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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 "
It was Thanksgiving Day, and Duo took the subway to Brooklyn, to the old familiar neighborhood where he'd grown up. The houses were pre-World War II but kept up nicely; on this day there was a watery sun that tried to melt the frost in the shadows. He always visited his mother's house with a giddy mixture of foreboding and anticipation. Even though he only lived across a narrow strip of water from Brooklyn, it sometimes seemed light-years away, and he never went home except for holidays or special occasions, because the stress of dealing with his meddling family tore away at his hard-won independence. And yet today was somewhat different. Duo wore his new coat, a new dark green sweater, even new dress shoes. He felt a certain self-confidence that was new to him, akin to the competence he had when he worked in the ER, and it felt great. He would not let his mother browbeat him, he would not let his sister disparage him, he would give his father a big hug and draw him into the conversation. Today, at his mother's heavily laden dining room table, he would not think of those tortured paintings, Wufei's strange habits, his own increasing uncertainty about this new relationship. He'd worry about those things later; his misgivings were no business of his family's. But he would tell them about Wufei--he would set the news down in the middle of the dinner conversation as if it were one of his mother's elaborate centerpieces, for everyone to ooh and aah over. The house smelled of roasting turkey, and the familiarity, as always, shot through Duo with a bittersweet pang. There were the usual cries of greeting, kisses and hugs. His sister, Hilde, was there with her husband, Walker, and their two children, Paul and Cheryl. Duo loved the kids unreservedly, the adults more circumspectly. "Let me see you," Duo's mother said, holding her son at arm's length. "A new coat, a new sweater. Very nice. I only hope you didn't pay too much." Hilde and Duo looked at each other over their mother's head and rolled their eyes. "I did just fine, Mom," Duo said. "You should have called me. I would have taken you to that new store……" Paul and Cheryl were hugging their Uncle Duo's knees, Walker and his father were completely engrossed in a football game on TV. "Uncle Duo, can we play that game?" Paul cried. "Please, please?" "Later, kids," Hilde said. It was the usual scene, warm and homey, but with certain tensions that never let anyone fully relax. "So, what's new?" Duo's mother, Dorothy, asked. "Still on that awful night shift?" "I like the night shift. You know that." "Mother, leave him alone," Hilde said. "You say the same thing every time he comes home." "If Treize lived here, he could talk some sense into him," Dorothy said. Treize was the Maxwell's oldest, who lived in Atlanta with his wife and three kids. "No, he couldn't, Mom," Duo said. "He might come up here for Christmas break," Dorothy said. "Did I tell you?" "That would be great." "I haven't seen Treize in at least a year," Hilde said. "Will Une and the kids come, too?" "Naturally," Dorothy said. Small talk, ordinary things. Dorothy's deft hands peeled and washed and cut and mixed. There would be far too much to eat. "How's that apartment of yours?" Dorothy asked Duo. "Did the super fix that leak?" "Yes, two months ago, in fact." "What about that doctor, the one who complimented you? Do you see him still?" "Mom, that was months ago, too. If you're fishing, I'll tell you, we're just acquaintances. He appreciates my work, that's all." "A nice doctor like that..." Dorothy said wistfully. "That's a good color on you, Duo," Hilde said to change the subject. Duo smoothed the sweater with his hand. "I did get a few new things. Lord, I needed them. All that's hanging in my closet are blue uniforms." "Well, you should pay attention to your appearance, you know," his mother said. "I know, Mom." He was dying to mention Wufei, to tell them all the places he'd taken him, the restaurants, the galleries, Carnegie Hall. But he wanted to drop the news casually when everyone was at the table. Paul and Cheryl came racing into the kitchen. Cheryl was crying; Paul had punched her on the arm because she took his crayon. "Okay, kids," Duo said, holding them, one in each arm, one crying, nose dripping, the other taut with indignation. And in a few moments he had them both giggling over one of his stories from his own childhood