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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 "
From the Shadows to the Light – Chapter 03 The black limo glided through Upper Manhattan's traffic,
its tires hissing in the puddles that lay like dark mirrors on the
streets. Inside, the plush interior muffled all sound, and Wufei sat
motionless, heedless of the sirens and horns blaring around him, of
the screeching brakes and changing lights. He rarely noticed these
mundane details. He'd lived in too many cities for too long to pay
any mind to the crush of humanity. Tonight, however, there was a difference within him.
There was caution and something else, something to which he had not
yet been able to put a name. When Wufei had awakened that evening,
after the light had left the city, he'd thought that this so-called
date--this rendezvous--he'd made with Mr. Duo Maxwell was eliciting
some faint stirrings of... Wufei had tried to dredge up the memory
of those long-lost feelings and could come up with only the nebulous
idea of pleasure. But that was quite impossible. He was only anticipating
this meeting because it was different from anything he'd ever done.
In over five hundred years, this was at last a new experience. He must be quite mad, nevertheless. All these centuries
of unbearable loneliness and self-loathing, of exile from life and
the sweetness of human companionship--and now this, a flesh and blood
man. A dinner engagement! What could possibly come of this farce?
Wufei shuddered to think, and put the notion aside. He did not want
that from this man. He would never allow it. "Would you like me to get the gentleman, sir?"
Came the driver's voice over a speaker. But Wufei would not hear of it. "No, I shall fetch
him myself," he said, and then climbed out into the night. Wufei rang the buzzer on number 252 and waited, wondering
again why he had chosen this particular male as a partner for the
evening. In his interminable days he had seen the beautiful men
and women of Europe and Asia and Africa, and had appreciated in his
own way their grace and fine, chiseled features, the glow of their
hair and cheeks, the slim whiteness or duskiness of their hands and
necks. Yes, he could appreciate beauty, just as he appreciated art
and music and the perfect orb of a full moon. But the pale imitation
of passion he felt at these things was so far from human that the
chasm was immeasurable. He was in life, but he was not of life. He
could not partake of the actual physical essence of the beauty he
saw; he could not taste food or feel the beat of his heart or the
sweat of his brow; nor could he love the men and women. The closest
he came to humanity was in the cerebral appreciation of line and color
and texture of art or the swelling of notes in music. But Duo Maxwell... What was it about this one creature
that had piqued his interest? Why such an ordinary man out of the
scores of beauties he'd observed in his lifetime? When Duo answered the buzzer he told him he'd be down
directly, and Wufei wondered if Duo had not invited him up out of
embarrassment over his meager lodgings or because of modesty.
Of course, Wufei had little notion of modern men and women's true
feelings, but he did know that, in this century, modesty was in short
supply. So this small mystery of Duo's was another curiosity. As far as Duo’s circumstances went, Wufei did not
give a fig one way or the other. He knew how unimportant money was;
he knew it could never buy peace of mind, yet he had to admit its
power. Without money he'd be neither more nor less happy, although
he would certainly be less comfortable. Then Duo appeared, practically running down the stairs,
breathless as he opened the door for Wufei, smiling. What a sweet,
shy smile! Duo was wearing a plain, chestnut-brown suit that did little
to flatter him as it clung rather shapelessly to the extreme slenderness
of his limbs. His long hair, which was practically the same color
as his suit--perhaps a shade or two darker--was down tonight, pulled
back from his pale neck in a ponytail. "Good evening," Wufei said, smiling back at
him, taking his coat, the same one Duo had worn last night, carefully
cleaned and mended, and draping it over Duo’ss shoulders. "I
should have brought an umbrella," he said. "Oh, are we walking?" Duo asked. But Wufei only gave a humorless laugh. "No. I have
a car." He led Duo out to the sleek black limousine that purred
at the curb, its wipers swish, swishing in the rain. The driver had come around to hold the door for them
as first Duo and then Wufei slid into the plush interior. Wufei was
amused by Duo’s sudden speechlessness. "Your first ride in a limousine?" he asked
as Duo ran a hand along the butter-soft tan leather seat. "Oh, yes," Duo said. "It's...magnificent.
You really didn't have to go to all this trouble. I mean..." "Put your mind at rest, Duo," Wufei said.
