![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katikatI'm about to post the Gorgeous Carat fic "Innocent Souls" that I've finished after 2 years but since it's kind of a sequel, I decided to re-post the prequel here first.
Title: Carnival of Souls
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katikat
Fandom: Gorgeous Carat
Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply here.
Words: ~6000
Warnings: Past NCS and drug abuse as found in the books.
Rating: Mature
Summary: It's the Carnival in Venice... And Floréan remembers the horrors he went through in Africa.
Notes: This story was beta'ed byyami_tai all those years ago when I wrote it...
Notes2: I use the German version "Floréan" for the main hero because that's what I'm used to, having the books in German.
Notes3: I like dependent Floréan, the way he is portrayed in the manga. He isn't weak, what he went through in Azura's hands kind of broke him, as it was shown in the books.
The bright lights of the town glistened on the surface of the channels, the joyful cheering of people and loud music rose towards the dark sky, strewn with twinkling stars. Venice was celebrating its annual carnival.
The black lacquered gondola slid silently through the narrow channels, heading unerringly towards its destination. A young dark-skinned boy stood at the oar in the back. He was dressed in simple but elegant clothes, his posture sure and experienced. In the middle of the gondola, two figures sat on the seats cushioned with velvet. They were both men.
The first one was dressed completely in black velvet adorned with silver embroidery, a cloak hanging from his shoulders. He had his hair pulled back in a short ponytail and a black mask, encrusted with diamonds and decorated with long black feathers, hid the upper half of his face. The way he was leaning against the side of the gondola with one of his legs propped on the seat in front of him, a smirk on his face - all spoke of confidence and arrogance.
The man sitting next to him had white clothes on, embroidered with gold thread and a long white cloak. His blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders, his face also hidden behind a feathered mask - a white one, set with amethysts. He was fidgeting, looking around nervously, wringing the white velvet gloves in his hands.
The men were obviously rich, very rich and completely at home here. And although they looked like day and night, they resembled two sides of a coin, different but inseparable.
When the gondola finally bumped gently against the slick wet stairs leading up to a brightly lit house full of laughing people, the black-clad man jumped out nimbly leaning back to offer his hand to the other man. When he pulled the white figure up, he turned to the boy holding the oar tightly in his strong hands.
"Wait here, Laila," the dark man said, grinning behind the mask. "It shouldn't take us long."
The boy looked up, revealing his face and the fact that he wasn't a he at all but a she. Laila beamed at her employer. "Sure thing, Noir. But hurry up, I'm getting hungrier by the minute."
Noir, also known as Ray Balzac Courlande, flashed his white teeth in the darkness. "You are a bottomless pit. If you don't watch out, you will soon be as fat as a piglet."
She scowled at him and if she could, she would have smacked him over his feathered head with the oar.
The dark man raised one hand to placate her. "We will hurry. I promise. And then I will take you to the small restaurant you found today."
Laila smiled in content, making herself comfortable in one of the luxurious seats, intent on taking a nap.
Noir laid one hand around the white-clad man's shoulders as they headed up the narrow steps. "You remember your part, Floréan?" he leaned closer and whispered into his companion's ear.
The young heir of the Rochefort family grimaced. "I can't believe you talked me into helping you steal something," he muttered, his eyes flickering from side to side as they stepped into the crowd of masked and costumed people, milling about laughing and drinking champagne.
Squeezing Floréan's shoulders more tightly, Noir kept close as he said softly. "I thought we solved this little problem. You are in my debt. And until you can pay me back, you will do as I say." Grinning deviously, he then brushed the blond man's ear with the tip of his tongue and had to laugh when his "protégé" almost jumped out of his skin. "Whatever I say," he added huskily.
"Pervert!" Floréan snapped silently.
"Floréan...!" Noir urged quietly for they were nearing the entrance of the palazzo.
Floréan sighed deeply and repeated the familiar words like a petulant child. "Find Countess Sforzo. She wears a green and blue domino and a full-face white mask adorned with emeralds. In case of doubts, there should be a stone as big as an egg in the middle of the mask's forehead. The Green Dragon." He shot his companion a disgusted look. "And your target."
Noir smiled and as they entered the Renaissance palazzo he snatched a glass of champagne from the tray a modestly clad waiter with a long-nosed mask carried by. "The stone is worth millions and I want him."
The blond man snorted for that much was obvious. "I'm still not sure how you want to steal it though."
Noir grinned widely. "That's a secret," he whispered and with a last brush of lips over Floréan's ear, he pushed the other man in the direction of the hall on the ground floor while he himself headed up the spiral staircase made of white marble.
*-*-*-*-*-*
"What am I doing here? This is ridiculous," Floréan muttered as he dislodged another woman that latched onto his arm in a desperate attempt to seduce a complete stranger.
He mingled in the crowd, just as Noir told him to do, but large masses of people had never been his favorite place to be. He hated the parties his mother organized but such decadence as this place offered downright turned his stomach. Men and women in masks, drunk and high, were kissing and groping each other, some of them almost naked. He had heard a lot about the carnival in Venice but he never even suspected something like this.
Pressing himself against the wall, he wiped the sweat from his face with a laced handkerchief and once again wished for fresh air and a glass of water. Once more around and I'm out of here, he decided and steeling himself he stepped into the crowd again.
And then, just as he was about to give up his search for the blue and green domino, he caught a glimpse of the Countess in the gap between two dancers. Rushing forward to not lose the woman from his sight, he pushed through the people. He watched as the Countess and her companion who was dressed in the blue garb of a musketeer looked around carefully, then slipped behind a dark curtain, covering one wall of the room. Floréan quickened his steps, not wanting to lose the couple.
As he reached the wall curtained by heavy velvet, he lifted the fabric and looked behind it. He blinked in surprise as he noticed a small door that was open a crack. He followed the example of the Countess and quickly scanned the room, then he slipped into the entranceway.
The walls of the short passage were covered in deep red brocade and lit by candles that lined the walls in golden candleholders. The floor sloped slightly and the corridor ended with a doorway, covered with another curtain. It led into a vast dark room where masked people lay half naked on pillows on the floor, laughing, moaning and doing other things he wanted to know nothing about. He squinted into the dark, the only source of light the fire burning in a huge fireplace on the other side of the room. He couldn't pick anything out in the gloom and didn't dare to enter the unknown place.
Then suddenly, Floréan froze. His heart started to hammer in his chest, his breath shallow. There was a strange sweetness in the air that overlaid the smell of naked sweating bodies and the heavy fragrance of perfume. It almost overwhelmed him as it attacked his lungs and mind like an enraged animal. Floréan knew the scent very well, intimately even. His head started to spin as unwanted memories rushed back. He gasped, his eyes going wide, then he released a short, pain filled, desperate cry...
And fled.
*-*-*-*-*-*
It's strange how many people obviously love the dominos, Noir thought to himself, as he passed another woman, dressed in that costume, this time in the colors blue and red. He knew that the Countess was there somewhere in the palazzo that her husband bought for her when she promised not to bother him and his teen lover on the Isle of Capri. It couldn't be that hard to find one woman in her own house, could it?
