Delivery
by Lena (language corrections by Labingi)
Chapter 7
The instruments lying on the table next to his forearm were creepy, and Guy peered at them with morbid fascination. Surgical stuff. Scalpels, various kinds of scissors, pincers, needles, etc.
"Why the hell do you carry things like that with you?"
Daryl smiled wryly, tying a scarf around Guy's biceps. "Black market dealer's typical first aid kit. It's easy to earn a laser hole working as one, and it's often not too convenient to go to a hospital."
"Did you ever get one?"
"What, a laser hole?" Daryl glanced up at him. "Nah. Luckily never got this pleasure. But small wounds, sure. A few times. Now, hold on." The scalpel cut into Guy's skin, tracing exactly the line of the scar the Doc had left there just a couple of weeks back. The mongrel hissed, feeling a sudden, sharp pain.
It hurt like hell, but quickly the cutting was over. Daryl's skillful hand made a long, nice slash with one pull.
"Also, being a furniture requires some medical abilities," he answered the question before Guy had time to form it. "Perhaps they don't exactly teach us how to cut, but we're told about all kinds of wounds and certain surgical knowledge kinda comes along. If you're interested enough, that is."
The pincers were applied to the edges of the wound and parted them. This hurt even more than cutting, although Guy could see that Daryl was careful. The sensation was sickening, and the sight of his own arm torn open made it even worse, so he averted his gaze. He knew what he would find there anyway. Aluminum skeleton, synthetic muscles and tendons, but the veins, nerves and skin were real, solidly grown and inseparable from the rest of his body. Still, as Daryl made his cut, the only blood that was running came from the skin layer, so the bleeding was rather scant.
He focused his gaze on the top of Daryl's chestnut head. The furniture's hair flowed down, crowning what Guy could see of his face in a very nice way. Looking at it helped him forget about the pain a little, or maybe the pain just subsided.
"Well?" he asked.
"I don't really know anything about biotechnology," Daryl mumbled, "so I don't know what it should look like, but this something looks suspiciously like a mini-drive and I don't think your hand needs such a thing."
Guy stilled himself to look into his own arm. The furniture was pointing at a little object fit between two metal tibias.
"Yeah, I guess I saw that thing when the Doc cut me the last time."
"Good, then we've got our culprit." Daryl leaned lower and put the forceps into the gash. Guy felt slightly nauseated and quickly averted his gaze again. "Stay put, it's gonna hurt a little."
"Like that's something new," he snorted.
Daryl moved his hand and pain sparkled again. The mongrel grit his teeth not to groan and felt tears welling in his eyes. Gods, he wished it was over. Why had he agreed to it in the first place? You know why, it's the only way. He felt a light pull, then the dealer straightened and raised his forceps-armed hand with a triumphant expression. Between the forceps' points was a small metallic object that looked a little like a dice.
"Try to move your hand," the furniture ordered. Guy did so, curling his fingers, trying the wrist. Everything seemed normal.
"Looks like you didn't break anything."
"Good."
"So now what?"
"First let's check what's on this. I'm sorry, but it seems you'll have to stay over here for a while. We'll need to put it back inside."
"Oh, great," Guy grumbled. "With those stupid pincers I can't even move."
For some reason Daryl's expression was smug. "Sorry," he said. It didn't sound apologetic at all. Bastard.
He moved quickly to his laptop and swiftly inserted the drive. He tapped on the keyboard, then suddenly the room reverberated with the Doc's voice. They fell silent, listening to the recording. They listened, and as the words flew, they grew more and more bewildered.
When after a few minutes the Doc finished speaking, Guy met Daryl's eyes.
"Holy shit," he murmured.
"Yeah, looks like we've got some really hot stuff here."
A quarter later Daryl busied himself with careful putting the drive back into its place in Guy's artificial forearm. The mongrel followed his actions questioningly.
"You want to give it to them?"
"Of course. I don't want them to know something is wrong. But naturally," Daryl smiled a quite nasty smile, "I copied the data and sent everything to the right address."
"Katze."
"Yes."
"You sure he's the right address? He governs the black market after all. He might be very interested in this stuff."
The young dealer stilled and raised his head to glare at Guy, an irritated frown creasing his face. "Katze doesn't play with hard stuff. Not such stuff anyway. Never. You know what the main purpose of the black market is?"
Guy opened his mouth, but said nothing, taken aback by the unexpected question.
"To give us, mongrels, a chance to get a job," the furniture answered for himself. "To buy things. We wouldn't have been able to get anything otherwise. Nor would we have had any money to get it. Iason saw a great opportunity in expanding his influences to the black market, to manipulate it through a mongrel and in such a way to make it profitable for people in the slums."
Iason again. That Blondie. Of course Guy knew the beneficial meaning the market had for the mongrels, but he would never say it was done that way on purpose. Impossible. Not when that bastard was involved.
"Oh yeah, Iason Mink, the savior of Ceres," he snapped. "What are you trying to tell me? That he did it out of the kindness of his heart? Give me a break, Daryl."
