Over the next several weeks, things began to appear sporadically in Daniel's room. At first it was small bundles of flowers, tied with twine - a little yellow flower one day, a species with white petals the next. Eventually Daniel managed to piece together that they were all steppe flora. Then appeared a small box of delicate French chocolates of the type he used to like, and even a pack of the sort of cigarettes he smoked back in Russia. None of them came with a note.
At first, Daniel took each of the flowers and put them in the fireplace, adding to the growing pile within, even before he figured out that they were from the Steppe. He regretted that his father had taken away his lighter and matches.
No one had access to his room. His father had made certain of that. There was no doubt in his mind whom these tokens were from. The only beings able to tinker with reality without having to worry about walls and doors.
Those children just loved to mock him, didn't they? They knew what he'd done. They'd seem him kill their puppet. They'd probably delighted in it, watching him kill the one he'd tried to preserve and protect for so long.
("'Preserve and protect?' Is that what you call it?" The voice sounded too much like his father's. "Next time they lock up a cow to corral it for the slaughter, we'll say we're preserving and protecting it, how does that sound?")He hadn't wanted to hurt Artemiy! Only wanted to keep him untainted from this modern world until he could bring him to the Polyhedron.("And when were you going to do that, hm? Seems like you forgot this plan of yours when the Inquisitor showed her face. You just wanted to keep him away from her.")He had to wait for the perfect time! He had wanted Artemiy to agree to come with him. Otherwise Daniel would have had to tie him up and take him into the Glass Tower. ("No need to worry about that now, thanks to your trigger finger.")Daniel stared at the flowers in the grating for hours. And he tried to remember why he shot Artemiy that night. He was angry. Simply put. That Artemiy, given his newfound freedom, had decided to come back to spite Daniel one last time. Because Burakh had Lilich and Spaulding, but Daniel couldn't have Henry without consequences.Nevermind Henry. Daniel couldn't bear the sight of him now. He had saved Henry from an injustice that Daniel was responsible for. Now he couldn't think about Henry without thinking about Artemiy. A week after the incident, his father had confined Daniel to the Master Bedroom 'to keep him from hurting everyone else.' And then the gifts started coming. First the flowers, then the chocolates (which remained untouched on his bed). His suspicion was that they were poisoned, of course. The Authorities might still try to kill him. But also, his stomach had grown weak. His father often withheld food from him, claiming that the fast would help clear his mind. Even if he wanted to eat them, he probably couldn't manage it without heaving them back up.Artemiy had special-ordered a box from the Capital once for his birthday. The Authorities must have seen it and that was how they knew to give them to him now. But why weren't they leaving notes? Why weren't they gloating about it?The cigarettes came and he felt his veins burn with need. His electronic cigarette had run out of fluid and his father wouldn't bring him more. He tore at the pack until he could roll one in his fingers.Was it really the Authorities sending these things that he thought had only been kept between Artemiy and himself? He felt a pang for his lover, his Artemiy from the Gorkhon. He missed the Artemiy brought back with his wish and the Artemiy that was still quarantined somewhere in the manor. By god, he was surrounded by Burakhs and he couldn't have any of them! He'd killed two of them, in fact. How long would it take before he killed the third?He laughed at his thoughts until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. He put the cigarette between his lips just to put it somewhere and he wished Artemiy was here to give him a light.Maybe a lighter would be the next thing he received. Was the giver reading his mind? Perhaps these weren't meant to be tokens of torment...but of comfort. But who would try to comfort him after all he'd done? Who would love him after all this? Who else had ever loved him despite his gaping flaws but...He spat out the cigarette and surged forward to grab the drying flowers from the fireplace. "Fool, you fool!" He wanted to slap himself. He wanted to apologize, loudly, in the hopes that his benefactor would hear. He was a blind fool. How could he have not seen the truth?! These gifts...they were from his Artemiy! His Artemiy from the other side of the veil. The Artemiy who lay buried in the Gorkhon, but whose spirit must have followed him here. Maybe Artemiy had been with him for longer than this. Maybe for the last century. He took the flowers, the box of chocolates, and the pack of cigarettes, and curled up with them on his bed. "Forgive me, darling. I didn't mean it," he whispered shakily. "Forgive me. I didn't mean it."
He was honestly anxious about speaking with Daniel. He couldn’t help but notice that there was much imprints among the manor walls. Emotional ones. It was very difficult to pinpoint a single one. There was a collection of them from lust (which made him almost grimace), tension, weariness, and others that are akin to them.
Once he heard the door opening, Henry looked up and saw Daniel’s condition. Whatever he has been doing, it had took a toll on him. A great toll. There was something in his eyes that made Henry grow concerned.