He scanned the crowd with his eyes once more, then stepped outside on the balcony. Pulling a cigar from his waistcoat's pocket, he lit it and took a deep pull. Walking along beside the railing to a place from where he could overlook the vast room inside and the courtyard at the same time, he leaned with his hip against the balustrade and crossed his arms on his chest. He wondered if maybe Floréan had had more luck.
As soon as he finished that thought, a strange sweetness teased his nose. It was so strong that it drowned the smell of his cigar. Noir frowned and quenched his cigar, then threw it over the railing down into the courtyard. The smell hanging in the air was strangely familiar. But for the moment he couldn't...
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. He hated puzzles he couldn't figure out. The sweet smoke that was rising from a window somewhere under the balcony left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could almost hear the pieces in his mind click in place.
Noir's eyes flew open and he straightened. Opium. The sweetness in the air was opium.
Floréan!
He burst back into the room and pushed aside the screaming, cursing people. The idiots were in his way and he had to find Floréan. He had to get back to him. Now!
The black cloak flying after him like dark wings, Noir ran down the stairs, taking two, three at once. In the hall on the ground floor, he quickly scanned the masses of costumed people. Where was he? Floréan's white clothes should have been an unmistakable beacon in the sea of the fancy clad bodies but Noir couldn't spot him anywhere.
His heart thumping in his ears, he grabbed the first best person and barked out: "The white clad man with a white feather mask! You must have noticed him. Where is he?"
His victim glared at him through a full-faced porcelain mask with small, pig-like drunken eyes. "Hey, what do you think you are doing?" The man tried to pull away, but Noir squeezed his throat and lifted him on the tips of his toes.
"Where. Is. He?!" the thief hissed through clenched teeth.
The man opened his eyes wide in fear, then pointed to the main entrance with a shaking finger. "He... He ran away," he answered with a quivering voice.
Noir draw the man closer and glared at him, his green eyes sparkling like emeralds behind the black mask. "Why? What happened to him?"
The man swallowed, choking as Noir tightened his grip. "Some... Something must have scared him. I-I don't know what. I swear," the man added quickly, almost whining.
Noir snarled and threw the shaking mass of fat aside, then ran for the doorway.
It was getting late but the people were still celebrating. The music from palazzos surrounding the small square merged into a loud cacophony, laughter, yells and screams adding to the noise, making it hard to hear one's own words.
"Floréan!" Noir shouted, trying to roar down the racket. "Floréan! Where are you?!"
Then a flash of white in the ocean of dancing bodies caught his attention. He forced his way through to a group of youngsters, not older than ten or eleven, dancing in a circle, the one in the middle playing with a white feathered mask.
Fury seized Noir as he snatched the mask from the boy and snarled into his face: "Where is the man who had this on?!" When the boys froze and stared at him in fear, he shouted again: "Where is he?"
The boys quickly pointed to a narrow street leading away from the square, nothing more than a servants' passage. Noir let the urchins go and quickly headed for the alley. His worry for Floréan was slowly turning into panic. He remembered what the young aristocrat almost did when they were trying to cure him from his addiction to the hideous drug. Some of his most vivid nightmares centered around Floréan's suicide attempt.
Noir slowed down and cautiously approached the mouth of the alley. He wouldn't do Floréan any good if he got whacked over his head by some robbers out for his money purse. He stepped into the darkness of the passage and squinted into the shadows.
"Floréan!" he called out but received no answer.
There! A faint noise. Slowly he headed in the direction he had heard the rustle from. His breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him as he rounded a pile of garbage. There was Floréan huddled on the ground, knees pressed to his chest, head lowered, his blond hair hiding the expression on his face. The older man's white clothes were dirty and stained from the ground and the slick, mould covered wall he was pressed against.
Carefully, warily, Noir dropped to his knees, heedless of staining his own trousers. He took off his mask and laid both of the feathered things, his and Floréan's, on the ground. Very slowly he then lifted one hand and laid it on the blond head of his companion. Floréan jerked under his touch, huddling into an even smaller ball.
Noir's eyes grew sad at his reaction. He had hoped that they were over this but now he recognized that he fooled himself. What Azura did to Floréan would never be forgotten. Nor forgiven. Floréan simply suppressed the unpleasant memories to deal with the horror he had had to live through. The horror Azura had put him through.
Even though the blond man grew rigid under his hand, barely breathing, Noir caressed his hair gently and continued the slow, comforting motion until he felt his companion relax, one muscle after another. Finally, he slid his hand to Floréan's cheek and down to his chin and lifted the blond head. The white face was tearstained, the amethyst eyes overly large in the pinched paleness. More tears slid down Floréan's cheeks as he regarded Noir with a broken expression.
When Floréan's breath hitched in his throat, Noir caressed his tear-stained cheek with his thumb. "It's okay. It's over. Everything is over now. It's in the past, gone," he assured the blond man with a gentle voice, so unlike his usual gruffness.
Floréan blinked and oh so slowly uncoiled from the small ball to lean forward and press his wet cheek to his companion's black shirt. "I remembered," he whispered in a voice so quiet that Noir had to strain his ears to catch his admission. "It was... it was the smell... that brought everything back."
Noir laid his arms lightly around the other man's shoulders, giving reassurance without restraining. "The opium, huh?"
Floréan nodded then gripped the dark-haired man's shirt tightly in his fists. "I tried. I fought him and tried to hold my breath as he forced the pipe between my lips, but he held me restrained and pinched my nose. I try to hold out, but then I was suffocating and had to breathe in." He sobbed, shaking in the arms of the man that owned his life. "After that, I didn't fight him anymore." His voice hardened with hatred. "And I hated myself for it, for craving the drug."
Stifling a curse, Noir laid his cheek on the blond hair. "It was the opium. That wasn't you."
As if Noir didn't say anything, Floréan continued. "Once, I tried to stab him. He laughed in my face." He tore himself out of the warm and protecting embrace to look the other man in his green eyes. "I was weak. I AM weak. I'm a weakling, nothing more."
Noir gripped Floréan's shoulders. "That's not true! You are not weak. Did you forget? He caught me too. He imprisoned me, shackled me, whipped me... Does that make me weak?" His voice was hoarse with his own painful memories.
Floréan shook his head. "That's different. You surrendered to him to save the others. I did it because my own body betrayed me. I let him touch me... and it hurt and I didn't do anything!" He lowered his head in shame.
Enraged from hearing the proud aristocrat abase himself so, Noir shook his companion roughly. "You didn't surrender! You were raped!" When Floréan flinched at the word, Noir repeated it. "Raped! It was not your fault. Rape is a vile act, the statement of power over someone who can't defend themselves, be it a man or a woman." Floréan stayed silent so Noir shook him once more, this time more gently though and lifted his face once again to force the amethyst eyes to look into his. "Never forget that you're the victim here. You are not at fault," he emphasized.
Floréan blinked and when the other man released his chin, he lowered his head once again, still clutching the black shirt in his tightly closed fists. When he broke the silence, his voice shook and was full of deep sadness. "I never thought my first time would be like that. Forced, violent..." He swallowed painfully. "When he realized that I had never made love to anybody before, he laughed." His voice broke at the end.