"No, of course not. It gave him profits as well. And control. Unimaginably much more control. But he could see that our progress will be a general progress, and he used it, not giving a shit about all the biases against us."
Guy glared gloomily at the other man, but decided to keep his mouth shut and not push the issue.
"And of course, I'm not saying that Katze is clean," Daryl continued. "He sells drugs as well, there will always be people who need that stuff, but he doesn't touch this kind of shit." With that, he lowered his head and again focused on Guy's hand. For a while they were both silent, mulling over their own annoyance. Finally Guy swallowed his.
"How are you going to do it so that the Crimelord didn't realize it was messed with?" He pointed at the hand with his chin to show what he had in mind.
"Well, that's a risk." Daryl mumbled. He didn't sound angry anymore either. Guy was glad to hear that. "But I've got one pretty good acceleration salve with me. When used generously, it can heal a small wound in one day. That's about as much time as we have, so it should work." There was a quiet snap inside the forearm's mechanism. "Aha, done!" the dealer exclaimed triumphantly. He straightened and looked at Guy, grinning like a kid. "And now..." he turned to reach for a needle. He held it up in front of Guy's nose, a long surgical threat hanging down from its end.
Guy swallowed hard as another wave of nausea rolled in his stomach.
"You know what, Daryl?" he murmured. "Afterwards you buy me a drink."
The picture wasn't good, taken by an amateur, low-resolution camera. It showed an old man with gray messy hair and sagging cheeks. The man's forehead and temples were dripping with sweat, and after watching the video once, Katze perfectly understood the reason for his agitation. He was sweating himself. The thing they had just heard was just too mind-blowing to remain cool.
"Let's play it again, shall we?" Raoul's even voice had an edgy note about it, indicating that the Blondie was stirred as well.
Katze didn't need to be asked twice. He hit the play button.
On-screen, the Doc moved, drying his face with a shaking hand, and spoke in a nervous, faltering voice.
"When you are watching this, I've been probably dead for a month. I set up this activation mechanism to make sure you'll find the mini-drive, otherwise you could live through your life, never knowing what you have in your arm. Sorry for the pain it caused.
I am entrusting it to you, because I know you are a decent and clever kid, and you will use it properly. God, I hope I didn't put you in too much trouble because of it. Now, you have to know something about me, Guy. I've been working for the Crimelord. For years now. It's not something I chose completely voluntarily or am proud of, it's just that once you put your feet into a bog, it's hard to get out. But never mind my motives, they are not important.
Lately, he ordered me to invent a drug. Or rather to finish inventing it after some other poor chap who apparently got into the Crimelord's bad books and was treated accordingly. But when I saw what he created, when I realized how it would work, I couldn't do it. The stuff would be deadly. I didn't want to have a hand in it. Not for the life of me. If I agreed, I would never forgive myself. But then I couldn't refuse either; anyone who works for that monster knows that you simply don't refuse him. That's why I decided to blackmail him.
You see, Guy, for years of serving him I've been collecting evidence of his crimes. Just in case. And now the time has come. I was stupid enough to believe that it would help. So, I threatened him, I told him what I had. Obviously, it was a very bad idea... but then, I guess I've been lost since the moment he decided to give me that order. There was simply no way out.
They will come for me, very soon. I will be dead one way or another. But I don't want to lose completely. I want this data to see the light of day, if just to stop him from creating this shit. Because if not me, Guy, he will find someone else who will do it. And he will get what he wants eventually. This stuff mustn't go out on the market. If it does, it will be a disaster. It will kill thousands of people, not to mention what they will be capable of doing to get a dosage.
In the files on the drive I put all the evidence I managed to gather. I deleted them from my terminal because I don't want him to know how much I have. I have also attached the formula of the drug – this will add to the evidence as well. It should be enough to get rid of him for good.
Now, by no means go with it to Nyccos police – they are paid off, all of them. Search very carefully for someone who is trusted and powerful enough to stop him. I would do it myself, but I don't have time. I know that by sticking this thing into your arm I didn't give you choice. I admit that that was my intention – you probably would refuse to take it from me, and I would understand it. But I also wanted to protect you – being unaware of what you have, you would appear clean in case of trouble.
Please Guy, do what is needed for the sake of all those people who will otherwise die by his hand. Thank you in advance, sorry for the trouble. And goodbye." With that the recording ended.
Katze stared at the screen, trembling just like he had when he'd seen the video for the first time.
"Now, that's—something," Raoul finally decided to give it a conclusive commentary.
"Yeah, if what we find in those files is really what he says it is, we will have the means to seriously incriminate the guy." Katze took a cigarette out of the box and lit it. He wandered to the window and stared out of it. "And I tell you, that would be one good thing to do. That scum... he made a lot of harm, not only in Nyccoss. He has business in many other cities as well." He gritted his teeth, overwhelmed by unexpected opportunity. Excited. "He is a disgrace to the whole underground world."
"So you want to do it."
