This is a work of fiction; all the resemblances are completely accidental. I am the one who owns all the ideas and characters in the story. Contains violence and descriptive sexual scenes between two males. If you are not supposed to read it, don't do so. Feel free to e-mail me with praises or insults (former preferred).
- IV -
By the end of the first week of his imprisonment, Desmond was finally able to accept the fact that he is not going anywhere for a while. Until the end of the month, to be exact. He hated the arrangement, but there was nothing he could do about it. He grudgingly accepted the fact that he has finally met his match in Gabriel. The man thought ahead of pretty much everything. He would always keep the spell up whenever he was at home; when he had to leave the house, he would always chain Desmond to the same old pipe before taking the spell down so he could leave. "Even if you get out of the handcuffs," he said to Desmond once. "I wouldn't recommend you trying to escape from the house. Not unless you want to be knocked out again. And I won't be here to help you, so you'll be on your own."
Desmond didn't know if he indeed was putting the spell up from the outside, but he didn't dare testing Gabriel's words. He had no intentions of going through that excruciating pain again. And to endure the whole thing on his own... No, Desmond definitely didn't plan to try to escape from the house.
To be honest, he didn't mind Gabriel's company lately. Yeah, sure, he would still remind him every chance he got that he'll kill him the minute he is free, but he had to admit that in some very bizarre way, this was as close to vacation as he ever gotten. He didn't have to do anything; he could read or watch TV for as long as he wanted (unless Gabriel was out of the house and Desmond had to hug that damn pipe); the food was good – Gabriel could cook surprisingly well; and they would talk more and more often. Just talk, without threats or insults (the latter usually came from Desmond) and the assassin actually enjoyed their conversations.
Tonight was day ten of his imprisonment and they were playing cards.
"Raise you twenty," Gabriel said indifferently.
Desmond stuck his cigarette between his teeth and looked at him intently. Gabriel didn't even flinch. Desmond was about to fold ("Screw this! I only have three-of-a-kind..."), when Gabriel started mindlessly pulling on the strand of his hair. Desmond almost grinned. He knew a bluff when he saw one.
"Deal," he said and threw the cards on the table. "Call."
Gabriel let go of his hair and his eyelid twitched.
"Dammit," he muttered and threw his cards face up as well.
Desmond chuckled when he saw just a pair of Jacks.
"Pay up," he said, and Gabriel sighed and shoved several bills into his hand. Desmond didn't bother counting the money and put them in his pocket. "For someone so smart," he said with a grin, "you are really easy to read when you bluff."
"I've been told otherwise," Gabriel grimaced and Desmond snorted.
"Yeah," he said. "By someone who kept on winning, right? Now, why do you think they would say that..." he frowned in mock thoughtfulness. That made Gabriel laugh.
"How did you know I was bluffing?" he asked.
"You might wanna leave your hair alone when you are bluffing," Desmond said seriously. "Whenever you start pulling on your hair, it's a dead give-away."
Gabriel blinked as if he never even realized he was doing that. He reached for the pack of cigarettes that was sitting in the middle of the table and pulled one out.
"Have you ever met Claudia?" Desmond asked suddenly. Gabriel glanced at him.
"No," he said. "Never have. You?"
"Yeah," Desmond nodded and Gabriel's eyes widened a little. "Once. I was fourteen."
"How in the world did you get to meet Claudia?" Gabriel seemed to be genuinely puzzled.
"She came to the town where I lived," Desmond dragged on his smoke. "To get those two arrogant bastards..." he grimaced. "Just like they thought," he finished in annoyed voice.
"What arrogant bastards?" Gabriel stabbed his cigarette in the ashtray.
"Daniel and Nicholas," Desmond replied. "That was a huge event for our shithole of a town... Claudia just shows up there, in the middle of the day... She looked like she was just some airhead bimbo, you know? Ripped jeans, tight vest, hair down to her ass..."
"Wait," Gabriel frowned. "Daniel and Nicholas...? You mean, the Earth and the Air?!"
Desmond glanced at him.
"Yeah," he said. "Them. They didn't even look too surprised, assholes..."
"You know two out of four Guardians?" Gabriel looked almost stricken.
"Grew up with them," Desmond nodded. "Hated both of them..." he snorted softly. "They were always together, you know? Announced that they were mates when they were sixteen... Stuff like that never works. I mean, not when you are so young," he shrugged. "Who knows though... Maybe with them it was different. I mean, them being Guardians and all..."
"Nicholas Pledged to Reagan," Gabriel said softly and Desmond dropped his cigarette without even noticing it.
