Oh, look at this.

[ladybug_archive]

I had an odd dream that involved David. Because of it I read through the currently existing chapters of Close Your Eyes, Clear Your Heart and started hoping again to get it going once more. I even finally picked a prompt for the next chapter, something I've been braindead about for months. This time one leaped out at me. Maybe that means it's finally time.

While looking for the file on a floppy, I found something else. One of the other possible follow-ups to Lead Me Through the Fire was this, liked and encouraged by Lisa. I never did quite finish it, and I'm not sure I will for several reasons, including that I like the darker idea of Duke reversing time to get David back much better. (Also because I've never been that crazy about the concept explored here. I only tried it because it brought about some intense interactions.) So here. Have it as it currently is.


It was strange, to emerge into the light from the darkness.

He had been in the dark for so long, sleeping . . . sometimes wandering . . . sometimes hearing voices. . . . Always unable to communicate. . . . Always longing and pleading to be let out of the darkness. . . . And now suddenly it was so bright, shining in his eyes, dazzling him. . . .

There were voices again, familiar and welcoming and hopeful. He could see their silhouettes around him, but he could not make out who was who. It was all so confusing . . . so frustrating.

I can't see without my glasses. You know that! he exclaimed silently.

And the light was so bright. . . .

He squinted, trying to focus through the glow. Someone was taking his hand, saying his name reverently, in tears. Weakly he tried to squeeze her hand, reassuring her that he could hear her, that he was awake. . . .

Mom. . . . I'm okay. Can't you get this thing out of my throat so I can talk?

His father spoke to him too, and his sisters. But even as he managed to smile and acknowledge them in whatever way he could, the memories were coming back to him. He remembered what he had been doing before this awakening . . . what had landed him in this state . . . who else had been in danger. . . . His friend, his brother. . . .

Was he still in danger? What had happened to him?

He tried to speak, to ask, but he only managed to mouth the other boy's name.

His mother stiffened. "Don't try to talk," she implored. "You'll be alright now. You will. . . ."

He persisted, again mouthing the dreaded name.

One of his sisters took pity. "He's okay," she said. "He was on the news just yesterday."

He tried to relax. He smiled at her in gratitude as he sank against the pillows.

But why was it that something still did not feel right?
****
The winter snow floated past the peaceful house's windows in a calm, unassuming, even cheerful, manner. It was not the first snow of the season, but it was the first that looked like it would be sticking. November had barely started, but holiday preparations were already underway---mostly because for this family, this year it could not be too soon to celebrate. Blinking lights above the windows sparkled on the icicles and mixed with the falling snowflakes, casting bright reflections on the panes.

In one room, a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead as a hand reached up from a bed, taking hold of a pair of glasses on the nightstand. With a sigh, the hand's owner slid the eyewear onto his face, then pushed himself partially upright against the headboard.

Now that he was awake, his condition had been improving rapidly. The near-fatal wound that had left him helpless and comatose had healed, but he needed physical therapy both to repair damage caused by the bullet and because he had been laying in a bed in his parents' home for months.

At least the tube was gone. He could talk again, though his voice was still scratchy and raspy from unuse.

And something was definitely wrong. His mother would barely meet his gaze or answer his questions about his friend. His father was the same, albeit not quite as much so. His oldest sister acted as though she wanted to tell him, but felt she could not. The sister closest to him, however, could not bear to keep secrets from him---especially such a dark one as this. Today, as she watched him, she finally confessed.

"No one's told Duke Devlin you're alright," she admitted tearfully, answering the question that he had kept trying to get them to reveal. "He thinks you're dead."

He went sheet-white. "What?!" he gasped in horror.

"We were so scared the assassin would come back," she said, staring at her hands. "We pretended you'd died. Well . . . you really did die, actually. It's just a miracle the doctors were able to revive you. I don't know how long you were clinically dead before that. . . ."

"But . . . you said Duke was on the news," he said. "That has to mean the danger's past, doesn't it? He's come out in the open again. . . ."

