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what_we_dreamSeries: Petshop of Horrors
Pairing: Mild Leon/D or Pre-Leon/D
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Follows The Return and Simple Gifts.
Summary: "Of all possibilities, the only one he had truly never expected – now or at any other time – was to find himself working in the petshop." Leon and D struggle to find a new dynamic to provide what they need: each other.
Leon quite simply wasn't expecting anything. Like thin glass under a hammer, he had shattered all at once, and was beyond making predictions. Was beyond caring how things changed, so long as they did.
But of all possibilities, the only one he had truly never expected – now or at any other time – was to find himself working in the petshop.
"Of course," says D, much less coyly than he could have, "I don't have to show you around." Sitting on one of his elaborately embroidered ornamental couches, he gives a casual wave of a purple-nailed hand.
Leon, standing in front of the matching couch, simply stares at him. D had promised him a new job, led him there with bright eyes and a blank face. His heart began to sink as soon as they entered Neo Chinatown, but hadn't hit rock bottom until D unlocked the door and motioned him inside.
"You want me to work here," he says flatly, tone conveying every ounce of his ton of scepticism.
"You do have the experience," replies D, without clarifying which experience it is he's referring to – five months working in a tiny Tokyo pet shop, or two years tearing this one apart searching for a chargeable felony.
There's a considering pause. It's beyond Leon's rather limited powers of expression to put into words all the things that are wrong with this offer, this possibility. But he can sum up his feelings for his current situation much more concretely: it's fucking hell. Leon's no social butterfly, but even he hungers for some form of human contact he can understand, and he's starving to death in Tokyo. He despises his job – less the job itself than the absolute lack of stimulus it provides – he's living in a hovel of a motel, and he's steadily drinking and smoking himself into an even earlier grave than the one he'd always predicted. He's living a dull, empty life, and that's exactly the opposite of everything Leon Orcot needs to thrive. Needs to survive.
"Of course, I'm not twisting your arm, Leon. You're free to refuse my offer. I won't take it amiss," D says lightly, before narrowing his eyes and leaning in just enough that a shadow falls over his face, "but I won't offer again. Generosity has never been one of my gifts."
He leaves it at that, but Leon can read the implication under the words clear enough: I've offered you three chances now, and I'm losing patience.
"Two and a half years ago," he begins, and sees D's eyes flicker, the closest the Count'll come to flinching in a situation where he has the whip-hand of Leon. Leon corrects himself, "Two years ago, I'd never have believed you had any."
D relaxes, the whip left unraised.
"Which of us has changed, then? You or I?"
Leon shrugs. "Why not both? You would never have made that offer in L.A. And I would never have listened to it." He would have laughed in D's face, would have kicked over a table, would have walked out. Would never, for a second, have considered it.
"And now? I've made it, and you've listened." D plaits his fingers together delicately in his lap and watches Leon with cool appraisal. As though the answer means nothing to him.
Leon wonders how all of a sudden all the decisions in his life have become limited to two options, with the wrong one spelling disaster and no way to tell until he's made the choice. Wonders whether it was always like this and he just never noticed, has dodged a thousand bullets by sheer luck. Wonders whether that's all life is, blindly dodging bullets until you stumble and take one to the head, the one you never even saw coming.
Taking the road less travelled's all very well, but there's a reason it's less travelled and that's often because it leads off a fucking cliff.
D raises one elegant eyebrow in silent inquiry. Well?
"Well," he says, pulling the unspoken word out of the air and tossing it back, "it means cutting ties either way."
D's expression indicates he has no interest in this prevaricating.
"But somehow," he continues slowly, "I don't think the Hayashis'll miss me much." He really has no idea, nor does he particularly care. But it's worth it to see the change in D's face, the flash of his eyes which even his mask of indifference can't hide.
Leon realises for the first time that there is insecurity behind D's haughty façade. Insecurity, and desire for something outside his petshop. And that he is very nearly ashamed of it.
Now the flippancy has passed, though, and Leon's left with the hard part, and it is hard. It only has to be one word, three letters, but it represents the antithesis of what he's worked for for more than four years, the end of a mission he's given everything he had to. Somehow now it feels disturbingly like a crusade, like a mindless quest. I'm no Vesca Howell, to go hunting you for decades fuelled by a grudge, he said five months ago. Maybe his goals were different, but he's no longer so sure the driving forces behind him and Howell were so dissimilar.
