Chapter Text
It is the most exquisite thing. To feel life returning where it once was absent. To feel warmth at a center long since dead. Those limbs made stiff finally giving as his body bends and folds. Draco has never felt more grateful to be on his knees. And the ground is so forgiving, so soft beneath them. He presses his palms down and they sink into the plush layers. A cot, he recognizes, bedding.
He falls asleep there, not yet understanding.
\\
"I was given another offer. Not better, if that's any consolation... They just left with it... I don't know where they were headed... Yeah, sorry about that."
Lee hangs up just as the kettle begins to boil. He hurries to lift it from the burner, glancing over to see if the squeal has woken his guest. The soldier lays there at the center of his mattress, snoring softly.
Stirring in his honey, Lee hops up onto his kitchen isle. His phone blinks with insistent messages, unopened texts and notifications. He blows on his tea, cooling it as he ignores them all and scrolls through Twitter.
The solider does little more than shift onto his side, back to the room, in the time it takes Lee to finish the tea. And Lee doesn't think twice about slipping into the bathroom for a quick piss. As he's washing his hands he hears the front door creak open. Grabbing a towel from the wall, he peeks his head out.
Empty armour lays undone atop the tangled covers, tilted into the impression of a heavy body. The soldier is gone. The door stands wide open.
\\
Lee feels the cold burrowing into his body. Every day that he's on this latest treatment he feels thinner. Not in weight but in substance. As if the medication were carving out pieces of him along with the cancer, leaving only his outer most skin.
He has no heading, no idea where he's going. The solider was gone by the time he reached the ground floor. Lee chooses his rights and lefts with unadvised instinct, hoping for a bit of luck.
After hours of directionless wandering, the sun hangs low in the sky, dusk smokey on the horizon. Lee stops for coffee and pays with trembling hands. He wishes he'd taken a moment longer to choose a heavier coat or grab a pair of gloves. Bringing the cup up level with his chin, he breathes in the humid steam curling off the surface.
His neck heats similarly, as he feels eyes on him.
\\
There is nothing familiar here. The people he passes look at him as if he's the strange one. Stumbling, Draco realizes he is.
But he is capable and a quick learner. Stay off the blacktop road, walk to the right, pause at the curb. The language is familiar, as if he's been listening to it through a wall. He finds he understands most of the words he catches. Under his breath he tries several himself but his tongue struggles with the foreign sounds.
He thought leaving his armour would make him lighter on his feet, quieter and harder to catch. While this proves to be true, it also leaves him feeling unbearably vulnerable. He longs for the familiar weight of the molded metal, of the leathers worn soft with use.
He is at a loss as to how to find his way back, unable to remember enough of the initial sprint to retrace his steps. Confusion dissapates now slowly as the air grows crisper, thinner, colder. It gives way to panic Draco hasn't known since his first days in Argos. He was just a boy then.
The shops glow with an unnatural sort of light, harsher than sun or fire. Every time he walks in front of a door swung open he feels heat spilling from inside. He wants to enter, to warm himself but he's unsure if he is welcome or where he'll be safest.
He died hating the gods but the moment he sees that man he finds himself thanking them. Draco recognizes him by his body rather than his face, having only gotten the quickest of glances through squinted, sleep feigning eyes. A shapless coat hangs over his slight form but Draco knows it's him.
Cutting off a pair of pedestrians, Draco presses his filthy hands to the cafe's glass in earnest. The man rips paper packets and pours the contents into a small, white cup. He raised it to his face and inhales deeply. Holding the position a moment too long, he turns.
Their eyes meet and it is undecided who is more relieved.
\\
The soldier won't allow himself to be touched but he follows willingly, letting Lee guide him back to the apartment building.
The moment Lee has the door open, the man pushes past him roughly and makes for the armour. He has it strapped in place before the lock clicks. Lee doesn't take it personally.
"Are you thirsty?" He points to his half finished coffee, not yet sure of how much between them is understood.
Seemingly hesitant, the soldier nods. Lee smiles, heading for the sink. Water seems like the safest bet and so he fills a glass and brings it to his guest. It's taken too quickly from him, spilling, splashing over his shoes and onto the floor. Rather than complain he busies himself with cleaning it.
