. Quickly. And when he was done he lifted his head, felt the familiar sweet rush to his veins, languished in it for a long moment, his head tipped skyward into the rain as the ache inside abated. Reason returned slowly and inevitably. Yes, the man still lived. And on the heels of that thought came the image of Duo, the memory of how he'd just left him there, alone, frightened. The words he'd spoken to him... Wufei rose and pulled his coat around him, the warmth still singing inside him. Duo, he thought again. He had to get back to him, explain. But how could he explain? How could he tell Duo, describe to him the torment of his closeness, the all-encompassing need, his weakness? And he'd blamed Duo. It was unforgivable. If Duo ran away this very night he would not, could not, fault him. He was a monster. Wufei hurried back along the riverbank, riddled with guilt, when he heard it, an unearthly sound, his name--Wufei, Wufei. The words came drifting along the fog. You have not done a proper job. Milliardo. As quickly as he'd rushed away from his victim, he returned, fear speeding his steps. By the time he got there, it was, as he'd feared, too late. Milliardo had finished the man off, his head lifted to the night sky, his lips blood-red. "Oh, so tasty," Milliardo whispered, sated. "But surely not as delicious as the one you let go, the violet-eyed man." "You... did not..." Wufei ground out. "No. But I should have. Men are so succulent. Like honey, wouldn't you say?" And he grinned a death's-head grin. Wufei looked away, down at the man who was clearly dead. Slow, hot rage burned inside him. "Have you ever killed, Wufei?" Milliardo said. "I doubt it. Alas, I did make an error when I selected you, a monk. And all the trouble I went to... Your mother, your sister, just to get you there." Very slowly Wufei raised his eyes to his enemy. "You mean, all these years and you did not know? How naive, my old friend, how stupid." "You lie," Wufei said, desperate for it to be true. If he thought for a moment that somehow he'd caused the deaths of his family... "Tell me you lie!" he demanded, but Milliardo only laughed, and that was when Wufei sprang on him, and the age-old death struggle was played out once more. They fought unlike other men, not with fists or feet or mere brute strength. Rather they came at each other with both their minds and their bodies, as if reading each other's thoughts, anticipating each other's moves, outwitting their opponent by ruse. Their dance macabre was not an orchestrated ballet. It was primitive, bestial, two viciously cunning animals locked in mortal combat, each willing to tear the other's heart out. Wufei fought harder than he ever had before, coming at Milliardo time and again with a killer instinct that amazed and frightened him. He used his wits to better advantage, too, though Milliardo had the greater strength. If their struggle resembled anything from this world it would have looked like two great jungle cats--one a tawny lion, the other a sleek panther--circling each other then striking, spitting, hissing, growling, locked in a tumble of fury. It was exhausting. As the fog wrapped around Wufei's legs and he circled his opponent, he began to realize that once again there would be no victor. In the end, as they crouched and faced each other, Wufei knew it was indeed useless to go on, though he hid this knowledge from Milliardo's mind, instead sending out to him his hate and willingness to fight on forever. It was Milliardo who finally gave a bloodcurdling laugh and then sprang off into the fog, his mirth echoing along the riverbank, striking terror into the hearts of those men who were about at that hour. Wufei stood there overcome with exhaustion, staring into the fog after his old enemy until the sound of a siren reached him. And then it was his turn to go. He glanced down at the body of Milliardo's victim, felt a wave of sorrow and guilt, then he, too, left, his body racked with pain, the night seeming to swallow his hunched figure. "Oh, my God," Duo breathed when he came through the door, his clothes torn, his face haggard. But he told him it was all right. He sagged into a chair, drained, and told Duo only that he had met Milliardo and they had struggled. "But..." "It is all right, Duo," he whispered, his head bowed. "It will be fine in time. And the things I said earlier...blaming you. I was wrong to do that, and you must find it in your heart to forgive me…" But he waved that off for a moment. "Milliardo. Did you…is he... ?" Wearily, Wufei shook his head, and Duo sank down on the floor beside him, holding his hands, tears brimming in his violet eyes. "Wufei, will he keep after you always? Even after we find the cure?" he asked, and he felt in his belly the fear that made his voice shake. Now was the supreme effort, the big lie. Forgive me, he thought. "No, Duo, of course not. He will no longer be interested. I would present no challenge to him." Duo believed him, he saw. He wanted to believe. Good. When, if, the time ever came to tell him the truth, he would do what he must. He felt tired then, defeated. Why had it never occurred to him before that it was impossible to take the cure while Milliardo was still at large? Fool. "Are you still angry at me?" Duo was asking. "About what I did earlier?" "Duo," he said, feeling the lovely warmth of his hands in his own. "What you did, what you yearn for, is as natural as the rising of the sun. I know that. It is I who am to blame, who cannot give you the simple pleasures you deserve any more than I can watch the rising of the sun." And then carefully, a far-off look in his eyes, he pressed his lips to Duo’s forehead and whispered, "In five hundred years it is perhaps the one thing I have missed the most." "What?" he breathed. "The feel of that brilliance on my face, that warmth, Duo. To once more feel that..."
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