She nodded. "Mom blames him for what happened to you," she said. "When the smugglers were all caught and Ryuuji Otogi said he was Duke Devlin, Mom just stared at the screen. I . . . I've never seen her look like that. I asked her if she would let him know that you were alive, but . . ."

He was still staring, his mind reeling, horror sweeping over him. He could scarcely comprehend. Duke thought he was dead?! It had been almost a year. A year! And his mother had refused to let him know the truth?

"She wouldn't tell him out of spite?" he said, aghast. He had known she never liked Duke, but to withhold information like this!

She was still looking down. "She said she didn't want to give him false hope, since you might never wake up, but . . . I can't help it, I don't believe that. . . . I guess it sounds awful, but I already knew she blamed him for you being shot. . . ."

He was overwhelmed. "How did he look when you saw him on the news?" he asked. "Is he well?"

She bit her lip, but finally looked up at him. ". . . This is how he looked," she said. Slowly she pulled a newspaper out of her purse and handed it to him. He took it, adjusting his glasses to read.

A horrified frown crossed his features as he looked over the photograph on the front page.

"Duke . . . you look terrible," he whispered aloud.

The boy in the picture had been photographed at a press conference several days earlier. Even in grainy black-and-white, the dark circles under his eyes were obvious. The hair coming loose from the ponytail, as well as his sagging stance and drooping eyes, only added to the clear image of his exhaustion.

One of the reporters had noticed, too; she had actually commented, asking Duke if he ever planned to replace his deceased store manager. "Doing his job as well as yours is running you ragged, Mr. Devlin," she had bluntly said.

Duke had stiffened, according to the article, and had replied that he had no immediate plans to hire a new manager. "The Black Crown has gotten along fine these months with just me in charge," he had said. "And frankly, my health is none of your business."

The reader winced. But Duke had a point; after all, the reporters were not concerned with his health. They just wanted a juicy story.

He set the paper aside. "It can't go on like this," he said. "I can't believe Mom would just let him suffer like that!"

He grabbed for the telephone on his nightstand. His sister stared. "What are you doing?" she gasped.

"I'm going to call him," he said in determination. "He has to know I'm alive." He still remembered Duke's number, both for his apartment and for his work. Hopefully in a year he had not changed them. . . .

She looked at him, worried. "What if he doesn't believe it's you?" she said. "Maybe he'll think it's a cruel prank."

He paused, considering that. It was possible. . . . No, likely. Duke would not easily be taken in, especially after believing him dead for a year.

"He's already sick. The shock might make it worse," she broke into his thoughts.

That was something to worry about. But what could he do? How could he wait until he was strong enough to go back to Domino? In fact, just showing up might be a worse shock. And calling would be better than a letter or an email, which could most definitely be faked.

". . . He's not going to get better," he said at last. "He's going to keep going on like this. I have to try."

At last she nodded. She could not stop him.

He glanced at the clock. Duke would still be at his office right now. Pausing a moment to bring the number to his mind, he took a deep breath and dialed.

One ring, two rings. . . .

Click. "Hello?"

It was so strange, hearing a voice that he had not heard for close to a year. Yet as far as his memory went, it could have been only yesterday. The last he had seen of Duke, he had pushed him out of the way of a sniper bullet. Then he, already having been struck down by another, had passed out of awareness---and as far as he had known, life altogether.

"Duke? . . ."

At his side, his sister gripped the edge of her skirt. She looked as uneasy and anxious as he felt.

There was a long pause. ". . . Who is this?" Duke's voice was suddenly gruff and suspicious---and filled with pain. He recognized the caller's voice, yet he knew it could not be.

". . . It's me. It's David."

Now there was a loud crash. Duke had dropped the phone. David winced. Would he pick it up again at all? Or would he promptly hang it up? In the background, he could hear Duke breathing heavily and whispering to himself. "Oh God . . . oh my God. . . ."

David's heart twisted. Duke was so different. . . . He had changed so much in the past year. That was obvious from his agonized voice.

"Duke?" he tried again.

At last the phone was grabbed once more. "Look, who is this?!" Duke snapped. "You have a lot of nerve! Who are you?!"

