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maderrBecause there are some that haven't it read it, and I'm too lazy right now to upload it to my (thankfully restored) website. Posted in two chunks.
"Remind me to add you to my 'People I Want to Bite When I Stop Caring' list," Lowell muttered as he sourly watched yet another car speed past. He hated hitchhiking. Hated it almost as much as he hated - well, a lot of things.
Especially when it was cold, dark, raining and about as miserable as early spring could get. "Why does it always fucking rain when I have to walk? Just once can't it rain when I'm nice and dry in a vehicle?" Of course, if he hadn't forgotten his umbrella at the last bus station he'd slept it, he'd be less miserable but thinking about it was only making him more miserable so Lowell opted to just forget about the damned umbrella and enjoy being moderately miserable. Because that was a serious improvement over abjectly miserable, which was his usual state.
Of course if he didn’t catch a ride or find somewhere dry soon, he was going to turn miserably violent and scare the living shit out of the next jerk that decided to zoom by in their goddamned BMW and splash his already soaked clothes. "And they say I’m the mean one. Assholes."
The sound of an approaching car broke into his brooding thoughts, and he swiped his sopping hair from his eyes to turn and stick out his thumb as the car rapidly approached.
And sped right by as if it hadn't seen him. Lowell's shoulders sagged. He looked ahead of him down the road, seeing nothing but a few streetlights to keep the highway from being too dark. If he'd known the weirdo in the bug was going to freak out and drop him in the middle of nowhere, he would have just…probably taken the ride anyway.
Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all.
Sighing, resettling his beat-up, faded backpack, Lowell let his messy, wet and tangled brown bangs fall back in his face. It was slightly better than the cool breeze and rain slapping him in the face. He heard another car approaching behind him, and didn't even bother to turn around. A glance at his battered watch told him it was nearly ten o'clock - if no one had been willing to give him a ride before, they certainly wouldn't give him one now. Dark = Strange and Evil and Scary.
The car sped past, and Lowell could see two children playing in the back seat. He paused, scrubbing at his aching, tired eyes. Maybe he'd find an exit ramp with a gas station - or even a rest stop! - and could bunk down. If it hadn't been raining, he'd just make do with the side of the highway. There was enough grass on either side that he wouldn't have to worry about cars hitting him.
But it was raining, and so he told himself to keep trudging on.
He stubbornly ignored the voice that tempted him with the money hidden at the bottom of his faded backpack. There was plenty enough there, to buy almost whatever he needed. But what he wanted probably wasn't going to come cheap and he needed every last scrap of those savings for when - if - he finally reached Midsummer's Night.
Who the fuck named a town Midsummer's Night anyway? All he saw was a town full of nut bars reciting Shakespeare while they baked apple pies for their local fair. "I need sleep." Lowell was sick of it. Sick of walking, sick of begging for rides, sick of walking around with five thousand dollars that he couldn't spend because the answer to his prayers might be residing in a town called Midsummer's Night.
Somebody somewhere in heaven was laughing at him, and when Lowell finally met the bastard he was going to kick him in the face and then bite him - maybe bite his nuts off. Because then the laughing bastard could be a nutless werewolf and there would finally be someone more pathetic than him around.
Lowell abruptly stopped walking and dropped down to sit on the edge of the highway with a splashing plop. "Fuck it. I'm sick of walking. 'Sad, Pathetic Werewolf Drowns In the Rain.' That about sums up my life." Tilting his head back, Lowell stared up at the moon, which was only a sliver of light at the moment. "Stupid bitch. If I ever find out you're laughing at me," he waved his fist threateningly in the air.
It took him a second to realize that not only had a car passed him, it had stopped just a few yards ahead. And someone was getting out and heading right for him.
"Yes! The world is finally ending!" Lowell attempted to stand, but realized his legs had decided to stop working. "Umm…" he blinked tiredly up at the man leaning over him.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, frowning concernedly. "Can you stand? Should I take you to a hospital?"
Lowell jumped, and shook his head frantically. "No! No--I'm fine. I don't need a hospital."
The man nodded. "Then hurry and get in the car. Remaining out here in the rain is doing neither of us any good." Grabbing his arm, the man helped Lowell to his feet and led him to the car. He waited until Lowell was settled before he slammed the door and ran around to the driver's side. Closing his own door, tossing his umbrella into the back, he smiled briefly and then put the car in gear. "So what are you doing taking a nap on the highway in this miserable weather?"
"Trying to get to Midsummer's Night," Lowell said distractedly. He'd only been in the car thirty seconds and already he was in heaven. It was warm and cozy and smelled like coffee and whatever cologne the man was wearing. Probably the best thing to happen to him in a long, long time. Opening his eyes, he slid a glance at his rescuer and almost smiled.
The man was the very image of a small town doctor, except young. Thirties or so? He had on a dark blue oxford shirt and khakis, a long white lab coat that for some reason he hadn't bothered to take off. Since Lowell doubted he was on his way to work. His glasses looked pseudo-old fashioned - perfectly round, small spectacles that had probably been made by some insanely expensive designer or the nearest knock off. And the blue eyes behind them were bright and friendly, all of it framed by soft, kind of wavy black hair.
Which, in Lowell's limited experience, meant the guy was either a whack job or a figment of his imagination. Either was fine, really, so long as the guy didn't turn the heat off.
"Midsummer's Night, eh?" the man smiled. "That's where I live, so this is your lucky day."
Lowell blinked. "Really? You're headed there? Is it really okay if you give me a lift? I don't have any money…"
The man waved his words away, eyes focusing on the winding turns of the road. "Forget it. You're hardly putting me out, and I couldn't just leave you stranded out there." He turned to smile before focusing again on the road. "What brings you all the way out here? Not much in Midsummer for the really young ones."