"I always travel by hired car." "You mean you don't drive at all?" "It is inconvenient for me to get to your driver's
license bureau," Wufei said smoothly. "And this is
certainly far more pleasant, don't you agree." "It sure is," Duo said, shaking his head in
wonder and delight. Wufei studied this mortal quietly for a moment. He was
not at all like the men he saw on television or in the late movies
he attended, nor was he like the men he saw on the streets of the
city as he wandered. There was an air about him, a simplicity
and a lack of pretension, that was not the norm these days. Duo could
have been from a previous, less complicated time; Wufei could see
Duo in the dress of an English gentleman of the century in which
he himself had been born. Wufei could see Duo was embarrassed by his close scrutiny,
though. "Is something wrong?" Duo asked. "No, not at all. I was merely looking for...uh,
bruises from your unfortunate encounter last night." "Oh. Well, I guess I was lucky, because nothing
really shows, but I sure have a sore spot on my head, a real
knot, and my ribs are black and blue." Wufei frowned. "You are in pain?" "Oh, really, I'm okay. It's not bad. I slept practically
all day, and I just took some aspirin." "This outing is perhaps disturbing your rest, then." "No. I feel great." Duo smiled again, shyly.
"After all, a guy has to eat." Wufei thought of some he knew who did not, but he replied,
"Yes, certainly," and attempted to return Duo’s smile. Wufei directed the driver to a favorite spot of his,
a quiet little French restaurant that was hidden off the lobby of
a midtown hotel near Gramercy Park. Of course, not a morsel of food
had passed his lips in fifty decades, but he gleaned pleasure of a
sort from watching thc diners and the fine service of a good restaurant--it
was all rather like a work of art when done properly. And as for his
appetite, no one had ever commented on his untouched food--a well-trained
waiter would never mention such a thing. Oh, it was not so difficult duping people. The secret
was not to stay in one locale more than a decade; then no one would
take note of his perpetual youthfulness. Wufei had already almost
overstayed his sojourn in New York, in fact, and soon, his agent,
who held his power of attorney here, would notice the thickness of
Wufei's still-dark hair and the smooth skin of his face. Soon, Wufei
knew, he had to leave this vibrant city. Perhaps he would travel for
a time. Or perhaps he would muster the mental energy to once again
continue the search for Milliardo. Duo seemed to take instantly to the small French restaurant,
sighing over the rich red-and-black velvet interior, the lovely subdued
lighting of chandeliers, the crisp white linen on the tables. Duo
smiled as the maitre d' helped him into his chair. "Good evening, Mr. Chang," the man said, bowing
slightly. "It's nice to see you again." "I am afraid it has been too long, Maurice,"
Wufei said, seating himself. "Ah, everyone is so busy nowadays." "Yes, very," Wufei agreed. The French menu was incomprehensible to Duo, and he
said so, asking Wufei to order for him, which he did with ease. Wufei
thought that Duo was a unique man, possessing a ready intelligence
and yet a delightfully fresh naivete, as if every sight and sound
and smell were new to him. While they awaited the Caesar salad, he
touched the tiny glass rose petals of the centerpiece so delicately
that Wufei found he could not take his eyes from Duo’s hands. "Aren't these beautiful," Duo was saying as
Wufei watched his slim index finger move over the fragile glass. "Imagine,
someone made each little one of these." "It is truly an art," Wufei agreed, his eyes
still fixed on Duo as if he'd never observed the grace and tenderness
of a human’s touch before. They ate their salads or, rather, Duo savored his while
Wufei pushed his around the plate. After a time Duo’s violet
eyes lifted to his and he asked guilelessly, "Aren't you
hungry, Wufei?" "I fear I recently overindulged," he said
easily. It's delicious, though, isn't it?" Duo said, and
Wufei inclined his head in agreement. Duo was an innocent, Wufei decided, possessing a rare
humility and patience. Duo was the exact antithesis of his five-hundred-year-old
weariness and bitter cynicism. Duo leaned over and whispered, "You don't suppose
I could ask the waiter for the recipe for the dressing? I mean, my
mother's a great cook, and I know she'd love this" And then Duo
dropped his hopeful gaze. "How silly of me," he said. "The
chef probably guards it with his life." "It will be yours by the end of the meal,"
Wufei said softly, his eyes roaming over the delicate lines of Duo’s
fine-boned face. He noticed the way Duo’s light brown lashes
formed perfect fans against his cheeks, the slim column of Duo’s
neck, where Wufei imagined he could see the pulse throb. Oh, yes,
Wufei fixed his gaze on that tender spot. Dinner arrived, lamb for Duo and duck for Wufei. He
often ordered duck, savoring the heavy, oily aroma that mingled with
oranges and lemons, recalling, even after all this time, his
mother's table set for a feast. Wufei could still summon memories
of his human existence, and he could still ache for that stolen
life--for the stolen lives of his mother and his sister. And certain
settings, certain aromas and sights and sounds, brought those memories
back with stark clarity. He could not experience physical pain, but
there was an agony in his soul that never abated. With Wufei watching him intently, the way he chewed,
swallowed, sipped on a glass of wine--a deep red wine--Duo finished
his meal. And when the chef entered the dining room to check on the
guests, Wufei quite easily extracted from him the recipe for the salad
dressing. But then, too, Duo's obvious delight would have accomplished
the same thing with the man, and Wufei suspected the world could be
Duo’s if he but knew how to ask for it. Over coffee Wufei questioned Duo about his work, curious
that so delicate and gentle a young man could abide the horror he
must be witness to every night in that hospital emergency room. "Everyone asks me that," Duo admitted. "Maybe
it's just because I look... Well, you know, fragile or something.
