h2_muses | otherways - August 2005

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otherways - August 2005

"Let me guess, I'm going someplace cold and icy and life will suck there, but I'll have to destroy evil creatures anyway."

DeClerque smirks and turns back to Michael. "Well, yes, that might be true if I was sending you to Australia, but, I'm not. You are going someplace else..."

******

"Toronto? Why the HELL are they sending you to Toronto?" Angie asks, nearly squawking.

Michael shrugs and stuffs clothing into a bag. "Vampires."

"There isn't someone already IN Toronto who could handle that?"

Michael gives Angie a Look. "What the hell do you care? The only thing you want from me is a good fuck anyway. Which, by the way, I'm not giving you before I leave. So, why does it matter to YOU where I go?"

Angie looks wounded. "I'm not allowed to care because I like fucking you? Come on, Michael, you know it was more than that."

He growls at her. "Yes. I'm more than aware. And I'd like to thank you for snitching for the Cardinal. Don't come looking for me again. Send me weapons, send me assignments, send me paperwork, but don't come to see me."

The look of shock on her face speaks almost more than her words. "What? What are you talking about? Snitch?"

"I know you've told the Cardinal things. I don't know what things, but I know that he's done things, made decisions, denied things to me because of information you've given him. Now get the fuck out before I throw you out."

He knows... he knows a lot. He knows he's been screwed over by Angie and the Cardinal, but the Cardinal had been mostly up-front about it. Angie had used him. He knew that. He didn't know what information she'd passed on, but he knew he was pissed about whatever she had passed. The Order always seemed to know just a little too much.

He doesn't bother to watch Angie go; he just listens for the door to close... slam... then goes back to his packing. He is not loving this idea, something feels off about it, but he goes where he's told.

******

Toronto

You know you travel a lot when you can pack everything you'll need for an extended stay in two bags, check neither and still not get harrassed going through security and customs. That, or you have connections. Maybe both. Crossbows and Tojo blades don't usually travel well in the cabin, but Michael's never had to check any of his weapons.

Off the plane, to the hotel... nowhere near a five-star. He should feel lucky the god-forsaken place has indoor plumbing. "Jesus. Figured they'd at least let me have a place bigger than the lavatory on the plane. I've seen suitcases bigger than this," he grumbles and tosses his bags to the floor. True, he wouldn't be spending much time here, but wouldn't getting a decent night's sleep on a bed that actually was a bed be better?

Apparently not.

Right now, he's not tired, so, off to find a place to get a drink, maybe something to eat, then he might sleep.

****** bet you thought he'd walk back into Milliways from there, huh?

Michael stands across the street, watching. Waiting. He's been sent to take care of some vampires. One vampire in particular. This one. The one he is currently watching. The one who lives in what appears to be an old industrial building.

The sun is high and bright and warm, yet he stands, watching, eyes moving purposefully behind dark sunglasses. He's ready to fight whenever, but prefers the challenge of facing an opponent who is awake, not one who is sleeping lazily during the daylight hours. That poses no challenge at all.

So he waits.

When dusk falls, he returns to Gateway Lane, ready to fight. Ready to kill. Everything he has been told indicates this is a vampire that should be eliminated. He had also been issued warnings that this vampire is a powerful psychic and he should take care to not fall under his unholy power.

Psychic. A psychic vampire - how much more unholy could one creature be? He doesn't want to find out. He only wants to kill this vampire, kill the others and get back to Rome - hopefully to get some rest.

He has the long leather coat, weapons stashed beneath and inside it. Walking around to the back of the building, he glances up to where the heavy metal blinds have been raised and readies the grapple-gun - some things just work too well to get rid of them. He pulls the trigger and the grapple flies into the air, latching onto the ledge of the roof.

Michael sits, watching the vampire through the skylight... watching him move around until he disappears beneath the loft, then Michael leaps into the apartment through the skylight, sending shards of broken glass to the floor below and Michael onto the couch. Bending his knees to take the landing, he manages not to tumble off the piece of furniture onto the floor while brandishing a crossbow in one hand and a cross in the other...

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"That's really a bad idea."

He'd taken the steps and how he got past Nick's security is a story for another time, but Stephen is in the doorway, staring at Michael through tired eyes as he breathes heavily from the effort of running up all those steps and more.

"Michael...Gabriel...he's no more evil than Frankenstein's creature was and far more concerned about you."

His head snaps toward the door, his weapon still trained on the vampire.