"Umm…" Lowell bit his bottom lip, not quite certain he should say.
"Friend? Relative?" A grin, "On the run?"
Lowell shrugged. If he was lucky, the guy would be able to give him directions. Didn't doctors tend to know each other? "I was hoping to visit a doctor there. Umm…." Lowell fumbled for the index card in his pocket, worn from constantly being folded, unfolded and stuffed always in the pocket of his old jeans. "Peter Kuhl."
The man began to laugh, the pleasant sound of it filling the car and making Lowell almost want to smile - except it also made him nervous.
"And what's your name?" the man asked a minute or two later.
Really nervous now, because he had no idea what was going on, Lowell licked his lips and hesitated a moment before replying, "Lowell."
"Just Lowell?"
"Yeah…" he hoped he didn't sound as pathetic as he thought he probably did. "Just Lowell."
"Well, Just Lowell," the man turned to face him as he stopped at an intersection just off the highway. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Most people just call me Peter - I don't much like Pete."
Lowell blinked. Blinked some more. "You're Dr. Kuhl?"
"Yes, I am." Peter smiled, and for some reason this latest smile made Lowell really nervous. It was…different from the previous ones. Like…he didn't know what. "And if you'll wait just a few more minutes, I'll fix us some coffee and we can discuss why a werewolf has come all the way out here to see me?"
"Whatever you say, Doc," Lowell said weakly, sliding down in his seat and doing his best to turn invisible. How had the man figured it out so quickly? Then again, he was supposed to be an expert. Of course he'd know what Lowell was the minute he saw him. He willed his heart to stop beating a million miles a minute, thoughts in turmoil.
Maybe things were starting to go his way? He snuck another glance at the doctor, impatient now to know what was going to happen next.
"Do you have a change of clothes? Staying in those wet things certainly isn't a good idea."
Lowell shrugged. He had another set of clothes in his bag, but the beat up thing wasn't waterproof and by this point everything in was probably as soaked as him.
Smiling, Peter crossed the kitchen to the hallway and beckoned him. "Well, come this way. A hot shower and some warm dry clothes will improve things greatly for us both." He held out his hand, "Come. You can use the hallway bathroom, I've got my own in my bedroom."
Ignoring the hand and the offer, Lowell stayed where he was. "Why are you being so nice?"
"Isn't it better, in your situation, not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" Peter's tone remained friendly but there was a gently reproving note to it.
Lowell hated that phrase. It made no damn sense at all. He looked at the floor, flushing in embarrassment.
Taking pity on him, Peter explained. "Look, I have a pretty good idea why you're here to see me. Before we begin to discuss it, I'd rather we both be comfortable. Wet and cold is not my idea of comfortable. Now come on."
Reluctantly Lowell nodded and followed him, ignoring the proffered hand. Peter smiled faintly and pointed, "Straight up the stairs, then turn down the hallway. It's your first right. Go ahead and get in, I'll bring you some clothes and a towel."
Lowell obeyed in silence. The bathroom was fairly simple - shower, toiler, sink and one of those tiny little closets that's really only good for holding towels and toilet paper. There was a general theme of 'dark green' and a small window of frosted glass. Wasting no time Lowell started the shower, stripped off his clothes and climbed in before the water had warmed up.
Once the water was hot, he began to heartily enjoy being able to get in a real shower in a real house. The soap smelled like soap and not like too many people had used it; the shampoo/conditioner smelled like mint and gods did he love that. He scrubbed at his skin until it was bright red, rinsed the soap off and then did it all again. It was heavenly - the last time he'd had a real shower like this it had been in the house of a sweet old lady. Her bathroom had been filled with exotic soaps and fancy bottles with names like 'wild roses' and 'lavender and rosemary' and when he'd finished he'd smelled like someone had dunked him in a vat of perfume. But the old lady had given him chocolate chip cookies. 'Wild roses' hair had been a price well worth paying for a shower and cookies.
Despite his desire to stay under the hot water forever, he already felt awkward and embarrassed enough without adding horribly guilty to the list. With more reluctance than he'd had for obeying Peter in the first place, Lowell shut off the shower. He wrung out as much water as he could from his thick hair and stepped out of the shower stall. And immediately frowned - a towel and some clothing were set out on the countertop.
Not good at all. He hadn't heard the guy come in or leave. Soap and water had clearly made him sloppy. Wiping himself dry, toweling his hair dry as best he could, Lowell examined the clothes that had been set out for him.
The doctor had even brought him boxers, laying on top of a pair of jeans. Both articles were brand new, even had tags that Lowell felt slightly guilty for ripping off. The stone washed jeans were a little too long but otherwise felt better than any he'd worn in ages. A sweater was also waiting for him, dark cream and obviously worn rather than brand new. Slipping it on, Lowell rapidly cleaned the bathroom as best he could and then slipped on a pair of thick brown socks. A cursory look in the mirror showed that he looked better than he had in a long time - you could tell his hair was light brown and not made of dirt and that underneath the dirty rain water, mud and grime his eyes were green. At least he didn’t' look like the poor pathetic werewolf that he was. Being a werewolf didn't leave one with many employment options, and five thousand dollars worth of crappy jobs had left him relatively fit. He liked to tell himself he wasn't unattractive, but that was probably just wishful thinking. Not that it mattered - werewolves didn't do so hot on the dating seen.
He padded down the hallway and stairs, both carpeted with a soft, thick, neutral-colored carpet and peeked around the doorway before entering the empty kitchen with a soft sigh of relief - he didn't have to face the doctor quite yet.