"What?" he said finally and Gabriel nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Pick up that cigarette, will you? Before you burn my couch."
Desmond blinked and looked down. He picked up the cigarette and stabbed it in the ashtray.
"That's what the phone call was about," Gabriel said. "When you said I should be one of Claudia's lap-dogs, remember?"
"Uh huh," Desmond said slowly. "It's not a joke, right?"
"Not a joke," Gabriel shook his head.
"Holy hell," Desmond pulled another cigarette out of the pack. "I always thought he was an arrogant, selfish asshole but... To Pledge to Reagan? Holy hell," he said again.
"Claudia lost one Guardian," Gabriel said thoughtfully. "The Air... The hardest one to find."
"Why did they call you? You don't control the Air," Desmond frowned.
"He didn't call me to offer me the position," Gabriel rolled his eyes. "He called because he thought I would be interested. That and..." he hesitated. "Never mind," he said finally.
"It was the concerned daddy, wasn't it?" Desmond asked almost indifferently, and Gabriel looked at him with a small frown. "LeVoughn-Senior," Desmond continued. "Wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly, right?"
"Right," Gabriel sighed and mindlessly played with the cards that were scattered all over the table.
"What does he have on you?" Desmond narrowed his eyes.
"Nothing," Gabriel left the cards alone and got up. "I'm gonna make coffee."
He went into the kitchen without saying anything else, and Desmond smoked in silence for a while. ****
"It should've been you! She should've gotten you and not those two punks!" Desmond's Grandmother was furious. She paced around the immaculate kitchen, her white hair flying around her head, fists clenched tightly. "This is because you didn't even try!" She turned towards Desmond who stood motionless by the wall. "You didn't even try!" she repeated in a low dangerous voice.
Desmond shrugged, his expression indifferent.
"I don't care about the Guardians," he said, and his Grandmother looked like she was about to explode. "Never have. You are the one who's been obsessing about them for as long as I can remember."
He didn't know what came over him. Usually, he would listen to her rants silently, nodding and agreeing with everything that came out of her mouth. He never dared to disagree with something she said, because he knew if he did, he'd pay for that dearly. Right now, however, he felt like he finally had enough. The whole ordeal with Claudia herself (the legendary-freaking-leader of all that's bloody-holy) showing up in the school yard several hours ago just so she could get those two pricks, made him irritated, tired, and angry. Not because he was jealous (please!), but because he hated the idea that Daniel was right when he said several years ago that she would do it.
Ever since that rock incident, Daniel ignored him completely. It was as if Desmond didn't even exist. Nicholas, on the other hand, used every chance he got to do at least something to him. It didn't even matter what it was, it seemed. Desmond didn't know why the guy hated him so much, but he didn't care. He could hold his own just fine, thank you very much. He couldn't do anything fancy like causing an earthquake (which Daniel did once, or so the rumors said) or calling forth a hurricane (which Nicholas almost did one time after Desmond told him to fuck off; he didn't do it only thanks to Daniel, who was the only one who could control that psycho, it seemed) but when it came to fighting, Desmond sure knew how to do it well. He didn't even care if he had to fight dirty. Hell, with someone like Nicholas, you had to fight dirty! How could you not? The guy could call upon a freaking tornado that would suck you in, how much dirtier the fighting could get?
One of those days (a month or so ago, before Her-Holiness showed up), Desmond's guard was lowered, mostly due to the last night's severe beating he received from his Grandmother. She got older, but she didn't get any weaker. She still could work that goddamn belt like she could six years ago. The belt alone was bad enough, but the fact that it had a huge metal buckle, made it even worse. She would always make sure she got Desmond's back exactly with that buckle. So that particular day, Desmond's back hurt like hell every time his shirt would rub against the fresh scars. Therefore, he wasn't paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have. He realized that after he was shoved into a tree. Not by someone's hands but by vicious wind. He knew immediately who it was and what was going to happen.
Sure enough, it was Nicholas. Desmond managed to turn around and pressed his back into a tree. The flash of pain immediately informed him that it was a very bad idea.
"You, brat," Nicholas said in the eerily calm voice. "You've been getting on my nerves for the longest time now... I want you to say that you are sorry and..."
That was when Desmond started to laugh hysterically.
"Go screw yourself," he managed finally and Nicholas' eyes immediately darkened. "Asshole..." he added for good measure.
He had no idea what was in Nicholas' head, what was he planning on doing when the wind became even worse and it ripped his shirt apart. Maybe he wanted to humiliate Desmond by making him walk home naked; maybe he wanted to beat him into bloody pulp; hell, maybe he wanted to rape him just for the hell of it. Desmond never figured it out. Because after his shirt was ripped off him, and after his body whirled around against his will (there was no way in hell he could resist that damn wind), the wind suddenly died off and Desmond could move on his own.
