Revenge Exchange

A/N: Love me, for I have updates. I’ll be going out of town for the weekend, so I figured it would be nicer of me if I posted the fifth chapter BEFORE I went away. So…now GravyBaby will get a few answers…maybe not to how D keeps his hair shiny, but the others, sure. And don’t be discouraged that there’s no smut in this chapter. There are eight chapters in all, so there’s plenty of time!

Warning!!!

FOUL LANGUAGE abound.

Chapter 5: Plans

“I see plans within plans…I see you behind it.”
--Guild Navigator, “Dune”, 1984

Max Turnbull spat on the floor. “Cocksucker passed out.” Indeed, Leon Orcot had slipped into unconsciousness when Mike had punched him in the side of the face with the now bloody brass knuckles. They had long since stripped Orcot of his shirt, the better to see the bruises develop, and the cuts bleed. He looked at the blood that now flowed down the man’s face from the cut above his eye. It was not enough. They hadn’t even really gotten going yet, and it was a little disappointing that Orcot had blacked out so soon. “Wake him up.”

Mike went to a nearby table and picked up a packet of smelling salts. Breaking the vial open under Orcot’s nose caused the man’s head to jerk upward, his eyes flying open. He was dazed, but conscious. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Turnbull said derisively, “we can’t have you drifting off like that. The party hasn’t even started.”

Orcot smiled lopsidedly around his ruined bottom lip. “That’s okay,” he said thickly, “this isn’t my kind of party.” Turnbull couldn’t help but laugh at that. The sarcastic little fucker was funny when he really tried. “Hey, Max…” The elder man regarded the chained man with an inquisitive expression. “…you said you’d let Chris go.”

Now Maxwell Turnbull smiled genuinely. He really should have been born in a country where they still did torture on a regular basis. This was just too fun. “And have that little bastard squealing to your pig buddies the minute he walks out the door? Fuck that. As soon as we’re done killing you, it’ll be his turn. Then we can go find your pretty little Chink girlfriend. I’ll let the boys have a little fun with her before they slit her throat.” For the first time in about three hours since that initial hard blow to the head, Leon Orcot’s eyes cleared of their haze.

His head lifted, blue gaze stronger than it had been as it glared hard at Turnbull. Bloody lips skinned back from perfect, white teeth. “If you even touch Chris, you’ll wish I’d killed you instead of sending you to San Quentin, Max.” One of Turnbull’s heavy eyebrows rose, questioning his ability to carry out such a violent threat. “And D…you might find that to be tougher than you imagine.”

Turnbull struck another match on Orcot’s face. “You know, I think I might just have to kill them in front of you, just to shut you the fuck up, Orcot. Always were a mouthy little bitch, weren’t you?”

The detective turned his head to one side and spat blood. “Suck my dick, Max.”

A sarcastic smile pulled at Max Turnbull’s mouth. “I don’t think I’d be able to find your cock, Orcot.”

“Fuck!” one of the men yelled, and Turnbull looked over his shoulder, annoyed. The man shrugged, apologizing. “Sorry, boss. Fucking rat ran right over my foot.” Turnbull made a mental note to deal with that idiot later. He turned back to Orcot. The son of a bitch was still smiling.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Leon Orcot tilted his head to one side. He looked as if he were mocking him. “You’d know all about finding other guys’ dicks, wouldn’t you?”

A muscle under Turnbull’s eye twitched. “You little bitch…” He drove his fist into Orcot’s side, feeling the satisfying snap of a rib, maybe two. “Maybe I should find someone to make you eat those words, eh? Maybe…you’d like to find out what it’s like? I could do that, Orcot. One of my guys would be glad to do it.”

Wincing in pain, Orcot smiled tightly. “Why don’t you do it yourself, big man?” His breaths had a wheezing quality to them now. One of those broken ribs had probably punctured a lung. Turnbull snorted, turning away. “Awww…little Maxie is afraid? You probably couldn’t handle it.” Growling, he whirled around, throwing a punch at Orcot’s face again, watching with satisfaction as the smart-ass little fucker’s head snapped back. He took a step back, into a nearby puddle. Getting his feet wet didn’t matter. As long as his hands got wet with Orcot’s blood, it was fine with him.

--

“Chris…stay there.” Ten-chan said quietly, “Don’t move until we say you can.”

--

Leon’s eyes drifted open and shut. Damn, Max Turnbull had a heavy hand. The bastard had beaten him until he could barely breathe. His vision was starting to blur, and he’d coughed up blood for the last ten minutes. And the smug son of a bitch just stood there, watching. Figuring he’d probably bleed out before the asshole beat him to death, Leon just decided he was going to throw insults at him until he snapped.