It was an oddly pretty kitchen, done in soft blues and yellows with a small little oak table set beneath the small window that looked out over a dark, wet backyard. The hallway doorway was parallel to the backdoor, counter space wrapping around the wall between them. Sink, oven, dishwasher - and at the far end of the counter a coffee pot was filling the kitchen with the best thing Lowell had smelled since he snuck some food from a hotel's complimentary breakfast.
Crossing the room to the coffee machine, Lowell nearly slipped on the linoleum. Only a wild grab for the table kept him from falling, and he thought maybe he should sit down and learn a little patience before he killed himself. 'Stupid Wolf Boy Dies By Linoleum Tragedy' sound even more pathetic than the death by rain and Lowell was trying his damnedest to be less pathetic than he had been an hour ago.
Now - sit with his back to the hallway or with his back to the door? The doc probably wouldn't like it if Lowell rearranged his furniture so he could see the hallway, the door and the window. Back to the hallway seemed the less threatening, so Lowell finally settled on that. Sitting down he waited anxiously for his host to reappear, fidgeting with the too-long sleeves of his sweater.
He heard Peter in the upstairs hallway, hunching his shoulders and waiting frozen for him to reach the kitchen.
"Feeling better?" Peter asked congenially. He walked to the coffee machine, "How do you take your coffee?"
'Any way I can get it', Lowell figured, was probably the most pathetic answer he could come up with. "Uh…doesn't really matter." That wasn't much better.
Peter looked amused, but didn't say anything more. A couple of minutes later he set a mug in front of Lowell, then took the seat opposite.
Lowell sipped at it tentatively, not realizing he was smiling as he kept sipping. Cream and sugar, but only just enough that the coffee wasn't too bitter. Cup half empty, he realized he was ignoring the doctor. "Umm…thanks."
"Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do…" Peter, for once, wasn't smiling. "I…" he stopped. "You're here because you've heard I can cure werewolves."
Suddenly Lowell didn't feel so good. He knew that look. Didn't it fucking figure? "You can't, can you?"
"No," Peter said unhappily. "I can't. I was working on it, but a cure is still a long, long way off if and when I ever resume the work."
Okay. Fine. It had been a long shot anyway. And he hadn't actually thought - except he had. The stupid werewolf who had told him about it had sworn the guy had a cure but was keeping it quiet and Lowell had believed him and DAMN IT he was not going to cry because he was trying not to be pathetic.
"I'm sorry," Peter said softly.
"It's okay," Lowell stared miserably into his half-empty coffee cup. "It was stupid of me to buy it. I should have known the guy was pulling one over on me."
Peter quirked a brow, "No, you shouldn't have known. He was telling you half truths, and that's usually all it takes to sound sincere."
Lowell shrugged, still not looking at him.
"Look," Peter started to say, before a knock at his back door interrupted. His eyes narrowed, and daring to sneak a peek, Lowell was surprised to see just how unfriendly the doctor suddenly looked. "Go away," he said to his visitor, not even bothering to turn around or get up.
"Won't you lend a neighbor a cup of sugar?" a chipper-sounding voice called through the door.
"No," Peter said coldly. Clearly annoyed at having to get up, he stalked to the door and pulled it open. "Go away."
"My, my. You're as pleasant as ever."
Peter just glared at the unseen visitor, doing his best to keep her out. But her strength was clearly greater than his own, and a moment later a woman strolled into the kitchen as if she owned it.
She beamed at Lowell, "My, you're a handsome one. All those muscles, you must be pretty active. " A wink, "And such stunning green eyes. No wonder he brought you home."
Lowell just stared, nose twitching as she drew close enough he could smell her.
The woman looked like a hippy. Her skirt was a mass of colors and patterns, numerous strips of bright, clashing fabrics sewn together and falling just short of the floor. She wore a red knit tank top and jangled as she walked, so many beads did she have at her neck, wrists and waist. Her hair was a whole separate mess, beads and braids and a pair of chopsticks holding part of it up off her neck.
"Vampire," Lowell said with quiet surprise.
"Aw," the woman winked. "You're so sweet." She pointed her thumb at Peter, who was standing with arms crossed and glaring at her venomously. "This one only ever calls us-"
"Bloodsucker. Get. Out. Of. My. House."
She turned and flapped her hand at him, "In a moment, Mad Scientist. I'm chatting with your new little lover."
Lowell choked on his coffee and turned red as her words registered. "His what."
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, the gesture pushing his glasses up. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed right now, Sally?"
"Don't be silly, I never sleep past eight during the week. I have to do my aerobics tapes before Jeff wakes up. He teases me unmercifully if he catches me doing them," she wrinkled her nose. "I was making breakfast when I saw you pull in. And then I saw someone with you and I simply had to come see!" She shrugged, "I thought at first that you'd managed to find--"
"I didn't. Would you please leave now? You're upsetting both of us."
"You're too high strung. It's all that coffee you drink."
"Shut up."
"Now, now." Sally held up a small, white porcelain cup she'd been dangling from her fingers. "Do you have a cup of sugar I could borrow? Stores are never open this early, and I need sugar to finish making breakfast. Porridge just doesn't taste the same without it, and you know how Jordan likes it in his coffee."
"Oh, for-" Peter descended into dark mutterings as he snatched the cup away, wrestled with a container on his counter and finally handed back it back full of sugar. "Now get the hell out of my house and don't come back."
"You're such a charmer. It's a wonder you ever get laid."
Peter smiled sweetly at her, "Say hello to your breakfast for me. Is it Moore's son again?"
"Heavens no. Jacobson's daughter makes a much nicer blood porridge."
"Still have plenty of the tincture I gave you?"
Sally beamed at him, blowing a kiss as she left. "Of course. They never notice the loss of blood. You're a wonderful mad scientist. Ta, ta, darling. You should bring the new sweetheart over for lunch sometime."