Noir had suspected as much but to actually hear it hurt terribly. He remembered his own first time in Medina, the loss of virginity for couple of coins he needed not to starve to death. In this very moment he hated Azura enough to kill him. The white-haired man knew what happened to Noir, what he had to do to survive and long time ago seemed to find such an act abhorrent. How could Azura sink so low? How could he become the same beast they had despised as children?
Catching Floréan's face in both of his hands he looked his companion's in the eyes. "I swear that I won't let him hurt you again. He won't lay a finger on you." His voice was deadly serious.
Floréan touched the Noir's hands with his own and regarded the dark-haired man with a look of profound sadness. "Don't promise something you can't keep, Noir," he whispered. "Azura is still out there. He wants you and he hates me. He is determined to get what he desires and for some reason he is convinced that I'm in his way. He will kill me; sooner or later."
The blond man's words obviously upset Noir, but before he could say anything, a drunken couple stumbled into the alley, giggling and groping at each other's clothes, oblivious to the two men, crouching in the shadows. Noir blinked at the display they offered, the man pressing the woman against the wall and kissing her deeply whilst trying to pull up the hem of her dress. Floréan blushed deeply and looked away.
Noir cleared his throat, startling the two would-be-lovers. "Would you mind?" he asked, his voice heavy with irony.
The couple stuttered an embarrassed apology and fled, disappearing into the ocean of bodies in the square.
The dark-haired thief chuckled silently, coaxing a small smile from his blond companion. "I think this is not the right place for deep, serious discussions," he decided. "Let’s go home?"
Floréan nodded at the suggestion, allowing Noir to help him up. He dusted his dirt smeared clothes off and straightened them a bit, while his companion bent down and retrieved their masks. Noir slipped on the black feathered thing and handed the white one to Floréan.
"Put this on," he said, fixing his own clothes. "Your eyes are red like white rabbit's and your face is all blotchy." His voice was gruff, dismissing, but the deep undertones showed that he cared.
Putting on the mask, Floréan glared at the other man. "You're such a boor," he muttered, though he felt touched by the display of concern.
"Ready?" Noir asked and when Floréan answered with a nod they headed for the mouth of the alley.
Suddenly, the blond man gripped Noir's arm and stopped him in mid-stride. "Wait!"
The thief rolled his eyes. "What now?" he huffed.
"What about the emerald?" Floréan asked remembering why they actually came to Venice.
Noir waved his hand dismissively. "I will take care of it some other time. One stone more or less..." His voice was carefree, almost bored, as if he wasn't talking about a gem worth millions.
Floréan didn't even raise his eyebrows, already used to Noir's strange approach to things others seemed to consider important.
Noir laid his hand on the small of Floréan's back, pushing him forwards and covering his back. He decided to keep an eye on Floréan before the other man caused more trouble. A kidnapping or something similar was the last thing he needed to deal with during the chaos of a carnival. He kept his thoughts for himself, knowing that any talk about the blond man's trouble-drawing abilities irritated Floréan no end.
Even though he tried to distract Floréan and himself too, his mind kept returning to their adventures of the last couple of months. He knew that Floréan was right. Azura was still out there, hiding and watching. From time to time, he had the feeling that someone was following him. A shiver ran up his spine as he realized that it was more than likely that the Black Hand knew about their every step. Azura, the leader of the organization, was keeping a low profile but Noir didn't fool himself into believing that the white-haired man had lost interest in them. He would never be such a fool again to fall for the false security of the status quo they seemed to have achieved with their arch nemesis. Too much depended on him. Floréan's life depended on his ability to keep him safe.
He steered his companion towards the channel and the place where Laila was waiting for them. When they arrived at the slippery steps leading to their gondola, he breathed out in relief. Finally. He looked forward to the privacy of their hotel rooms. The screaming crowds were giving him headaches.
As soon as Laila spotted them on the stairs, she jumped up, almost falling into the water in the channel in her haste. "Do you have it?" she asked eagerly, bouncing like a little kid.
"No," Noir answered shortly, throwing her a 'I don't want to talk about it now' look, then descended the stairs and turned around to make sure Floréan wouldn't slip. He really didn't feel like fishing his companion from the dirty water. With his luck, Floréan would end up sick.
As they settled into the cushioned seats of the gondola and Noir gave the confused Laila the sign to get them home and don't ask any questions, Floréan sighed, propped his right arm on the side of the gondola and rested his head in his hand. His amethyst eyes were troubled. His left hand was balled in a tight fist in his lap, fingers clenching and unclenching in an uneasy manner.
After a short while, Noir had had enough of this nervous gesture, slipped his hand under Floréan's and entwined their fingers. When his blond companion shot him a surprised look, Noir just glared at him, but squeezed his hand in assurance. Floréan gave him the smallest of smiles.
During their ride to the hotel, they kept quite. The lights of the celebrating town glistened on the dark surface of water in the narrow channels where other gondolas passed by, their passengers, a lot of them in a gregarious mood, shouted greetings and invitations to join them. They didn't pay them any attention.
Just as they arrived at their hotel, the first fireworks lit up the dark sky. The three friends looked up and watched the rainbow colors dance on the deep blue background. The sound of people cheering and laughing reached their ears, the excited voices drowning the music that streamed from various palazzos flanking the channels.
When the spectacle died down among the disappointed cries of people, the trio walked up the stairs to the entrance of their hotel, where the receptionist-cum-owner was waiting for them already. He was a small man, thin, almost gaunt with a perpetual worried expression on his face.
"Signore Courlande," the man cried out as he saw their dirty clothes. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Noir smiled and took his mask off. "Yes, we are, Francesco. Just a small accident," he assured the nervous little man as their small group crossed the entrance hall and headed for the stairwell opposite the door. The receptionist scurried after them.
"Should I send you something to eat upstairs?" Francesco offered from the foot of the stairs where he gripped the banister nervously, watching them ascend the steps.
Noir stopped at the landing and looked at his companions. "Floréan?" he asked, but the blond man shook his head. He took off his mask too and uncovered the unnatural paleness of his face. Noir turned to Laila. "Laila?"
The dark-skinned girl grinned. "Well, this will take some time. Go ahead." She waved them off and headed down the stairs and towards the now even more nervous looking man to order a big dinner to satisfy her ravenous hunger.
Noir shook his head fondly, then laid his hand automatically on the small of Floréan's back and they continued their ascension of the carved marble stairwell.
When they entered the apartment they had rented for the time being, they turned on the light. The soft shine of the lamps lit up the large main room stuffed with antique furniture of the finest art. Their steps were muffled by the thick carpet that covered the elaborate tiles on the floor.
Noir threw his cloak and mask on one of the chairs, Floréan following his example with his cloak, keeping the feathered mask in hand though. While Noir went to the bar and poured himself a glass of bourbon and lit one of his favorite brand of cigars, the blond man remained standing by the door, his eyes lowered and in his hands he kept twisting the long white feathers, tearing them slowly apart one by one.
Finally he broke the silence hesitantly. "Noir..."
The thief seated himself comfortably in an armchair and puffing out a cloud of smoke, he looked at Floréan. Seeing the embarrassed reluctance in his posture, he recognized Floréan's need to talk, to get the things that caused his nightmares out into the open. And he hated himself for his own hesitancy to discuss them. As painful as they were for the older man, they were just as hurtful for him. His childhood friend turned into their worst enemy. The man he had loved as a brother and maybe more was replaced by a blue-eyed devil who knew no mercy only his own pleasure and need. And it hurt less when he kept it hidden in the shadows of his soul.