He turned his head and glanced at that blond asshole who was just standing there, staring at the scars on his back. At first, Desmond thought that he saw pity in his eyes, and that infuriated him even more. "I don't need your damn pity!" he almost screamed, but then he closed his mouth before any sound could escape it. It wasn't the pity, he realized. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it wasn't the pity. It was a mix of shock, some weird fear, and something else... Recognition?
"What are you staring at?" Desmond snapped finally and picked up his shirt from the ground. The blond blinked and looked at him.
"Get the fuck out of here," he said in emotionless voice, and then he turned around and left without saying anything else.
Ever since then, Nicholas wouldn't say or do anything to him. He was almost as indifferent towards him as Daniel. Desmond couldn't tell if he was relieved or annoyed. On one hand, it felt good to be finally left alone; on the other hand, he hated the idea that his damn scars had something to do with that.
Today was the last straw for him. All the Oooh's and Aaah's, all the `Oh my God, Claudia is here for our boys!' infuriated him beyond belief. So when his Grandmother started ranting again, he felt like something finally snapped in him. He didn't care anymore.
She stared at him in disbelief.
"What did you say?" she asked dangerously.
"You've heard me," he said as indifferently as before. "I don't give a damn about the Guardians. I would never become someone like them because I will never serve anyone!"
"You, little shit," she said and reached for the belt that she always kept nearby.
"Don't," Desmond said quietly. He had no idea what he looked like right then, but his Grandmother's hand froze in midair. "I've had enough. I am not going to let you hit me again."
She stared at him without blinking. Finally, Desmond turned around and walked out of the kitchen. He made it all the way to the front door when he heard her hissing:
"Don't you dare talking to me this way!"
...and then the buckle bit into his back so hard that he lost his balance and ended up running into the wall face-first.
- V -
Desmond woke up with a muffled moan. He sat up, trying to calm down his wild heartbeat. Damn, those dreams again... He hated them. He got off the couch and went into the kitchen. It was day fifteen of his imprisonment, and by now, Gabriel was convinced enough for him not to do anything dangerous or stupid, so he didn't cuff him for the night anymore. Desmond was thankful for that. He rummaged through the fridge and finally found a bottle of beer. He twisted the cap off and was greeted by a soft "Pshhh!" of the open bottle. He lit a cigarette and reached for the window, dying to feel the wind on his face. He remembered about the spell at the last second, and pulled his hand away so quickly that he spilled some beer on his shirt.
"Shit," he muttered and sat down on the chair.
Those dreams were coming back much more often now. Desmond wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he was stuck in this damn place. The `vacation' feeling was gone by now. It was replaced by restlessness and annoyance. He hated the fact that he was trapped inside this bloody house; hated the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do about the situation; he hated feeling so goddamn helpless. Sometimes, he felt like he was about to give up and say that fine, he'll leave the damn kid alone, that he'll tell the tycoon to find someone else (he didn't even accept the deal yet, to be honest), but every time he was about to say it, he'd just grit his teeth and say nothing. Pride, he thought bitterly. It was that damn pride of his. He would never ask anyone for anything. He would never beg; not even to save his life.
"Shit," he muttered again and sucked on his cigarette furiously.
The lights in the kitchen went on and he looked up, startled. He realized that he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even hear Gabriel walk into the kitchen. That was bad; that meant that he let himself to relax way too much during the past two weeks. If his skills get any duller...
"What are you doing?" Gabriel asked with a small frown, blinking at the light.
"Drinking beer and smoking," Desmond answered evenly. The guy was starting to get on his nerves again, with all his calmness, politeness, and everything else.
"It's four in the morning," Gabriel said after glancing at the clock.
"I know," Desmond nodded. "I woke up."
"Those dreams again?"
Desmond looked up at him, startled. Gabriel shrugged.
"I can hear you moan in your sleep quite often," he said. "And not in a good way," he added.
"A good way?" Desmond snorted and finished his beer. "What the hell would be a good way?"
"Never mind," Gabriel said a little too quickly and went to the fridge.
Desmond blinked. Did he just hit on him? Moaning in a good way? "Are you kidding me?" he thought. The guy almost cracked his skull open; kept him chained up to the goddamn pipe (which he still does occasionally); electrocuted him with some magic shit, and now he is hitting on him?