"Never!" Peter declared, slamming the door as she finally went outside. "Stupid bloodsuckers!" He grabbed his mug and Lowell's, fixing them both new fresh cups before sitting down again. "I apologize for her unseemly behavior. Her and Jeff both seem to think they can say or do whatever they like." A sudden thought made him grin.
It was rather an evil grin, Lowell thought. Like…what had the vampire called him? Mad scientist. That grin was Mad Scientist Evil. The glasses didn't help, the way they reflected light.
Maybe he should go.
"Please, sit." Peter said tiredly. "This whole things seems to have rather neatly gone to hell."
Lowell reluctantly sat.
"As I was saying before that aggravating bloodsucker interrupted us - what are you planning to do now?"
Shrugging, Lowell slouched down in his chair. "I tend not to think that far ahead."
Peter nodded sympathetically, "I'd imagine not. Stay here, if you like. As long as you need."
"I can't do that," Lowell protested adamantly. "I don't like being an imposition."
"You're not. If you missed that entire recent encounter, I'm all too willing to throw out impositions." He stood, muttering to himself as he went to the fridge. "Though calling her that is a vast understatement, really. 'New lover' -- Oh just wait until I get her back for that one." Pausing in his grousing, he turned back to Lowell. "Hungry?"
Ravenous. Starving. He could eat for a week straight - maybe pause to breath or something - and then go for another week. "A little bit."
"I've got some left over chicken and pasta salad. Bought them at the deli in town." Peter fixed them both plates and sat down again, looking less aggravated than he had before. "Anyway - you can stay here for a bit. I'm usually busy in my lab, so someone floating around the house won't really affect me." He started to say something else, then shrugged and dove into his food.
Lowell did the same, hoping but not really caring if he remembered his rather limited supply of manners.
The smile on Peter's face was the one Lowell was more familiar with, when he finally finished eating and looked up at the doctor.
"Tired?" Peter asked.
Lowell shrugged.
"I put new sheets on the bed in the spare room, and there's plenty of clothes in there for you to wear, if you like. Help yourself to whatever."
Something was weird. Didn't clothes and a made bed and 'stuff' usually mean…"Did some one else used to live here?" he asked abruptly, then ducked his head and muttered an apology.
Peter wasn't smiling anymore. "Yes. Someone did. His name was Stacey."
Lowell jumped at the familiar name, "But that was--"
"The same man that told you I had a cure?" Peter laughed bitterly. "I'm sure he's having a grand time telling everyone that."
"I…" Lowell tried to make himself as little as possible in his seat.
Peter forced a smile, "It's not your fault. I'm sorry for acting so rudely. Come on, I'll show you the room. Stay the night at least, and if you want you can leave in the morning."
He meant to refuse, really he did. Because how fucking logical was it to stay with a guy who lived next door to vampires who called him mad scientist. And what was that crack about him being somebody's sweetheart? No, it was definitely time to get the hell out of dodge. Or Midsummer. Where ever the hell he was. Twilight Zone. "Sure, I guess."
"Excellent. Just leave the dishes, I'll get everything in the morning." Peter led the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He stopped at the door one down from the bathroom, swinging the door open and flicking the light on as they stepped inside. "You can sleep here. Sleep as long as you like, and if you don't see me when you get up help yourself to the kitchen. If for some reason you need me, I'm at the end of the hall. Otherwise, I'll be in my lab tomorrow. Just knock on the door under the stairs if you need me while I'm in there."
"Ah - okay." But Lowell's reply was made to Peter's back, as the doctor all but fled the room.
Confused, Lowell shrugged and closed the door. He looked around the room.
It was nice. And sort of boggling. An entire room to himself? What did you do with a whole room and it was just you? The bed looked really nice, a faded green plaid comforter pulled back to reveal forest green sheets underneath. A pair of grey pajama pants and a white t-shirt had been set out on the bed, and shrugging Lowell changed into them. In the spirit of the stupid gift horse and all that.
The rest of the room was mostly empty - a dress and desk that had obviously been well used but also taken care of. A brush lay on top of it, but nothing else. The desk looked like it hadn't been used in a while.
Shrugging to himself, Lowell flicked off the light and climbed into bed. He figured he'd be up the rest of the night trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
He woke to screaming.
Howls and wails of furious outrage.
Years of sleeping where he shouldn't be sleeping had taught him to be quick to wake, and by the time he ambled downstairs Lowell was fully alert. He followed the racket to the back door, which was partially ajar.
Last night hadn't been the time for sight seeing, so he was somewhat surprised to see that Peter's house was mostly by itself. He could see another house across the street, down a long, winding driveway, but otherwise there was nothing but forest and field.
Damn could the vampire woman yell. He remembered a woman at the orphanage whom they'd all called 'Banshee.' She couldn’t hold a candle to the shrieking vampire.
And why the hell was it still dark out? Yawning, Lowell tilted his head back to look up at the sliver of moon still bright in the sky. So it was what? Four or five o'clock? His first night in a real bed and a vampire wakes him up at five in the morning?
That was another kick for whoever was laughing at him behind the Pearly Gates. In the face.
Curiosity was a hard mistress to disobey though. In bare feet Lowell trekked down the gravel driveway, across the street and into the vampire's yard. And now he could hear another voice.
Peter.
The doctor was sitting on the steps of the vampire's - Suzy? No…S…Sandra? No…Sally! Sitting on Sally's front porch, laughing hysterically. Lowell watched them both, trying to figure out what was going on.
"How long have you had this rigged, Mad Scientist?"
"Since last week, Bloodsucker."
"He's going to be sick all this week. You ass! I'm going to kill you."