No one knew they were here. And for that matter, he had no idea where D or any of the animals were. D might have been caught by now, Turnbull only waiting for the right moment to bring him out. Hoping that wasn’t the case, that D had gotten away and to safety, Leon breathed shallowly, trying not to let the pain get to him.

Another fit of coughing wracked his body, and he spat red foam. Turnbull laughed. “I think you’re just tender enough, Orcot.” He motioned for one of his goons, and another large man approached, a long hunting knife in his hand. “Carve this turkey, Jack.” The knife’s dull edge drew across his skin, and Leon shivered. Then, the point bit into the skin of his back, and dragged to the side. Blood flowed freely down his back, and he felt sick, his breath catching in his throat from the sharpness of the pain.

“I would stop right there, if I were you.” Leon’s head snapped up at the voice that came from one of the catwalks overhead. D was walking calmly down the metal steps. Leon moaned in disappointment that the man had arrived. He was supposed to be safe. And now, the idiot had thrown himself in harm’s way on purpose. His eyes shut tightly. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Leon was supposed to protect people. That was his job. He was supposed to protect Chris. Hell, he was supposed to protect D too. How was he going to do that when D did stupid shit like this? D was going to get himself killed!

When Leon opened his eyes again, he saw Turnbull looking up at D. “What are you going to do Missy?” He sneered as D stopped on the lower landing of the stairs.

There was a smile on the Chinese man’s face as he stroked the railing. “I’ll have to rid the world of you all, I believe.” Turnbull snorted. D’s smile widened, becoming less than pleasant. One of D’s slender hands moved, his thick woolen coat sleeve falling over the pale skin, and gripped an electrical box. His dual-colored eyes fixed on Turnbull, one eyebrow raised challengingly. D yanked hard, and the box flew away, the outlets falling uselessly to the floor. The cable, he held in his hand, which was insulated by the coat he wore. D then hopped over the railing of the stairs, landing lightly on a crate.

“What are you going to do…shock me, little girl?” The amused tone in Turnbull’s voice vanished when D dangled the cable lower, over a very wet floor. Leon couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was sure that Max was about to piss all over himself. If he could breathe well enough, Leon would laugh. D would have made a damned good cop. He could see it in those strangely colored eyes…the water on the floor must have been a broken pipe. And even if D did drop that cable, Leon would be safe.

Max seemed to realize this. “What do you want, bitch?”

D’s mild, yet somehow dangerous, voice came again, “Well, I would like a few things, actually. The first of which would be…please curb your language.” Leon, in spite of the pain he was in, came very close to laughing. Turnbull growled something that sounded like a curse, and D lowered the live cable again. “Second, I would appreciate if you would stop calling me a woman. I am very much male, thank you.” Turnbull made a strange sound, and D smirked. Leon was pretty sure that Turnbull had made the same mistake that a group of punk kids had, just before D kicked the shit out of them a month earlier.

“Clearing his throat, D said amusedly, “And if you could, please vacate the building. I would prefer it if you did not kill my friend.” Turnbull seemed torn. On one hand, there was the revenge he’d been plotting for probably the entire time he was in prison, and the other, his life. What should have been—for any sane person—no contest was apparently giving Max Turnbull quite a mental dilemma. If he had any of his goons shoot D, the cable would fall to the floor, and they’d all be electrocuted, death an inevitability with that kind of voltage.

Finally, Turnbull growled, “Fine.” Then he raised his voice, “Let’s go! We’re out of here.” He cast one more menacing glance over his shoulder at Leon. “This isn’t over, Orcot.” The men cleared out of the warehouse, feet sloshing through the now ankle-deep water. Leon watched D carefully tie the cable around the bottom of the stairs where the live wire could dangle benignly. Coughing again, Leon saw D climb down from his crate, holding his long coat above the water as he moved quickly across the floor. It was rather amazing how little noise the man made when he walked, even through the water.

“Oh,” D mused, “I am quite certain that this is all very nearly over…”

Shouts from outside rang out, and Leon’s eyes widened when he heard gunfire. Cops began flooding into the room a moment later, some in full riot gear, led by Jill and the Chief. Leon laughed painfully, never so glad to see his partner, or his boss. The Chief started yelling orders, telling someone to bring the medics in, others to sweep the place for more of Turnbull’s men, and somebody turn the damned water off...

