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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 "
Milliardo lifted his head, and a few drops of garnet liquid flashed in the dim light and fell onto his clean white shirt. The heat penetrated him, relaxing him, and he felt the warm girl in his arms, her heaviness, her juiciness. Sweet was the smell of her blood, the succulence and thickness of it. He lowered his head again to the paleness of her throat and slowly drank, feeling the last quiver of consciousness pulse out of her and into him. The phosphorescent cat glow in his eyes faded to a mere ember, a pinpoint of light in each pupil, and he sat back on his haunches, satisfied. He looked down at his victim, a plump, dark-haired girl, very young. He'd picked her up in Greenwich Village a few hours ago, weaving a seductive web of charm, using his magic, his physical beauty, to lure her up to the place he called home in New York, the wrecked apartment in an empty tenement. He liked the location of the Lower East Side, because few people dared to enter the condemned building, and those who did he'd frightened away with swift brutality. Word had spread to the homeless, the addicts, the dealers, and now no one came near the abandoned tenement. He could easily have afforded a suite at the Ritz, an elegant brownstone like his old friend Wufei's, a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue, but he preferred this derelict place; it suited his sense of irony. The girl was still alive, though barely. She'd be sufficient for perhaps one more feeding. He put out a finger of polished ivory and touched her cheek. It was so pale now, when only minutes ago it had been pink with the rich blood of her life. She was cooling as he watched her, poor thing. Milliardo chided himself for being such a glutton. After a time he stood and looked down at her, then pulled a blanket over her to preserve what little life essence still whispered through her. How unfortunate, and she'd been so delectable. Well, there were hours left in the night, and things to be done. He glided down the filthy stairs to the ground floor. He could still lure another young thing to his place tonight after the first one was used up. He could kill in a dark alley, he could exact whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted. The city was his at night. No one was his equal, not after the millennium he'd had to nurture his powers. He didn't always kill; when he did, it was usually on a whim. But sometimes, when he appreciated the physical aspect of particular humans, he wished to preserve them for eternity. At other times he transformed them into creatures of the night for no other reason than a perversity of spirit. He always chose his victims deliberately for their virtue. All those fledglings, those offspring of his, spread around the world. Most worshipped his memory, some he saw from time to time, and they respected him as they would their father. All except Wufei, the innocent, the naive, the good. Milliardo sped through the streets, grinning, watching for a drama that might attract him. There--his eyes lit on a prostitute picking up a man, and there-a scrawny kid shooting up. There--lovers quarreling--that could be interesting. He moved through Washington Square Park and saw a group of students, unkempt, stinking of marijuana-what a rush, man!--and he stopped, drawing back, a shadow converging into itself, to watch them. A drug dealer peddled his wares right under the arch of Washington Square Park, and over there were three women, students, too, probably, walking together, giggling, yattering. Luscious-looking. Perhaps he should dispose of the half-dead one in his room and take a fresh young thing to replace her. He reveled in his own power. He could do absolutely anything he wanted. But he did practice a kind of discretion; not too many dead in one area on the same night. It was really so easy. Milliardo had nothing but scorn for those of his calling who did not exercise their powers to the fullest. He himself honed his like a swordsman did his blade, like an athlete his muscles and skill. For most of Milliardo's existence, mankind had been involved in survival, and it was only recently that humans had the leisure to perfect their bodies, their talents, their aesthetic senses. Of course, Milliardo had been doing it for centuries. His strength, his mental powers, his eyesight and hearing and sense of smell, all were brought to an exquisite height of power, tuned like fine instruments. His eyes were fixed on a whore standing near the archway. She was young, with cafe-au-lait skin, very lovely. Ripe. Despite the cold she wore a short skirt that showed dimpled brown knees and high black boots. Truly an exciting woman. He watched her for a time and weighed his choices. But, really, he was so full, every vein running hot, engorged. He'd wait. In any case there was something he'd been going to do. He’d been in New York for some time now. It was such an easy place to kill without raising suspicions. People died of so many things every day that it never occurred to the authorities to investigate. He'd been enjoying himself here, doing outrageous things, leaving signs of his work all over, blatantly, yet no one