Peter was too busy laughing to be concerned.
He stopped laughing when Sally kicked him hard in the shin. "Hey!" Peter glared, "No violence!"
"And you call smacking us with sunlight nonviolent?"
"Imitation sunlight, and I'll have you know it was hard to make those flares just so. I put a lot of effort into pissing you off; the least you could do is appreciate it."
Sally grimaced, "You're just pissed about my borrowing a cup of sugar."
"Oh, is that what I'm upset about? Because I was pretty sure it was the part where you called him my lover."
"I was just teasing you."
"It wasn't funny."
"Get over yourself, Mad Scientist."
"Shut up, Bloodsucker. Is Jordan all right? The flares worked better than even I had anticipated."
Sally kicked him again, though not as hard. "He's fine. We're just both going to look simply awful for a week or so. Honestly, my skin was looking so fine! And now it's going to be hideously red and I've got my sister's party to attend on Thursday!" She pouted.
"Yeah, yeah." Peter waved her words away and stood, stretching. "Come over tomorrow and I'll give you something to help it. You'll be as lovely and idiotic looking as ever. Tell Jordan I said hello, and that I hope you both turn to ash."
"I hope your next experiment blows up in your face," Sally said with one of her beaming smiles, fangs glinting in the dark. "Good night!"
"Good morning. Freak."
"Jerk."
Turning around, Peter began to walk across her yard - and stumbled to a halt. "Lowell?"
Lowell shuffled nervously, "I, uh, heard screaming."
"Oh," Peter blinked. "That was just the Bloodsucker yowling. It's a wonder she hasn't been arrested for disturbing the peace. Among other things."
Sally started to speak, then just rolled her eyes and climbed the steps and made for her front door. "It's late, I'm going to get a shower and fix dinner, and then I'm going to bed. I'll get you tomorrow."
"Sure, whatever." Peter motioned Lowell to follow him. "I'm sorry we woke you."
"It's okay," Lowell licked his lips nervously. "What did you do?"
"Hmm? Nothing much. Just tossed some flares strong enough to burn them like sunlight down the chimney. Won't do anything more than give them a sunburn for a few days."
A doctor that apparently had an ongoing antagonistic relationship with vampires and thought it was normal to have werewolves as houseguests. So he was a whack job. Lowell supposed he could live with that. Except…he turned pink, grateful for the darkness, unable to ask the question he wanted.
Why did the word 'lover' keep coming up? Did the doctor keep slaves or something? Okay, that was a stupid thought.
Peter broke the silence as they reached his house, "Would you like some breakfast? Or did you want to go back to sleep for a bit?"
Lowell shrugged.
"Then have breakfast with me?"
"Aren't you tired?" Lowell asked, immediately uncertain as to whether or not it was okay to ask that.
Peter just smiled, "I don't sleep very much."
"Oh," Lowell said, feeling dumb but not sure what else he was supposed to say.
"Do you like eggs? Sausage? I can make those okay. Scrambled all right? Have a seat, I'll make us some coffee."
Mmm, coffee. Coffee was good. The few years he'd lived at the orphanage, Lowell used to sneak it from the Adult's Kitchen all the time. Over and over again he was told 'it's bad for you. It will stunt your growth.'
It would have been nice of them to tell him that 'stunt your growth' meant 'you won't get tall' but Lowell figured maybe he could have asked for clarification on that point. Ah, well. Five six was better than being anything less. And now he could drink coffee with impunity. Ha!
He tried not to look too eager when Peter finally handed him a cup of coffee, but Peter's soft chuckle was probably an indication that he'd failed miserably. Nothing new there. Lowell shrugged to himself and drank the coffee with relish.
When the food was ready, he attacked it with equal fervor. He'd been too tired the night before to really notice what he was eating - but he sure as hell noticed it now. It was really good.
Another soft chuckle broke into his happy, oblivious state. He pinked and looked at his plate.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just nice to see someone actually enjoying my efforts." Peter smiled at him.
Lowell frowned. He recognized that smile, too. He should, he used it all the time himself. It was a mixture of happy and sad. Heavy on the sad. "It's really good. I can't remember the last time I had real food. And…no one's ever cooked just for me. Even the old lady just heated up a casserole thing for me." His fork clacked against his plate as he played with what remained of his scrambled eggs, carefully not looking at Peter.
"As I said last night, you're welcome to stay as long as you like." Much of the sadness had faded from Peter's smile. "I enjoy having someone else around. Empty houses never agreed with me. And it is largely my fault that you came out here on a false hope. It is the least I can do."
"But…" Lowell shook his head. "I can't just stay here and freeload like that. Anyway, it was that stupid werewolf who lied to me. You said so yourself, kind of." He rose to take his dishes to the sink, figuring that was something he should be doing.
Peter intercepted him and took the dishes. "It's all right. You're not freeloading. I told you - I enjoy having someone else in the house."
"But…" Lowell said again. He bit his lip, thinking. Which was not his strong suit, obviously. If he was good at it he might have used his damned money instead of hoarding it and walking across he didn't know how many damned states in order to pay for something that clearly had never had a chance of actually existing.
Wasn't there some stupid phrase about spilled milk? That one made less sense than the gift horse thing, because seriously? Spilled anything-related-to-food was a tragedy. But the phrase meant that you should just get over it, or something.
And it would be nice to stay in an actual house for a bit. With coffee and food and a bed - even the vampires across the street wouldn't be so bad. Could he really? Would it be safe?
Some of his doubts must have shown on his face, because Peter spoke up again. "If you're worried about the transforming thing, don't be." That sadness flickered over his face again, "The last guy who lived with me was a werewolf as well. So I'm used to it - and I have potions that can help a bit."