He's not here to bust D, not here to object to his morals – morals he still can't agree with but at the same time no longer seem quite so ridiculously unsupportable as they once did. I want to know what you are. That's why he's here.
That's what he tells himself.
The truth is, there's a tangled nest of emotions driving him on, and making sense of them is no easy feat. But practicalities are a different matter, and he knows that he cannot live the life he's been struggling through in Tokyo much longer. It's either cede to D, or cede the mission.
Well, fuck it, he's never had much trouble with screwing up his life. Or cutting his ties.
"I'll do it," he says, words tumbling out in a rush like rocks dislodged from a cliff into a stormy sea below. "God damn me, I'll do it."
He's expecting a smile, expecting the smile, that coy honey-coated twist of the lips that proclaims D's self-considered superiority better than any of his ridiculously formal speeches or ever-perfect dress. Instead he sees surprise and then, so quick he almost misses it, a flash of anxious relief. It's covered up immediately by a meaningless calm, an empty smile. But Leon knows it was there, knows what's under that mask, and he won't forget. He almost feels he might have made the right choice.
"Very well," says D in a dementedly significant voice, and holds out his right hand. Cocks an eyebrow which completely upsets his poise. "I did not spend five years in America and come away knowing nothing," he explains fussily.
"Yeah," says Leon. "Just think how well you could curse if you put your mind to it," and takes D's hand. It's surprisingly firm. And warm.
D offers to let him stay in the petshop – Leon remembers that about the old one, always so much space in nothing but a few rooms – with a slight tug of hesitancy about his words. Leon declines politely; it's too much too soon and they both know it. D adds, slightly more acerbically now that the awkward business is concluded, that Leon had better dress the part.
Leon shows up for his first day on the job – a thought he can hardly process without feeling something in his stomach somewhere between humour and horror – dressed in the slacks he wore to work at the other store, and a plain dark polo shirt. D frowns but says nothing.
The thing about the petshop is, it doesn't actually require much work. If it did, D wouldn't be doing it. What it mostly requires is someone with sharp eyes judging who should take what home with them, and D is more than capable of fulfilling that role.
"What I thought you could do," he says, with the absent smile that is his usual expression, "is make a catalogue of the pets." He indicates a clipboard set on the coffee table usually used for conversations with customers.
"But you already know what's in the store," says Leon, who can't imagine otherwise.
"Of course. But you do not. It is important for you to become acquainted with the occupants of the store. T-chan and Pon-chan can accompany you," he adds, gesturing to the shadows. The tiger-goat steps forwards, big cat paws silent on the shining floor. The European badger is on its back, staring at him with bright beady eyes. Leon's become used enough to the idea that the animals here aren't what they seem to be able to pick up on the outlines of their other forms. The boy with the red hair and horns in a vest and loose pants, the little girl with long blonde curls in an elaborate frilly dress. Staring at the two images at once makes his eyes hurt.
"I'm not Chris," says Leon. The pair bristle slightly; the boy frowns, the girl's lips tremble.
"How true." D's smile hardens, and Leon wonders for the first time whether the Count might actually miss his brother, whether any of Chris's sentiments were returned by the man. The realization that it never occurred to him to wonder before drops a weight into his stomach that feels strangely like shame. "Nevertheless, some of the pets are dangerous. And not all of them harbour very positive sentiments towards you. You should have guides."
Great. The animals want to eat him. Why? Because he's been hunting D? Because he tried to shut the shop down? Because he came back? Because D wants him to stay? Leon's never bothered with the feelings of D's pets before, not any further than being aware that too many jibs might set T-chan on him. The idea that there may be herds of lions and tigers loose in the bowels of the store waiting to eat him, though, is just a little off-putting. Not any more than responding to domestic disputes or reported shots fired or potential gang wars, though.
"Right," he says, crossing his arms.
D's painted lips part to reveal white teeth, head tilting with a fall of ebony hair. "Don't worry, Leon. They would almost certainly rather avoid my ire than eat you."
Leon glowers. "Thanks. I feel so much better now."
Behind them, the door opens, chimes jangling brightly. "Well, off you go then," he says, turning to greet the entering customer. Leon picks up the clipboard, gathers the two waiting animals with an unenthusiastic glance, and walks through the curtain to the back of the shop.