noticed. New York, New York, it's a hell of a town, he sang inside his head. Ah, yes, he did have an errand this night. How remiss of him to have remained in this city for so long without calling on his dear old friend. He knew where Wufei had his lair; he'd scented him from miles away. An ostentatious old hulk of a house in an upper-class neighborhood. Typical of Wufei, who craved the semblance of humanity. Yes, time to pay a visit. Milliardo passed through the night like a particularly sleek, graceful feline, his presence unnoticed save for a few who felt only a disquieting sense of something evil in their midst. No one ever really saw Milliardo, unless he wanted them to. He crept around the side of the brownstone that belonged to Wufei and into the overgrown garden at the back. It was a thick tangle of bushes and trees, their branches bare and black. A little snow remained at the base of some and also along the brick wall that enclosed the backyard. Milliardo smiled to himself: apparently Wufei the meek had not taken up gardening. Perhaps he'd had his fill of tilling the soil as a monk. Oh, yes, he could feel Wufei now. He could feel the anguish that always surrounded the man. He was just inside that tall, heavily draped window from which light leaked around the edges. And--the devil!--there were the shadows of flames leaping behind the drapes. A fire. Was that damn fool Wufei trying to be human again? How revolting. Milliardo stood motionless, waiting. Another scent tickled his nostrils, a hot, heady scent--a human male. In there with Wufei. Well, perhaps he wasn't such a weakling, after all. He had his prey this night. Milliardo decided to linger in the garden for a time. After all, dawn was still an hour or so away. Of course he could enter Wufei's lair, but that would mean one of those ugly, draining confrontations the monk always insisted upon. They were so dull. Such a waste of energy that was best spent elsewhere, namely on the hunt. And, oh, it was so much more enjoyable to merely leave his scent--perhaps near the front entrance to this stately house--it did so torment Wufei. He stared at the light visible in the crack in the drapery. And he drew in the two aromas, male and male. What a pleasant night, he thought, he should have visited sooner, really. But in truth time had no meaning for him; only the inevitable rising and setting of the sun had significance, and there was always and forever a tomorrow. So he lingered, hunkering in the shadows, his mind rolling idly like a reel of film as he entertained himself. Finally, there was movement, a sound. The door. Swiftly Milliardo glided to the side of the front steps, his form a mere shimmer in the night. Yes, someone was coming out. Wufei? Ah, no, the young man, the one he'd scented. There was a taxi waiting at the curb. For him, no doubt, as Wufei certainly didn't need one. He heard Wufei's voice. "I will phone you before you go to work. Sleep well, Duo." Then the man replied, "Will you think about it, Wufei? Please, at least consider it." "For your sake, my dear?" "No, Wufei, for yours. Please." "Good night, Duo." "Please, Wufei..." And then the human was walking down the steps, along the dark path toward the taxi, and Milliardo could see him. A skinny boy, hugging himself, turning back one last time, giving Wufei an anguished look, waving to him. Milliardo took in every detail of this male. He was sweet, yes, and innocent. He drew in a quick, rasping breath, and his eyes glowed like coals. Was it possible Wufei had made him one of them? Wufei? But no, Milliardo would have sensed it instantly. This one was very much mortal, still pulsing with lifeblood. Then why, why, was Wufei letting him go? And that ridiculous, sentimental claptrap he'd spoken to him. What kind of a fool had Wufei become? Talking like a mortal to this human man! Who was he to him? Who was he? He would certainly find out. Perhaps a new game was at hand. A growl, a low rumble, escaped Milliardo's throat and a terrible, beautiful hunger filled him as he watched the male, Wufei's male, step into the bright yellow taxi and disappear. ~ ~ ~ (***) ~ ~ ~ Duo was still numb the next night when he went to work. He had not heard from Wufei, nor had he tried to call him. He'd barely slept, only dozing a little, his mind so caught up in what had happened that he felt feverish. He'd thought of calling in sick to the hospital, but then he knew he couldn't bear to stay home alone, thinking and thinking and thinking, until he really might go mad. Wufei, his kind, witty, urbane friend, the first man he'd over really had a relationship with, the man he'd bragged about to his family--a vampire. It couldn't be, and yet it was. Somehow Duo's mind accepted it, doing a delicate, internal balancing act, his mental whorls spinning in neutral, unattached to the demands of reality. He put aside the impossibility of Wufei's existence and tried to concentrate only on the practical matter at hand: how could he and Wufei have a relationship now? A real relationship. He pondered the question on the bus, in the nurse’s lounge, in the ER. He thought back on what Wufei had said, examining every word, his tone of voice, expression. His hands did their work, soothing, holding, sterilizing, giving