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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 5 Duo worked the next two night shifts. It was odd, but at work, when his hands were busy, he never consciously thought about Wufei and the amazing changes that had come into his life. He concentrated only on the patients, the sick and injured who poured in, in a never-ending flow through the emergency room doors. He had an amazing experience on his second night. A child of eight, a little girl, had been shot by accident; her older brother had been playing with a weapon that should have been locked up. The trouble was that the girl was a bleeder--her blood didn't clot well. She was brought into a trauma room while doctors rushed to attend her in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Duo rushed to supply the team with everything they required. The scene was bedlam to the uninitiated; to Duo and the doctors it was routine. They must have worked on the pretty little child for a full half hour, but nothing appeared to help. Outside the curtains the parents wept and prayed, and an attendant had to prevent the terrified mother from entering the trauma room. Finally the lead doctor rocked back on his heels and shook his head, and the frenzy above the inert body ground to a halt. "It's no use," he said, stripping off his gloves and pushing his mask down. And then something happened to Duo. Later, when he tried to describe it to the team, he could only say it was intuition, but he knew it was more than that. It was the gift that he'd been granted, the gift to heal. It came to him sporadically, and he always felt as if his body was being controlled by some outside force. He never fought it; he was too grateful for the ability to help. "May I?" he asked as he moved to the child and threw away the gauze packing over the injury. Blood pumped out, gushing, hopeless, and Duo placed his hands on the wound, pressing gently, something in his brain willing the flow to abate, willing life back into the still body of the little girl. "What in hell..." one of the younger doctors said, but Duo's superior stopped him, while the entire team looked on in wonder. A minute went by. Two. And then someone whispered, "My God, it's slowing!" And it was. The team instantly went to work again and Duo moved aside, coming back into himself, shaken, awed, thankful. The girl lived. Oh, she needed several units of blood and would be in intensive care for a week, but she was going to pull through. The next night at Wufei's, Duo told him about the experience. He'd talked him into staying home, and, in blue jeans and an oversize white sweater, he made soup and sandwiches in Wufei’s kitchen while he looked on quietly. Duo stirred the pot on the big commercial-sized stove in the cavernous kitchen that Wufei never used. "I know you'll think I'm crazy," he said, averting his gaze, "but it's like it's not me at all when I work that way." And then he colored. "I shouldn't have told you, Wufei. You must think I've flipped." "Flipped?" "Gone nuts, insane, you know." "Because you have a talent, a gift?" "Well, you've got to admit, it is a little hard to believe." Wufei looked up at the tall ceiling, and with a twist of his lips, said, "There are more things in heaven and on earth ..." But Duo only sighed. "Do you really believe that?" "Oh, absolutely," he said, still smiling sardonically. They ate at his kitchen table, which Duo had scrubbed clean of the dust and grime that looked as if it had been there for a hundred years. "Do you have a housekeeper?" he asked, ladling the soup into bowls. "Infrequently." "Um," Duo said. He ate his soup and sandwich while, as always, Wufei barely touched his. He was not a small man, and he continually marveled at his pitiful appetite; he'd even wondered if Wufei had some sort of metabolic disorder. He had no right to ask, of course, but he sure was becoming concerned. After a time he raised his gaze to Wufei, his hands now clasped nervously in his lap. // You're a nurse, he thought, it's not prying, so go ahead and ask. // "Wufei," he began, "I know it's none of my business, but I worry about how little you eat. Have you had a checkup recently? I'm sure there's nothing wrong, but it never hurts to look into things." "A checkup with a doctor, you mean." "Yes. Your appetite..." "I have not seen a doctor in ages," he said smoothly. "And though it would be difficult to convince you, I assure you, Duo, my appetite is quite hearty at times." He accepted his statement, though it left him puzzled. Later, though, when he was doing the dishes, he was even more disconcerted to catch his impenetrable black eyes riveted to the neckline of his sweater. He turned around abruptly, but the image of