Just like in L.A., the back corridor is a veritable maze, full of twists and turns and branches and doors. Leon, with the tiger-goat and European badger behind him, tucks the clipboard under his arm so as to have both hands free, and opens the first door.
It's surprising, but despite being in the petshop all day he doesn't actually see D very much. He spends his time in the back rooms, conducting his inventory, while D seduces potential clients into buying pets that may end up eating their eyeballs. He feels less conflicted about that than he expected to.
The inventory proceeds slowly. Each room has not one pet but an entire menagerie of them waiting to be classified and counted, and as Leon is no zoologist his lists mainly fills up his paper with:
Bird, some kind of crazy turkey: 2
Bird, weird huge beak, tiny feet: 1
Bird, green flamingo: 1
Buffalo, miniature: 1
Cat, brown: 10
Cat, black: 12
Cat, white: 5
Cat, ginger: 3
Cat, other: 9
Chimpanzee: 1
And so on. He's aware that the list isn't supposed to serve a purpose. Probably it wouldn't matter that he even made one, except that it forces him to check every room carefully to see that he doesn't miss anything hiding in the corners.
T-chan and Pon-chan aren't very helpful. They mostly trail him into the rooms and sit down by the door while he wanders about looking for life in the various climatic zones. The tiger-goat steps in only once, when some alligator-like creature looked offended at Leon's presence in his part of the river, and even then he only acts when the alligator has knocked Leon's legs out from under him with a sweep of his huge tail and begun snapping a very toothy mouth at him.
He's not sure whether they don't like him for some reason to do with Chris, or some reason to do with D, or just because he's him. It's probably fair. He's never preached anything but human supremacy, and he's done it in front of them often enough.
Leon is passed the stage of being disturbed by the human faces of the creatures, floating above them like silent, pale ghosts. But it seems, as he carries on with the inventory and delves deeper and deeper into the heart of the shop, that the faces are appearing more easily, with more substance. That, when he turns to look at his two "guides," there is more solidity, more colour in them then before. That he is beginning to see people, rather than spectres.
He still doesn't know what it means.
D is sitting down to a cup of tea and a plate of thin, pastel-coloured cakes when he finishes for the day. Wrist sore from more writing than he's done since college and clothes dirty and in some places torn from the less friendly pets, Leon appears from the back feeling absurdly like some jungle explorer returning to civilization.
D looks up, and makes a face at his appearance.
"It's not my fault," says Leon, and sits down on the couch regardless of the tiny flicker of prissy horror he sees in D's eyes. "It'll wipe off."
D sets his lips into a thinner line than usual, but speaks in an even, I'm not angry – yet tone. He can do calm to murderous fury in less than a second. "And how was your day, Leon?"
"Long." Leon's not quite so uncouth as to put his feet up on the table, or at least not quite willing to provoke D to that extent. "I knew the store was big, but…"
D nods absently. "Yes, new pets are always arriving. There are always births, usually several at once. And then there are those who come to me from the outside, by my hand or otherwise." D raises an eyebrow and glances directly at Leon, who looks away first. "But I am sure it was educational. You will continue tomorrow?"
"I guess. There's still a lot left to do. I doubt I'm halfway done. Writing it all down takes time."
"Of course."
It's a bizarre, stilted conversation. The relationship between employer and employee is not only strange between them, it's one neither of them has much experience with in general. Leon never really considered himself an employee when working as a police officer, just someone working under the lieutenant, who he had to submit reports to and take orders from now and then. Working under the Hayashis was like being employed by a piece of paper – there was no relationship, just a fact.
It's also, Leon realises, the beginning of a new pattern of interaction. One much closer to what they had in L.A., one where they see each other often. And he's bitterly aware that, thrown into the mix, there's an added complication. Entirely apart from his social reasons to avoid fighting with D, he can't risk his pay.
The image of D handing him money flares through his mind like a camera's flash. It's just as distasteful now as it was last time. As though he's something lower than a friend, lower than a pet.
As though – he forces himself to put into words the thought he's been avoiding in the months since it happened – he's prostituting himself to D.
He isn't. He knows that. It's not even similar – there is no obligation here, no purchase of services that shouldn't be bought, nothing being given that Leon doesn't want to give. But he's doing a job that doesn't need to be done, simply because D pities him. Pities him, and wants him. And is paying for him to stay.