\\
Draco downs the first glass in eager gulps. Too soon it's gone, thirst still knotting his insides. Rather than ask for a refill, he decides to get it himself.
He steps around his host, approaching the sink how he might a wild beast. He mimics the motion he saw used on the faucet, lifting the curved lever. He uses too much force, the water on in a full stream. Setting his glass aside, he bends to drink directly from the tap.
The sensation of water running down his chin and cheek is bizarrely overwhelming. He can't remember the last time he experienced it. Cupping both hands beneath the stream, he splashes some over his face. Overwhelming, yes, but he can't get enough.
Dirt splatters up the sink's silver sides. It pools in the corners and circles the drain. Draco remembers the state of himself, caked in mud and bits of debris. His body itches with sweat and dried blood. His braids hang on the outer edges of his vision, knotted and greasy.
He bends further until the water runs over the back of his neck. He pushes his fingers down to the roots, though it proves difficult with his braids still woven tight.
A hand touches light to this shoulder and he jerks upward. The back of his skull connects with the faucet. He ignores the stinging pain as he straightens into a hostile pose.
\\
Lee holds up his hands in cessation, feeling a fleeting surge of fear. Only when the soldier seems to relax does he point to the bathroom.
"You could take a shower, if you like."
Uncomprehending eyes stare blankly back at him.
"In here," Lee brushes past him and pushes open the door. "Come on."
Pushing back the shower curtain, he takes a seat on the edge of the tub and turns the knob. By the time the soldier appears in the doorway, Lee has found a pleasant temperature.
"I think that'll do it." He smiles, hoping at least his good intentions are communicated. "You turn it left for cold, right for hot. I only have bar soap but I can run out in the morning for shampoo and conditioner."
He stands, "I'm Lee, by the way," and holds out a hand but thinks better of it. He lets his arm fall limp, waiting uncertain.
"Lee."
Eyebrows arching up, Lee's face splits into a grin and, unable to contain his surprise, he laughs. This earns him a glare, though there is no anger in it, only self consciousness. Even on such a simple syllable, Lee can hear the thick accent.
"Do you, um, do you have a name?" Lee stutters like a fool.
"Draco."
\\
There's little space for Draco to step, having taken up much of the cramped bathroom floor with his washed armor. Each piece drips now, clean and air drying. Puddles form, rivulets running between the tiles, making them slick under foot.
There are several towels. Draco takes the biggest and nearest to rub his body dry. He uses a smaller one, closer to the sink, for his hair. It almost hurts to have it all undone, his scalp inflexible and straining. The weak ties that once bound his braids disintegrate once removed. Lee said he would get something (Shampoo? Conditioner?) for him in the morning. Perhaps he could be convinced to pick up some replacements, too. If Draco can figure out how to ask.
"Could you," he whispers in a hoarse voice, "Could you get me . . . "
He knows the words are correct, though he doesn't know how. Closing his eyes, he strains to remember where he had learned. Filtered images of strangers passing him by play across the backs of his eyelids, their voices like murmurs. The images change from a grand bedroom to a vast garden, a polished space filled with marble and granite figures. Shaking the confusing images from his mind, Draco opens his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror.
"Where have we been?" He asks, quietly so as not to be heard. "Where are we?"
\\
Lee tries to meditate and fails miserably. He is too focused on the sound of the water running, of the curtain being pulling back. Draco's presence is more than distracting.
Giving up entirely, Lee rolls to kneeling and shuffles up to the foot of his mattress. There are still remants of Draco's coming to life. Chalky shards of stone litter the floor, trailing from the place Lee had stood the statue.
Lee strips the mattress of its filthy sheets. He doubts he'll be able to get the blood out. Still, he intends to try. From the closet, he retrieves a fresh set and starts to remake the bed.
Steam spills from the bathroom as Draco emerges in Lee's periphery. The water's still running. Draco must not have realized it's meant to be turned off. Not that Lee had shown him how.
When Lee looks up, he's only half surprised to find Draco standing naked in the doorway.