But then... this was not just about him. It had been him who involved Floréan in this. He offered the lamb to the wolf. He had been so happy to meet Azura again after years, that he didn't even consider that he might not be the same man anymore. And he still vividly remembered the moment he slapped Floréan when the blond man tried to warn him and practically sent him back into the claws of their nemesis. He had done enough damage and it was time to set his own desires aside and try to fix it.
But his silence lasted too long and now it was too late. Floréan looked at him with hurt in his eyes, then turned around and stormed to his room. "Never mind," he called over shoulder. "Goodnight."
"Damn it!" Noir whispered, angry with himself and drained the contents of his glass in one gulp, then leaned his head on the headrest of his chair. It was the same, every time. In the heat of a moment, he always said the right things, did the right things, gave comfort when needed... But when he had the time to think about it, to mull about it, he clammed up, hurting the people he cared about the most. Floréan needed him and he failed him again. "Damn it!"
The pain in his heart was so great, so overwhelming that he didn't even realize that he threw the fragile glass across the room until it shattered against the wall, shards exploding in every direction.
"Damn it to the hell!"
*-*-*-*-*-*
Floréan tossed and turned in his bed, unable to fall asleep. The memories he regained that evening flooded his head, the wheels of his mind turning and turning without rest. The room didn't feel comfortable anymore, the darkness overbearing. He felt as if every shadow was hiding the blue-eyed devil that visited his dreams regularly, throwing him in the claws of nightmares.
He sat up on the bed and reached for the glass of water that always stood on his night table. His hands were shaking so badly that he almost spilled its contents and when he took a gulp he nearly choked. His heart was hammering wildly and his breath was fast and shallow. God, when did he turn into a coward that feared his own shadow?
He set the glass back on the table and sank down into the soft pillows. It was some time ago that he heard Laila return and head to bed. He knew that now that they were all back and safe, Noir would go over all the doors and windows to see that they were locked properly, then check up on him and Laila. Only then he would go to bed himself just to be up in a couple of hours to repeat the routine. The master thief was not aware of the fact that since the time they had spent in the hands of Azura, every little noise woke Floréan up. That's how he knew of the dark-haired man's nightly visits.
Why? Why could Noir be so sweet and understanding in one moment and so pig-headed in another? It had always been hard for Floréan to read the other man's moods but since the whole incident with Azura, Noir turned even more unpredictable. He risked his life in stupid stunts then reprimanded them harshly when they, he and Laila, did the same to keep up with him. Floréan simply didn't know what to think anymore.
When the door clicked open as he knew it would, he decided to break his own routine and not just lie there quietly, pretending to be fast asleep. He cared for Noir and Noir cared for him, they worried about each other but somehow they were caught in a vicious circle of hiding and pretending that someone had to break. And it obviously wouldn't be Noir, who was overwhelmed by his own guilt.
And so it was Floréan who broke the silence and called out quietly: "Noir?"
The thief almost jumped out of his skin at Floréan's whisper, not expecting it. "You are awake?" he asked disturbed at being discovered.
Floréan had to smile at the rather foolish question. "Come in. Please?" he added, when the dark-haired man hesitated.
Taking a deep breath, Noir stepped into the room and closed the door. "I didn't want to do anything... anything like..." He couldn't finish.
"I know," the blond man answered. He really knew. Even in the night when the door opened for the first time he knew that Noir didn't come to hurt him. The thief would never do anything like that. "Stay with me tonight?" he asked softly, knowing that Noir would not misunderstand the meaning of his words. Sometimes, he could be quite sensitive.
"Ah...?"
The dark-haired man's reaction almost amused Floréan. He had never see Noir so uncertain. "I'm scared," he confessed.
His quiet admission did it. Noir stepped further into the room but before he could pull a chair closer to Floréan's bed just as he did on the ship when they were headed to Tunisia, Floréan pulled the covers aside and patted the mattress.
Noir watched him uncertainly in the dim light of the moon streaming in through the open curtains. It took him so long to decide whether or not he should do what Floréan asked of him that the blond man started to feel foolish for even making this offer. But when his face crumbled with disappointment and he started to pull the covers back up, Noir reached out and stopped him. He gave Floréan one more searching look, then kicked off his shoes and slipped into the warm bed.
Floréan turned onto his side, facing the window, feeling Noir's warmth pressed against his back. With a sigh he relaxed slowly. Even though his memories from the period of unresponsiveness that followed his opium withdrawal, the abuse and the shooting of Azura were rather hazy, he still remembered Noir's warmth as the thief took care of him, doing even the most simple and intimate things he couldn't manage to do on his own, hiding deep inside his soul from everything that happened.
Even though Floréan relaxed, Noir laid stiffly, barely breathing or touching the blond man. In the end, it was Floréan again who took the decisive step. He reached behind his back, found Noir's right hand and brought it around his waist, forcing the dark-haired man to lay on his left side, spooned behind Floréan.
At first, the action surprised Noir so much, that he stopped breathing at all. After a moment, when Floréan simply laid there, snuggled in his arms, he relaxed. Floréan understood his companion's reluctance. Noir had always been more of a tactile person than a talkative one, but on the other hand, all the touching they shared so far had been in fun, in the heat of a moment or in situations when they were almost positive that they wouldn't survive to regret their actions.
This was different. For both of them. But from the way their bodies melted together as if molded, fitting together so perfectly, it was obvious that that was the right thing to do, the thing they both needed.
"I'm sorry for tonight," Floréan whispered in the darkness.
Noir buried his nose into his bedmate's soft blond hair. "What for?"
Floréan shrugged slightly. "For the jewel, for my melodramatic performance... I've embarrassed myself and you too."
"No, you haven't," Noir assured him in a soft voice. "And it's me who should be apologizing. Everything that happened was my fault."
Squeezing the tanned hand on his stomach, Floréan whispered: "That’s not true. Remember what you told me? We've been victims. And if you've meant what you said then you can't blame yourself. That would be illogical and I've never seen the master thief Noir behave illogically. Well, maybe once or twice..." he added with a little smile.
Noir huffed, ruffling Floréan's blond strands. "I can never win an argument with you, can I?" When Floréan shook his head slightly, Noir added in a completely serious tone: "I'll always be here for you. I swear."
Floréan's heart fluttered then finally calmed down, just as his harried mind did. At least for the moment, he felt safe. He snuggled deeper into Noir's arms and they both finally fell asleep. No nightmares hunted their dreams that night.
*-*-*-*-*-*
Unbeknownst to them, their safety was only an illusion.
On the other side of the channel, another hotel lay, the windows of its rooms overlooking the channel. And there, in one of the rooms a man stood, partially hidden by a curtain, watching the window behind which Floréan and Noir slept peacefully. With his western attire and hair bound in a pony tail, they would have hardly recognized him but for the black flap, covering his blind eye.
A cruel smile graced the man's thin lips. One word from him would be enough to kill them, capture them, make them vanish forever... But he felt generous. He decided to leave them their false sense of freedom. No one had ever escaped the Black Hand and after all, revenge was a dish best served cold.