with Hilde. "God, I wish you wouldn't tell them those things," Hilde said, but Duo only laughed. When the kids were gone, Dorothy turned around and faced her son, hands on her hips. "You should have some children of your own," she said bluntly. "Mother," Hilde said warningly. "I need a husband first, then a sex change" Duo said lightly. "Yes, that's right. So go out and get one." "Mom! For goodness' sake," Duo said, blushing. "Lighten up." "All right, I'll shut up." She shook a finger at Duo. "But I don't understand you, I don't understand you one bit." Duo and Hilde set the table. "God, she can drive you crazy, can't she?" Hilde said, laying out the silver. "I try to ignore it," Duo said. "She's a hard one to ignore," Hilde replied, and they both laughed. There was turkey and stuffing, yams, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pearl onions and peas, the works. Everyone ate, passed dishes, commented on the food. The kids lost interest quickly and were excused, but the adults sat around the table, gossiping idly. "I ate too much," Walker said, patting his stomach. "You always do," Hilde chided. Dorothy beamed. "It's good for him. Once in a while it's not such a bad thing." "So, Duo," his father asked, "are you still on the night shift?" Duo braced himself, but his mother answered for him. "Yes, he still is, honey. Can you believe it? He says he likes it." Dorothy shook her head, and her new tight curls bounced. "You know, Duo, I worry about you going home so late," his father said. "It's dangerous." A scene flashed through Duo's mind, emotions shot through him, making him close his eyes for a moment. He forced a smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm careful. I stay on the well-lit streets and take the bus." "Don't go down in the subway," he said. "I won't, I promise." "Tell me," Dorothy said, leaning forward, her large breasts perilously near the gravy and mashed potatoes left on her plate. "Tell me, how does a nice young man meet anyone when he works all night and sleeps all day? It's unnatural." Here was the opening, the perfect time. Duo let his mother's words hang in the air for a minute, and then he said casually, "Well, actually I have met someone." All heads swiveled toward him. From the living room came Cheryl's high-pitched voice, punctuating the expectant pause, "Hey, it's my turn, Pauly!" "Well, well," Dorothy said. "Thank you so much for letting us know." "It hasn't been for long," Duo said. "I mean, I only met him a few weeks ago." "Tell us his name, Duo," his mother said, as if talking to a child. "Wufei Chang." "He’s Japanese?" his father asked. "He's from China originally." "So, he has a good job, a nest egg?" Dorothy asked. That stopped Duo for a moment. A job. Suddenly he didn't know how to explain Wufei; it was as if these people spoke a different language, and he wasn't able to translate. "Well, uh, Wufei has investments. He's retired, you see, and..." "He's old?" Dorothy asked. "No, he's not old. He's my age." "Investments? Retried? What, is he in the Mafia or something?" "Good Lord, no! He's just... he's quite wealthy." "A rich man," his father said. "How did you meet him?" Hilde asked. "Oh, well, in Central Park. I... ah, we were both walking, and we, well, we just sort of met." "How romantic," Dorothy said. The scene flashed through Duo's mind again and made him swallow. Romantic. "Yes," he replied. "What's he like? What does he look like?" Dorothy pressed. "Give him a chance," his father said, patting his wife's arm. "He's very good-looking," Duo said. "A gentleman. He treats me very well." "This is serious?" Dorothy asked. "I don't know, Mom. It's too soon. We like each other a lot, that's all." And he thought of Wufei the night before, the suffering he'd seen, the hunger. Wufei, he cried inwardly, and he almost shuddered. "Where does he live?" Hilde asked. "The Upper West Side. On Riverside Drive." "Oh! One of those old brownstones?" "Uh-huh." "That's great, Duo," Hilde said. "Is he a nice man?" Dorothy asked. "Nice. Yes, very nice. Well educated, very... uh... sophisticated." "You bring him home to meet us, Duo," his father said. Duo stifled nervous laughter. Wufei here, in this house, at this table? Enduring his father's questions, his mother's prying? No! his mind cried, it's too preposterous. "Oh, I think it's too soon for that, Dad." "It's never too soon. We're your family. He takes you, he gets all of us," his father said. "And does he have family? Are they still in China?" "He lost