D hurried over to where he hung in the corner, and gently lowered him to the floor, the crank clicking slowly overhead. His skin, cool from blood loss, felt the warmth of something soft wrapping around him, and he looked up to see D without his coat. His make-up was smudged, and he was staring worriedly down at him. Leon leaned heavily against his chest, trying not to breathe too much. Jill was at his side almost instantly, as were Chris and three paramedics. “Hang in there, Leon…” Jill said, and he felt someone fiddling with the cuffs at his wrists. It was all too overwhelming. He felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness again, even as his hands were freed.

--

“Holy Mary Mother of God…” Leon raised a hand to his head, which felt like a couple of bikers had been using it as a trampoline. It hurt so badly, he wasn’t really sure if he wished he were dead or not. He couldn’t open his eyes. Then, he tried to sit up. “…ugh…” That did it. He wished he were dead.

“Keep still,” A soft voice said nearby. Even with his eyes swollen shut and hearing muffled by bandages, Leon could identify that voice. A pair of hands gently pushed him back down on the bed. “You have a very nasty concussion,” D said quietly. “I am quite surprised that you have woken up so soon.” Something brushed over his forehead, moving his hair aside. “It has been five days, Detective.”

Five days? He’d been out for five days? Shit, he was just glad he hadn’t bled out on the way to…wherever he was. It didn’t smell like a hospital. Since the first time he’d been shot in the line of duty, Leon had become well acquainted with that nasty smell of antiseptic mixed with bleach and sickness. His nose only smelled something that reminded him of cinnamon and fresh bed linens. “Okay…I’ll keep still.” The bed started to move, smoothly adjusting to set him in a seated position. Something that felt like a cup was pushed into his hands.

“Drink.”

Leon obeyed, carefully bringing the cup to his lips. It was tea. He swallowed it down, slowly. Soon, the warmth of it was spreading outward from his stomach, lulling him to sleep.

--

Christopher Orcot had seen many things in his short life, some of which had been extraordinary. But nothing could have prepared him for this. The inhabitants of the shop had banded together, all taking up a different duty, to care for Leon. D had spoken to their landlord, who had kindly said that whatever rent needed to be paid would be arranged for later. The Chief, Leon’s boss, had come a few times to see if Leon was awake. They still needed to get his statement. At the moment, they were holding all ten of the men that had been at the warehouse for kidnapping, and the ringleader for assault.

D’s idea to threaten them with electricity had worked out better than Chris had thought it would, and he was glad. What had not been clear at first was how D had managed to find a telephone to call the police. When he’d asked, D had explained that he had filched Leon’s cellular phone before they got to the warehouse. After all, D had said, Leon is an incurably loud and clumsy person.

This actually begged the question…had D known that Leon would get caught? And, if he had, was there any way for him to know what they would do to him? Surely it had not been in the plan to let Leon get tortured, but Chris was starting to see that the Chinese man’s motives were murky, at best. That was beside the point. Chris knew that D had been concerned about Leon’s safety, as well as his. He’d seen the way D had looked when he snuck out of the ventilation crawlspace, and knew that he had been afraid.

Now, Chris watched as D worked in the shop, handling customers. Once an elderly couple had left with a red lacquered cage in their arms, containing a cockatiel, D sighed. “It is certainly dull, is it not?” He asked, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“It’s not so bad,” Chris replied, smiling. “So how long did the doctors say until we can let Leon use the wheelchair?”

D looked thoughtful for a moment, then said with careful deliberation, “They said he should be able to use it once his ribs heal. That should be about six to eight weeks. We’ll give it that, and another two days for me to pack away anything that might break when he runs into it.” The good natured jibe at Leon’s clumsiness made them both smile. He thought that he might go and see what Philippe was up to, because it actually was pretty dull in the front of the shop.

--

Ten-chan leaned back in his chair. He did so enjoy the job he’d been given. Leon was awake, aware, and his eyes had healed, leaving him very able to see. Though he’d been given strict instructions that he was not to touch the detective unless it was absolutely necessary, Ten-chan took an immeasurable amount of amusement at being the source of the man’s discomfort.

“Isn’t there someone else?” Leon asked, shifting uncomfortably and looking away. He even fiddled a bit with the dark sleeve of the pajama shirt he wore. It took a lot for Ten-chan not to giggle. This was way too much fun.