Mouth suddenly tasting of bile, Leon rises. "Well, see you tomorrow," he says abruptly, voice harsh. D blinks, surprised.
"Surely you would like to stay for tea? After all your hard work…" He's trying to read Leon's thoughts, Leon can tell. Trying to see the truth in his eyes.
"No thanks," spits out Leon, turning quickly. "See you."
He strides quickly out of the shop, chimes rattling violently behind him.
It was the right decision to make. He felt nearly certain of it at the time, felt it was the only decision to make. But now all he can think of is D with money in his hand and a coy smile on his lips. Buying what he wants.
Feeling sick and confused, Leon staggers home to the half-bottle of rum waiting for him.
It was so easy, he thinks as he walks slowly back to the petshop the next day with a headache and a bad taste in his mouth, to pretend it was really nothing but a job. So easy, filling out that ridiculous inventory, to pretend he had simply managed to find a situation that might actually make him happy.
There are no strings attached, Leon knows that. D doesn't give charity, Leon knows that too. But when he twists it in his head long enough, he can see so clearly that there are strings and this is charity.
D is sitting on the couch dressed in sea foam-white and cool ocean-blue when he storms in. It's some kind of two-part wrap, Leon notes distantly, a tight white under-layer with a shirt and skirt over it formed of some crinkled silken material twined around him. Unusual colours, for D. It looks good against his white skin, like a tropical sea against white sand, but then D always looks good.
He glances up as Leon enters, with a sharp, predatory grin rather than the welcoming one of yesterday. "Good morning, Leon."
"D," he says, seating himself heavily on the other couch. "I've been thinking."
"You do too much of that," replies D almost instantly, eyes flashing over Leon. His grin disappears almost entirely to show that he is not goading. Leon ignores him.
"I appreciate …this. The offer, the job."
D's eyes narrow, gold and violet shadowed by heavy lashes.
"But I can't do it. It's – you don't need me. This isn't a job, D. It's pity. It's charity." He uses the word purposely, knows it'll stick in D's throat. Knows it will cut. Better to make it a short fight.
"I don't give charity, Leon. I've told you that before."
"You've lied before, too. Words don't mean anything to you; you said so yourself."
D purses his lips, cheeks flushing a pale rose-bud pink, long hands twisting in the rumpled fabric of his skirt. Stupidly beautiful as always. Right now, Leon hates him for it.
"You asked if we could not go back to the way we were. You asked if I could not give you what you needed if it was something we both wanted." D's hands slip out from the tangle of blue with a sheer sound, and he uses one to slice through the air in a sharp gesture. "I have gone against my principles to do what you asked. Why, then, can you not accept it?" He snaps the words out short and sharp as claws, the tips of his white teeth shining against purple lips. It's not petty anger at being refused. It's genuine, furious confusion. And, Leon can read with a cold twisting sensation in his stomach, fear of losing what has finally been gained.
"Because it's a lie. A sop. Because you're just paying me to stay. Paying me to –"
"I offered you an easier way," spits back D, before he can finish. I might tell more to a lover, he had said, so long ago it seems almost closer to a dream than reality. "Your refusal brought us here. I cannot continue to pander to your beliefs and morals. You asked for help, and I gave it. I haven't made any conditions, haven't tied any strings –"
"But they're still there," snaps Leon. "No strings? Don't be ridiculous. I'm here at your request, doing meaningless work that doesn't need to be done for a cheque and the chance to see you, and someday if you get bored of me or if I'm too crass or finding the money becomes too much of a chore, you'll just kick me out. I'm nothing but your paid convenience.
"You have too much pride, Leon," says D coldly, eyes like frozen gems in an face of ice. "Yes. It is a… a sop," he rolls the unfamiliar word off his tongue like a round stone. "You want to stay. I want you to stay. You refuse to stay doing nothing, and you cannot work anywhere else. What other option do I have? What is it you want, Leon?"
And that's just it. The whole and entirety of the problem. Leon Orcot doesn't know what he wants.
He wants to know about D, about his crazy plans, about his bizarre pets with the human faces. That's what he told Lau, what he told D, what he tells himself. It's true. But it's not the whole truth. There's more, a twisted, hidden, quashed desire that shivers inside him when he's with D. When he thinks about D. And he's afraid to even consider it, because it has a chill about it that suggests unplumbed depths greater than he can imagine.