"Of course I want to do it. How could I let that son of a bitch be, having something like this in my hands?"
"Only if we show up at this Citadel of his with an arrest warrant, we essentially give up on those three punks he keeps in there. There will be nothing to stop him from killing them."
"And I am pretty sure he'll do it," Katze finished.
Raoul was silent, thoughtful, twirling a golden lock of hair on his long finger.
"I have to send those files to Jupiter anyway," he finally said. "Have them verified. Get authorizations. Call up the men. It will take at least a day. Guy's deadline is tomorrow evening. Giving up our original plan won't hasten the things more than a few hours. A few hours won't change anything. We may as well proceed with what we started."
"And if the plan fails, we still have the Crimelord in our hands," Katze concluded, staring at his reflection in the glass. He let out a puff of smoke. Excitement was pulling at his guts really hard now. "Raoul, thanks to that little brat we can make the world a slightly better place," he said.
"It won't save him," Raoul remarked. "He'll be dead anyway."
"I know that," Katze sighed.
And perhaps for the first time he felt sorry for Guy.
Apart from the barman bustling behind the counter, the bar was deserted – completely unsurprising in this place. Daryl paid the man, took two bottles of stout and moved to the table where Guy was waiting. The mongrel watched him, inhaling a pleasant smoke into his lungs and feeling a completely unreasonable urge to grin.
"Who would have thought they'd have this shit here," the furniture commented, placing the bottles on the thick, dirty wood of the table top.
"Told ya, you'll get it everywhere." Guy nodded at the bottles. "See that you ordered one for yourself."
"Why not? I figured I can drink with you after all," Daryl shrugged and sat down, while Guy reached for his drink. He did grin, before taking the first sip.
"So, I managed to lead you astray."
"Don't flatter yourself. We have a good reason to celebrate, that's all."
However, his eyes weren't as cold and aloof as they used to be. There was a slight shade of humor and companionship in them, or perhaps Guy just wanted to see it. The dealer took a sip and shook off with a grimace on his handsome face.
"Disgusting."
"Yea, it is, isn't it? Bon appétit!" Guy saluted with his bottle. "You don't drink it too often, do you?"
"Obviously. I used to drink some a while ago. Just after I broke out of Eos and started to work for Katze. I reveled in the fact that I was free now, and a black market dealer at that. You know, not a meek furniture anymore, but a tough guy doing a tough mongrel job. Those days I would go to a bar and order stout. Just to feel even more mongrely. But frankly, it never tasted good to me, so once I got over the excitement, I gave it up."
Guy listened to it with a smile. Strange how Daryl suddenly opened up before him. Strange, but not so surprising, was it? They've been through a lot today, after all. Guy liked this new face of his guardian.
"You like working for Katze, don't you?"
Daryl answered him with a smile on his own.
"How can I not? Guns, hoverbikes, speed, all this danger and thrill. Everything that guys our age dream of."
Guy laughed, sincerely and loudly. "So, you are not as cool and stiff as you pretend to be, huh? You get turned on by that kind of stuff too."
"I never claimed I wasn't. And, I'll pretend I didn't hear this 'stiff' comment."
"You give an impression of implacable coldness."
The furniture sent him a dark look that spoke volumes. Oh yeah, I know, I know. Guy swallowed the silent message decided to drop the subject.
"But you're right," he took up, "those things are cool. Hoverbikes, man, I love hoverbikes. Races." He sighed dreamily, his mind suddenly full of pictures of the long lost past. Him, Riki, the Bisons racing the streets of Ceres. "That was life, man."
"I never took part in races," Daryl observed, tone indifferent. He took a sip from his bottle. Guy watched him, wondering if he heard a note of longing in his voice or it was just him.
"No, I suppose you didn't."
"Nor did I drink stout before I turned 21, nor did I do any typical mongrel things."
"You miss it?"
The dealer thought about it, absently taking another sip—and wincing with distaste.
"I received a first-class education. I lived in a luxury of Eos, I have citizen's ID and I'm better off than most mongrels." A pause. "Yeah, I miss it. Or rather I miss what I think it could be. Castration aside. We come from the same place, Guy, but actually I don't know anything about Ceres life."
"It's tough." Guy shrugged. "It has its magic, but people don't try to escape it for no reason. Besides, you did spend your life among mongrels too. All furniture are mongrels, aren't they? Didn't you, I dunno, meet each other? Go to bars? You have to have some bars there. That wouldn't be so different from what we do."
"Sure. We do have bars. There are a few bars in Eos designed solely for furniture. The only bars we can go to. You'd be surprised if you saw such a place. A bunch of young men, mostly sitting alone, or in twos or threes, talking so quietly as if they were in a library not bar. Docile and disciplined even when no one watches them. Non-alcoholic drinks, no smoking, absolutely no naked females on the stage. Nothing."
Guy scratched his nose. "Man, that sucks."
"That's how it is," Daryl let his shoulder rise and fall. "We are supposed to let off steam meekly and quietly, the way we live."