Scooting the chair closer, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed. He was close enough to feel the man’s body heat. “But Leon…I thought you liked me. You thought I was cute.” Ten-chan pouted, so convincingly that the blue-eyed man seemed contrite. “If you want to make it up to me,” he purred, “I like having my head scratched…” That had the detective’s eyes narrowing. Yes, Ten-chan knew he was incorrigible…

“Do you know how not to mess with people?” Leon grumped, his arms crossing carefully over his torso, so as not to upset the injuries there. Now, Ten-chan did giggle. Leon rolled his eyes. He was so cute when he was annoyed!

--

D hefted the tray, eyeing the food. He wrinkled his nose at the meat. Normally, he wouldn’t allow such things in the shop. But since he had taken it upon himself to care for Leon, he’d recruited Tot-chan’s assistance in the kitchen. The totetsu was highly adept in the culinary arts, and D was glad for the help, even if Tot-chan had threatened more than once to spit in Leon’s food.

At the moment, D was trying to think of a way to broach a very delicate subject with the detective. It was a subject, he feared, that might set the man on edge and make it impossible to get any answers. But it needed to be discussed. As he approached the door to Leon’s room, he heard a something of a commotion.

“Gah! Get off of me!”

Sighing, D held the tray in one hand, and turned the doorknob with the other. He pushed open the door, finding precisely what he had expected. Ten-chan was leaning over the detective, not touching him at all. But the proximity of the young fox was such that Leon’s face had turned a delightful shade of pink. To the casual observer, it might appear that the boy was just about to kiss the protesting human. It only took one raised eyebrow and a single word to put an end to this behavior. “Out,” D said firmly, and watched Ten-chan pout his way out of the room.

When the door clicked shut behind the troublesome youngster, D set down the tray. Carefully, he wheeled Leon over to the table. “D,” the man whined, “can’t someone else be in here with me? I mean…he’s just way too touchy-feely for me.” One slender, dark eyebrow rose, questioning this statement. Blue eyes rolled as Leon whined, “He wants to molest me, D.”

Waving an admonishing finger, D corrected him. “I have told you, Leon…Ten-chan will not touch you.” That doesn’t mean he won’t drive you mad, though. Truly, Ten-chan seemed bent on vexing D and making Leon so nervous that he practically cried with joy when D came to take the fox’s place. The best they could hope for, however, was that Ten-chan did not get any other ideas into his head. D would have let Cordelia take care of him, but she had very specific ideas about how the man should be bathed, and Leon was not very keen on them. He was human, after all, and not a cat.

“Please, do not think about it. I have brought your dinner.” He pushed the tray at Leon, and watched as the man picked at his food. “Tot-chan has been working very hard on this meal, Leon. It would be insulting to him if you did not eat.” In fact, there had not been much eating at all on the man’s part since he woke up. This was why Tot-chan got so upset that he threatened to ruin his own work by spitting in it. “Are you not hungry?”

Leon made a thoughtful sound. “Not…really.” The fork was laid down, and those blue eyes stared at the cup of tea on the tray. D’s fingers twisted in his lap. This very thing had been happening every time he came to take Leon his meals. There was the initial rush of relief at not being in the mischievous fox’s presence, and then he would sit there, not looking at D, not eating much of anything, until the silence became too much for D to bear. Inevitably, the tray would be removed, and Leon would go back to trying to keep away from Ten-chan while D went back to the front of the shop. The weight of things not said was beginning to drive D insane.

“Leon,” he said quietly, “you must eat.” Perhaps now would not be the right time to talk about something so…personal. The detective grunted, poking at the steamed asparagus on his plate. He skewered one of the spears with his fork, and bit off the tip. As he chewed, Leon’s eyes glanced over at D for a very brief moment. There was something there that D could not identify, but it was gone so quickly, that there was no way for him to gain any insight as to what it might be.

As he watched the injured man eat a little of each item on his plate, D noticed several things. One of these was that Leon’s appetite for meat had decreased. Another was that he only ate the tender parts of the vegetables. A little concerned, he voiced this observation.

Leon responded with a mumbled, “Meat doesn’t taste right anymore.”

“Is it not cooked properly?” D asked, incredulous that Tot-chan could have done anything to the flesh that would make it taste wrong. Leon’s head shook from side to side, and he replied that he didn’t understand it himself, but he just couldn’t make his stomach keep it in. This statement alarmed D. “Have you been ill? The meat is making you sick?”

There was nothing wrong with the meat he had bought at the market. The butcher had assured him that the steak was fresh, and highly nutritious. Tot-chan had agreed. D was at a loss. Leon just pushed at the meat with an uneaten stalk of asparagus. “I just can’t eat it…” He then began to eat the risotto on the plate instead, and finally, the carrots.