injections, taking temperatures, inserting IV needles. Once, around two in the morning, a critical case was brought in, a car accident victim, trauma to the head and neck, and he snapped out of his reverie. But when the patient was stabilized, he went right back on to autopilot, speculating, considering every angle of Wufei’s story. How could he love him if he was a vampire? He did, though. He loved Wufei, and that was the bottom line. He couldn't, he wouldn't, give him up. There had to be a way out. "Duo, could you get that patient some pain pills," one of the doctors said to him in passing, "the Percodan. I'll sign the order later. And then get a history from the lady in that cubicle. Asthma attack." "Yes, doctor," he said, but after his tasks were completed, his mind immediately turned back to his problem. In life there were always choices. He could live with Wufei the way he was. There was a fatal downside to that, though, because he'd grow old and ugly and sick and Wufei would stay as he was now, as he'd been for five hundred years. Eventually he'd die, and Wufei would be alone again. Duo shuddered. Awful, awful. He could...join him in his unnatural life. He frowned. No, he wouldn't do it, he'd refuse. Wufei hated himself too much already, and he'd suffered so because of what had been done to him. Duo knew, without further reflection, that Wufei would consider that choice abhorrent. It was not an option. His mind came around full circle, back to the possibility of the rumors, the whispers. This Heero Yuy, the one who'd met a man in Finland. Maybe he'd found a way to reverse his condition, to alleviate it somewhat. Maybe he was very old now, living with his love, Quatre, and maybe... Romantic ravings, Wufei would say. "Duo, please, could you go talk to that Mr. Noventa? His wife's the woman who had a mild infarction, and he's very upset," one of the other nurses said. "I can't do it because I'm helping Dr. Barton with a broken leg." "Sure," Duo said, and he saw the elderly man, sitting on a chair in the waiting room, wringing his hands. He went to him, cool and professional. He took his hand, felt his desperate fear, and let his calmness engulf him. "Your wife had a slight heart attack, but she's comfortable now, and you can see her in a few minutes. She'll be fine, Mr. Noventa." The couple must have been married fifty years, Duo thought as he went about his duties. His heart was full, noting how much Mr. Noventa had worried, as if his wife were part of him, and knowing that if something, God forbid, happened to Mrs. Noventa, then Mr. Noventa would not be far behind. Like Heero Yuy and his Quatre? Finland, that was the last place Wufei had seen Heero. Fifty years ago. If there had been--if there was--a Heero Yuy in Finland, there would be records of his existence somewhere. It was a chance, worth a try. Duo looked up from holding a pan for a very sick young boy suffering from alcohol poisoning, and smiled to himself. Yes, it was worth a try. Convincing Wufei would be hard, though. He would have to be firm, strong, patient, compassionate, all those things that he was trained to be as a nurse. And he would convince him. A certainty came over Duo then, a knowledge of what he had to do. He was filled with sudden strength and an enormous relief that he could at last do something. His tiredness, the burden of dread, the numbing doubts, all lifted from his shoulders. And when Duo's shift was over he went directly into the office of the doctor who headed the ER team. "Dr. G, I'd like some time off," he said. "Sure, Duo, but can it wait till after New Year's? You know how..." "I'm afraid not. I have to take it now." He cocked his head. "A few days? I guess we can cover you." "No, Dr. G, I need a month, maybe more. It's... it's important." "A month? That's asking a lot, Duo." "I know, but it's a matter of life and death, it really is. You know I wouldn't ask otherwise." "This is awfully sudden. You in trouble, Duo?" "No, of course not, Dr. G." "You angling for a raise? You know we always review salaries in January." "I'll take it off without pay if I have to," he said firmly, "but I'm due a lot of vacation time." He sighed tiredly, and leaned back in his chair. "Hell of a time, Duo." "I know. I'm sorry." "Okay, I'll take it up with Personnel." "Thank you very much, Doctor." Duo went home that cold November morning and slept for a few hours. He rose in the afternoon and ate, watching the news on television, reexamining his decision. Yes, it was the only way. He took a shower and washed his hair, drying it, re-braiding it neatly. He dressed carefully in his new dress pants and a brown sweater. He wanted the added security of looking as attractive as possible when he confronted Wufei. An irrational idea, perhaps, but it couldn't hurt. He waited until twilight was falling over the city, until the weak beams of sunlight that reached into his kitchen window from his building's central square had faded, and then he went out. It took him an hour to walk to Wufei's house, but he needed the time to prepare himself. His cheeks stung with cold, and the wind had blown tendrils of hair free from his braid by the time that he got there. It was full dark, close to the shortest day of the year, and he saw the light spilling