Lowell nodded, unable to look up at the doctor. "What - what if I paid you? To stay here? For the potions and stuff?"
"Pay me? Don't be ridiculous. I would never expect such a thing. And with what would you pay anyway?"
"I…" Lowell licked his lips. "I brought some money with me. I earned it as a I made my way here. Because I didn't know how much…how much it would cost. To help me." He tried not to sound upset about the cure thing again, but was pretty sure he failed.
Peter shook his head, "If you have money, use it for yourself. It's bad enough you were lead here on a false hope by someone who had no right doing such things. I won't take your money as well." He paused, "How much money do you have?"
Lowell told him.
Something flashed in Peter's eyes - disbelief, and anger. He strode across the room, hands falling on Lowell's shoulders as he shook the werewolf hard enough that Lowell felt his teeth rattle. "You idiot! If I did have a cure, do you think I'd make you pay for it? Even if I did charge for it, I would never make you pay such a high amount! You should have used that money on yourself!"
"But don't things like that always cost a lot of money?" Lowell asked, his urge to break away and run fighting with the urge to enjoy the fact that someone was actually touching him like he would any other person. Touching werewolves when you didn't have to was considered a Bad Idea by most people. Because, you know, touching a werewolf was almost like being bitten by a werewolf. Or something equally stupid and annoying and depressing. Peter had touched him a couple of times before, but not like this. Eve if it was to shake him and call him an idiot.
Peter stopped shaking him, hands sliding from his shoulders.
Lowell told himself he wasn't disappointed. He ducked his head again, as that seemed to be the only way for people to not figure out what he was thinking.
He jumped when Peter's fingers stroked his cheek.
"No, they don't. At least, not with me. I'm sure there are plenty of jerks who would charge a fortune for such a thing, but not me." Peter smiled, "Attempting to create it cost me a fortune, but that is neither here nor there."
Lowell started to ask what he meant, but Peter cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "I am done experimenting with it, I think. It's more or less impossible at present, for various reasons. So keep your money, and do what as you like with it. Stay as long as you like." The doctor turned away, "I'm off to my lab. Do as you please, just try not break anything." He turned to look over his shoulder, grinning in that way that Lowell was rapidly learning to recognize as Trouble. "Unless it's something that belongs to the Bloodsuckers. Their stuff you can break."
Watching him go in silence, Lowell remained where he was until he heard the sound of a door opening and closing, the faint sound of Peter going down a flight of stairs. Then silence. He stood still a moment longer, uncertain as to what he should do. What did one do when he had free reign of a stranger's house?
The old lady had been sweet, willing to put him up for at least the night and Lowell had suspected she wouldn't have minded him staying longer. But she had thought he was human, and so Lowell knew he wouldn't be staying long. Just the one night, enough for a shower, food and a comfy old couch that smelled like chocolate and dust and old lady perfume. He'd woken up early and done a few chores in the yard, stolen a glass of orange juice and was gone before the old lady woke up.
Should he leave now? He didn't want to leave. It was weird, knowing that Peter knew that he was a werewolf and didn't care. How often did that happen?
The last people to know he was a werewolf and let him live with them had been the women at the orphanage -and they'd kept him away from most of the other kids. They were always kept separate.
Because they might bite. Because they might go crazy when they changed. Might, might, might. If humans were kept separate from everyone else and treated like freaks, they'd be hostile too.
Peter didn't treat him like a freak. But the man harassed vampires for fun, so clearly he had issues of his own. Lowell found himself suddenly curious about the man who had taken him in, was being so nice to him for no good reason.
Feeling slightly guilty, because even though Peter had said he could do whatever he wanted Lowell still felt awkward and out of place, he refilled his coffee mug and set about slowly exploring the little house that he was going to be living in for awhile.
Midsummer's Moon
Part One: Waxing Moon
Part One: Waxing Moon
"Remind me to add you to my 'People I Want to Bite When I Stop Caring' list," Lowell muttered as he sourly watched yet another car speed past. He hated hitchhiking. Hated it almost as much as he hated - well, a lot of things.
Especially when it was cold, dark, raining and about as miserable as early spring could get. "Why does it always fucking rain when I have to walk? Just once can't it rain when I'm nice and dry in a vehicle?" Of course, if he hadn't forgotten his umbrella at the last bus station he'd slept it, he'd be less miserable but thinking about it was only making him more miserable so Lowell opted to just forget about the damned umbrella and enjoy being moderately miserable. Because that was a serious improvement over abjectly miserable, which was his usual state.
Of course if he didn’t catch a ride or find somewhere dry soon, he was going to turn miserably violent and scare the living shit out of the next jerk that decided to zoom by in their goddamned BMW and splash his already soaked clothes. "And they say I’m the mean one. Assholes."
The sound of an approaching car broke into his brooding thoughts, and he swiped his sopping hair from his eyes to turn and stick out his thumb as the car rapidly approached.
And sped right by as if it hadn't seen him. Lowell's shoulders sagged. He looked ahead of him down the road, seeing nothing but a few streetlights to keep the highway from being too dark. If he'd known the weirdo in the bug was going to freak out and drop him in the middle of nowhere, he would have just…probably taken the ride anyway.
Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all.
Sighing, resettling his beat-up, faded backpack, Lowell let his messy, wet and tangled brown bangs fall back in his face. It was slightly better than the cool breeze and rain slapping him in the face. He heard another car approaching behind him, and didn't even bother to turn around. A glance at his battered watch told him it was nearly ten o'clock - if no one had been willing to give him a ride before, they certainly wouldn't give him one now. Dark = Strange and Evil and Scary.