"…I was about to say the same thing," he replied quietly. "I came by to see you. I’ve…finally decided to visit."
It was bad enough that he had risk himself getting caught into whatever hell they were going through. There was little to no serenity or happiness within this manor.
It never has…
"It's been a while. I was starting to wonder if you were even still around town. Well, I see you've still got a knack for getting into places with or without invitation. You may as well come in," he said.
He stepped back into the room, combing his fingers through his hair. He absentmindedly felt around his chin. There was a stubble growing that he seemed to have let get out of hand. Seeing the stubble on Henry's face reminded him he hadn't shaved for a while. He was just distracted by Burakh and everything else going on in this blasted manor.
"Something to drink? I can check with the kitchens to see what they have. I remember you like...fruit juice, right? Berries. Strawberries, right?"
He wondered if Daniel is willing to see him again. At this point, Henry didn't know fact from gossip anymore. He has heard so many things, so many events happening around the manor of the Professor but he isn't sure whether or not if it was true. Only one way to find out. When Henry first entered the manor, he hadn't seen 049 or Landin. Perhaps they were out doing something together. He came upon what looked like the Professor's quarters. With a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
Dankovsky had been attempting to read in a chair in his bedroom when he heard the knock. It was all he could do to keep his mind off of the sorry state of affairs his dealings with Burakh had become. At any other time, he would have thrown himself into his work, but he was very quickly directing himself into a corner with his research. It was something that 049 had noticed and had since compensated for by taking more of the lab duties upon himself.
This resulted in Daniel having far too much time to himself and he was getting restless. He needed something to occupy him, his mind, and his hands. Or else he might end up doing something out of boredom that he might regret.
When he answered the door, he looked a bit unkempt. His hair hadn't been combed and his shirt was ruffled, with an unbuttoned collar. He look perplexed when he saw who it was.
"Henry?...I thought you would have forgotten about me by now. What are you doing here?"
The phone was answered to a paper rustle, the background sound of a car engine and a distant “-know which one it is!” before a smooth, pleasant “Hello, Mr Dankovsky?” The voice was male, tinged with a light Australian accent. The name was pronounced properly but with a small hesitation, as if the speaker had studied the correct stresses.
Ben gestured firmly for the driver to pull over. She enjoyed speeding and taking risks when it was her turn and experience had shown that it was difficult to carry on a professional phone conversation while wrestling for control of the steering wheel.
"It’s good you could get back to us so fast. Thank you. I’m happy to answer any questions you have." This subject the closest to a true human immortal they’d come across. There had been rumours; they’d chased various trails through South Korea to Hungary to Russia, but either the stories were false or some other team had believed them to be a threat and eliminated them first. By now they weren’t seeking to eliminate. The little vampire, now obeying the speed limit, wanted just a taste of immortal blood.
Dankovsky lifted an eyebrow at the sounds in the background. He had settled down in his chair and he kept his tone neutral. "I am interested in how your...organization was able to deduce the nature of my longevity. I am aware that there are rumors, but I would have thought they wouldn't be so impressive as to draw anyone's attention enough to conduct research. But I digress. You are Benjamin Sinclair, I assume?"
They had moved the corpse into the Operation Room of the labs and stretched him out over the table. A corpse. That's all it could be for Dankovsky. He couldn't attach any other meaning or emotion to it or else the ground would fall away from beneath his feet. His breath was already becoming far too shallow. Were it not for the motions already ingrained into the muscles of his hands, he wouldn't have been able to do the work at all. It needed to be done. He needed to try this, at least, or else everything he had slaved over for the last century would have been in vain. What was a Thanatologist who couldn't bring back the dead?
Bones were broken, joints had been ripped from their sockets. There was internal bleeding by the looks of the distended abdomen. Burakh had already been hooked up to a regulator to replace the dead blood with fresh. Even if they managed to bring Burakh back in this state, he might very well die again or come back suffering. Daniel still didn't know what 049 was entirely capable of, only that the concoctions he used were capable of reviving tissue and, sometimes, mutating it. They had once managed to get a dead dog's heart beating again by draining the blood before it congealed entirely and replacing it with the Doctor's solution. To this day, Dankovsky still didn't know what it consisted of. He hadn't been allowed to take any to examine and it infuriated him.
049 was in the corner of the lab, preparing said solution now. A bag of medical instruments was open in front of him, half of which Daniel didn't recognize. 049 seemed to be able to just pull the bag from his robes with no physical indication of where they were hidden. Dankovsky had long since realized why the Foundation must have taken an interest in this...creature.