They went on like that, talking about their past lives with their many hardships and rare joys, bidding whose life was tougher, and getting to know each other better and better in the process. It was nice, Guy decided, to be here with his guardian. To have a conversation that didn't concern the Crimelord, or their current situation, or even Riki, but simply themselves... To talk like friends that go to a bar to drink together.
It was nice to have Daryl as a companion, not an enemy.
It was comforting and if not for the gloomy circumstances, he supposed it would be a moment when he could feel happy.
"Thanks for sharing a drink with me," he said, voicing those thoughts before he managed to stop himself.
Daryl twitched, looking slightly taken aback, but quickly regained his habitual tough bearings. He frowned and pointed at Guy with the neck of his bottle. "Hey, just don't get too cozy because of that."
"I'm not. I'm just glad that you don't hate me anymore."
"Oh, well." The furniture waved his hand dismissively. He looked slightly stoned already. For a moment it seemed he would say something more, but in the end he didn't.
But everything that's good ends quickly. And finally Daryl took the last few sips, drilling his bottle, and put it down on the table with an air of finality. Guy's stout had already been empty for a while. His two cigarette stubs smoked bleakly in the ashtray. He saw the signs and took the hint. He sighed. It was quick, it was fleeting. Too bad. Suddenly the prospect of returning to the room seemed like the end of a beautiful dream. And reality was most unappealing.
"Perhaps you'd order another round, huh?" he suggested cautiously.
His guardian shot him a distrustful glance, but as much as he tried to look stern, there was something in his eyes that told Guy that it was just an appearance. That perhaps Daryl, as well, didn't want to end it yet. And just a few seconds later, the dealer gave out a somewhat exaggerated sigh that seemed to serve the sole purpose of hiding his own eagerness.
"Alright, okay. Blondie's paying anyway." With that he got up and went to the bar.
Guy almost jumped for joy in his seat.
When everything was settled, Raoul dragged Katze to bed again. He impatiently ripped the clothes off his mongrel, off himself, scattering them all around, clearing the way, wanting nothing more than to plunge his throbbing length in the sweetness of Katze's body. And when it happened, bliss poured over him like a relief.
He didn't try to delay his orgasm. He buried his face in the crook of Katze's neck and thrust feverishly, allowing himself to lose control, giving into the primal rhythm of his body – screw all the Blindie's pride. Seeing his impatience, Katze tightened his arms around him, pressing Raoul's head to his own, tangling his fingers in the masses of golden hair. Closed in the hot, passionate embrace Raoul lost it and exploded, all tension leaving him along with his essence.
When the strongest wave of climax rolled past and his control began to return, he lifted himself again, yearning to see this beautiful face while he was still in the blissful ecstasy. Katze was smiling warmly at him, his thumb stroking Raoul's cheek. He looked lovely with his red hair scattered around his head like a crown, with this relaxed happiness on his face. But – suddenly it struck Raoul with the power of unexpected – his eyes were so... sane, so clear. Contented, yes, but without that mist of intoxication he knew could be seen in his own eyes. There was no sweat, no panting. Katze just lay there calm and trusting; no matter how pleased he was, he was also somewhat impassive. And suddenly Raoul... felt alone.
"I wish you were here with me," he whispered before he managed to think. "I wish you could come with me."
He saw Katze's brows forming a little concerned frown, his expression growing serious, but then weakness overwhelmed him and he fell down on the mongrel, seeing nothing more. He lay on his chest, exhausted, catching his breath, and only now did he become surprised. What he had just said? He missed Katze coming with him? That was something new. Up until now he never minded it. He perfectly remembered his own words to Iason just a few months ago. To see him, lying like that beneath you... He can hardly feel any pleasure, but he is there, he holds you with his arms, he opens his legs for you, he endures everything you do to him and doesn't complain. He gets nothing out of this... I love the thought of him surrendering to me like that. He didn't need Katze to feel anything back then. He liked it that Katze didn't feel. He couldn't understand why Iason was surprised about it.
He could understand now.
When his breath grew steady, Katze's hand untangled from his hair and rested on his shoulder, pushing against it a little. Raoul understood the mongrel's meaning and pulled back. Katze was staring at him, his amber eyes serious.
"Are you disappointed?" he asked.
"Disappointed? With what?"
"With me. Not being able to come."
"No." Raoul shook his head. What an absurd idea. "But it just occurred to me how much better it would have been if we could be there together. It would've been so great if you could feel the same. If we could... share it."
The hand slid to his neck and stroked lightly.
"Yeah, it would."
"But I'm not disappointed. Of the two of us you are the one who can complain, not me. It's just that seeing you like that I fear that you simply don't care."
Katze winced a little. "What am I supposed to do? Pretend?"
"No, of course not."
Raoul sighed and slid down on the mattress. He lay on his side, facing Katze, and the dealer turned to face him. Raoul's hand almost on its own volition started to stroke the mongrel's arm.