The End
Title: Carnival of Souls
Author:
katikatFandom: Gorgeous Carat
Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply here.
Words: ~6000
Warnings: Past NCS and drug abuse as found in the books.
Rating: Mature
Summary: It's the Carnival in Venice... And Floréan remembers the horrors he went through in Africa.
Notes: This story was beta'ed by
yami_tai all those years ago when I wrote it... Notes2: I use the German version "Floréan" for the main hero because that's what I'm used to, having the books in German.
Notes3: I like dependent Floréan, the way he is portrayed in the manga. He isn't weak, what he went through in Azura's hands kind of broke him, as it was shown in the books.
The bright lights of the town glistened on the surface of the channels, the joyful cheering of people and loud music rose towards the dark sky, strewn with twinkling stars. Venice was celebrating its annual carnival.
The black lacquered gondola slid silently through the narrow channels, heading unerringly towards its destination. A young dark-skinned boy stood at the oar in the back. He was dressed in simple but elegant clothes, his posture sure and experienced. In the middle of the gondola, two figures sat on the seats cushioned with velvet. They were both men.
The first one was dressed completely in black velvet adorned with silver embroidery, a cloak hanging from his shoulders. He had his hair pulled back in a short ponytail and a black mask, encrusted with diamonds and decorated with long black feathers, hid the upper half of his face. The way he was leaning against the side of the gondola with one of his legs propped on the seat in front of him, a smirk on his face - all spoke of confidence and arrogance.
The man sitting next to him had white clothes on, embroidered with gold thread and a long white cloak. His blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders, his face also hidden behind a feathered mask - a white one, set with amethysts. He was fidgeting, looking around nervously, wringing the white velvet gloves in his hands.
The men were obviously rich, very rich and completely at home here. And although they looked like day and night, they resembled two sides of a coin, different but inseparable.
When the gondola finally bumped gently against the slick wet stairs leading up to a brightly lit house full of laughing people, the black-clad man jumped out nimbly leaning back to offer his hand to the other man. When he pulled the white figure up, he turned to the boy holding the oar tightly in his strong hands.
"Wait here, Laila," the dark man said, grinning behind the mask. "It shouldn't take us long."
The boy looked up, revealing his face and the fact that he wasn't a he at all but a she. Laila beamed at her employer. "Sure thing, Noir. But hurry up, I'm getting hungrier by the minute."
Noir, also known as Ray Balzac Courlande, flashed his white teeth in the darkness. "You are a bottomless pit. If you don't watch out, you will soon be as fat as a piglet."
She scowled at him and if she could, she would have smacked him over his feathered head with the oar.
The dark man raised one hand to placate her. "We will hurry. I promise. And then I will take you to the small restaurant you found today."
Laila smiled in content, making herself comfortable in one of the luxurious seats, intent on taking a nap.
Noir laid one hand around the white-clad man's shoulders as they headed up the narrow steps. "You remember your part, Floréan?" he leaned closer and whispered into his companion's ear.
The young heir of the Rochefort family grimaced. "I can't believe you talked me into helping you steal something," he muttered, his eyes flickering from side to side as they stepped into the crowd of masked and costumed people, milling about laughing and drinking champagne.
Squeezing Floréan's shoulders more tightly, Noir kept close as he said softly. "I thought we solved this little problem. You are in my debt. And until you can pay me back, you will do as I say." Grinning deviously, he then brushed the blond man's ear with the tip of his tongue and had to laugh when his "protégé" almost jumped out of his skin. "Whatever I say," he added huskily.
"Pervert!" Floréan snapped silently.
"Floréan...!" Noir urged quietly for they were nearing the entrance of the palazzo.
Floréan sighed deeply and repeated the familiar words like a petulant child. "Find Countess Sforzo. She wears a green and blue domino and a full-face white mask adorned with emeralds. In case of doubts, there should be a stone as big as an egg in the middle of the mask's forehead. The Green Dragon." He shot his companion a disgusted look. "And your target."
Noir smiled and as they entered the Renaissance palazzo he snatched a glass of champagne from the tray a modestly clad waiter with a long-nosed mask carried by. "The stone is worth millions and I want him."
The blond man snorted for that much was obvious. "I'm still not sure how you want to steal it though."
Noir grinned widely. "That's a secret," he whispered and with a last brush of lips over Floréan's ear, he pushed the other man in the direction of the hall on the ground floor while he himself headed up the spiral staircase made of white marble.
*-*-*-*-*-*
"What am I doing here? This is ridiculous," Floréan muttered as he dislodged another woman that latched onto his arm in a desperate attempt to seduce a complete stranger.
He mingled in the crowd, just as Noir told him to do, but large masses of people had never been his favorite place to be. He hated the parties his mother organized but such decadence as this place offered downright turned his stomach. Men and women in masks, drunk and high, were kissing and groping each other, some of them almost naked. He had heard a lot about the carnival in Venice but he never even suspected something like this.
Pressing himself against the wall, he wiped the sweat from his face with a laced handkerchief and once again wished for fresh air and a glass of water. Once more around and I'm out of here, he decided and steeling himself he stepped into the crowd again.
And then, just as he was about to give up his search for the blue and green domino, he caught a glimpse of the Countess in the gap between two dancers. Rushing forward to not lose the woman from his sight, he pushed through the people. He watched as the Countess and her companion who was dressed in the blue garb of a musketeer looked around carefully, then slipped behind a dark curtain, covering one wall of the room. Floréan quickened his steps, not wanting to lose the couple.
As he reached the wall curtained by heavy velvet, he lifted the fabric and looked behind it. He blinked in surprise as he noticed a small door that was open a crack. He followed the example of the Countess and quickly scanned the room, then he slipped into the entranceway.
The walls of the short passage were covered in deep red brocade and lit by candles that lined the walls in golden candleholders. The floor sloped slightly and the corridor ended with a doorway, covered with another curtain. It led into a vast dark room where masked people lay half naked on pillows on the floor, laughing, moaning and doing other things he wanted to know nothing about. He squinted into the dark, the only source of light the fire burning in a huge fireplace on the other side of the room. He couldn't pick anything out in the gloom and didn't dare to enter the unknown place.
Then suddenly, Floréan froze. His heart started to hammer in his chest, his breath shallow. There was a strange sweetness in the air that overlaid the smell of naked sweating bodies and the heavy fragrance of perfume. It almost overwhelmed him as it attacked his lungs and mind like an enraged animal. Floréan knew the scent very well, intimately even. His head started to spin as unwanted memories rushed back. He gasped, his eyes going wide, then he released a short, pain filled, desperate cry...
And fled.
*-*-*-*-*-*
It's strange how many people obviously love the dominos, Noir thought to himself, as he passed another woman, dressed in that costume, this time in the colors blue and red. He knew that the Countess was there somewhere in the palazzo that her husband bought for her when she promised not to bother him and his teen lover on the Isle of Capri. It couldn't be that hard to find one woman in her own house, could it?
He scanned the crowd with his eyes once more, then stepped outside on the balcony. Pulling a cigar from his waistcoat's pocket, he lit it and took a deep pull. Walking along beside the railing to a place from where he could overlook the vast room inside and the courtyard at the same time, he leaned with his hip against the balustrade and crossed his arms on his chest. He wondered if maybe Floréan had had more luck.