The car sped past, and Lowell could see two children playing in the back seat. He paused, scrubbing at his aching, tired eyes. Maybe he'd find an exit ramp with a gas station - or even a rest stop! - and could bunk down. If it hadn't been raining, he'd just make do with the side of the highway. There was enough grass on either side that he wouldn't have to worry about cars hitting him.
But it was raining, and so he told himself to keep trudging on.
He stubbornly ignored the voice that tempted him with the money hidden at the bottom of his faded backpack. There was plenty enough there, to buy almost whatever he needed. But what he wanted probably wasn't going to come cheap and he needed every last scrap of those savings for when - if - he finally reached Midsummer's Night.
Who the fuck named a town Midsummer's Night anyway? All he saw was a town full of nut bars reciting Shakespeare while they baked apple pies for their local fair. "I need sleep." Lowell was sick of it. Sick of walking, sick of begging for rides, sick of walking around with five thousand dollars that he couldn't spend because the answer to his prayers might be residing in a town called Midsummer's Night.
Somebody somewhere in heaven was laughing at him, and when Lowell finally met the bastard he was going to kick him in the face and then bite him - maybe bite his nuts off. Because then the laughing bastard could be a nutless werewolf and there would finally be someone more pathetic than him around.
Lowell abruptly stopped walking and dropped down to sit on the edge of the highway with a splashing plop. "Fuck it. I'm sick of walking. 'Sad, Pathetic Werewolf Drowns In the Rain.' That about sums up my life." Tilting his head back, Lowell stared up at the moon, which was only a sliver of light at the moment. "Stupid bitch. If I ever find out you're laughing at me," he waved his fist threateningly in the air.
It took him a second to realize that not only had a car passed him, it had stopped just a few yards ahead. And someone was getting out and heading right for him.
"Yes! The world is finally ending!" Lowell attempted to stand, but realized his legs had decided to stop working. "Umm…" he blinked tiredly up at the man leaning over him.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, frowning concernedly. "Can you stand? Should I take you to a hospital?"
Lowell jumped, and shook his head frantically. "No! No--I'm fine. I don't need a hospital."
The man nodded. "Then hurry and get in the car. Remaining out here in the rain is doing neither of us any good." Grabbing his arm, the man helped Lowell to his feet and led him to the car. He waited until Lowell was settled before he slammed the door and ran around to the driver's side. Closing his own door, tossing his umbrella into the back, he smiled briefly and then put the car in gear. "So what are you doing taking a nap on the highway in this miserable weather?"
"Trying to get to Midsummer's Night," Lowell said distractedly. He'd only been in the car thirty seconds and already he was in heaven. It was warm and cozy and smelled like coffee and whatever cologne the man was wearing. Probably the best thing to happen to him in a long, long time. Opening his eyes, he slid a glance at his rescuer and almost smiled.
The man was the very image of a small town doctor, except young. Thirties or so? He had on a dark blue oxford shirt and khakis, a long white lab coat that for some reason he hadn't bothered to take off. Since Lowell doubted he was on his way to work. His glasses looked pseudo-old fashioned - perfectly round, small spectacles that had probably been made by some insanely expensive designer or the nearest knock off. And the blue eyes behind them were bright and friendly, all of it framed by soft, kind of wavy black hair.
Which, in Lowell's limited experience, meant the guy was either a whack job or a figment of his imagination. Either was fine, really, so long as the guy didn't turn the heat off.
"Midsummer's Night, eh?" the man smiled. "That's where I live, so this is your lucky day."
Lowell blinked. "Really? You're headed there? Is it really okay if you give me a lift? I don't have any money…"
The man waved his words away, eyes focusing on the winding turns of the road. "Forget it. You're hardly putting me out, and I couldn't just leave you stranded out there." He turned to smile before focusing again on the road. "What brings you all the way out here? Not much in Midsummer for the really young ones."
"Umm…" Lowell bit his bottom lip, not quite certain he should say.
"Friend? Relative?" A grin, "On the run?"
Lowell shrugged. If he was lucky, the guy would be able to give him directions. Didn't doctors tend to know each other? "I was hoping to visit a doctor there. Umm…." Lowell fumbled for the index card in his pocket, worn from constantly being folded, unfolded and stuffed always in the pocket of his old jeans. "Peter Kuhl."
The man began to laugh, the pleasant sound of it filling the car and making Lowell almost want to smile - except it also made him nervous.
"And what's your name?" the man asked a minute or two later.
Really nervous now, because he had no idea what was going on, Lowell licked his lips and hesitated a moment before replying, "Lowell."
"Just Lowell?"
"Yeah…" he hoped he didn't sound as pathetic as he thought he probably did. "Just Lowell."
"Well, Just Lowell," the man turned to face him as he stopped at an intersection just off the highway. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Most people just call me Peter - I don't much like Pete."
Lowell blinked. Blinked some more. "You're Dr. Kuhl?"
"Yes, I am." Peter smiled, and for some reason this latest smile made Lowell really nervous. It was…different from the previous ones. Like…he didn't know what. "And if you'll wait just a few more minutes, I'll fix us some coffee and we can discuss why a werewolf has come all the way out here to see me?"
"Whatever you say, Doc," Lowell said weakly, sliding down in his seat and doing his best to turn invisible. How had the man figured it out so quickly? Then again, he was supposed to be an expert. Of course he'd know what Lowell was the minute he saw him. He willed his heart to stop beating a million miles a minute, thoughts in turmoil.
Maybe things were starting to go his way? He snuck another glance at the doctor, impatient now to know what was going to happen next.
"Do you have a change of clothes? Staying in those wet things certainly isn't a good idea."
Lowell shrugged. He had another set of clothes in his bag, but the beat up thing wasn't waterproof and by this point everything in was probably as soaked as him.