Katze closed his eyes, giving into the caress, but also with a hint of impatience.
"We already talked about it," he said. "I told you what something like this means for us, furniture. How could I not care?"
"Still, you were so unresponsive for all that time. You gave me the cold shoulder in bed, don't you deny it. It's not so easy to believe now that it suddenly changed."
Katze took in a deep breath and exhaled. Then one red brow rose, lifting one eyelid in its wake. One amber eye glanced at Raoul with slight exasperation.
"Rest, Blondie. We'll talk later." With that the eye closed.
Being silenced like that, Raoul somehow lacked power to protest. So he just lay next to the mongrel, continuing to stroke his arm. Katze rested his hand on Raoul's side as well and drew a little closer, but apart from that did nothing. A quarter of an hour passed in complete stillness. The dealer seemed to have dozed off. Raoul's eyelids slid close as well, sleep reaching out for him with its cozy arms. He was already willing to give himself into its embrace, when he suddenly heard Katze's very awake voice.
"Have you rested?"
"Hm?"
"Have you rested?"
He opened his eyes again. Katze was watching him, not looking drowsy at all.
"Yes... I guess so."
The redhead sat up.
"Then get up." Raoul gaped at the dealer in confusion. Katze stretched out his hand. "Come on, get up."
There was a very particular note of decisiveness in Katze's voice. Soft, but slightly commanding. So eventually Raoul look the offered hand and let himself be pulled up to a sitting position, shaking off the shreds of his slumber.
"Lean against the wall," the redhead instructed.
"What for?"
"You'll see. Just do it."
Turning on the bed as Katze had told him, Raoul realized with certain unease that he was getting used to the mongrel's tone of mastery. And that he didn't mind it... dammit, that he liked it. He leaned against the wall as he'd been told and waited, curious to see what the dealer intended. Katze straddled him. This movement was so sensual that Raoul gasped, feeling he was starting to get hard again. Katze noticed it and smiled contentedly.
"Fast reaction, huh? Good." He moved closer, putting his arms around the Blondie.
"What are you...?" Raoul stuttered, unable to even finish the sentence properly.
"Now, let me show you if I care or not."
Katze rose on his knees, shifted even closer and carefully lowered himself. Straight on Raoul's already engorged penis. The Blondie thought he'd suffocate. His arms instinctively clenched around Katze. When the dealer sat on his thighs again, he leaned to Raoul's ear and spoke in a husky, slightly slurry voice.
"How about it? You like being in there?"
"Oh yeah."
"Should I ask you to fuck me now or do you want me to fuck myself on you?"
Raoul was already suffocating, he didn't think mere words could take him further. But they did.
"I guess..." he muttered and swallowed. He tried again, "I guess... you do it."
"Very well," Katze whispered and began moving.
Raoul had stopped counting climaxes during last two days; he lost count. Every climax seemed better than the previous one. Every one seemed deeper and longer, and with Katze so eager now every one seemed special. This time however... it was something entirely different. Because it was Katze doing it, because Katze was riding him, rhythmically rising and falling on his shaft, clenching his inner muscles to enhance it. It approached fast and deprived Raoul's mind of any coherent thought. For a few moments the whole world shrank to the small essence of his bliss and for the first time in his life Raoul screamed when he came.
When everything was over, Katze fell down on his chest, looking somewhat breathless as well. The Blondie let his hands roam down and up the pale back. He would gladly hug him so tight as to crush him, if the strength hadn't abandoned him completely.
"Oh, Jupiter," he moaned.
"Is it easier for you to believe now? That I care?"
"Yes... Oh yes." He wanted to say much more but found himself speechless.
"Good."
The redhead relaxed against his chest and stayed like that for a few more minutes. Even in Raoul's current condition the mere touch of Katze's naked skin was intoxicating and he wanted to drown in it. Finally, however, the dealer pulled back and looked at Raoul seriously.
"I was giving you the cold shoulder," he said evenly, "because you never tried to please me. You never made love to me, you were using me."
Raoul stilled, surprised by the sudden return of the subject.
"I didn't try to please you, because you stuck with your love for Iason so much that I figured there was no point. I suppose that was my form of... revenge. Not conscious, but still."
"But then I chose you."
"Yes, but you still loved him."
For a while they were staring at each other.
"Yeah, I suppose I did," Katze admitted.
Silence fell again. They both pondered over the revelations that had just been stated. Strange how in a few simple words everything suddenly became clear. Somehow, Raoul realized, he wasn't really surprised with what Katze said. Perhaps, on some level, he'd known it all the way.
"It is different now," Katze said.
Raoul breathed with the last traces of post-coital exhaustion.
"I hope it is."
After another brief pause, the dealer took on. "That's what our sex always will be like. Imperfect. Flawed. You won't be able to drive me crazy, you'll always be on the top alone. Are you ready to deal with it?"
"Katze," Raoul said forcibly, his hand rising to the scarred cheek and cupping it. "I prefer imperfect sex with you than the best with anyone else."