his family quite a while ago," Duo answered. "That's a shame." Dorothy looked at her youngest son. "He's not married? Duo, tell me..." "No, Mom. He's divorced." "Oh, God, he has children, visiting rights? Duo..." He shook his head. "Well," Dorothy said, and that was all she could come up with. "Wufei...ah...took me to the opera the other night. At Carnegie Hall." Duo was embarrassed, but he wanted them all to know. He looked down and flushed a little. "And we also saw The Phantom of the Opera. He's taken me to lots of places--restaurants, you know, and art galleries." "Wow," Hilde said, and her husband gave her a look. "Well, I'm glad you're happy," Dorothy said. "That's what's important." "Your mother's right," his father said, nodding. Happy. Yes, he had been happy. Delirious, in fact, but that had changed somehow. Now he had doubts. Maybe it wouldn't, couldn't, work out. Wufei was so mysterious, so different. Just imagining him meeting his family brought it home. Oil and water, Duo thought. They can touch but they can never be united. "Thanks," murmured Duo, and he picked at some crumbs on the tablecloth. He should never have told them about Wufei, never. When it was time for him to leave, his mother took his arm and led him into the master bedroom. "I want you to see something," Dorothy said, opening a drawer, carefully unlatching a jewelry box. She dug around in it and pulled a piece out. "Here," she said. It was a fancy men’s watch of heavy gold links. "Mom, that's Dad’s watch." "Oh, Duo, he never uses it anymore. It should be worn." His mother patted his arm. "You wear it to all those nice places your new boyfriend takes you." "But it's Dad’s. You should keep it." "What, so he can wear to the bowling alley, to his office?" She shrugged. "We want you to have it." Duo took the heavy gold watch. It lay in his hand, warm from his mother's grasp. "Mom, you're sure?" "Take it." Duo put it on his wrist. It was beautiful. "Thanks, Mom." Dorothy only smiled. She was a warm, generous woman who loved fiercely and protectively, Duo realized. It was just that she was too domineering for her youngest son to handle at times. Right now, though, they were close, and it made Duo feel good to be like this with his mother, to be accepted without criticism. "I’ll wear it all the time," he said. Dorothy embraced him. "You show that boyfriend of yours that the Maxwell’s are worth something, too. And when you're ready, you bring him home. I'll fix pot roast." ~ ~ ~ (***) ~ ~ ~
There were suicide attempts--holiday depression--and knifings and shootings and drunken traffic accidents. Because it was a weekend, more babies than usual got sick. Why did babies always fall ill when the doctor's office was closed? There were cuts and poisonings and drug overdoses; the ER was a madhouse, as everyone employed there knew it would be. Duo worked tirelessly, mostly assisting the doctor his mother had asked him about, Trowa Barton, who specialized in the treatment of trauma. He liked Trowa. He was cool under fire and yet caring, always aware of the family and friends who were wringing their hands and sobbing just on the other side of the partition from where he worked. Trowa was thorough, too. At thirty-five he'd learned to give it his all and not worry about soaring insurance rates from malpractice suits. They worked side by side for most of that long night and lost only one patient, an old man, a street person, who'd been too frail to hold on after a bad bout with the bottle. It quieted down after 2:00 a.m. and they were able to get a cup of coffee together in the cafeteria. "What a night," Duo said. "I can hardly wait till Christmas." "Yeah, well," Trowa said, "summer's the worst. Heat spells. Drives 'em nuts on the streets." "And full moons. Don't forget the full moons," he said, smiling. They talked companionably for a time, trying to relax, trying to forget for a few minutes the frenzy down the hall. And then, taking Duo totally by surprise, Trowa said, "You know, I like your hair. You get one of those hundred-dollar dyes or something?" Instantly, in embarrassment, Duo reached up and touched his hair. "It's the same as it's always been, Trowa. Good Lord." He rolled his head to the side and studied Duo. "Well, you look different. Nice." "Gee, thanks," Duo said lightly. "Guess I looked like hell before." They both laughed, but in truth Duo knew that he did look different. He'd seen it himself in the mirror, a glow on his face, a happiness that had blossomed from his