Notes and Dislaimers in Part 0 Read "Spin" first at: http://www.squidge.org/~peja/cgi-bin/viewstory.php?sid=8937 or http://www.geocities.com/csnshelley/spin.html or the LiveJournal in my sig line. This story relies heavily on events in "Spin." ----------------------------- Leverage and Momentum
Cousin Shelley 1/3 ----------------------------- Van Helsing paced. He and Carl had somehow managed to avoid each other all day, and it felt wrong. Unnatural. And he had to admit, it was at least partly intentional. He really didn't know how to act in front of Carl after walking in on him early that morning. He thought he'd managed to act as if he hadn't seen anything, but there was lingering doubt, especially after their brief conversation. How much did Carl know? Van Helsing was afraid that question would hang in the air between them, making things awkward, until he found out the answer. He refused to hide--this was ridiculous. He jerked open his door, ready to head for the lab and possibly the library in search of Carl. He jumped at the same time Carl hollered. "Oh! Van Helsing, I was about to knock." "I was coming to look for you." "Really?" Carl dropped his voice a little. "Well, here I am." He smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet. Gabriel nodded his head. "Here you are." After several seconds, Carl said, "Are you going to invite me in, or should we stand and say nothing in the hallway?" "Oh, oh, come in." Carl seated himself on the only chair in the room. "I have a few minutes and decided to get away from the lab for a bit. Some chemical reactions take an intolerably long amount of time." He motioned for Van Helsing to sit on the bed. "Well, come on, sit down and tell me about it. You never did, you know." Van Helsing sat on the edge of the bed. "Never did what?" "Tell me about your trip. Sicily, what you found, what you did, that sort." "Ah, no I didn't, did I?" Van Helsing realized what had felt so odd about the day, aside from the obvious. He'd never had the long post-mission conversation with Carl. He missed that. He relaxed and told Carl all about the churches and how only vandals had been responsible--no evil to vanquish, this time. Just orneriness. He described the buildings to Carl in detail, as well as some of the people he'd met, even one particularly delicious meal he'd had while there. Carl listened intently, asking questions now and then, nodding and 'ahh'-ing, and seeming to file everything away in his remarkable brain. When Van Helsing finished talking, and Carl had asked all the questions he wanted, a silence descended on them. It wasn't awkward, but Gabriel was afraid of it becoming so given the thoughts rushing through his head. "Tell me, Carl. Did you get the table fixed?" Carl laughed, a little self-consciously. "No, I didn't fix it. Brother Caleb took care of that, after the requisite amount of moaning and groaning about the consequences of me being allowed within ten feet of anything fast or sharp." Carl laughed harder. "You should have seen his face. . . the chair we destroyed this morning? His." Van Helsing laughed, too, but didn't let the comment pass without notice. He wiped his eyes. "Wait, wait a minute, Carl. The chair *we* destroyed? You're the one who dropped the blade. He wasn't too cross, was he?" Carl hugged himself, trying to get his laughter under control. "I don't think cross is the appropriate word. He finally forgave me. Said accidents do happen, especially when I'm around. And luckily we didn't get hurt." "At least it *was* an accident. Did he find out you cut the corner off the table on purpose? I'd like to see his face, in that case." Van Helsing chuckled. "Well, when I told him what happened with the table, he--" Carl went white. It occurred to him that he'd cut the corner off the table long before Van Helsing showed up--at least, that's what Carl had thought, until now. When Carl stopped speaking and all the color drained from his face, it hit Van Helsing. He'd just given everything away with an innocent question. He no longer needed to ask anything--Carl knew he was there. "Carl, I--I'm sorry. I walked in and then was going to try to go back out. . . it was too late and I didn't want you to be embarrassed." "Oh my God." Carl put a his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. "No, don't be upset. I just didn't want you to be--" "Embarrassed? Ashamed? Humiliated? Van Helsing, will you excuse me? I have some chemicals in the lab that really do need my attention." Van Helsing rose off the bed and grabbed his arm before he could rush away. "No, Carl, please don't act this way." "I am so sorry to have embarrassed you, and shamed myself." "Carl, please, it's not as if it's something every man hasn't done. It's not as if it's something. . . I haven't done. We all haven't done." He swallowed hard. "Many times." Carl felt his face getting some of its color back, thinking about that. Van Helsing. Many times. "But most don't have witnesses." He avoided Van Helsing's eyes. At least he doesn't know I was thinking about him, Carl thought. Panic surged