Desmond looked at him while he was busy with rearranging the fridge, it seemed. It wasn't that he was bad looking, Desmond thought. On the contrary, he was quite attractive. Suddenly, Desmond caught himself wondering what his hair would feel like. "Looks soft," he thought and blinked again, more rapidly. "Oh, hell, no!" He lit another cigarette and looked at the empty beer bottle in front of him. "Bloody hell on ice! I need to get out of here as soon as possible... No, sooner than that! Dammit!"
Suddenly, he felt like he was about to just yank at that window frame, to knock himself out again. He decided against it almost immediately, however. He shuddered the second he remembered that pain.
"How much longer do I have to be here?" he asked sharply, and Gabriel finally straightened up and looked at him, the small frown back on his forehead.
"Until the end of the month," he said slowly. "I told you that already."
"Right," Desmond muttered and stabbed his cigarette in the ashtray. "Good night," he said and got up.
"Gonna try and get some sleep?" Gabriel asked.
Desmond gritted his teeth. One of those days, he is going to break his neck, he thought. For all this – the imprisonment, the damn politeness, his bloody perceptiveness, and the goddamn soft-looking hair.
"Yeah," he said and walked out of the kitchen.
He collapsed on the couch and closed his eyes. Sleep was out of the question; he'd just lie here until the sun is up. It's this whole situation, he thought. That's what this is. That and the fact that the last time he got laid was quite a while ago. He thought about that. It was some girl that time; she was a green-eyed redhead, and she was very easy. He remembered her saying that one of her boyfriends was the Walker – he could walk between the worlds. Desmond sometimes wondered what that would feel like. Anyway, she said that after his last trip, he told her a wild story about some world where apparently the same-sex love was frowned upon. Persecuted, even. Desmond remembered telling her, that the world in question was probably under-populated, which made sense. You don't want the entire race to die out, therefore, you make certain rules.
No, she said back then, her freckled skin smooth against Desmond's body. Her boyfriend told her that the place was in fact, overpopulated. Desmond remembered frowning in confusion at that. "Why would they care then?" he asked, and the girl shrugged. "Some say that their God forbids it," she said and that confused Desmond even more. "God?" he repeated. "Why the hell would God even care about that? He is a sexless, indifferent, and vengeful bastard; he doesn't give a damn about humans!"
The girl laughed softly, her warm breath in Desmond's hair. "Different God, love," she said. "Their God is different from ours. They call him the Savior or something like that..." The Savior... Desmond snorted. Different God, indeed. The God he knew was anything but the Savior. The whole concept still didn't make much sense to him. "Why would it matter?" he remembered himself saying. "I mean, a mate is a mate. When you find one, it doesn't matter what gender they are... It's the same as..." he thought for a second. "It's the same as making everyone to have the same hair color..."
"That's impossible," the girl sighed. "And stupid..." "My point exactly," he nodded. "It's like saying that if you are blonde, you deserve to die..." The girl giggled at that. "The redheads are the best," she purred, and Desmond laughed. "Well," she shrugged. "It's true...! Oh, and they also have some bizarre ritual when it comes to the whole mate thing..." She frowned slightly. "From what he said... Apparently, you have to, like go through some sort of a process, and you have to sign a piece of paper..."
"Well," Desmond shrugged. "Rituals I can understand... Maybe it makes everything that much more important and sacred, you know..."
"No," the girl giggled again. "Noah... My boyfriend... He said that he managed to score it with some woman, who was taken..." She frowned for a second. "I forgot what the word was... `Marred' or something like that..."
Desmond just shook his head. Different world, different craziness, he thought. He was thankful, however, that he didn't have to live in a place like that one. Sure, this world had its problems, but when it came to finding a mate, it was nobody's business but yours and your mate's. Well, the immediate family's too, he thought. But that was different. Family affairs had nothing in common with God or laws or whatever the hell else could pop up on the horizon.
"Do you have a mate?" he asked, and the girl just rolled her eyes at him. "Would I be here with you if I had a mate?" she asked, and Desmond shrugged. "Everyone is different," he said. Usually, when you found your mate, you'd stay with that person until the day one of you dies. Nevertheless, everyone was different. Some people would have countless liaisons in spite of having a mate. Desmond never understood that. If you think you found your mate, why would you need to screw someone else? Different strokes for different folks, he figured.
"No," the redhead was saying meanwhile. "I don't have a mate... When I find one though, I am going to become the definition of `purity'!" and she laughed softly. "Do you have a mate, Tony?"
Desmond never told anyone his real name. With his line of work, that would be ridiculous and suicidal.
