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It was a great plan.
***
Step one: find D.
Originally, the entire plan consisted of just this one item, but after spending far too long chasing him around the world Leon had plenty of time to build on it and work out the details.
Step two: catch up to D.
Turns out, tracking down that Chinese jerk who ran away so treacherously was only half the battle—you also had to be quick, or else he’d keep running away just as treacherously, the scoundrel.
Step three: break into the petshop, kicking the door down.
Leon particularly liked the third step and so it was not up for discussion.
Step four: start yelling at the damn Chinese jerk right from the doorway, expressing his opinion about everything that… well, everything.
This one was pretty straightforward. The only real question was which specific strong expressions to choose, and months of involuntary travelling had done wonders for Leon's vocabulary in that regard. He had paid special attention to learning how to swear in several Chinese dialects.
Step five: grab D by the collar and give him a long, hard shake, so he’d think twice before running away again, pushing people off flying ships, and just generally pulling this kind of crap.
Step six: land a solid punch to his face, that smug, pale face, with that little smirk, those cunning Asian eyes, those high cheekbones, and…
The thing was, detailed contemplations on D’s face were seriously detrimental to the intention of hitting him, so they were nipped in the bud. Well, usually. Most of the time. Eh, sometimes, at least.
Step seven: give Chris' drawing back.
Returning his brother’s drawing to D was sacred. For one thing, Leon had promised Chris. For another, D had actually intended to take it with him. And lastly, Leon still remembered that gut-wrenching feeling when he’d opened that cherished suitcase and found out that this very drawing was the only thing D had chosen to bring. Even worse, the feeling kept coming back every now and then, shaking his worldview, so the status quo needed to be restored, and, yeah, deep down Leon sometimes suspected that simply returning the drawing wasn't enough for that, but hey, that was just one part of the plan, and then…
Step eight: respond situationally.
The last step was something Leon was simply indecently proud of. Clear and concise, it covered an unimaginably wide range of possibilities—possibilities that, unfortunately, the former cop had never learned to predict. Then again, he’d always trusted his gut more, even if D called it "animalistic." Which, coming from D, might actually have been a compliment.
So really, only one thing remained—actually pulling the plan off.
***
It was a great plan, but even great plans sometimes required adjustments.
For example, upon finally finding the petshop open and not abandoned, Leon somehow, entirely unplanned, acquired an enormous, freshly made cake exactly to D's taste. He had to hastily add an emergency Step Four-A—get rid of the cake without damaging it too much—because step five required his hands to be free.
The third step, so dearly beloved, had to be modified because the doors swung wide open from the kick and even slammed against the wall with a bang that was satisfyingly loud, but stubbornly refused to fly off their hinges, seeing as they weren't locked.
D turned at the noise with an expression of perfectly rehearsed displeasure, had even already drawn a breath to voice his indignation—and then just froze like that. Perpetually chin-length hair flared up with the motion, conveniently exposing both eyes: different colours. Right, that D. That was also something Leon should have accounted for in the plan, to avoid accidentally running into another relative, but what could be done now.
Step four was accomplished almost exactly according to plan: if there was one thing Leon could do, it was curse masterfully under any circumstances. There were, however, some hitches—the inopportunely acquired cake significantly hindered his gesturing, which greatly diminished the pleasure of the process.
The goat that charged in (another detail the plan had failed to account for) was met with such strong Chinese profanity that it retreated in bewilderment, and then, glancing at its master, disappeared altogether somewhere, which, although small, was still a victory.
Having said his piece, Leon threw the cake onto a conveniently placed tea table, marched across the living room to D who was still standing frozen like a porcelain figurine, firmly grabbed the collar of his ever-present silk dress, and gave a good shake. One, two, three times.
And then everything went sideways, because D looked at him like… Leon couldn't quite explain how, but it was a bit like in that strange dream, and maybe a little like on his damn flying ship, and probably like back then, in the thrice-cursed skyscraper—something that left the curses stuck in Leon's throat and almost made his fingers loosen their grip.
And then D whispered, completely voicelessly: "Detective… Leon," and tried to smile in his usual fake way, but it turned out totally wrong.
And punching him became completely impossible.
All that remained was to swear helplessly and shake him by the collar again.
Leon shook the damned Chinese, and the latter obediently swayed. Not flopping limply like a rag doll, as he should have, but swaying smoothly, even somewhat gracefully. How does one even maintain balance on the tips of one’s shoes, just, how? D could do that. He could do anything, dammit.
Including completely ruining Leon's beautiful, painstakingly constructed plan.
So instead Leon gathered his personal curse into his arms and pressed him tightly to his chest, whispering into the smooth black hair roughly the same things that he had been shouting from the doorway, and something else—and what exactly wasn't so important anymore.
D buried his face somewhere against Leon's collarbone and seemed to be laughing, because the shirt remained dry, only his shoulders were shaking kind of unevenly.
***
And then they were drinking tea, and Leon found himself remembering, with some strange delight, what it was like to watch D demolish an enormous cake all by himself, wearing an expression of almost indecent pleasure.
***
"More tea, Detective?" D asked courteously, noticing Leon's empty cup.
"Come on, stop calling me Detective," Leon grimaced. "Asked you a hundred times. Besides, I quit my job because of you."
"Force of habit," D smiled. "In turn, I could ask you to address me with a bit more respect, but we both know you wouldn't."
Leon set his cup down and nodded absently:
"Right, you're a—what was it—a kami."
"Oh, Detective," D pressed a hand to his cheek and shook his head, "not you too."
"Hey, what now?"
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, D rose from the sofa and disappeared into one of his labyrinthine corridors. He returned fairly quickly, holding a sheet of paper.
"Here." Pale fingers pressed the sheet onto the table in front of Leon. On the sheet, gleaming with fresh ink, an elegantly drawn character was displayed. "Read it."
"Like I said, 'kami'!"
Another heavy sigh.
"Tell me, Detective, where am I from?"
"Well, China, right?"
"Correct, and more specifically?"
"Uh… the Kunlun Mountains?"
"Marvelous, you remember even that. Now tell me, what language do they speak there?"
"Well… Mandarin Chinese?"
"As well as Tibetan and some others, but generally, correct. So read it," D pushed the sheet towards Leon again.
"Uh… 'Shen'?"
“There we go,” D nodded in satisfaction, picked up the teapot with a refined motion, and refilled Leon's abandoned cup.
Leon accepted it, peered thoughtfully into the tea, then looked over the rim at D.
"And what, it’s such a big difference?"
"Well, how should I put it…" D sipped carefully from his cup, gazed thoughtfully into space, paused, and smirked slyly. "Actually, not so much. I just enjoy the look on your face when you admit that I'm right."
"You little—"
And maybe Leon really should have smacked the scoundrel. But he looked into those cunning Asian eyes, big, dammit, and multi-colored, and knew once again that he couldn’t do it. At all.
But what he could do—was to respond situationally.
And that, too, turned out to be a great plan.