through him as he wondered if he'd whispered Van Helsing's name in passion while he was having his fantasy. No, he didn't think so. "True, most don't have witnesses." He patted Carl's shoulder. "But please, don't let it bother you. That's the last thing I would want." Carl reluctantly nodded, still avoiding Van Helsing's eyes. "I'm sorry you saw what you saw, Van Helsing. Just please, don't think badly of me? Now, now I really do have to go." Van Helsing squeezed Carl's shoulders and didn't let the man move away. "So for a moment you weren't an inventor, or a friar, or a genius. For a moment, someone caught you being just an ordinary man. How completely awful." He laughed. "Think badly? Of you, Carl? You've always been the best thing about this place." "W--thank you, Van Helsing." He smiled. "I--that's nice of you to say." He noticed that hands still held his shoulders. Carl reached up and patted his friend's arms. "Chemicals. Lab. Big explosion soon." "Of course. Be careful, Carl. Try not to destroy too much. Caleb must already be at the end of his rope." Carl chuckled, then left. Van Helsing leaned against the closed door, almost disbelieving what had just happened. He'd let slip about the table, and things could have gone so wrong. If he hadn't been able to convince Carl everything was all right, he hated to think what might have become of their friendship. He supposed he could have told Carl that he'd done the same thing that very day. But that might have made things worse, having Carl wonder why Van Helsing would feel the need to do so after watching. . . . Then he'd be the one begging Carl not to think badly of him. He just hadn't been able to get the image of Carl, his head thrown back, his mouth open, face flushed in pleasure, out of his mind. He wondered if he ever would. ------------------------------ Carl was so relieved to be away from Van Helsing that he panted all the way to lab, as if he'd been running. He cursed himself for even going to see him, but he'd felt more and more awkward as the day had gone on and was afraid of letting that get in the way of their friendship. He couldn't bear for something like that to happen, so he'd forced himself to find Van Helsing and try to act as normal as possible. After all, when he went to Van Helsing's room, he'd believed that the man hadn't seen anything and that all of his awkwardness stemmed from his own guilt. But when Van Helsing asked him about the table and it dawned on Carl just what that meant, he really wanted to turn and run from the room. Van Helsing was there, he'd seen, he'd heard. . . oh God. Despite the man's assurances that he shouldn't let it bother him, Carl didn't know how long it would be before he could see Van Helsing without his face growing hot. He muttered to himself and motioned with his hands as he walked. How stupid was he to do something like that in the lab, of all places? What if someone else had walked in and seen? He knew it was unlikely, even as he berated himself for it--few men could be as quiet as Van Helsing when he chose to be. At times he could be like a raging bull, but when he wanted stealth. . . . Carl stopped in his tracks as it truly sunk in--Van Helsing had watched him quietly for some time before Carl had. . . indulged himself. He felt himself flush again, thinking about Van Helsing there, watching, quietly. Carl had never even done that in front of a lover. One had asked him to, but he hadn't felt comfortable enough. He supposed that had been silly of him, but the idea made him feel too vulnerable somehow. Gregorio hadn't minded his reluctance, they'd done plenty of other things, after all. Carl smiled at the memories, and supposed if it hadn't been such a long time since he'd had a lover, he might not have felt the need to do it all, and then none of this would be happening. How long had it been? Gregorio had been the last, and he left a few years ago, deciding the Order wasn't his true calling after all, and had urged Carl to go with him. Carl was tempted, but his home was here, his *lab* was here, and so he bid Gregorio a sad farewell. Some months later, Carl became aware that Paul, a very pleasant and attractive fellow friar, was interested in him. But by then Van Helsing had arrived. And whenever Carl thought about touching another, or being touched, Van Helsing's was the only face he could see. He stood outside the lab, blinking, wondering. Lab. He was at the lab. Oh yes, the lab. Chemicals. He didn't much feel like working, he'd rather go to his room and pull the covers over his head, but he really did have something to check on. And it would serve to get his mind off his own shame, he supposed. He shook his head to clear it, and went to see if anything interesting had happened to his latest experiment while he was away. -------------------------------------- Van Helsing couldn't sleep. He stared up at the blackness covering the ceiling and wished he could go back to yesterday and do things differently. Not just to save himself and Carl some awkwardness and embarrassment, but to go back to when