As soon as he finished that thought, a strange sweetness teased his nose. It was so strong that it drowned the smell of his cigar. Noir frowned and quenched his cigar, then threw it over the railing down into the courtyard. The smell hanging in the air was strangely familiar. But for the moment he couldn't...
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. He hated puzzles he couldn't figure out. The sweet smoke that was rising from a window somewhere under the balcony left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could almost hear the pieces in his mind click in place.
Noir's eyes flew open and he straightened. Opium. The sweetness in the air was opium.
Floréan!
He burst back into the room and pushed aside the screaming, cursing people. The idiots were in his way and he had to find Floréan. He had to get back to him. Now!
The black cloak flying after him like dark wings, Noir ran down the stairs, taking two, three at once. In the hall on the ground floor, he quickly scanned the masses of costumed people. Where was he? Floréan's white clothes should have been an unmistakable beacon in the sea of the fancy clad bodies but Noir couldn't spot him anywhere.
His heart thumping in his ears, he grabbed the first best person and barked out: "The white clad man with a white feather mask! You must have noticed him. Where is he?"
His victim glared at him through a full-faced porcelain mask with small, pig-like drunken eyes. "Hey, what do you think you are doing?" The man tried to pull away, but Noir squeezed his throat and lifted him on the tips of his toes.
"Where. Is. He?!" the thief hissed through clenched teeth.
The man opened his eyes wide in fear, then pointed to the main entrance with a shaking finger. "He... He ran away," he answered with a quivering voice.
Noir draw the man closer and glared at him, his green eyes sparkling like emeralds behind the black mask. "Why? What happened to him?"
The man swallowed, choking as Noir tightened his grip. "Some... Something must have scared him. I-I don't know what. I swear," the man added quickly, almost whining.
Noir snarled and threw the shaking mass of fat aside, then ran for the doorway.
It was getting late but the people were still celebrating. The music from palazzos surrounding the small square merged into a loud cacophony, laughter, yells and screams adding to the noise, making it hard to hear one's own words.
"Floréan!" Noir shouted, trying to roar down the racket. "Floréan! Where are you?!"
Then a flash of white in the ocean of dancing bodies caught his attention. He forced his way through to a group of youngsters, not older than ten or eleven, dancing in a circle, the one in the middle playing with a white feathered mask.
Fury seized Noir as he snatched the mask from the boy and snarled into his face: "Where is the man who had this on?!" When the boys froze and stared at him in fear, he shouted again: "Where is he?"
The boys quickly pointed to a narrow street leading away from the square, nothing more than a servants' passage. Noir let the urchins go and quickly headed for the alley. His worry for Floréan was slowly turning into panic. He remembered what the young aristocrat almost did when they were trying to cure him from his addiction to the hideous drug. Some of his most vivid nightmares centered around Floréan's suicide attempt.
Noir slowed down and cautiously approached the mouth of the alley. He wouldn't do Floréan any good if he got whacked over his head by some robbers out for his money purse. He stepped into the darkness of the passage and squinted into the shadows.
"Floréan!" he called out but received no answer.
There! A faint noise. Slowly he headed in the direction he had heard the rustle from. His breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him as he rounded a pile of garbage. There was Floréan huddled on the ground, knees pressed to his chest, head lowered, his blond hair hiding the expression on his face. The older man's white clothes were dirty and stained from the ground and the slick, mould covered wall he was pressed against.
Carefully, warily, Noir dropped to his knees, heedless of staining his own trousers. He took off his mask and laid both of the feathered things, his and Floréan's, on the ground. Very slowly he then lifted one hand and laid it on the blond head of his companion. Floréan jerked under his touch, huddling into an even smaller ball.
Noir's eyes grew sad at his reaction. He had hoped that they were over this but now he recognized that he fooled himself. What Azura did to Floréan would never be forgotten. Nor forgiven. Floréan simply suppressed the unpleasant memories to deal with the horror he had had to live through. The horror Azura had put him through.
Even though the blond man grew rigid under his hand, barely breathing, Noir caressed his hair gently and continued the slow, comforting motion until he felt his companion relax, one muscle after another. Finally, he slid his hand to Floréan's cheek and down to his chin and lifted the blond head. The white face was tearstained, the amethyst eyes overly large in the pinched paleness. More tears slid down Floréan's cheeks as he regarded Noir with a broken expression.
When Floréan's breath hitched in his throat, Noir caressed his tear-stained cheek with his thumb. "It's okay. It's over. Everything is over now. It's in the past, gone," he assured the blond man with a gentle voice, so unlike his usual gruffness.
Floréan blinked and oh so slowly uncoiled from the small ball to lean forward and press his wet cheek to his companion's black shirt. "I remembered," he whispered in a voice so quiet that Noir had to strain his ears to catch his admission. "It was... it was the smell... that brought everything back."
Noir laid his arms lightly around the other man's shoulders, giving reassurance without restraining. "The opium, huh?"
Floréan nodded then gripped the dark-haired man's shirt tightly in his fists. "I tried. I fought him and tried to hold my breath as he forced the pipe between my lips, but he held me restrained and pinched my nose. I try to hold out, but then I was suffocating and had to breathe in." He sobbed, shaking in the arms of the man that owned his life. "After that, I didn't fight him anymore." His voice hardened with hatred. "And I hated myself for it, for craving the drug."
Stifling a curse, Noir laid his cheek on the blond hair. "It was the opium. That wasn't you."
As if Noir didn't say anything, Floréan continued. "Once, I tried to stab him. He laughed in my face." He tore himself out of the warm and protecting embrace to look the other man in his green eyes. "I was weak. I AM weak. I'm a weakling, nothing more."
Noir gripped Floréan's shoulders. "That's not true! You are not weak. Did you forget? He caught me too. He imprisoned me, shackled me, whipped me... Does that make me weak?" His voice was hoarse with his own painful memories.
Floréan shook his head. "That's different. You surrendered to him to save the others. I did it because my own body betrayed me. I let him touch me... and it hurt and I didn't do anything!" He lowered his head in shame.
Enraged from hearing the proud aristocrat abase himself so, Noir shook his companion roughly. "You didn't surrender! You were raped!" When Floréan flinched at the word, Noir repeated it. "Raped! It was not your fault. Rape is a vile act, the statement of power over someone who can't defend themselves, be it a man or a woman." Floréan stayed silent so Noir shook him once more, this time more gently though and lifted his face once again to force the amethyst eyes to look into his. "Never forget that you're the victim here. You are not at fault," he emphasized.
Floréan blinked and when the other man released his chin, he lowered his head once again, still clutching the black shirt in his tightly closed fists. When he broke the silence, his voice shook and was full of deep sadness. "I never thought my first time would be like that. Forced, violent..." He swallowed painfully. "When he realized that I had never made love to anybody before, he laughed." His voice broke at the end.
Noir had suspected as much but to actually hear it hurt terribly. He remembered his own first time in Medina, the loss of virginity for couple of coins he needed not to starve to death. In this very moment he hated Azura enough to kill him. The white-haired man knew what happened to Noir, what he had to do to survive and long time ago seemed to find such an act abhorrent. How could Azura sink so low? How could he become the same beast they had despised as children?