Wufei’s eyes, the way the light seemed to kindle in their depths, refused to leave him. And yet Wufei never touched him. Duo felt uneasy that entire evening. It was as if every event in his huge house was dramatically important. He heard every creak of beam and stair, the rich, haunting chime of the clock in the entryway as it struck eleven times, the crackle of logs and hiss of sap in the fireplace. Outside it had begun to snow. Duo could even hear the tiny muffled taps as snowflakes dashed against the windows and the hollow scratching of tree branches when the wind bent them toward the house. All sounds were muted as the snow amassed on the trees and bushes outside, and it seemed as if his house with its unkempt back garden was set apart from the throb of the city. Every moment, every sound, was significant beyond its normal implication. Duo felt oversensitive, his hearing, his sense of smell, his skin, all ready to receive some kind of signal, but what? It was as if he awaited some word from Wufei, a message, some profound information he was about to impart. Yet he said nothing. Wufei looked, he turned away, he was silent. Feet tucked beneath him on the Victorian sofa, Duo looked up from a book he was glancing through and saw him standing by the tall window, gazing out at the snow, apparently lost in contemplation. His heart quickened as he watched him, the pitch of his head, the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his buttocks beneath the fine wool of his trousers. Wufei was the most attractive man he'd ever laid eyes on. His features were flawlessly masculine, generous, imperious. He had beautiful teeth, too, he'd noticed from the very first. White, perfect, revealed when he gave him that thin-lipped, cynical smile. He wanted to hold him when Wufei allowed him to see that side of his nature. He wanted so very much to hold and comfort him and to feel the pressure of those lips, against his skin, cheek, neck, shoulder, chest--oh, how he longed to feel the touch of his hands on his body! They'd been out together almost a dozen times, and not once had Wufei even held his hand. Oh, but he looked at him, Duo knew. Just as he'd caught that gaze boring into him in the kitchen tonight, he'd often felt the weight of his stare. And he'd swear it was desire he'd seen in Wufei’s eyes, a yearning, hungry look that scorched his flesh. Duo knew he'd be a wonderful lover, giving, taking, tender and violent all at once. Yes, he could feel his body clasped to his, Wufei’s hips rising above him. So why hadn't he laid a finger on him! Okay, so he was the consummate gentleman, old-worldly, sophisticated, in complete control of his urges. But enough was enough. "Did you say something7" Duo's eyes flew up. Had he spoken aloud? "I...I didn't say anything," he managed to say, too aware of the throb of his pulse. He'd turned toward him, the drapery long and heavy behind him, the snow tapping the windowpane relentlessly. And he saw it again, that look in Wufei’s eyes, a flame that consumed him, craved him. Even the stillness of his body was somehow erotic. "Wufei," he whispered, caught up in his passion, mesmerized by his eyes. For a long time they both stayed motionless, gazing at each other, the tension in Duo's body overwhelming. In the end it was Duo who rose, as if driven by an unseen force, and slowly, slowly he went to him. When he reached up boldly and put his hands on his cool cheeks he remained completely still, so still, though the flame danced deep in his eyes. Duo turned his face up to his, his neck arching. And then at last Wufei moved, ever so slightly, his head bowing toward Duo, a groan escaping his lips as they parted, brushing his cheek, lowering--so cool on Duo’s flesh--lowering, grazing the skin of his neck, finding the hot, quick pulse there as blood raced through him, heated by Wufei’s closeness, wanting him, needing him. His arms went around his slenderness, forcing Duo’s back to arch against his forearm, his cool hand on his throat, his teeth at Duo’s pulse... And then suddenly he was being pushed away! And he was groaning, turning away from Duo in a rage, clasping the curtain in his fist as he moaned, "No, no, not like this. No!" Duo was stunned. Shocked and helpless, so humiliated. What had he done? ~ ~ ~ (***) ~ ~ ~