heart. That night Trowa offered him a ride home. Pulling up to Duo’s building, he said, "Hey, you wouldn't be off next Wednesday, would you? Maybe we could take in a movie, dinner. You know." Duo felt heat crawl up his neck. "Wednesday," he said, opening the passenger door. "I, ah, I'm busy then. But thanks, really." "A date?" he asked. Duo nodded slowly. "Should have known," Trowa said. "It wasn't the hair at all." ~ ~ ~ (***) ~ ~ ~ Duo awakened at one that same afternoon and stretched, still a little sore from the long night. But, as always of late, the first thought that came to him was of Wufei, and he wondered what he was doing--a business meeting with his agent? An important luncheon at the Waldorf or some swank men's club? Yes, he could see him as clearly as if he stood in his room--his fine clothes, the strong body, the infinitely knowledgeable look in his onyx eyes. He'd bet he could wheel and deal with the best of them. Sure he'd told him he was retired, but how many times had he said he'd eaten too much at a meeting that day? Well, maybe managing his money was retirement to him. Duo thought about that as he lay there snuggled under his warm blankets. All those meetings and yet he said he was retired. And when did he sleep? Maybe, like food, he didn't need sleep. No food, no sleep, no company--he'd never, ever seen another soul in that big, echoing house of his. It was as if Wufei existed in a vacuum, a world of his very own, needing no one, and yet lonely. Oh, he knew Wufei was somehow lonely, the ache positively oozed from him. But Wufei had him now. Not in the ordinary way, that was for sure, but he sought him out at every available opportunity. Last night when he'd gotten home there had been two messages from him on his answering machine. Two. He had needs, all right, but in an uncommon way. Duo showered and dressed and tried Wufei’s number, knowing all the while he wouldn't answer. He'd never answered his phone during the day. Another meeting? Another meeting where he'd eat too much? He left his apartment and went out into the cold to the corner grocery, picking up milk and coffee and fruit. Duo was on autopilot, though, his mind dwelling on Wufei, on all his "uncommon" habits, his strangeness, his secrets. That night at work it was difficult for him to concentrate, a rarity for Duo. He kept going over and over in his mind those oddities that were in essence Wufei. He felt chilled all night, too, the hair rising on his arms every time Wufei plunged into his thoughts. On a break he sat alone in the nurses' lounge and felt suddenly miserable--why hadn't he questioned these things about Wufei before? What was he, a lovesick puppy? On a later break Duo finally telephoned him. He knew he'd be up. Up and prowling that cavernous house or perhaps painting--no sun pouring through skylights for this artist--his brush reflecting the dark images of his mind. He answered on the fourth ring. "Look," Duo said, steeling himself, "would you like to go to the zoo tomorrow?" He couldn't make it. "How about the next afternoon?" he tried. Not then, either. "Wednesday?" Silence. "Thursday?" More silence. "Okay," Duo said, his heart beating a strong tattoo against his ribs, "when? Tell me when you can meet me during the day, Wufei." There was a long, tense pause. And then he said, "I rarely venture out during the day, Duo." "What about all your so-called meetings? When you overeat?" "That's merely business," he said cautiously. "But you're retired." "Yes." It was impossible. The more Duo questioned him the more convoluted the riddles became. A terrible, undefined fear began to rise in him. And then, from out of nowhere, he recalled the newspaper article about the man drained of blood the same night he'd been attacked. Duo’s mind turned away in horror. There couldn't be a connection. "Duo," he was saying with that deep, hypnotic timbre. But he couldn't let himself listen. "Wufei," he said, his voice shaking, "Wufei, I... I need some time. Time to think things out." "No," Wufei said, and he heard the pain in his voice. But Duo hung up. It was ten minutes later that another piece of the hideous puzzle suddenly fell into place, making Duo’s knees buckle. The other night, when Wufei had been going for more coffee, he'd passed in front of the fire, place.... he'd been staring at the Persian carpet on the floor, and when Wufei had come between him and the light from the flames, he'd cast no shadow. No shadow!
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