Catching Floréan's face in both of his hands he looked his companion's in the eyes. "I swear that I won't let him hurt you again. He won't lay a finger on you." His voice was deadly serious.
Floréan touched the Noir's hands with his own and regarded the dark-haired man with a look of profound sadness. "Don't promise something you can't keep, Noir," he whispered. "Azura is still out there. He wants you and he hates me. He is determined to get what he desires and for some reason he is convinced that I'm in his way. He will kill me; sooner or later."
The blond man's words obviously upset Noir, but before he could say anything, a drunken couple stumbled into the alley, giggling and groping at each other's clothes, oblivious to the two men, crouching in the shadows. Noir blinked at the display they offered, the man pressing the woman against the wall and kissing her deeply whilst trying to pull up the hem of her dress. Floréan blushed deeply and looked away.
Noir cleared his throat, startling the two would-be-lovers. "Would you mind?" he asked, his voice heavy with irony.
The couple stuttered an embarrassed apology and fled, disappearing into the ocean of bodies in the square.
The dark-haired thief chuckled silently, coaxing a small smile from his blond companion. "I think this is not the right place for deep, serious discussions," he decided. "Let’s go home?"
Floréan nodded at the suggestion, allowing Noir to help him up. He dusted his dirt smeared clothes off and straightened them a bit, while his companion bent down and retrieved their masks. Noir slipped on the black feathered thing and handed the white one to Floréan.
"Put this on," he said, fixing his own clothes. "Your eyes are red like white rabbit's and your face is all blotchy." His voice was gruff, dismissing, but the deep undertones showed that he cared.
Putting on the mask, Floréan glared at the other man. "You're such a boor," he muttered, though he felt touched by the display of concern.
"Ready?" Noir asked and when Floréan answered with a nod they headed for the mouth of the alley.
Suddenly, the blond man gripped Noir's arm and stopped him in mid-stride. "Wait!"
The thief rolled his eyes. "What now?" he huffed.
"What about the emerald?" Floréan asked remembering why they actually came to Venice.
Noir waved his hand dismissively. "I will take care of it some other time. One stone more or less..." His voice was carefree, almost bored, as if he wasn't talking about a gem worth millions.
Floréan didn't even raise his eyebrows, already used to Noir's strange approach to things others seemed to consider important.
Noir laid his hand on the small of Floréan's back, pushing him forwards and covering his back. He decided to keep an eye on Floréan before the other man caused more trouble. A kidnapping or something similar was the last thing he needed to deal with during the chaos of a carnival. He kept his thoughts for himself, knowing that any talk about the blond man's trouble-drawing abilities irritated Floréan no end.
Even though he tried to distract Floréan and himself too, his mind kept returning to their adventures of the last couple of months. He knew that Floréan was right. Azura was still out there, hiding and watching. From time to time, he had the feeling that someone was following him. A shiver ran up his spine as he realized that it was more than likely that the Black Hand knew about their every step. Azura, the leader of the organization, was keeping a low profile but Noir didn't fool himself into believing that the white-haired man had lost interest in them. He would never be such a fool again to fall for the false security of the status quo they seemed to have achieved with their arch nemesis. Too much depended on him. Floréan's life depended on his ability to keep him safe.
He steered his companion towards the channel and the place where Laila was waiting for them. When they arrived at the slippery steps leading to their gondola, he breathed out in relief. Finally. He looked forward to the privacy of their hotel rooms. The screaming crowds were giving him headaches.
As soon as Laila spotted them on the stairs, she jumped up, almost falling into the water in the channel in her haste. "Do you have it?" she asked eagerly, bouncing like a little kid.
"No," Noir answered shortly, throwing her a 'I don't want to talk about it now' look, then descended the stairs and turned around to make sure Floréan wouldn't slip. He really didn't feel like fishing his companion from the dirty water. With his luck, Floréan would end up sick.
As they settled into the cushioned seats of the gondola and Noir gave the confused Laila the sign to get them home and don't ask any questions, Floréan sighed, propped his right arm on the side of the gondola and rested his head in his hand. His amethyst eyes were troubled. His left hand was balled in a tight fist in his lap, fingers clenching and unclenching in an uneasy manner.
After a short while, Noir had had enough of this nervous gesture, slipped his hand under Floréan's and entwined their fingers. When his blond companion shot him a surprised look, Noir just glared at him, but squeezed his hand in assurance. Floréan gave him the smallest of smiles.
During their ride to the hotel, they kept quite. The lights of the celebrating town glistened on the dark surface of water in the narrow channels where other gondolas passed by, their passengers, a lot of them in a gregarious mood, shouted greetings and invitations to join them. They didn't pay them any attention.
Just as they arrived at their hotel, the first fireworks lit up the dark sky. The three friends looked up and watched the rainbow colors dance on the deep blue background. The sound of people cheering and laughing reached their ears, the excited voices drowning the music that streamed from various palazzos flanking the channels.
When the spectacle died down among the disappointed cries of people, the trio walked up the stairs to the entrance of their hotel, where the receptionist-cum-owner was waiting for them already. He was a small man, thin, almost gaunt with a perpetual worried expression on his face.
"Signore Courlande," the man cried out as he saw their dirty clothes. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Noir smiled and took his mask off. "Yes, we are, Francesco. Just a small accident," he assured the nervous little man as their small group crossed the entrance hall and headed for the stairwell opposite the door. The receptionist scurried after them.
"Should I send you something to eat upstairs?" Francesco offered from the foot of the stairs where he gripped the banister nervously, watching them ascend the steps.
Noir stopped at the landing and looked at his companions. "Floréan?" he asked, but the blond man shook his head. He took off his mask too and uncovered the unnatural paleness of his face. Noir turned to Laila. "Laila?"
The dark-skinned girl grinned. "Well, this will take some time. Go ahead." She waved them off and headed down the stairs and towards the now even more nervous looking man to order a big dinner to satisfy her ravenous hunger.
Noir shook his head fondly, then laid his hand automatically on the small of Floréan's back and they continued their ascension of the carved marble stairwell.
When they entered the apartment they had rented for the time being, they turned on the light. The soft shine of the lamps lit up the large main room stuffed with antique furniture of the finest art. Their steps were muffled by the thick carpet that covered the elaborate tiles on the floor.
Noir threw his cloak and mask on one of the chairs, Floréan following his example with his cloak, keeping the feathered mask in hand though. While Noir went to the bar and poured himself a glass of bourbon and lit one of his favorite brand of cigars, the blond man remained standing by the door, his eyes lowered and in his hands he kept twisting the long white feathers, tearing them slowly apart one by one.
Finally he broke the silence hesitantly. "Noir..."
The thief seated himself comfortably in an armchair and puffing out a cloud of smoke, he looked at Floréan. Seeing the embarrassed reluctance in his posture, he recognized Floréan's need to talk, to get the things that caused his nightmares out into the open. And he hated himself for his own hesitancy to discuss them. As painful as they were for the older man, they were just as hurtful for him. His childhood friend turned into their worst enemy. The man he had loved as a brother and maybe more was replaced by a blue-eyed devil who knew no mercy only his own pleasure and need. And it hurt less when he kept it hidden in the shadows of his soul.