"I don't think anything I own will fit you." He stands, making to check the closet.
As he passes Draco, a hand catches him lightly at the bicep. Just as soon as its on him, it's gone.
"Yes?"
Draco holds out his hand, revealing curled, brittle twine sitting in his cupped palm.
"Could you get me more?"
Lee feels awful he doesn't understand. Especially because Draco is speaking so well and so clearly. His confusion is obvious, he imagines, as Draco instead holds up a lock of his hair.
"To tie."
"Oh! Of course, yes, I'll get you some. Of course."
Draco nods, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. He's proud of himself, Lee thinks.
"I don't have much food. But if you're hungry, I have eggs? Hard boiled. I could make you a salad." Lee opens the fridge and points to a plastic container of lettuce.
The look he receives is less than impressed.
"We could order take out." Lee moves to a nearby drawer, pulling out his stash of menus. "Pizza? Thai? Greek?"
\\
Little white cartons stand open and half finished atop the isle. Lee picks at the orange chicken as he has each of the portions. He takes only a few small bites altogether, nothing substatial. Draco watches him from the chair by the door, working his way through what he's found to be his favorite; teriyaki.
"I bought it - well, you - awhile back. Feels like a lifetime ago now."
Lee tries to take a sip of his soda but finds he's finished it. Shaking the ice around, he sighs in defeat and heads for the wine.
"I was still in New Orleans. We were decorating the wine bar, trying to give it class without spending money we hadn't made yet. That meant a lot of flee markets and antique shops. You were in the back corner of the fifth? Sixth? They were using you as a coat rack for furs."
Shutting his eyes as Lee speaks, Draco is taken by a vague memory. He sees the inside of the shop, sunlight pouring in the front windows. Lee's silhouette stands, featureless, backlit. The images blur and fade but for a brief moment it is as if Draco can feel those furs being taken from him, piling at his feet.
"We never found a spot for you. We tried everything but you didn't fit with the interiors. So we put you into storage. That's where you were until last week."
Opening his eyes once more, Draco finds Lee standing before him offering a glass. He takes it, nodding thanks.
"See, the storage company went under. And the manager of the bar had to go down and sort through all our stuff. Some of it he had shipped there and, well. I guess he thought it would be funny to ship some to me? He gave them the address of my sublet and, well, here we are."
The wine tastes differently than he expected but is still familiar enough to soothe him. He drains the glass in a few big sips. Lee doesn't blink an eye filling it again for him, taking only a brief pause in his pacing.
"Is this making any sense to you? Do you any have questions?"
Draco has many, very few of which he believes Lee has the answer to. He's your only ally, Draco reminds himself, be wary but be civil.
"How did I," Draco gestures to himself, hoping it'll translate.
"It was abrupt. Scared the hell out of me." Lee shakes his head, still disbelieving. "One minute I'm checking the replies to my ad on Craigslist, the next you were moving. The stone, it looked like paint or a brittle second skin. It fractured at the joints and you fell onto the mattress. You fell asleep. Curled up in a little ball."
His tone makes it sound like he's laughing. Draco tries to think what to say next but Lee blurts out a question before he can speak.
"How did it happen, you getting turned to stone?"
\\
Lee watches Draco watching him sleep, squinting through his lashes and hoping it's not obvious. He chose to lay himself across the width of the mattress. His calves are cold and stiff against the harsh ground but his curiosity helps him to ignore it.
Midnight moonlight illuminates Draco's face as he begins to lose his grip on consciousness. His eyelids droop, staying closed longer and longer with each blink until finally they remain shut. His chin lowers to rest on his chest, his greying beard bright against the dark fabric of his too small t shirt.
Clothes shopping, Lee thinks. They'll have to go clothes shopping. And Draco will need a phone, probably a laptop. The building has free WiFi. Lee has a substantial enough amount of money coming in to support the two of them for as long as Draco might stay.
And it occurs to Lee for the first time that he hasn't questioned Draco's staying with him until just then.
And he doesn't have time to ponder it further because just as the thought surfaces, Lee himself is pulled under. His eyes close for real this time and he drifts off in a sleep full of dreams. Of gods, of monsters, of men.