things were simpler. When he regarded Carl as his friend, his ally, and not as someone who stirred unfamiliar feelings within him. He threw an arm over his eyes. Why should he be so attracted to someone like Carl, why couldn't it be someone more like himself? Carl was so smart, inquiring, gentle-minded, *good*. His head was in the clouds, it seemed, his curiosity and intellectual pursuits occupying most of his waking hours. Carl's sense of humor had on occasion strayed into the debauched, so he obviously knew *some* things. But that didn't mean he'd actually experienced anything. With another person. Carl read, as he'd pointed out many times. Van Helsing, on the other hand, was primal. When hungry, he ate heartily. When threatened, he fought viciously. When aroused, he found a willing woman. Or two. And while he was doing these things, he suspected Carl was reading, thinking, analyzing the whys and hows and whens. Van Helsing felt like the lion to Carl's eagle: One firmly on the ground, hunting, killing, mating, while the other soared above, busy with higher ideals, watching the lesser beings below. Carl. Sex. He'd never thought of the two in the same context before. Carl was a friar, his close friend who spent his days in prayer and at work inventing things to be used to serve God's purpose. Despite the things he'd told Carl earlier about him for a moment being just a man, Van Helsing knew that before that morning he'd never really thought of Carl as just an ordinary man, with an ordinary man's wants and needs. He found himself wanting to go to the lab. It must be well after midnight, and it was likely that if there was anyone in the lab, it would be Carl alone. Van Helsing showing up at such an hour wasn't an uncommon thing, but how would Carl react now? With some guilt, Van Helsing admitted to himself that the idea of being alone in the lab with Carl, watching him work, remembering what he did and knowing that Carl might be just a little uncomfortable. . . disturbed him and excited him at the same time. Van Helsing had only vague memories of his life before showing up broken and bloody at the Vatican. None of his flashes of memory involved intimacy with men. And since he'd been taken in by the Order, he had not bedded a man. But he was unable to get the image of Carl, awash in pleasure, out of his mind, making him wonder just how many men he might have touched in the years he couldn't remember. He grunted as he rolled out of bed, knowing he wasn't going to sleep any time soon, and quickly dressed. Maybe Carl would already be asleep in his room, and Van Helsing would find an empty lab. He hoped for that. And against it. -------------------------- First, there had been the conversation with Van Helsing. Knowing his friend had watched him earlier, the shame. And now his latest experiment had gone off on a tangent. Ordinarily that's something he would embrace, being a believer that every failure was simply a successful discovery of one more thing that does not work. But after the day he'd had, this particular failure irritated him more than it should. Carl tried to embrace the bright side by thinking that at least it had taken his mind off other things. Until 'other things' came trouncing down the steps. Van Helsing visited him here often when he couldn't sleep, when he wanted to talk about something at an odd hour. So why should this be any different? Van Helsing seemed to act as if nothing had happened. . . why couldn't Carl? He could, he would, for the sake of their friendship. At least, he'd give it a damned good try. Carl sighed and concentrated on the work before him, hoping nothing more was to be said about the whole uncomfortable situation, and they could resume their usual roles in each other's lives. -------------------------------- Van Helsing descended the steps, already able to see Carl, and suddenly wished he'd somehow asked if it was all right to come in. He could have knocked, or shouted to announce himself. No, this is no good if I start acting differently, he thought. But he made as much noise pounding down the steps as he possibly could. "No explosions tonight, Carl?" Carl examined a glass container full of something blue. "No, no explosions tonight." He held the container close to a bright flame, as if trying to see through it, before lifting his eyes to Van Helsing's, his face grim. "Well, not yet." Van Helsing stopped mid-step. Carl flashed him a mischievous grin. Van Helsing smiled, relieved at the familiar mood suddenly between them, and joined Carl at the table. "Funny." He snatched the container from Carl, eliciting a 'harrumph,' and turned it in his hand. "Blue goo?" Carl rolled his eyes. "It was a gel-like substance originally." His finger scratched the surface of the compound to demonstrate. "Sat up like a rock. Quite unexpected! I counted on a thickening effect, perhaps even thinning again as certain elements broke down near the end of the process, but the particles bonded together in a way I hadn't anticipated. You see, the carbon inherent in the. . . my God, I've never seen eyes