"Duke, I know it's impossible for you to believe," David said quietly. "It's really me. I didn't die; I've been in a coma. My family faked my death because they were afraid the assassin would come back to finish the job. They wouldn't tell you the truth, even when the danger was over. I'm so sorry. . . ."

Another long silence. "I can't believe this," Duke said then. "After all this time . . . I just can't."

"I know you need some time," David said. "I'll leave you alone for a while so you can think it over. But do you have this number?"

". . . Yeah, I have caller I.D."

"Okay. You can call me, if you want." David hesitated. "I just want you to know that this is the first chance I've had to call you. I woke up not too long ago, but I didn't know you thought I was dead until today. That was something that was deliberately kept from me." He could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.

". . . Okay." He could tell that Duke still did not believe him. "Maybe I'll call later." With that he hung up, not even saying goodbye.

David sighed, placing the receiver back in the cradle. ". . . Well," he said to his sister, "it could have gone worse. . . ." His eyes narrowed. "And I'm going to have a long talk with Mom about this."

She swallowed. "She won't like it. . . ."

"I don't like it." David stared at the newspaper. "I can hardly believe she did this."

She looked down. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should have called and told him. . . ."

David was silent. ". . . I can't deny I think you should have."

She gave a slow nod.
****
Duke ran a shaking hand over his face. His mind was reeling, his heart in shock.

What had just happened?

He got up from his chair, crossing to the window. If it was not for the number on the caller I.D., he would think he had fallen asleep and dreamed it all. He never had recovered from what had happened a year ago, when he had gone undercover to catch the smugglers who had tried to kill him. He still remembered running into that hotel room . . . seeing David lying on the floor, blood everywhere . . . seeing him die. . . .

"That couldn't have been you," he choked out to the empty room. "It couldn't have been!"

Couldn't it?

What if it was the truth? What if David had somehow, miraculously survived, but had been in a coma all these months? What if his family had done the same thing Duke had done and the grave in the cemetery was actually empty?

What about when he had heard and seen David's spirit at the press conference? Had it been his imagination because he had longed for it so much?

He turned, going back to the desk and looking at the caller I.D. There was no name, just the number.

He would find out who it belonged to. He sank at his desk, bringing his computer off of Standby Mode.

His hands shook as he typed, opening the Internet and then the White Pages.

David. . . . Could it have been him?

He clicked on Reverse Lookup, then typed the phone number.

He had blamed himself for David's death all this time. His adopted brother. . . . His best friend. . . .

The result came back. Tanaka. He recognized the names of David's parents.

He gasped, turning pale. "Oh God. . . ."

He grabbed the telephone, dialing the number without a second thought.

There was a click after the first ring. "Hello?"

"David," Duke choked out.

"Yeah." He could hear the bittersweet smile in David's voice. "It's me, Dukey-boy. It's really me."
****
There was so much to say, but so little time to say it. They talked for an hour but barely scratched the surface. David could not tell much, but he told what he knew of what had happened. Duke told him about the store, Yugi and the others, and---only on David's prompting---himself.

"It's been so hard," Duke said, the ache in his heart clearly audible in his voice. "I know it's bad business, but I wasn't able to get a new manager. I just wasn't. . . ."

David's heart ached for him. "Oh Duke . . . if I'd just been there. . . ."

"You're alive," Duke said. "That's all I've wanted to hear."

And that was when David saw his mother standing in the doorway, staring at him. She looked stricken.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Duke," he said, making sure she knew to whom he was speaking. "I have to go now. I'll call you later, alright?"

"Just call me whenever," Duke said. "I don't care if it's two in the morning. I want to know how you're doing."

David smiled a bit. "I won't call that late," he said. "And don't stay up that late. You've got to get your health back."

"I'll be fine. Listen to you, you've been out of it for a year and you tell me I need to get my health back."

"Hey, I'm doing great," David said. "I just need to make sure my body knows how to walk and that sort of thing. And it doesn't look like it's forgotten. It's just a little wobbly."