He doesn't know what he wants, because he's afraid to examine himself. Afraid that he might find desire to be not one of many driving forces, but the driving force. Even now, after nearly a year living in Tokyo for the sake of being near D, he can still hardly admit that to himself.
Leon stares helplessly at D. The anger that so often comes to his aids in their quarrels, that fired him earlier, is gone. He has no answers. D's right. His arguments stand up, strong and straight as soldiers, and show that everything Leon has ever wanted is foolish and impractical.
"I want – to stay," he says, slowly, trying to line up his own ideals and finding that they slip through his fingers like soap.
"Then stay," says D, irritated.
"But –"
D cuts through him, a blade through butter. "Stop twisting yourself up like a puppet in its strings. You were never a man of great morals, I can't see why you've suddenly taken them on. I repeat what I said: you are under no obligations other than to fulfil your work. Unless you break my trust, or that of this store, I won't … 'kick you out.'" He follows his habit of tossing Leon's words back at him, as if he's afraid if to save himself the trouble of thinking up new ones.
Leon's lost a lot of arguments with D, but none this decisively. It's almost dizzying, the feeling of being so thoroughly overwhelmed. D still seems annoyed though, either at the stupidity of his new employee or at having to argue in favour of what he sees as violations of his own code.
"Well, you can continue your inventory today," he prompts after a moment of silence. Leon takes the hint. The clipboard is on the table; he picks it up and heads to the back, head bowed.
One of the good things about their relationship – if it can be called either a good thing, or a relationship – is that they're so used to quarrelling that moving on is hardly even a process which requires thought anymore.
Admittedly, the current issue is both larger and more novel than their usual fights. But still, when he pads out of the back, tired from another full day of counting animals he's never seen before who nevertheless are more than happy to try to eat him, D is waiting with tea and cakes.
Leon folds gratefully into the couch's uncomfortable embrace, even picks up his tea.
He's afraid to speak, he realises, sitting on D's couch sipping D's tea out of D's cup. Afraid he'll end up out on a ledge again, afraid D won't be willing to talk him down. It smacks of their previous eggshell relationship, of his fear of damaging that. He's tired of being afraid, but until he can find a firmer footing he doubts it will evaporate.
They sit in silence rather than making mundane conversation, which suits Leon just fine. He's happy to scrap with D on trivial matters, but having a dull conversation about his day would just be sickeningly false.
Leon finishes his tea and puts the cup down on the table. Stretches awkwardly, and stands. D, who has been munching daintily on a cake, looks up. His raven hair is falling over his eyes, so that Leon can only see a cat-like glimmer of gold and violet from beneath the dark strands.
"Will I be seeing you tomorrow?" asks D, pleasantly. His hands, Leon notes, although open are tense; he can see the tendons standing out like wires under the pale skin.
I want you to stay, he had said, earlier. Leon had hardly separated it from the rest of the argument, barely noticed it with the ocean of unhappy confusion crashing down over his head, but he remembers it now. It's the first time D's admitted it straight out, not simply in coy hints or veiled offers.
And, damn him, he wants to stay too. And when it comes right down to it, that's all that's ever mattered to Leon Orcot.
"I haven't finished the inventory yet," he says by way of answer, heading for the door. Stops before he gets there, still reflecting on the morning's argument. "D?"
D turns, expression somewhere between curious and watchful.
"Thanks. For earlier –"
D makes a sour face. "I told you, Leon. I don't give –"
"Not that," cuts in Leon, before he can finish, before they can start rehashing. "For arguing for me."
D's face freezes, and for an instant Leon can see the cracks in his mask. Can see the shock, and the pleasure. And knows he's made the right decision.
"My dear Leon. Two thanks in one day. Soon I won't recognize you." D doesn't quite hit the catty tone he's aiming for, and Leon smiles as he pushes the door open.
"Don't get used to it."
It shouldn't work out as well as it does. In a way, it doesn't, really. Leon is painfully aware that he's doing simply make-work work, feeding animals who can fetch their own food, taking care of natural habitats that don't need taking care of, cleaning a store which D and the pets are perfectly capable of keeping clean on their own. But still, the days pass and the job goes on, and he fails to be struck by lightning.
It shouldn't work this well. He's conscious of the thought always running in the back of his brain. He's taking care of animals that murder, animals sold specifically to kill. He's doing the hard labour for the man who sells them to kill. With each sale, Leon wonders whether there will be corpses on the evening news, and if there are how much of that responsibility will be his.