Katze shook his head. "Blondie, Blondie," he sighed and sank into Raoul's arms again.
The day was coming to an end. The sun was setting over the west horizon, drowning the sky in orange. The desert ground added to the impression of redness and right now the whole world sank in dozens of shades of one color. It was warm outside but not hot anymore, and a pleasant evening wind left a breath of freshness on their skin. The settlement consisted of no more than a few wooden sheds – too little to call them houses. They didn't exactly look deserted. Weren't wrecked or rundown, and in some of the windows a dim light could be seen, but the street was empty, apart from some old man dozing on one of the porches with a hat pulled down over his eyes.
Strangely, the emptiness and stillness didn't create an impression of sadness or gloom, but rather of peace intertwined with boredom. The main and only street ended just a few yards ahead, opening to a plain desert.
"Freedom, man," Guy murmured, staring dreamily at the space ahead of him. "It feels like freedom."
Daryl glanced at him, taken by the sudden pity for the man, but kept his mouth shut. The last thing Guy needed was a reminder that he was anything but free.
He wasn't sure why he'd allowed the mongrel to drag him out of the bar. Just two days ago he had growled and snarled at him at every attempt of fraternizing, and now here he was, taking a walk with his charge as if they were good buddies.
"It would've been so nice to be here if not for this shit," Guy sighed.
"Try not to think about it," Daryl murmured sourly.
"Yeah, right, it's easy for you to say so."
The furniture dropped his gaze, not knowing what else to say. He studied his shoes moving step by step on the dry, sandy ground. Two bottles of stout in his system made him slightly dizzy and the ground escaping from under his feet gave him an impression that he was falling.
"Anyway, you don't have to comfort me," Guy assured him. "I know that you'll be glad to see me dead, and that's okay. You did enough coming here with me."
"I don't want to see you dead," Daryl said. "Not anymore."
He felt Guy's eyes on himself again, studying him with an unspoken question. On reflex, he raised his head and met the curious gaze.
"That old guy, Doc, he called you a decent man. He decided to entrust you with a matter of life and death. He chose you out of all people. He put a deadly weapon in your hands and trusted that you will do the right thing. When he says you are decent, then I must believe him."
Guy's lips parted but for a long while no sound left them. Only now did Daryl realize that they had stopped in their tracks.
"Oh," Guy mumbled at last.
"Yeah." Daryl shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his head, and resumed walking.
They left the town behind and went on ahead. There was silence between them, but Daryl didn't feel that it was uneasy. It was convenient, companionable. They walked shoulder to shoulder, sometimes bumping into each other, their gait slightly swaying. Some hundred yards later, they found a small lonely rock sitting just beside the road. On impulse, Daryl turned towards it and Guy tagged along without a comment or question.
The dealer climbed up with a few swift steps and sat down on the top, facing the setting sun. A few seconds later Guy lowered himself next to him, a bottle of stout still it his hand. He absently rested it on the stone between his thighs.
"Nice view, huh?" the mongrel offered. "Decided to watch the sunset?"
"It was time to stop," Daryl answered evasively. "We won't be going any further."
"I see." Guy moved his gaze to the shining disc and contemplated it for a few moments. "There was one place in Ceres that looked like this y'know. A garbage dump with a plinth in the middle, just about as big as this thing here. We used to go there with Riki to watch sunsets together." He chuckled. "Typical romantic evening in the slums. Garbage dump. Life's sweet. And now I'm here with you."
Daryl glanced at him, raising one brow. Guy met his eyes.
"A few nights ago I had a funny thought," he confessed. "That you are my Riki now. You are that part that was taken away from me. My memory of him. My new faith in him."
Daryl frowned slightly. "I'm not Riki."
"I know, I know, you don't even resemble him, it's not that. It's just... a silly thought."
"Well, don't confuse us."
There was a trace of hurt on Guy's face at this remark, and Daryl thought he heard a minimal sigh, but it was the only reaction. For a few seconds Guy directed his attention to the bottle, rolling its bottom on the rock playfully.
"So tell me," after a short moment he spoke again, his tongue apparently loosened by stout. "Did you watch sunsets with anyone when you were in Eos?"
Daryl felt his brows furrow again, as an unpleasant feeling lurked in his stomach. He didn't feel like delving into those topics. He never did. Still, for some reason, instead telling Guy to shut up, he allowed carefully:
"Why do you want to know?"
With a corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a shrug. "Just curious, I guess."
"I was a furniture, Guy, I'm castrated."
"So?" the brat didn't seemed convinced by his answer. "They cut off your balls, not your feelings."
Daryl gave him another glance, this time slightly surprised. People tended to treat furniture, and ex-furniture for that matter, not so much as castrated humans, but as some kinds of androids. As if their feelings were cut off indeed. It was unfair and always made Daryl feel bitter, still, wasn't he a little bit like that? He didn't feel much, he didn't need much. Or... did he? He heaved a deep sigh. Damn with those thoughts, they always made him so confused.