I can be as tough as anyone, though. And, well, I love my work. I
save lives." "But all the crime," Wufei said, "the
results of violence. So much--bloodshed, shall we say, must touch
you in ways I cannot imagine." "It's sad, but it's reality. And then there's always
the one life that's worth saving, like a child in a car accident or
someone who's truly a victim." Duo looked down at his coffee cup shyly, and the gesture
stirred Wufei in an unfamiliar way, as if something inside him had
given way just a little. Wufei gazed at him as Duo added, "You
know, well, I'm not a person who brags, but I really am a good nurse.
I have...uh, a sort of talent." Duo’s eyes met Wufei’s,
and they were filled with the essence of sincerity. "I help people.
I touch them with my hands, and they feel better.” "That is a gift, Duo," he said. "Um, well, I always wanted to be a nurse. Even
when I was a little boy." "I understand that, yes. You have a calling." Duo cocked his head. "It's rewarding, you know?
The rest of my life... Well, it's pretty dull. Except for tonight,
that is," Duo said, his eyes lighting up. "This has been
the most wonderful night." "Has it?" Wufei asked quietly. "Oh, yes," Duo said. "I feel as if I’m
living in a fairy tale." And Duo queried him about his life, too, which was a
subject Wufei had to handle with great care. "I have traveled
quite a bit," Wufei told him, and then he went on to regale Duo
with a small portion of the sights he'd seen. Still, he must have
told him a little too much, because Duo said, "My gosh, how old
are you? You don't look more than twenty-five." Wufei laughed. "I am in my mid-twenties,"
he said, "though I feel at times a great deal older." Then
he tactfully turned the conversation back to Duo. "And you?" "Oh, I’m in my mid-twenties, too." "Never married?" Duo shook his head as if it were of no consequence.
"Haven't had the time, I guess. My mother says I should settle
down, but I haven’t met anyone." "I see," Wufei said. "Have you ever been married, Wufei?" Duo asked
abruptly. "Once," Wufei told Duo before realizing what
he'd said. "Oh," he said. "Divorced?" "Completely," Wufei replied, aware of the
bitterness of his tone. Duo let the subject drop, though, and Wufei was grateful.
Married, he thought. Yes, to the priesthood, to a life of pride and
dignity--and peace. Oh, Wufei had most definitely been married once.
"Tell me more about Paris," Duo was saying,
and Wufei had to force his attention back to the present. "Ah, Paris, yes," Wufei said, "a lovely
city, a museum unto itself." He spoke on, and Duo listened raptly,
sipping his coffee, his violet eyes fixed on Wufei. But as Wufei told
Duo of modern-day Paris he couldn't help remembering another age,
a time when Europe was in upheaval and filled with darkness. Milliardo had been there. It was the decade preceding the French Revolution, almost
three hundred years after Wufei had first left China on his initial
quest to find Milliardo, the fiend who had murdered his mother and
sister and turned him into a bloodsucking monster. For Wufei had not died from Milliardo's ministrations.