But the longer he works here, the harder it's becoming to see it in the black and white shades he used to. Because the animals aren't just animals. They really and truly are people.
He can see them now, properly. Hardly sees the animal form at all, which is something of a relief since it abates the headaches the effective double-vision was giving him. And he can hear them, some stronger than others, but generally at least enough to get by. He knows that T-chan has a raucous voice with a street kid's slurred accent and that he thinks Leon is a moron, that Pon-chan is quiet and sweet and worries. That Ya-san the old dog is an elderly well-groomed military-looking man with a shaky voice, that Pen-chan the little sparrow-boy twitters in a child's high tones. And there are dozens, hundreds of others. D doesn't have a menagerie here, he has a residence.
The people who come in to purchase pets understand that. Understand, at least, that the pet they buy is special. Is a person. Needs to be treated as a person.
Leon knows all the incidents, the deaths, the murders back home came about by people breaking contracts. Not mistreating the animals they had been given, but mistreating the people they had taken home. Knowing that, it's a hell of a lot harder to fault D.
He wonders why D never put it that way, but knows as soon as the thought occurs. He would never have believed it.
Most evenings before Leon goes home to the hovel that is his room in the long-term motel, they have tea. Sometimes they talk, although there's less to bicker about now that Leon is so unsure of his stance as regards the pets. Sometimes they sit in silence, and it feels companionable.
Tonight, Leon's drinking the tea – D's trying out another new tea pot made of what looks like black jet – thinking vaguely about whether he could get an apartment and if so whether he could do it without D finding out, when the other man puts down his cup and asks, "How is your brother?"
Leon, startled out of his thoughts, has to take a second to recoup. "Huh? Oh, fine. I write to him. He's going to school again, seems to like it. He's a bright kid; hopefully the missed time won't matter too much. He says he's getting along well with my cousins, so that's good. They're siblings, really. My aunt thinks of him like her son."
D nods absently, staring into the distance or more likely the past. "I am glad he's doing well," he murmurs.
"D?"
D blinks, eyes focusing, and raises his eyebrows slightly.
"Why could Chris see them? And then afterwards, why couldn't he?"
D sighs, raises a narrow hand and presses his thumbnail against his bottom lip in thought. "It is a matter of mindset," he says slowly. "When Chris came to the shop, he was both very much a child, and also very much alone. Desperate, grasping, wanting. Human emotions, of course, but also extremely feral ones. He was able to see the animals partially because as a child he lacked the usual complicated thoughts and conceptions adults tangle themselves up in, but also because he was looking at the world almost as more of an animal than a boy at that time. Seeking the security and protection of a pack. And he found it here, with them."
Leon opens his mouth to argue that his brother is not feral, but pauses. Remembers staring down at Chris, so full of anger and desperation, all big eyes and silence. He hadn't been anything like an animal, of course. But… he hadn't been entirely a little boy, either.
"And then afterwards?"
D shrugs and lowers his hand, interest apparently forgotten. Continues in a flat, disinterested voice. "Afterwards he lost the mind frame. Lost it the minute he regained his words and remembered what it was to be entirely, wholly human. To be just another little boy with no more worries or concerns than the average one." D's tone edges away from ambivalence towards distaste, lips twitching towards a frown.
Leon bristles, but holds back his initial reply. The memory of handing D Chris's letter slices through the stream of his thoughts, D's terse, hidden anger after reading it. Whatever was in it, Leon can hardly imagine it was anything that would make any normal person angry. Surely something childish, asking him to write, maybe, or take care of himself, or even god forbid something to do with Leon. It was most likely the fact of the letter itself rather than its contents, the reminder of Chris and his existence and past in the shop, that set D off.
"You don't have to dislike him just because he's a normal human, D," says Leon, and sees by the sudden sharp flash in D's eyes that he's hit the target right in the gold.
"Of course not," replies D, falseness standing out a mile.
Leon's eyes narrow. "But you do. After all that time together, after everything you did for him, you dislike him just for his humanity. Or is it because he chose to leave, rather than stay?"
"I encouraged him to leave," says D coldly. "He belonged – belongs with his people."
"So why do you resent it? He won't forget, you know. He won't become what it is you hate in us, a thoughtless killer."