Actually, he suspected Guy was no different when it came to his regard of furniture – given the attitude the mongrel initially presented, he couldn't possibly harbor any kind of understanding for them – he just knew Daryl and automatically treated him more personally, that's all.
The dealer refrained from correcting Guy as to what exactly they had cut from him, and instead he said in a flat voice:
"One way or another, furniture don't usually form relationships... especially not this kind of relationship. Usually they are alone."
"Like... what? For their whole life?"
"Mostly."
A slight shake of head. "Gee, man, they must be very lonely then."
Daryl gave it a shrug. "They are not. They are so used to being alone that they can't miss something they don't know. Besides, who cares? They are just furniture, right? They are not supposed to feel." Just before the last words faded into silence, he realized just how he had sounded. Shit, he had sounded bitter. The last thing he wanted was to sound like that. Apparently his tongue was loosened as well. But it was too late, Guy had flawlessly picked it up in his voice.
"That's what happened with you? You got used to loneliness? Cut off your emotions?"
Daryl felt his eyes blink quickly a few times, then he abruptly found a view of the setting sun again, escaping Guy's unwanted scrutiny.
"That's none of your business," he said sharply.
"Why? What do you care? I'll be cold'n'stiff in a few days anyway. Why not spill it out for once?"
"There's nothing to spill."
"Oh, I think there is."
That bastard. How come was he suddenly so observant?
"And why would you want to know?"
"Perhaps because I like you? Perhaps because I care?"
A bitter smirk escaped his throat against his will. He playfully squinted his eyes and studied the sun. Yeah, right, care.
"Come on, man," Guy prompted. "A dead man walking won't give out your secrets."
Daryl cast him a momentary glance. Looking at it like that... wasn't Guy right? It was like talking to a ghost anyway. And perhaps having someone real hear him... pity him would do him good?
He pulled up one leg and wrapped his arms around it. Then sighed and gave up.
"I was alone for my whole life. I had nobody. Ever. And sometimes... it hurts."
The mongrel stared at him incredulously. "Nobody ever? You mean it?"
"Yeah. You see, even in the Guardian, before they—chose me... Other boys, those who were chosen with me, usually had some experience. They were all very pretty, so obviously they were popular. And they used it. But me... somehow those things just never concerned me. I suppose I was too much of a nerd. I preferred books and computers so the others left me alone. That wasn't so unusual, many boys were virgins at that age, but most of them got to experience those things in the future. My future was taken away from me. And then..." he shrugged, "nothing. It isn't even exactly truth what I told you about ex-furniture a minute ago, either. Quite a few of us manage to form some kind of relationship at some point of our lives. Flawed relationships that too often last too short, but still. Take Katze. He had a boyfriend before he was taken from Guardian. Then there was Iason. They didn't have a relationship, but I know there was... something special between them. Katze loved him for a long time and Iason accepted it and even seemed pleased. And now there's Raoul. And with me... I was never special for Iason. Damn, I committed a crime against him, no lesser than Red, but I didn't even deserve a scar! He simply fired me. So ordinary, so mundane, so insignificant! What!?" he asked in one breath, when suddenly Guy burst out laughing.
"'I didn't deserve a scar?'" the mongrel asked, mimicking Daryl's offended tone. "Is that such a great tragedy? Come on, man!"
"Well..." Daryl muttered, realizing that it had, indeed, sounded stupid. "What I mean is that the way he treated Katze, overall, showed how much he valued him. Not only as a good subordinate, but also as a human. And me..." he shook his head. "I was always just a perfect furniture. Obedient, reliable, mute. No feelings, no individuality. A perfect thing. Then, and now as well. That's what I am. That's what they made me to be."
"And that's what bites you."
"I guess."
Guy was silent for a long time, apparently mulling Daryl's revelations in his head. Daryl heaved another heavy sigh this evening. Here, he had said it. He had confided his secret resentments to that little punk he had hated so much just a few days ago. And he could have said more. About the need, about frustration, about the craving that sometimes was so strong that he didn't know what to do about it. No, but those were just too painful, they would never pass his throat. It was so much easier to put on the face of a tough cold dealer – all the more because it was expected from him – than show his soft side.
It was so much easier to believe in that face. Sometimes... usually... he did believe. He didn't have strength to pretend now. Stupid stout. It positively deconstructed him.
"I think he did notice," Guy finally said. "Iason. A human in you. After what you did for Riki, from what you said about how he reacted, I'm sure he did."
Daryl didn't allow himself to be comforted by that.
"Hn," he grunted reluctantly, staring at the ground a few feet beneath.
"I see feelings in you," Guy pressed on. "Plenty of them. Mostly anger, but still. Only an idiot wouldn't notice it."
The dealer rolled his eyes. "It's because of you. You make me angry. Usually I'm cool."
He heard a quiet chuckle. And after a moment:
"You know what I think? I think what you really need is a good fuck."
He stirred at the unexpectedness of those words. He must have had misheard. "What?"