It was when Leon asked for more sugar in his tea that D realized something was really wrong. He knew that there was something familiar about the way Leon was eating. The man’s appetites had changed completely, and now resembled—but were not exactly the same as—D’s own eating habits. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. This was not something he had foreseen.

But, D thought, it would explain why Leon had begun healing so quickly. The doctors were quite surprised when the man’s broken ribs were completely repaired after only a week. At this rate, he could begin physical therapy for his legs in a month. This might be a problem. It was a question of medicine, in which he was not well versed. D stared at Leon, who drank his second cup of tea slowly, one elbow up on the table. Well, his table manners haven’t improved…

“If you cannot eat meat,” D said slowly, “I will ask Tot-chan to substitute other forms of protein.” The detective nodded distractedly, and began sipping his tea again. The remainder of time he spent with Leon that evening was silent, and D felt very tense when he picked up the tray, lost in his own thoughts.

Something touched his hand as he reached for the discarded napkin on the other side of the table, and he looked to see Leon’s fingers lightly brushing over his fingertips. D’s lips parted, taking in a quick breath, and he glanced at Leon’s face. The man still was not looking at him, instead studying the skin of his hand. “Thank you,” Leon said, very quietly. D pulled away from him, murmuring something apologetic, and moving quickly from the room. When he reached the kitchen, he set the tray down, and fell into one of the old wooden chairs.

His heart was beating so quickly that he was quite unsure whether he was well. “D?” Tot-chan said from the doorway, “Is everything okay?” He approached the table, took one look at the plates on the tray, and said with a suspicious tone, “What’s going on?”

“I…” D started, but stalled. He really wasn’t sure of that, himself. If only his grandfather had not left. Or rather, if only either D or Sofu had one half the medical expertise that D’s father did…then he might be able to get a handle on why Leon’s appetite had changed, and why he was healing twice as fast as he should be. Instead of telling Tot-chan what was going on in his head, he informed him that Leon could not eat meat any longer, and that the man was going to need protein from other sources. Then, he got up from his seat and went to close up shop.

--

There was a lot going on that he didn’t understand. Leon hoisted himself into the bed from the wheelchair. His legs, which were still in casts, made all manner of tasks difficult, but he dealt with it as best he could. The doctors said he was healing fast, though. That was one thing he didn’t get. Why was he healing so quickly? His appetite had changed, too. Leon didn’t like meat anymore. Hell, just the sight of it made him feel sick to his stomach. That goat-thing, Tot-chan, had been cooking up tofu in every shape and form he could think of, as well as beans and other kinds of protein-rich plant matter, to make up for it. That Thai peanut sauce was pretty tasty yesterday…

Those things were easy enough to adjust to. But what he did not understand was the way he was reacting to D’s presence. Leon could remember what happened just before Chris got snatched. He’d been about to lay one on the guy. Since he’d woken up, he’d chalked it up to the ambiance. There’d been fireworks, pretty lights, and D just looked…well, if Leon was going to be completely honest with himself (not out loud…he couldn’t do that just yet), he had to admit that D had been beautiful.

A couple of times, he had dreamt of what would have happened, had none of the rest gone down. If Turnbull’s goons had not been there and grabbed his brother, would he have really kissed D? It was a strange thought. But it had been so tempting…the lighting was perfect, the atmosphere manic. He’d been thinking about it a lot, of late. Then there was earlier when D had taken him his dinner. It was one thing to think about what would have happened, while he was alone, but when the pale man was sitting across the table from him, that look of concern etched into his fine features, it was very difficult for Leon. He couldn’t seem to look at him. Leon could admit that he felt a little guilty for the way he thought of D.

Guilty or not, he could still feel how smooth the skin of D’s fingers was. He had only barely touched it, grazing that smoother-than-silk stuff with the very tips of his calloused fingers. The feeling tickled all the way up his arm, and he gave a small shiver. Leon knew he should talk to D about this. But how did he bring something like that up? He was pretty sure that D would not be interested. Just that one touch had sent the man practically running from the room. And so, Leon was faced with a rather difficult dilemma.

Should he tell D what was going on in his head, and risk further alienation, or would it be wiser to wait, and see if he could decipher the other man’s feelings without discussion? Falling back against the pillows, Leon turned off the lamp, and tried to think before he fell asleep.

--

A/N: There! Leon’s recovering, and there are hints of strange things going on…what could it all mean?