"He will," replies D. "By the very fact of his existence, he will. He will never even notice it, but for his sake thousands will die." D's eyes are narrow, glinting like a cat's in the low light. His robe, dark velvet with little jewels sprinkled here and there like stars, sets off the paleness of his throat and neck, rising above the soft fabric like the moon.
Leon opens and closes his mouth soundlessly. D looks at him, and Leon sees not anger, not distaste, but regret and pain. "I don't dislike Chris, Leon. Quite the opposite. But in his time here in this shop, he made friends with its inhabitants. He learned their ways, their thoughts. He respected them, even if he didn't quite understand what they were. He would never have harmed any of them, never have allowed any harm to come to them. And now, living as a human, without even knowing it he will be responsible for hundreds – thousands – of deaths without ever even being aware of it. Perhaps when he is older he will realise. But most likely, his time in the shop will be just a foggy memory. I don't dislike your brother. I regret that, because of me, his principles will be destroyed with violence without his ever knowing it."
"That's really twisted, D." The words slip out of him without thought. Leon is appalled, is staring in dull horror at the man across from him in a kind of incomprehension he hasn't felt in years. It's been a long time since D's brought out an idea that shocked him this badly.
"Yes," agrees D passively. "The kind of thought I am sure you would never have, or approve of. But it is true nevertheless."
"Don't you dare go telling my brother that," growls Leon, sudden apprehension blooming in his stomach.
D smiles painfully, all twisted nails and broken blades. "He wouldn't understand if I did. It would be pointless."
"D –"
D rises, a smooth movement of black velvet, and it's like the sky whirling above him. "Don't worry, Leon. I told you to reassure you, although I seem to have failed. I won't contact Chris." He's already halfway to the back curtain, finished with the conversation.
Leon, on the brink of snarling good, holds himself back. Remembers Chris' tears over the phone, remembers the letters imploring him to find D, and sighs. "I didn't say that," he bites out. "Just – don't screw the kid up, okay? For some crazy reason, he misses you."
D pauses, face locked hard into a flat expression, but Leon still sees the flicker of expression in his eyes. D must hate them. They're beautiful, but to a trained observer they give him away every time.
"I will keep it in mind," he says, and disappears into the back of the shop.
D deals with a lot of unsavoury people. Leon was perfectly aware of it in L.A. – the Mob, the Tongs, crooked politicians and drugged-up celebrities – but it's almost reassuring to see it here. The one part of D's enterprise that he finds he is mostly agreeing with these days is doing work the police will never be able to, and in Japan that includes whittling down the yakuza.
They mostly come late at night, so that Leon only sees them if he stays late for some reason or another. Big men in expensive suits whose body-language screams get out of my way. Some of them are missing the tips of their pinkies, others have shaved heads or dyed hair. It's dangerous, of course, and not just for reasons of legality, but that's never worried D. As far as Leon can tell, it's not a stance that's ever harmed him.
Of course, Lau won't be pleased. But Leon hasn't seen him since he started working in the petshop; perhaps the man has been away, or visiting in the evening hours, or simply decided to wait for D to make a mistake. Leon doesn't really care – he doesn't want to see Lau. Not after the deal he made, relatively harmless as it was.
They talk more often in the evenings now. Plenty of bickering, of course, but an undercurrent of conversation. Leon fulfilling his detective role, D allowing him to.
"How is the shop so big?" he asks one night, receives a glittering, coy smile in return.
"Very simply, my dear Leon. Magic."
"Come on, D."
"I am afraid I cannot explain it more thoroughly. Not for now, at least. It isn't a secret, more of a …" D twists his hands as he casts about for a word, Leon watching the slim fingers intertwining and separating again, " – a pact. It's not my doing."
"Why can I see the pets?" Leon asks, another night. D pauses with a white cup against his painted lips, the bright contrast catching Leon's eye.
"That," he answers primly, "is indeed a mystery. Either it is because you want to, or because you have begun to believe."
"Believe what?" asks Leon, laying aside the first suggestion as ridiculous.
"Why, that I am right," answers D, in feigned surprise.
"What are you?" he asks, still another night, because he's not getting any closer to figuring it out simply working with the man. D is dressed in violet and gold silk that matches his eyes with absurd perfection, cloth bringing them up in such a manner that Leon can't seem not to notice them even when he tries.
"That," answers D, with a smile designed to infuriate, "would be telling."
Part two