"I said that you need a good fuck. It'd knock this stupid self pity out of your head."
Oh, if it wasn't so true...
No, damn, it wasn't true!
Daryl stifled the urge to grab his head and groan. But perhaps because of Guy's light tone and a playful half-grin on his face, or because of his unexpected acuity, he couldn't be very angry.
"Ouh.... go fuck yourself!" he barked, which evoked an outburst of clear laughter from his companion.
"That's not a bad idea. But I would prefer to do it with someone else."
That was just too much. Daryl couldn't stay solemnly gloomy any longer. He smacked Guy in a shoulder with irritated amusement.
"Stupid smartass."
"Don't flatter me." Guy chuckled some more, then finally managed to calm down. "But you know, I meant it. Perhaps I didn't sound too serious, but I really do think that it would help."
"I was afraid you would say that."
The mongrel turned to him and met his eyes. There was a smile on his face. That smile – the one that changed his features from ordinary to almost gorgeous. It wasn't mischievous anymore, now it was warm and reassuring.
"Hey," he said. "As for being special to someone, would it be very offending to you if I told you that you are special to me?"
Daryl frowned, surprised.
"I don't mean anything sexual," Guy reserved quickly. "Just... you know."
"Why would it be offending?"
"Because I'm the mindless murderer, remember?"
Daryl winced. Oh yes, that was what he had called Guy the day they had met. Recalled now, it suddenly sounded wrong.
"I don't consider you a mindless murderer. I told you, not anymore. And why would I be special?"
A shrug. "You changed my life." And then the smile turned into a grin again. "Perhaps you saved my soul."
"Oh. Right. Well no, it wouldn't be offending."
"Good," the mongrel stated with satisfaction.
Daryl felt his own lips curl in a smile as well. He didn't try to stop it. Hell, somehow that brat from Ceres managed to drag him out of his usual angst with the simplicity of a slumdog reasoning. It didn't solve his problems, of course it didn't, but it helped for now. And for now, it was enough.
A strange thought occurred to him that perhaps he shouldn't think of Guy as of Riki's killer at all. Because, in truth, Guy didn't kill Riki. Riki killed himself – by his choice. Nor did he kill Iason for that matter – the Blondie died because of his own choices as well. Guy's actions led to their both deaths, yes, but didn't cause them. And as much as he indeed intended to kill Iason, he never, ever wanted to kill Riki. Once the thought appeared in Daryl's mind, it was suddenly as obvious as surprising was the fact that it had never occurred to him before.
He stirred when he suddenly felt a touch on his shoulder and realized that it was Guy's hand. It rested there very cautiously, as if the arm that it was connected to was ready to withdraw at any moment. He tensed reflexively.
"Don't push it away, please," Guy asked in almost a whisper.
There was something in his voice, in the warmth that seeped from this arm and seemed to spread all over Daryl's body, in its weight that amazingly brought the delightful feeling of stability...
"I'm not," he murmured.
And then the embrace tightened, changing from just an arm around him into the power that pulled him closer. Before Daryl could protest, he was leaning against Guy's side – warm, firm, and soft with the mongrel's cotton shirt and another human's flesh. He was painfully aware that he shouldn't allow it. That was the last of appropriate things, however... that was what he wanted right now. To hell with all correctness.
"Five minutes," he muttered, trying to retain some shreds of his guardian's authority. "You had enough of that roaming about. It's getting late. Five minutes and we're going back."
"Sure thing, boss, five minutes, no more," Guy agreed.
The phone rang, breaking the intimate atmosphere of the room. It wasn't any of their cell phones. It was the hotel room phone. Katze's eyes widened in alert and he saw his own expression reflected on Raoul's face.
"Here we go," he murmured.
He dug himself out of the crumpled sheets and grabbed the receiver. He gave the Blondie a conspirational wink, before he spoke.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Evan Dyers?"
That was the false name Katze had given to the landlord when they were renting this room.
"Yes. And you are—?"
"I believe you were interested in contacting the Crimelord."
Katze made a deliberate two second pause.
"Yes. How did you find us?"
A quiet chuckle on the other side. "That's none of your concern, Mr. Dyers. The Crimelord knows how to find everyone. He won't of course talk to you in person, he doesn't talk to strangers. However, if you really have an interesting offer, we are willing to listen to you. Not over the phone naturally. Let's meet tomorrow."
"All right. Where?"
"There's a small deserted warehouse four miles east from your current location. Just follow the road, you'll see it. At 2 p.m."
"Very well."
"Be alone. Just you and your friend."
"How can we be sure you won't just shoot us like that?"
"We don't just shoot people 'like that', Mr. Dyers. We want to hear you out. Then we'll decide whether to shoot you or not." A moment of malicious giggle. "I'm just kidding of course. See you tomorrow at 2 then."
"Perfect, see you."
They disconnected. Katze felt a slight tingle in his stomach as he was hanging up. He glanced at Raoul who was watching him curiously. Katze smiled.
"We're in the game."
After all, it was high time.