"I can explain," he said. "It was not you last night, Duo, it was me. Please take a taxi over and allow me to explain." He didn't catch a cab. Wufei would have insisted on paying for it, and, as confused as he was right then, he wouldn't allow it. Duo walked. It was a good hour's walk, too, through the streets of New York. But the brittle air felt good in his lungs, and the sting on his cheeks was invigorating. Everywhere he looked, the city was cleaner from the fall of the fresh snow. He began to feel better, somehow. Wufei had built a fire by the time he arrived, and he stood near the hearth looking solemn and devastatingly handsome. There was that air of world-weariness about him that he'd seen so often before, that tugged at his heartstrings and made him want to hold Wufei to his chest and stroke his hair. Duo took off his coat and laid it over the arm of a chair and thought: how could he have been so upset with him last night? How could he have faulted this kind and beautiful man for his gentlemanly ways? Wufei was watching him quietly when he sighed, drew in a deep breath and said, "Wufei, I'm sorry I ran out last night. It was all my fault, and you don't owe me an explanation." He said nothing, only kept watching him, his expression unchanged. "I'm not, well, experienced when it comes to relationships, with men, you know," he went on, fumbling. "I've really only had two since nursing school and both times..." But Wufei put up a hand. "You do not have to tell me these things," he said. "To me they are of no account. I am with you, Duo, because your company brings light to my life. It has been a very long time that I have been alone." Again his heart swelled with the need to comfort him, to understand him. "Wufei," he said softly, wanting to close the distance between them, yet sensing he'd rebuff him again. "I wish I understood you better. I feel as if I could help you in some way, but I don't know how." "Help?" he said, and he arched a dark brow above the black of his eyes. "I said that badly. I know you don't need help. I meant that sometimes I think you're lonely, and I want to be your friend. We are friends, aren't we?" "Of course," he said. And then he braved it. "I'd like someday to be more than your friend, too." For a long moment Wufei merely stood there by the hearth, his face an inscrutable mask. Finally he said, "I, also, would like that, Duo, a great deal." But somehow, although his words were sincere, he'd sounded as if their future together was an impossible dream. Then Wufei opened up a part of himself to Duo that he'd previously kept hidden. As he led him up two long flights of stairs to his attic he wondered about that. It was as if he wanted Duo to understand him better, and yet he spoke with such uncertainty about the future. What did Chang Wufei want from him? At the top of the landing Duo waited while Wufei opened a door for him and then stepped aside so he could enter. Instantly upon entering the attic room, Duo was assailed by the strong odors of turpentine and linseed oil, and then he saw the canvases, dozens of them, stacked everywhere, leaning against sloped wails, on easels, some finished, some not. "Wow!" he said softly. "I never knew. You did all of these?" "It is a hobby," Wufei said from behind him. "Some hobby. It looks like a warehouse, Wufei. So many paintings." He turned and looked at him. "Can I...?" "Of course," he said. "Though do not expect too much. My talent is meager." Slowly, with Wufei negligently leaning one shoulder against the wall, his arms folded, Duo began to browse through his work. It was mind-boggling. So many canvases. He must have been painting every day for his whole life, and the subjects he'd tackled--everything from serene, bucolic scenes of rivers and gently rolling hills to seascapes, violent waves crashing against jutting rocks. There were paintings of bouquets and fruit bowls on tables draped in velvet cloth. There were cityscapes, too, European-looking. Duo cocked his head at one. "London?" he asked. "Yes" came his voice from across the room. "My rendition of the previous century." "Interesting," Duo said, moving on, turning one, then, another canvas toward the overhead light. He was no critic, though Wufei had certainly been trying to train his eye, but still Duo had to admit to himself that while some of his painting seemed inspired, other canvases seemed somehow … wrong. It was the light, Duo decided, the light and shadows in some of his work just seemed off, especially in the pastoral settings. There were other works, too, that were so far removed from his experience that his breath caught. While most of his paintings tried to capture a serene mood, others were dark and disturbed. Hideous faces peered out at him from infernal settings. One painting was ultramodern, geometrical, colors slashed wildly all over the canvas, while another was pure Renaissance, floating angels and devils and rivers, cathedrals, storm clouds--good and evil in a never-ending struggle. He shivered. The mind that had created these... "Reminiscent of Bosch, wouldn't you say?" Wufei said in a sardonic tone. "I don't know who Bosch is," Duo whispered. "Hieronymus Bosch, late fifteenth century. Some said