glaze over quite so quickly. Why do you ask if you're not really interested?" He snatched the container back. "Maybe I'm hoping if you talk like that long enough I'll be able to sleep." If anyone else had said that to Carl he'd be put off, but he knew Van Helsing's jibes were never meant to hurt. Carl likened it to a little boy pulling a girl's pigtails in school--an abrasive gesture from someone who often isn't comfortable expressing genuine affection any other way. "So my talking bores you, does it? Watch yourself or I'll start singing, and your terror will be such that you might never sleep again." Van Helsing laughed and walked the length of the table, poking at the bits of metal and paper, occasionally picking something up and examining it. Carl was hunched over, writing. "Nightmare?" "No, you have to sleep to have a nightmare." "Ah. Too worried about having a nightmare to sleep?" Van Helsing looked at the hand-blade Carl had been working on before, now on the table surrounded by a few sketches of its inner workings. He shuffled the sketches around, wanting to touch the weapon, hold it. . . he thought maybe coming here had been a very bad idea. "Van Helsing?" "Uh, no, no I simply couldn't fall asleep, that's all." Carl noticed what Van Helsing was doing. "Ah! That's my plan for a release mechanism. A switch on the handle would allow the spinning blade to be hurled at great velocity toward a target." He took the sketch from Van Helsing, pointing at the drawing and explaining his idea. Van Helsing tried to follow Carl's explanation, but found himself distracted by the proximity of the man. He leaned in a bit so that he made contact with Carl as he looked at the drawing. He found himself watching Carl talk instead. Carl looked at him for approval, a wide smile on his face. Van Helsing forgot to pretend he'd been looking at the schematics. He watched Carl's wide grin shrink to a small, uncertain one. He knew, at that moment, exactly what he wanted to do to Carl, just how to touch him and where, what he wanted to do with his hands and his mouth. Carl's nearness had sparked something inside him and the ideas that rushed forth felt less like ideas than actual memories. Carl cleared his throat. "You've got that. . . uh, glazed look again, Van Helsing. If you're going to drop off from boredom where you stand, do at least be sure not to fall on any of my experiments." If the man before him had been anyone else, Van Helsing thought he would have grabbed him and taken him right then on the table, experiments be damned. He held back only because this was Carl. "I'm not bored." What in the hell am I doing? "Well, I think you. . . oh. You're not?" "No." He picked up the blade, relishing its weight and the feel of the handle. Van Helsing had little in life. His duty, Carl's friendship, but most of all he had control. He maintained control of his body, his thoughts, of every situation--that's how he stayed alive. But in the last 24 hours, he felt himself giving way to desire, and found he no longer wanted to control it. He thought over their conversation in the lab, after. . . . He had to test this, find out if there was a chance. Surely there would be some sign before he went too far, and he would know to exert that control again. He had to *know*. He held the blade toward Carl. "Show me where the switch would be." Van Helsing stared at the handle doing his best to look confused. Carl sighed and touched it with his index finger. "Here seems to be the most practical location." Van Helsing pinned Carl's finger with his thumb, as if trying out an imagined switch. "Seems a good spot. Easily reached." Now, he thought, he had to do something. Something small--and seemingly insignificant, in case it had to be. Van Helsing brushed his thumb lightly over the top of Carl's trapped finger, not more than half-an-inch in either direction. Barely a movement at all. The biggest thing he'd ever done. Enough. Carl's only reaction was a slight intake of breath. But it was a reaction. Van Helsing circled slowly behind him. He reached around Carl, allowing his body to press forward enough so that his chest barely brushed against one side of Carl's back, and pushed the weapon more fully into his friend's hand, again allowing his thumb to caress one of Carl's fingers before pulling away. And then he waited. Carl didn't move. He barely seemed to breathe. When Van Helsing couldn't take it anymore, he carefully put a hand on Carl's shoulder. ------------------------------ End 1/3 Cousin Shelley David Wenham Daily--http://www.livejournal.com/community/daisy_daily/ Purple Prose--http://www.geocities.com/csnshelley Crap--http://www.livejournal.com/users/cousinshelley/ Carl and the Beholder shook their heads while the chicken feigned indifference. -- Splice Outtakes, nikoru sanzo ____________________________________________________ Yahoo! Sports Rekindle the Rivalries. Sign up for Fantasy Football http://football.fantasysports.yahoo.com this list is archived at: http://www.squidge.org/~peja/ Yahoo! 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