No, Milliardo had saved him from death for his own perverted purposes,
although it had taken Wufei years to realize what they were. And when
he did Wufei shuddered with the horror of it, for Milliardo chose
those he transformed carefully, always the special ones, the best
of humanity. So, Wufei had recovered, or thought he had, and
returned to the monastery, mourning the loss of his family, at first
only vaguely recalling that fateful walk to the edge of the forest. For months Wufei had tried to live piously, as before,
but his prayers had been difficult and meaningless to him. And then
there had been the restlessness at night. The inability to stay awake
during the day. His appetite had left him, too, but in its place had
been born a different sort of appetite, a lusting thirst. Often Wufei
had found himself roving the countryside without direction--always
at night--and he'd been overcome with this thirst. And then, one cold,
bleak night in the forest, he'd come across a dying deer. And he'd
fed. Wufei had returned to the monastery, but his calling,
his life, his very humanity, was gone. And he gradually recalled the
night he'd confronted Milliardo. The man had sunk his teeth into his
flesh and Wufei had felt a curious pain that was somehow not pain,
then weakness and loss of memory and the subsequent emptiness
of his soul. For a time Wufei had tried to exist in this other world,
going about his duties, though he had told his master that he was
more comfortable performing nighttime tasks. The head monk and his
fellow priests began to look on him with curiosity and no small measure
of wariness as Wufei's strength seemed to come and go. How could he
tell them of his night forages into the bowels of the black woods?
How could he tell them of his loss of faith? Over the months of the following winter Wufei secretly
read scared texts, stealing silently into his master's private library
when the monastery slept. And it was then that he learned of men--creatures--like
this Milliardo, who apparently had roamed over the earth for many,
many centuries. The secret writings told of these undead beings in
vivid, horrifying detail, of their hideous thirst, of their dark deeds.
And yet there was little in the manuscripts to tell Wufei where he
might seek them out, for apparently they existed in secret, hiding
among men and women, seen only at night. And as for any theory as
to what might be done to stop them, there were many superstitions,
but none seemed truly effective. Spring touched the land once more and Wufei found himself
physically and mentally isolated from his surroundings, and he finally
realized that he must leave the sanctuary of these high walls that
had been his life. He told no one that he was going. He simply gathered
his meager belongings and one night walked toward the woods, never
to return. Ah, yes, on this initial quest to discover what he'd
truly become--to perhaps locate and destroy the one who'd done this
to him--Wufei had discovered the northern reaches of the known world,
the magnificent cities of Europe, and the disease and squalor, too.
He saw the good of human kind, and he saw the evil in men's hearts. He took jobs when forced to for sustenance, always
working at night. He despaired often, wondering what the future held,
but in Genoa, Italy, in 1553, the Black Death struck. Wufei took a
job collecting corpses by night, stacking them on a cart pulled by
a spavined horse. He, of course, never caught the dreaded disease,
although people died around him. Why? Wufei wondered. Why did he not
die, too? Then one night he found two gold coins in a dead man's
pocket just before dawn, a fortune in those days. Wufei knew what
he had to do then: carefully and slowly he bought some land, rented
it out and reaped the landowner's reward. He was intelligent and educated,
and in a time of unparalleled growth wealth was not difficult to come
by. His small fortune grew, and the decades went by. His initial investments
became very valuable, and one day Wufei realized he was a rich man. Wufei learned much that first century--the cynicism
and bitterness had not yet set in. But always, no matter where he
roamed, he was one step behind Milliardo. It was not until the next
century that Milliardo allowed him to catch up and initiate their
first confrontation. It was only after regaining his strength
that Wufei realized Milliardo had been toying with him all along. "The Louvre," Duo Maxwell was saying, "it
sounds so wonderful. How lucky you are to have lived in Paris." Wufei forced his mind back to this century, to the man
who sat across from him, listening to his tales. It was impossible,
but there seemed to be a certain easing of his loneliness in Duo’s
presence. Duo had spoken of healing hands--had this man's power somehow
touched a place in his dark soul? The notion was unfathomable. Wufei looked at Duo closely, guardedly, the deep black
of his eyes fixed on Duo’s cheeks, where there was a blush brought
to the surface by wine. A flesh and blood man. He stared at Duo for
a very long time, and put from his musings the notion of Duo’s
taste against his cold lips. Yes, Wufei was acutely aware of Duo’s
being, of the fresh scent emanating from him, of the fine structure
of his bones and the hint of pink that tinged his skin. Wufei put those dark thoughts aside and instead dwelled
on the absurd fantasy that he was a mere mortal dining with this rare
creature. He'd take Duo home, most likely to his apartment, and there
he would make love to Duo, their naked bodies joined in the age-old
rhythm of which he knew absolutely nothing. That wasn't to say that he'd never been touched by base,
carnal yearnings. Certainly as a youth before fully joining the priesthood
Wufei had known the stirrings of a man's loins. But he'd always been
able to put that singular temptation aside, knowing that his calling
and destiny were of greater importance. Pleasures of the flesh were
never to he his. What irony! Wufei took in the details of Duo's face
and felt bitterness writhe in his soul. He had denied himself so much,
so very much, and look at the hand fate had dealt him--eternal denial.