he was heavily involved with witchcraft." "I can see why," he said. "This isn't my favorite..." Duo moved on, only quickly scanning these darker works. He wished he'd never seen them. He found several portraits, all of which appeared to be renditions of people from a time long gone by. There was a beautiful woman... "Who's this?" Duo asked before thinking. It could well have been a lady from his past, a medieval Chinese portrait of her, anyway. "That was my mother." "She's... lovely, Wufei, so sweet." "Yes, she possessed a heart of gold." Duo moved on, uncomfortable. His paintings were so personal. He felt as if he were invading Wufei’s privacy. But he'd brought him here. Was this Wufei’s way of showing him who he really was? Another portrait. An inordinately handsome man. Blond. Piercing ice blue eyes. Also dressed as if from a past century. Elizabethan, Duo guessed. A white ruff, garnet velvet doublet, puffy, gold-ribbed short pantaloons, embroidered hose, high-heeled shoes. His hair was long and curled at the bottom. He had a mustache and Vandyke beard, and a jeweled scabbard at his side. A court dandy. There was something about his face, though, something that stirred discomfort in him. The face was so waxen, so arrogant, and danger sparked from the pale eyes despite his finery. "Who is this?" he asked, not getting very near the canvas. "Ah, that gentleman," Wufei said very smoothly. "Merely someone I have known for a very long time." "I don't think I'd like to meet him," he said. Wufei gave a humorless laugh. "I daresay you would not." Duo saw it on an easel in a comer then. A half-finished portrait. It was him. "Well?" came his voice. "What do you think?" Duo didn't know whether to laugh or be flattered beyond all expectations. The man, him, was so angelic-looking with a Mona Lisa smile on his lips, violet eyes that were too pretty, too pure, and hair that framed the face in soft waves, catching gilded light. Pale rose in the cheeks, on the neck. Embarrassed, he said, "This is not me. He's too... innocent. Too pretty." But all Wufei said was "It most definitely is you, Duo Maxwell." The experience of seeing this hidden side of Wufei left Duo shaken when he sat in the library again, a cup of coffee clasped in his hands. It was as if he were trying to tell him something, trying to open his eyes to some mystery, and yet the more he knew of Wufei, the less he could understand. There were so many things about Wufei... For one, he'd claimed not to have a degree in history; nevertheless, his knowledge of the past was uncanny, as if he'd lived it. His eating habits were another enigma, and Duo couldn't really accept his excuses any longer. Wufei was a night person. He was, too. But it occurred to Duo as he sipped on the coffee and watched Wufei rebuild the fire that he'd never once seen the man in the light of day. There was also that self-contemptuous side to Wufei. It was as if he'd seen too much in his life and had been made both harder and more vulnerable by what he'd seen, an exotic combination that fascinated him with a frightening intensity. Wufei put aside the iron poker and straightened, turning to him, his eyes fixing on him, giving Duo that now-familiar sense that he was probing the depths of his soul. He both suspected it and secretly craved it. Duo found himself wanting him with shameful desperation. Stop looking at me that way, he wanted to cry out, but in the same space of time came the quickening in him, the deep, hidden ache. To have Wufei touch him, those long fingers removing his clothes, his eyes drinking him in. His skin would be so soft, velvet over steel .... To have his lips on his mouth, neck, chest. Duo sucked in a ragged breath and prayed he couldn't read his mind or see his erection. In time, of course, he'd know Wufei in that way, and it would be all the more beautiful for the agony of the wait. That was his plan. It had to be. Duo was the luckiest man alive--Wufei wanted him, but he respected him, too. The clock chimed in the entryway. Ten times. Duo held Wufei’s stare and wondered if this would be the night. The torment of the notion was heady, delicious. Tonight. Maybe tonight. Wufei smiled at him then, that half smile that was somehow sad, a quiet, beautiful curve of his lips. And then he got up, moving toward the fireplace, asking if he would like more coffee. "Sure," Duo said, watching him, as always fascinated by his supple movements and imposing dignity, and that was when a part of his brain registered something, something that when recalled consciously would rock the foundations of his knowledge of the physical world. "More coffee would be fine," he said as Wufei moved between him and the firelight.
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