But then... this was not just about him. It had been him who involved Floréan in this. He offered the lamb to the wolf. He had been so happy to meet Azura again after years, that he didn't even consider that he might not be the same man anymore. And he still vividly remembered the moment he slapped Floréan when the blond man tried to warn him and practically sent him back into the claws of their nemesis. He had done enough damage and it was time to set his own desires aside and try to fix it.
But his silence lasted too long and now it was too late. Floréan looked at him with hurt in his eyes, then turned around and stormed to his room. "Never mind," he called over shoulder. "Goodnight."
"Damn it!" Noir whispered, angry with himself and drained the contents of his glass in one gulp, then leaned his head on the headrest of his chair. It was the same, every time. In the heat of a moment, he always said the right things, did the right things, gave comfort when needed... But when he had the time to think about it, to mull about it, he clammed up, hurting the people he cared about the most. Floréan needed him and he failed him again. "Damn it!"
The pain in his heart was so great, so overwhelming that he didn't even realize that he threw the fragile glass across the room until it shattered against the wall, shards exploding in every direction.
"Damn it to the hell!"
*-*-*-*-*-*
Floréan tossed and turned in his bed, unable to fall asleep. The memories he regained that evening flooded his head, the wheels of his mind turning and turning without rest. The room didn't feel comfortable anymore, the darkness overbearing. He felt as if every shadow was hiding the blue-eyed devil that visited his dreams regularly, throwing him in the claws of nightmares.
He sat up on the bed and reached for the glass of water that always stood on his night table. His hands were shaking so badly that he almost spilled its contents and when he took a gulp he nearly choked. His heart was hammering wildly and his breath was fast and shallow. God, when did he turn into a coward that feared his own shadow?
He set the glass back on the table and sank down into the soft pillows. It was some time ago that he heard Laila return and head to bed. He knew that now that they were all back and safe, Noir would go over all the doors and windows to see that they were locked properly, then check up on him and Laila. Only then he would go to bed himself just to be up in a couple of hours to repeat the routine. The master thief was not aware of the fact that since the time they had spent in the hands of Azura, every little noise woke Floréan up. That's how he knew of the dark-haired man's nightly visits.
Why? Why could Noir be so sweet and understanding in one moment and so pig-headed in another? It had always been hard for Floréan to read the other man's moods but since the whole incident with Azura, Noir turned even more unpredictable. He risked his life in stupid stunts then reprimanded them harshly when they, he and Laila, did the same to keep up with him. Floréan simply didn't know what to think anymore.
When the door clicked open as he knew it would, he decided to break his own routine and not just lie there quietly, pretending to be fast asleep. He cared for Noir and Noir cared for him, they worried about each other but somehow they were caught in a vicious circle of hiding and pretending that someone had to break. And it obviously wouldn't be Noir, who was overwhelmed by his own guilt.
And so it was Floréan who broke the silence and called out quietly: "Noir?"
The thief almost jumped out of his skin at Floréan's whisper, not expecting it. "You are awake?" he asked disturbed at being discovered.
Floréan had to smile at the rather foolish question. "Come in. Please?" he added, when the dark-haired man hesitated.
Taking a deep breath, Noir stepped into the room and closed the door. "I didn't want to do anything... anything like..." He couldn't finish.
"I know," the blond man answered. He really knew. Even in the night when the door opened for the first time he knew that Noir didn't come to hurt him. The thief would never do anything like that. "Stay with me tonight?" he asked softly, knowing that Noir would not misunderstand the meaning of his words. Sometimes, he could be quite sensitive.
"Ah...?"
The dark-haired man's reaction almost amused Floréan. He had never see Noir so uncertain. "I'm scared," he confessed.
His quiet admission did it. Noir stepped further into the room but before he could pull a chair closer to Floréan's bed just as he did on the ship when they were headed to Tunisia, Floréan pulled the covers aside and patted the mattress.
Noir watched him uncertainly in the dim light of the moon streaming in through the open curtains. It took him so long to decide whether or not he should do what Floréan asked of him that the blond man started to feel foolish for even making this offer. But when his face crumbled with disappointment and he started to pull the covers back up, Noir reached out and stopped him. He gave Floréan one more searching look, then kicked off his shoes and slipped into the warm bed.
Floréan turned onto his side, facing the window, feeling Noir's warmth pressed against his back. With a sigh he relaxed slowly. Even though his memories from the period of unresponsiveness that followed his opium withdrawal, the abuse and the shooting of Azura were rather hazy, he still remembered Noir's warmth as the thief took care of him, doing even the most simple and intimate things he couldn't manage to do on his own, hiding deep inside his soul from everything that happened.
Even though Floréan relaxed, Noir laid stiffly, barely breathing or touching the blond man. In the end, it was Floréan again who took the decisive step. He reached behind his back, found Noir's right hand and brought it around his waist, forcing the dark-haired man to lay on his left side, spooned behind Floréan.
At first, the action surprised Noir so much, that he stopped breathing at all. After a moment, when Floréan simply laid there, snuggled in his arms, he relaxed. Floréan understood his companion's reluctance. Noir had always been more of a tactile person than a talkative one, but on the other hand, all the touching they shared so far had been in fun, in the heat of a moment or in situations when they were almost positive that they wouldn't survive to regret their actions.
This was different. For both of them. But from the way their bodies melted together as if molded, fitting together so perfectly, it was obvious that that was the right thing to do, the thing they both needed.
"I'm sorry for tonight," Floréan whispered in the darkness.
Noir buried his nose into his bedmate's soft blond hair. "What for?"
Floréan shrugged slightly. "For the jewel, for my melodramatic performance... I've embarrassed myself and you too."
"No, you haven't," Noir assured him in a soft voice. "And it's me who should be apologizing. Everything that happened was my fault."
Squeezing the tanned hand on his stomach, Floréan whispered: "That’s not true. Remember what you told me? We've been victims. And if you've meant what you said then you can't blame yourself. That would be illogical and I've never seen the master thief Noir behave illogically. Well, maybe once or twice..." he added with a little smile.
Noir huffed, ruffling Floréan's blond strands. "I can never win an argument with you, can I?" When Floréan shook his head slightly, Noir added in a completely serious tone: "I'll always be here for you. I swear."
Floréan's heart fluttered then finally calmed down, just as his harried mind did. At least for the moment, he felt safe. He snuggled deeper into Noir's arms and they both finally fell asleep. No nightmares hunted their dreams that night.
*-*-*-*-*-*
Unbeknownst to them, their safety was only an illusion.
On the other side of the channel, another hotel lay, the windows of its rooms overlooking the channel. And there, in one of the rooms a man stood, partially hidden by a curtain, watching the window behind which Floréan and Noir slept peacefully. With his western attire and hair bound in a pony tail, they would have hardly recognized him but for the black flap, covering his blind eye.
A cruel smile graced the man's thin lips. One word from him would be enough to kill them, capture them, make them vanish forever... But he felt generous. He decided to leave them their false sense of freedom. No one had ever escaped the Black Hand and after all, revenge was a dish best served cold.
The End