"It must have adrenaline," Dankovsky said, half to himself. He was wrapping a splint around Burakh's leg. It had made the most sickening crack when he'd had to snap it back into place. "Saline or electrolytes. We've been working together for months now and you still won't tell me what it is."
The Doctor ignored him, at first, watching the solution heat over a burner. At long last, he turned his head just enough to look at Dankovsky. "You were the one who came to me requesting assistance in this task, Professor. If I am to help, I would prefer not to be questioned."
Daniel narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He didn't like being ordered around in his own lab. "I could take some from his veins. I'll find out one way or another."
049 turned back to his work. He shut off the burner and, once the solution had cooled enough, filled it into some kind of dual-sided syringe. "It will congeal outside of the body. Your examinations will yield no results."
Daniel wanted to grind his teeth together. He had had to cut away Burakh's shirt from him so he could set his ribs. Five broken. He had no choice but to count as he worked.
"You will have to wait for his body to heal enough before you give him back consciousness. The shock will put him back under," 049 said.
"If your method can bring him back enough for that, I'm fine with inducing a coma. Just...do what you have to do. And hurry," Daniel said, shortly. The tension was making him impatient.
"It has been two hours. I will need to cut him open to see what needs to be sewed and injected," 049 said, watching Dankovsky.
"Well? I already know that much. You can do it in front of me, can't you?" Daniel said.
"Can I, Professor?"
There was something to his voice that time that made Daniel guess at its meaning. 049 probably didn't know how deep of an emotional investment Daniel had in Burakh, but he knew enough. Daniel glared at him.
"I'm a doctor. I'm not going to faint. You need me here," he said.
049 watched him, maybe even skeptically. It was hard to tell through the mask. Finally, he neared the table, putting the syringe on a side table and taking up a scalpel. Dankovsky stood rigid and watched from the other side of the table, gripping the edge too tightly.
"I will hold you to your word," 049 said. He began to cut at the top of Artemiy's ribs.
"Let me have a copy of the key to the basement." he was quiet and pleading "You know I can't do anything to hurt him. It's not fair to leave him down there alone for days on end."
"He's not entirely alone. I visit him from time to time. It's good for him to have time alone anyway. I don't like the types of people he's been associating with as of late," the Professor said. "They're going to give him spliced views of this modern age. And you...I don't want you getting too close to him for any extended period of time."
He seemed to find the entire thing morbidly amusing. Once he was seated behind his desk, he pulled out a bottle of bourbon, poured it into a shot glass, and downed it.
"Well, you wish to know why I hid the fruits of my work? Let me ask you this. How old are you, Daniel?"
"Why should that matter?" he said "If you’re going to act like you’re doing this because you’re so much older and wiser then I guess I’ll never get the real answer will I?”
"I'm asking because I want to know exactly how much you've seen since your Plague was resolved. I want to know the details of your game. Who was the one who made the decision in the Cathedral? Who's solution did you decide to follow? If you came from the Plague itself, how many days have you been stuck in that godforsaken town? Does your Polyhedron still stand like mine? I want to know before I give you my answer!"
His voice had steadily been rising as he was speaking, Without realizing it, he had leaned over his desk. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his face.
"Regardless of whether or not I am older or wiser than you, it makes no difference. When I was your age, I have no doubt I would have condemned me for keeping my discovery a secret as well. It's not a matter of wisdom we speak of, but a matter of perspective."
Minus the drama of the past weeks, seeing as how Artemiy seemed to have a newly developed habit of hanging around strangers despite Dankovsky's attempts to shelter him, things had fallen into a quiet rhythm at the manor. Daniel hadn't thought he would be able to handle it like this, watching Artemiy and not being able to tell him everything, not being able to share memories, not being able to touch him... But the piercing pain he had been expecting faded into a dull ache. Strangely, there was a sense of comfort in having Artemiy there, their altercations set aside. He would watch Burakh whenever he had the chance, and remind himself of Artemiy's mannerisms, his ticks. It was nice having his broad presence on Daniel's home, he brought a thrumming energy Daniel had nearly forgotten, something he couldn't feel from his photograph of them together. This Burakh was obviously younger than the more mature Artemiy Daniel had grown with. Sometimes Artemiy's logic perplexed him when Dankovsky expected him to do one thing and he did something else entirely. He realized he hadn't been spending much time with Burakh as of late. His work still demanded his attention and sometimes hos bitterness got the better of him and made being near Burakh too painful. But on a day when he thought he could master himself, he came to the underground room and knocked (it used to be he just came in, but he had been planning this evening for a couple days now and was paranoid one wrong step could ruin things).
