Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Honey, I'm home ❯ Honey, I'm home ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The first time Leon barreled through the door and called “Honey, I'm home!”, he was greeted with a resounding slap.
“So good of you to join us precisely at tea-time, Mr. Detective,” D bit out, cradling his stinging palm. “Will you be imposing on us today as well?” Leon grinned, shielding himself behind a cheesecake.
“You'd think you'd be used to me by now D.” D snatched the cake with a muttered 'Indeed' and moved about setting up what had become their routine.
Leon sipped his tea carefully, noting with some amusement that D had forgotten to add sugar.
The second time Leon bellowed “Honey, I'm home!” he was accosted by a flying pet-hair brush.
“I fully understand that your brain has no capacity for basic decorum, Mr. Detective.” D stormed across the room and wrenched the brush out of Leon's grasp. “However even you cannot be so dense as to think invading someone's home on a Sunday is acceptable.”
Chris peeked out from behind his older brother and shyly held up a picnic basket. 'Happy Mother's Day D! Brother said we should do something special for you.'
“Oh did he?” D asked, shooting a truly nasty glare at the chortling older Orcott.
'Uh huh.' Chris replied in his wordless way of talking. 'Brother let me help make it too! So let's eat together, okay? Promise you guys wont fight?'
“Of course. We can bring Pon-chan and T-chan. Why don't you go call them?” Chris left the basket with his brother and raced off to call his animal friends. “And you!” D whirled on the still-grinning detective, jabbing him in the chest with his abnormally long fingernail.
“Now, now D. You just promised Chris we wouldn't fight.”
“I despise you,” D stated coolly and turned away.
Leon wondered how long it would take the Chinese man to realize he had broken one of his precious fingernails.
The third time Leon yelled “Honey, I'm home!”, a ceramic vase smashed into the wall a few centimeters from his head. Jill, forewarned, giggled from a safe distance.
Leon!” She chastised out of a sense of duty. “That's harassment!”
“May I take this to mean you will be my witness when I file charges?” Leon wisely stood out of jabbing range while D swept up the shattered pottery. He could have sworn that one was an antique.
“Leon invited me over for lunch. I hope that's okay.”
“Detective Orcott does not have that authority, however you are welcome to stay as my guest.”
“He's quite a boor, isn't he?”
“I have yet to meet someone quite as unrefined.”
“He does have his good points... he's pretty simple-minded, but he's got a good heart.”
D sniffed disbelievingly. “His bad taste tends to overshadow everything else. Have you seen the filth in his apartment?”
Leon tagged behind the gossiping pair, content just to listen to them talk. Standing up for himself made little sense: it wasn't like he could ever actually get a word in. Besides, it was fun to watch. D was rarely fully involved in a conversation, and today was the most animated Leon had ever seen him. His eyes glittered and his face was dusted a light pink from justified irritation, and he didn't seem to notice just how much he waved his hands around.
Their tea lasted two hours. D spent the entire time talking about him.
He stands in the doorway, streaming torrents of water onto the shop's carpet. He shakes himself briskly, dog-like, sending showers of drops everywhere. His hair, once pure gold, is now tinted with silver, his once smooth face now beginning to be delineated.
“It's f$cking pouring out there,” he comments unnecessarily. He moves with a limp from a car accident in Berlin, and settles himself on the sofa. He never did wait for an invitation.
“Mr. Detective...”
He waves one hand idly. “Gave that up a while back, pretty much a handy-man now. Take any job I can get. God, look at you!” He grins almost appreciatively. “You haven't changed a bit!”
And D hasn't. He isn't subjected to the same flow of time. He stands, teenage-like face impassive, perfectly manicured hands folded over each other, unsure of what to do, what to say.
“Ah, Neo-Chinatown, huh? Took me f$cking forever to find this place. Looks like you're doing okay though. Don't freak me out like that. Made me grow God-damned gray hair at twenty five.”
“Is that all you're going to say to me?” D blurts out, surprising himself. “Is that all you searched for me to say?” His voice trembles. It doesn't seem right, speaking to this man so familiarly, this man who is Detective Orcott, but not. D understands time. He has watched it pass for many others. But the years in this man's hands scare him. Time moves so quickly... what if it had been too late?
He had forgotten. While he was running he had forgotten that Leon was only human, that he would not live forever.
“I finally figured out how you assassinated Kennedy.”
A thin, mocking smile settles on the shop-owner's lips. “Of course, Mr. Orcott. It seems you've changed very little yourself.” He turns away to hide his face; he would not be able to explain the tears that gathered in the corner of his eyes.
Strong arms snare his waist, halting his escape. He is pulled against a broad chest and held tightly. The grip doesn't loosen even though he tries to pull away.
“So you really have been waiting for me all this time?”
“De...Mr. Orcott. If you don't change out of those clothes you'll catch a cold.”
A quiet sigh stirs his jet-black hair. He feels the weight as the American's head slides down to rest against his shoulder. There is a murmuring so quiet, yet it thunders through the room.
“Honey... I'm home...”
The hesitance, the uncertainty in his words slices through the defenses D spent decades perfecting, and the tears flow.
“De...Leon. I...”
“Come on. You know you want to say it. And no, I'm not talking about 'let's shove him off a boat'. The other thing you've always wanted to say.”
D twists around to face the blond and allows himself to crumple into the comfort he hadn't known he had been longing for, no longer sure whether he was laughing or crying.
“Welcome home,” he whispers, his fingers twisting in the fabric of a soggy shirt. “Welcome home, my Leon.”
Time moves quickly. So... even if only for this moment, allow me to be happy.