from behind the heavy drapes in the study windows. Wufei was home. When Wufei opened the shiny black front door and saw him, his shoulders straightened, but his expression stayed somber and, uncharacteristically, a bit uncertain. "Duo," he said softly. "Please come in." He took his coat in his formal, courteous manner, and Duo knew better than to rush things. He followed him wordlessly into the library, where there was dark, swelling organ music playing on the tape deck. He switched it off, and turned to him amid the sudden, crashing silence. "Wufei," he said, and then could not quite frame the right words. Tongue-tied, just as he'd been that first night. "My dear Duo, I did not expect you would come..." "I've been thinking," he blurted out, cutting Wufei off. "Yes," he said, his body very still. "Wufei, you have to listen to me." He met his gaze, and it was not so much tortured now as resigned. Oh, God. "I've taken a leave from my job," he said, "and we're going, we're both going together, to search for Heero Yuy." Suddenly it seemed as if there was no air in the room. Duo's throat constricted, and his tongue was dry. "My poor Duo," Wufei said gently. "You would give so much up for me7" "Yes," he said firmly, "and you can't change my mind." He shook his head sadly. "You would chase a fantasy? It is no use, do you not see? You have only latched on to this idea out of hope. False hope." "It's worth a try." "It is simply a waste of your time, and your life is very precious." "Wufei, my life is worth nothing without you." He put a hand on his forehead and bent his head. Without looking up, he said, "You cause me pain, Duo. I beg you..." "What? You beg me to leave you, just go away?" he hugged his elbows and walked to the tall window, then pivoted to face him. "No, I won't. Do you hear me, Wufei?" "Wo ting dao le," he breathed. "What?" "I hear. Excuse me, at times I lapse into my native tongue, those times I am... distracted." "Listen to me. Go to Finland. I'll help you. What have you got to lose, Wufei?" "Coward that I am I could lose my paltry existence, such as it is. It is still all I have. No," he groaned, "I could lose you." "Wufei, try, please. For my sake, try!" he cried. Wufei moved towards him, put a hand out to touch Duo’s hair. "You are so good, so pure. This is not your problem, not your burden." "Yes, it is," he whispered. He stood there facing him, and Duo finally recognized with a jolt the stillness in Wufei--his chest did not rise and fall with breathing. His fingers slid down to his cheek, so smooth and cool. Duo inclined his head, leaning into his hand, and he saw the light kindle in Wufei’s eyes, saw him swell with a kind of potency that sent a fierce heat rocketing through his veins. "Duo," he murmured, and he knew somewhere in his mind that he should be afraid. Duo wasn't afraid, though; he was weak with wanting what Wufei could give him. He could let him, he could expose his throat to his lips, his body to Wufei’s needs. A small voice deep inside Duo’s head whispered that it would be unending pleasure, a special pleasure reserved only for the select. Yes... He was hypnotized by Wufei’s eyes, by the keen black flame in them as his head bent toward him, as his hand moved, snaking around to the back of his neck. They could possess each other, they could. And then adrenaline shot through Duo in an icy-hot flame. "No," he whispered brokenly, and the spell was shattered, the light dying in Wufei’s eyes, his expression turning into one of horror. Duo's pulse was galloping, his head faint. A fine perspiration dotted his upper lip. He drew in a deep breath, his body still shuddering. "Wufei," he said quietly, "I'm going to leave you now. Not because I'm afraid. I'm leaving because you won't even try… you won't even make an attempt to find a solution for us." He put his face in his shaking hands. "I've done everything I could, and now it's up to you, Wufei. I can't see you again unless you try to find that cure and give us both a chance, yes, only a chance, at happiness.'' "Go, Duo," he said in a thin voice. "Please, Qiu qiu ni, wo de bao bei, wo de ai. Go." He went. He gathered his coat and left Wufei’s house, left him standing in the library, his face blank, his body rigid with torment. Duo rushed away from his wide black door, down the marble steps, along the walk to the street. His mind was a broken record, going around and around with the same hopeless line: Wufei, please, try. His heart was hollow, yet brimming with pain. The night sky was black, but with the glare of the city lights, Duo could see quite well. Something shadowy moved in his peripheral vision, and he turned around quickly--Wufei had changed his mind, he was coming. But no, he wasn't there. Nothing was there but the deep shadows of his garden beyond the wrought-iron fence. Duo tried to put aside fanciful thoughts, but still he stood and stared, filled with a terrible, cold feeling that something was in that tangled black mass of trees and overgrown bushes. For a very long time he searched the shadows, and then finally he shrugged, chiding himself for his foolishness. Then slowly, tiredly, he walked on down the street, leaving Wufei and his big empty house behind.
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