"No," he said to the girl. "I don't have a mate." *"I don't think I ever will," *he added in his head, but didn't say it out loud. That seemed to be good enough for the redhead, because her sun-kissed body somehow wrapped around his, and after that happened, Desmond didn't give a damn about different worlds or crazy traditions.
Desmond sighed deeply and buried his head under the pillow. Dammit, he thought bitterly. Why wasn't he one of those who only cared about the opposite sex? Up until now, he considered himself to be one of those lucky ones; the ones who were fine with either gender. The best of both worlds, right? Right... Except, right now, he didn't feel lucky at all. He muttered, "Shit," under his breath again, and closed his eyes.
To his enormous surprise, he actually fell asleep, and when he woke up in the morning, he realized that he had a blanket over him. He could not remember getting under the blanket last night. Desmond gritted his teeth and thought that if he keeps going at this rate, he's not going to have any teeth left rather soon. He eased up on the teeth grinding, and concentrated on the task at hand. Get out. Now.
"I suppose killing him is not an answer," he thought gloomily. "The damn spell, that's the problem..." He sighed, and was startled beyond belief, when the phone rang. "Who's jumpy now?" he thought miserably, and closed his eyes again. He heard Gabriel walk towards the phone and saying, "Yeah," after he picked it up. Desmond listened to one side of the conversation half-heartedly, thinking about his options. Sudden surprise in Gabriel's voice made him open his eyes.
"What?" Gabriel said in astonishment.
Huh, Desmond thought. Probably has something to do with the Guardians again. "Wonder why he cares so damn much about them," Desmond eyed him thoughtfully.
"No!" Gabriel said heatedly, and Desmond narrowed his eyes slightly. Right now, Gabriel looked pissed off. "No!" he said again and threw a quick glance at Desmond. He frowned, walked into the kitchen, and closed the door.
Desmond could move quietly when he wanted to, it was one of his skills. It didn't matter if the floor was creaky, or even if it were covered with crunchy foil paper – Desmond wouldn't make a sound. He slid towards the kitchen door and listened intently.
"What do you mean, plans changed?" Gabriel was saying. "I don't care! I told you before, and I am going to tell you again – I am not killing him! What...? No, that's not the reason and you know it! Uh huh, so you think that blackmailing me is going to work wonders, right? Well, think again... You know what..." Gabriel hissed suddenly. "You can shove it up your ass! Go lick the Salamanders' boots; they can always use a bitch like you!"
That was the clear indication that the conversation was over. When Gabriel stormed into the room, Desmond was stretched on the couch under the blanket, in the same position as he was in when Gabriel went into the kitchen.
"Trouble?" Desmond asked casually after Gabriel slammed the phone down.
The assassin watched him press both palms into the table, his back rigid.
"I don't know," he said finally and turned around. "I need to leave for a few hours."
Desmond sighed.
"Fine," he kicked the blanket off. "Let me eat something first."
Gabriel shook his head slowly. Desmond felt a prick of annoyed anger beneath his eyelids. "I swear to God, I am going to..."
"I am not going to cuff you," Gabriel said, and Desmond blinked without finishing his thought. "If somehow, you manage to get rid of the spell, then so be it. I don't think you'll be able to though," he added. "I'll be back in a few hours..."
Desmond narrowed his eyes. This was new. Somehow, it seemed to him that Gabriel didn't want him to be incapacitated in case if something happened while he was gone. "Who would be able to take that spell off?" he wondered, and then the last phrase of the conversation he heard a minute ago, popped up in his head. *"Go lick the Salamanders' boots..." *Salamanders? What in holy hell did they have to do with this whole thing? The Salamanders family was one of the oldest and most powerful families around. Not just in this city, but pretty much all over the world. Desmond felt a very unpleasant cold shiver running down his spine when he realized that the Salamanders would be perfectly capable of getting rid of Gabriel's spell. Apparently, the Salamanders want him dead, which explained the said conversation. Desmond wasn't surprised. Considering the fact that Specter was the one who successfully wasted Salamander-Senior three years ago...
Desmond still wondered about that case once in a while. He had no idea who hired him. Usually, it was not difficult for him to find out who hides behind an anonymous order, but that particular case was nothing but a dead end. Whoever ordered the hit was insanely good at covering their tracks. Desmond got his payment perfectly on time after the job was finished, and when he tried to do his usual research on the client, he came out empty-handed. Finally, he gave up on trying to figure it out. Whoever hired him had their reasons to go to such lengths to remain anonymous. After all, if you hire an assassin to kill off one of the most powerful men in the bloody world, you might want to take certain precautions so nobody finds out that you are the one behind the screen.
Desmond watched Gabriel leave, and after the door was shut, he went into the kitchen to get some food.