Nataku, what he wouldn't give for the courage to one
day walk out into the brilliance of the sun and end this agony. Would
there be a moment of redemption in those warm, gilded rays that he
had not set eyes on in so long? Perhaps, if ever he were to vanquish
his old enemy, Milliardo, perhaps then he'd find the courage to face
the end. Wufei paid the bill in cash, as he always did, and they
left the secluded little restaurant. In the limousine Duo said, "I really can't thank
you enough, Wufei, for such a super evening." "The pleasure was all mine," he replied as
the sleek black car moved into the traffic. "You know," Duo said, "I love the way
you put things. It's so... well, old-fashioned. And when you were
talking about all your travels I could almost believe..." But
then Duo faltered. "Believe what?" Wufei prompted. "Oh, it's silly." "Nothing you say is silly to me." "Well, when you were telling me the history of Paris, I could see you there, living it. I could even see you in the dress of the times, you know? I guess it's just the way you speak, it's so... impassioned." "Impassioned?" Wufei wanted to laugh. "Yes. You seem to feel things very deeply. I've
never known a man who could describe things with so much emotion." "I see," Wufei said softly, though he did
not comprehend in the least. The traffic was heavy on the avenue as the limo headed
back uptown, but neither seemed aware of anything except the atmosphere
in the hushed interior. They talked a lot, mostly of the city. Wufei
knew New York as a place of fine arts, theater and opera, while Duo
saw so much of the ugliness, even though his heart appeared pure and
innocent. "You've never been to the opera?" Wufei asked, Duo shook his head, and in the red glow of taillights
Wufei stared at the place where Duo’s pulse beat beneath the
paleness of his ear. "Never," he said. "No theater, musicals?" "Once. I went to The Sound of Music when I was
little." "And how did you like it?" Wufei forced his
gaze away. "It was magic.” "Yes, magic indeed." Wufei thought a moment.
“Perhaps sometime you would allow me to take you to the theater."
But the instant he'd spoken, Wufei regretted his words. Confusion
gnawed at him. "I'd love that," Duo said. "The theater..." He truly was going mad, Wufei thought. He had no real
interest in this man, in any man except the liquid fire that pulsed
in his veins! No, Wufei told himself, he dared not even think those
thoughts. He would never allow himself that assuagement, not a man,
not an innocent of either sex. Never. And yet he had just initiated
another appointment with Duo. What else could he be seeking? "...a lovely time," Duo was saying at his
door. "Thank you so much, Wufei." A slight drizzle still wept from the night sky, and
Wufei felt the icy drops light on his brow and in his hair, saw the
way the mist collected on Duo’s cheeks and upper lip as they
stood outside his building. And then Duo shook his hand. "Well..." he
said, smiling tremulously. "I will telephone," Wufei said, not meaning
it, aware only of the sweet warmth of his hand clasped in his. "My goodness," Duo said, "you're so cold.
You'd better get back into the car before you freeze out here." "Yes," he said, and Duo removed his hand from
his, a severing that shocked Wufei. They said a trite goodbye, and Wufei watched as Duo disappeared inside. The rain embraced him as he stood utterly still, and a low fog coiled at his feet. Still, Wufei could not force himself to move. Instead Wufei remained there, feeling the phantom touch of Duo’s fingers lingering on his hand. So warm. And abruptly he was speared with an agony for what had never been and could never be. To be continued……. Inyx: Hey, writing this sappy dating stuff is more fun
than I thought! ~ * ~ |