"Who the hell are... Carl?" It starts as a growl, but fades into a muttered whisper. He shakes his head and glares. "No, he's dead. You cannot be him. And this," he points with the crossbow, "is a vampire. I do not leave vampires alive... or as alive as they appear to be."

Nick ducks away, unable to deal with this, and Michael is fully released...but he's too fast and he escapes back to Milliways.

Stephen on the other hand stares Michael right in the face.

"Yes, Carl. Yes, he is. I can be him. And that was a vampire that you've left alive for quite some time."

A bolt from the crossbow follows Nick and lodges in a nearby wall/door.

"Who the fuck are you?"

He sighs, walks forward in a very Carl sort of way, and facepalms.

"Gabriel, the years may pass and the season may change, but you remain as dense as the day I met you."

He wanders over and pokes the bolt in the wall, watching it vibrate for a moment.

"Shoddy. Positively shoddy. I've never seen better aim but the fletching is positively attrocious. I mean, I'm well aware that it's a crossbow bolt with a short range, but still."

He looks up at Michael after a moment.

"That being said, I'm Carl. Or rather, the reincarnation of Carl. My name happens to be Stephen Dorsey. I work as a librarian in New York and I'm exceedingly gay. Considering that you're exceedingly male, this has never really mattered very much between us since the two of us seem quite satisfied with one another most times."

He sighs and reaches up, sticking out his ears a bit and mussing his hair.

"Get it?"

It's possible there hasn't been such a shudder down a man's spine as the one that just shot down Michael's at the mention...

"Gay?" He really tries not to stumble over the word. "Y-you and I?" He shakes his head. "I think not. What happened with Carl was a mistake and shouldn't have happened. I'm quite certain I have never seen you naked, much less had sex with you."

Michael has never seen Stephen angry. Not really angry. He's seen him frustrated. He's seen him annoyed. He's seen him hurt and confused and uppity and pissy...but he's never seen him angry.

If he had, there's very little chance that Michael wouldn't be able to remember it now, brainwashing or no.

His entire body shakes and his eyes go ice blue and cold. Every muscle in his body tenses and he walks up to Michael, every step an act of aggression.

"Carl...was a mistake?"

He's never been so angry in his entire fucking life.

"Carl...was a mistake, you puffed up, testosteroned, shit-eating Church dog. Carl was a mistake, you idiotic son of an apoplectic whore. Carl was a mistake, you over-muscled, assholish, cock-sucking murderous piece of diseased shit."

He moves then, faster than Michael could ever have imagined, and clocked him one across the jaw.

"The only person in that whole fucking Order who actually gave a shit about you...the man who gave every minute of his day to trying to keep you alive...the man who sacrificed EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING he ever could have had, ever could have been, to keep you safe, to watch over you, to protect you from those ASSHOLES who didn't care if you died on a mission as long as it got done...the man who died because he dared to do all that, died because he wouldn't let you be alone, wouldn't let you die inside like they wanted you do to, like they've managed now, you stupid mother fucker--WAS A MISTAKE?!"

He's heard some rather colorful language, but nothing quite like the filth that just spewed from this... blond... man's... mouth. And something suddenly ocurrs to him just before a fist meets his jaw. He can feel the bruise beginning.

And he glares back at the... blond... man... blinking away the thought.

"Fuck you," he snarls. "I very much treasured my friendship with Carl. I wouldn't trade that for anything." And he doesn't curse back at the... blond... man... that would negate what he had just said. "Only the sexual relationship was a mistake and I understand that now." He's still glaring, but no longer speaking through a snarl.

"You have, you dumb shit! You fucked me and I fucked you and you fucked Carl and guess what? None of it was a fucking mistake, you iron-headed idiot! He wasn't just your friend, numbnuts, he loved you. Like I love you when you aren't being the densest material on God's green earth!"

He tries hard not to shudder again and shakes his head.

"No. They-they told me... they said... No."

The crossbow clatters to the floor and he stares. Not remembering... just seeing.

"They told me I couldn't... they... they told me it was wrong."

He shakes his head again.

"No. You're wrong. You have to be. You have to be." He's about two seconds from collapsing into a heap on the floor.

Which is why his instinct takes over.

Which is why every fiber of his being demands and he obeys, running over and taking him in his arms. He's smaller, but sturdy, and he's carried drunken friends of all sizes home before so it's not so bad.