Duke managed a laugh. "Well, good." He said goodbye and ended the call.

David hung up, then looked to his mother with accusing eyes. "I can't believe you let him think I was dead," he said. "You should have told him as soon as it was safe."

She shook her head, looking overwhelmed. "Sheri told you, didn't she?" she said.

"Only because I kept prodding." David's eyes narrowed. "I don't like being lied to, Mom. And I don't like how you treated Duke."

And the emotions building through the past year broke free. "How I treated him?!" she exclaimed. "What about how he treated you?! He got you into this. It's his fault that you were laying at death's door for all these months. Why should I want to tell him anything? Why would he deserve to know?"

"That's not fair, Mom." David reached down, gripping at the newspaper. "It wasn't his fault! I chose to help him. He didn't want me involved. He didn't want anyone involved. He kept trying to convince me to get out while I still could. But I wouldn't abandon him. So if you want to blame anyone, just blame me! I got myself into that mess. Duke was able to bring down the smugglers because of it, but that doesn't take away all the pain I've brought to you and Dad and all the family, and to Duke."

He held out the newspaper. "Mom, look at him!" he exclaimed. "He looks ready to collapse. And I doubt he's been getting enough to eat. He's skin and bones." He clenched a fist on the counter. "I know him, Mom. He's trying to go on, but he's pushing himself too hard. And when he does that, he never stops until he hits his breaking point. I wasn't going to let him reach it. I called him as soon as I knew the truth."

She stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "After everything that happened to you because of him, your father and I agreed that we didn't want him to know anything more about you." She avoided looking directly at the picture. She had blamed Duke and downright hated him for months. But when she had seen that picture several days ago, her heart had twisted. She was a good person, and in spite of her dislike of Duke Devlin, the sight of him so under-the-weather troubled her.

"I'm of age, Mom. I think I should have a say in that." David held up the paper, trying to get her to look at it. "How can you look at this and not feel guilty for what's been done here? Duke is still racked with guilt over what he had to do when he let everyone think he was dead." He stared into his mother's eyes. "Mom, Duke won't even hire a new manager. He's been working both my job and his for the past year. That's why he's so sick."

"I know!" Mrs. Tanaka exclaimed in anguish. "I know. . . ." She sank into a chair, dazed and guilt-stricken. What had she done? Deep down, she knew it had not been just to protect David that she had said nothing. She had been bitter and hateful. She had felt that Duke did not deserve to know the truth. But he was so ill. And she knew that was not right.

"Oh David . . ." She looked sadly at her son. "What has always drawn you to that boy? Your father and I forbade you to have anything to do with him, but you never listened. You were obedient on almost everything else, yet you couldn't stay away from Duke Devlin."

David lowered the newspaper to his lap. "I could see he needed someone," he said. "He always was such a lonely, sad kid. He tried to hide it by being tough or by flirting with any pretty girl who strolled by. So I tried to reach out to him.

"I always thought of him like a younger brother," he said now. "I know I wasn't allowed to say that when I was a kid. But I'm an adult now. And I still feel the same.

"Mom, Dukey-boy needs me. And with or without your blessing, as soon as I can travel I'm going back to Domino City."

At last she met his gaze again. "For good?" she said, her voice without hope.

"Why don't you and Dad move back?" David said. "There's good homes in Domino."

For a moment she did nothing. But then she gave a small, hesitant nod. "Maybe," she said. "If your father would consider it." She sighed, sadness creeping into her voice. "The family's so spread apart now. . . ."

David laid a hand on her shoulder. "I wish we could all live closer together too," he said.

Comments

[rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com]

Oooh, what a piece. It's so heartbreaking for David to realize that Duke has been pushed to such a state, and that his mother didn't tell him the truth.

I love his righteous anger, and how he does call Duke right away. And Duke's reaction is definitely believable. But I love how they talked for an hour. X3

David's talk with his mother was well-done, too.

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I didn't and don't really like the idea of David's death having been faked, not to mention him being in a coma for a year, but the interaction that came out of the scenario is something I really am proud of.