"I'm not lying, Gabriel. The feeling of being stabbed in the heart isn't lying either...and I suppose that applies for the both of us because I'm either having a random heartattack or you've utterly demolished me...and I'm rather sure it's the second as opposed to the first since I'm in perfectly good health, and so are you."

He sighs and wishes he wasn't such a blatherer. It's easier to be wise when you only say a few enigmatic words. People who explain things all the time are just smart and smart isn't going to help here.

"Gabriel..I love you. Carl loved you. And...I'm damn certain you loved him."

He reaches then, into his pocket, and pulls out a note. It's one that Michael had written, for him, years ago...but the handwriting is his and the words are as he'd put them.

"I love you. I watch you." he reads, "I watch you reading - I love it, love watching you read, because you love it - reading. It's a part of you. A part of who you are. I used to watch you working in the lab too. It fascinated me, that you could come up with all of those... things - weapons, trinkets, whatever - and make them work. It never mattered to me how long it took, because I knew that once you had it, it would work the way you wanted it to work; the way it was supposed to work. And watching your face when you made something work... it always made me smile. It made me happy to watch you succeed at something. I don't know if you ever saw me watching; I was never obvious about it, but I've always loved watching you."

And he looks to Michael/Gabriel/whoever...

He doesn't fall, probably has a lot to do with the... strawberry-blond... man...

and he gets it... knows who this is... sort of... "You're the strange little man from my dream. The man in the library. You-you told me they'd gotten me... that they knew..." which probably makes little to no sense to Stephen.

The words... the words he reads, they sound like him, like his words, how he would've said such things, but he doesn't remember saying them... writing them. He shakes his head. "I don't remember writing that."

He nods, because he's not thinking about it, so he does know what Michael's talking about. If he wasn't so distracted, he wouldn't.

"Indeed. They knew the entire time, Gabriel. They've always known and they've always meddled...and you're so much more than they'll ever let you be. And they got you."

That isn't a tear...because Stephen can't be crying.

Only it is.

"They got to you because I wasn't there..."

"What? What do you have to do with any of this? And what does that mean? They got me? What the hell is any of this?"

He startles and blinks and shakes his head.

"I...I don't know. I just know that you've been missing, and for longer than I'd obviously thought and it was long enough for you to forget me and..."

His babbling turns to muttering, because his memory had been pushed aside, forgotten...unwanted. Even if he'd broken through it, for a few minutes, he'd been cast aside again by the one person he'd never thought he'd be cast aside by...and he can barely breath, let alone think.

He blinks in confusion.

"What are you talking about? I don't know you, aside from the fact that your bear a remarkably striking resemblance to Carl. If we've met, I don't remember it. Obviously, this is an upsetting fact to you, but I don't know what else to tell you. I don't know you."

And he's shouting again.

"We just went through this, you bloody--"

There's no word for what happens next. It's not a sound, nor a flash. Nothing. Except it's something. but neither of them will know what it is for quite some time.

"You are known now as Michael. At Milliways at the end of the universe, we met one day and I realized that I was the reincarnation of one Carl, a friar in the service of the Order that had been your lover years ago. We renewed out relationship with various trials and tribulations until you asked me to investigate something concerning yourself. I went home and did just that and you went to tell the current Cardinal Asswhipe to fuck himself."

He looks at Michael.

"And you've been with them since 1997 or so, no doubt banging that little incompetant slut they tried to sate you with."

And he shakes his head... he doesn't know what else to do.

"If that's true... any of it... I. Don't. Remember. How else can I explain this?" He's starting to get angry himself. "I wish I could remember, it would save me the migraine I'm getting from this dizzying conversation, but I don't. I don't remember any of anything about you or a place called Milliways. I don't."

And he frowns. "How do you know about Angie?"

He sighs.

This is tedious.

"You told me about her when I asked you about my replacements...and her one redeeming quality seems to be that she has argued for the tojo blades I invented."

He points to the door to the stairs.

"Now, can I just show you Milliways and perhaps I'll sound like less of a psycho to you? It's just through that door."

"I'm not going anywhere with the crazy man from my dreams who insists that we're lovers." Give him credit for not having to hide a shudder this time.

Stephen will happily give him credit. He'll also give him a headache, though he'll feel bad about it later. Now, however, he's been looking at his options and this one looks like the surest one.

So he picks up a hefty fertility goddess statue that Nick had unearthed somewhere in Summeria and promptely thwacked Michael in the back of the head with it.

It's so much easier to reason with the unconscious, which is why Michael and Stephen appear in Milliways a few minutes later.

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otherways - August 2005

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