Smiling, Peter crossed the kitchen to the hallway and beckoned him. "Well, come this way. A hot shower and some warm dry clothes will improve things greatly for us both." He held out his hand, "Come. You can use the hallway bathroom, I've got my own in my bedroom."
Ignoring the hand and the offer, Lowell stayed where he was. "Why are you being so nice?"
"Isn't it better, in your situation, not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" Peter's tone remained friendly but there was a gently reproving note to it.
Lowell hated that phrase. It made no damn sense at all. He looked at the floor, flushing in embarrassment.
Taking pity on him, Peter explained. "Look, I have a pretty good idea why you're here to see me. Before we begin to discuss it, I'd rather we both be comfortable. Wet and cold is not my idea of comfortable. Now come on."
Reluctantly Lowell nodded and followed him, ignoring the proffered hand. Peter smiled faintly and pointed, "Straight up the stairs, then turn down the hallway. It's your first right. Go ahead and get in, I'll bring you some clothes and a towel."
Lowell obeyed in silence. The bathroom was fairly simple - shower, toiler, sink and one of those tiny little closets that's really only good for holding towels and toilet paper. There was a general theme of 'dark green' and a small window of frosted glass. Wasting no time Lowell started the shower, stripped off his clothes and climbed in before the water had warmed up.
Once the water was hot, he began to heartily enjoy being able to get in a real shower in a real house. The soap smelled like soap and not like too many people had used it; the shampoo/conditioner smelled like mint and gods did he love that. He scrubbed at his skin until it was bright red, rinsed the soap off and then did it all again. It was heavenly - the last time he'd had a real shower like this it had been in the house of a sweet old lady. Her bathroom had been filled with exotic soaps and fancy bottles with names like 'wild roses' and 'lavender and rosemary' and when he'd finished he'd smelled like someone had dunked him in a vat of perfume. But the old lady had given him chocolate chip cookies. 'Wild roses' hair had been a price well worth paying for a shower and cookies.
Despite his desire to stay under the hot water forever, he already felt awkward and embarrassed enough without adding horribly guilty to the list. With more reluctance than he'd had for obeying Peter in the first place, Lowell shut off the shower. He wrung out as much water as he could from his thick hair and stepped out of the shower stall. And immediately frowned - a towel and some clothing were set out on the countertop.
Not good at all. He hadn't heard the guy come in or leave. Soap and water had clearly made him sloppy. Wiping himself dry, toweling his hair dry as best he could, Lowell examined the clothes that had been set out for him.
The doctor had even brought him boxers, laying on top of a pair of jeans. Both articles were brand new, even had tags that Lowell felt slightly guilty for ripping off. The stone washed jeans were a little too long but otherwise felt better than any he'd worn in ages. A sweater was also waiting for him, dark cream and obviously worn rather than brand new. Slipping it on, Lowell rapidly cleaned the bathroom as best he could and then slipped on a pair of thick brown socks. A cursory look in the mirror showed that he looked better than he had in a long time - you could tell his hair was light brown and not made of dirt and that underneath the dirty rain water, mud and grime his eyes were green. At least he didn’t' look like the poor pathetic werewolf that he was. Being a werewolf didn't leave one with many employment options, and five thousand dollars worth of crappy jobs had left him relatively fit. He liked to tell himself he wasn't unattractive, but that was probably just wishful thinking. Not that it mattered - werewolves didn't do so hot on the dating seen.
He padded down the hallway and stairs, both carpeted with a soft, thick, neutral-colored carpet and peeked around the doorway before entering the empty kitchen with a soft sigh of relief - he didn't have to face the doctor quite yet.
It was an oddly pretty kitchen, done in soft blues and yellows with a small little oak table set beneath the small window that looked out over a dark, wet backyard. The hallway doorway was parallel to the backdoor, counter space wrapping around the wall between them. Sink, oven, dishwasher - and at the far end of the counter a coffee pot was filling the kitchen with the best thing Lowell had smelled since he snuck some food from a hotel's complimentary breakfast.
Crossing the room to the coffee machine, Lowell nearly slipped on the linoleum. Only a wild grab for the table kept him from falling, and he thought maybe he should sit down and learn a little patience before he killed himself. 'Stupid Wolf Boy Dies By Linoleum Tragedy' sound even more pathetic than the death by rain and Lowell was trying his damnedest to be less pathetic than he had been an hour ago.
Now - sit with his back to the hallway or with his back to the door? The doc probably wouldn't like it if Lowell rearranged his furniture so he could see the hallway, the door and the window. Back to the hallway seemed the less threatening, so Lowell finally settled on that. Sitting down he waited anxiously for his host to reappear, fidgeting with the too-long sleeves of his sweater.
He heard Peter in the upstairs hallway, hunching his shoulders and waiting frozen for him to reach the kitchen.
"Feeling better?" Peter asked congenially. He walked to the coffee machine, "How do you take your coffee?"
'Any way I can get it', Lowell figured, was probably the most pathetic answer he could come up with. "Uh…doesn't really matter." That wasn't much better.
Peter looked amused, but didn't say anything more. A couple of minutes later he set a mug in front of Lowell, then took the seat opposite.
Lowell sipped at it tentatively, not realizing he was smiling as he kept sipping. Cream and sugar, but only just enough that the coffee wasn't too bitter. Cup half empty, he realized he was ignoring the doctor. "Umm…thanks."
"Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do…" Peter, for once, wasn't smiling. "I…" he stopped. "You're here because you've heard I can cure werewolves."
Suddenly Lowell didn't feel so good. He knew that look. Didn't it fucking figure? "You can't, can you?"
"No," Peter said unhappily. "I can't. I was working on it, but a cure is still a long, long way off if and when I ever resume the work."
Okay. Fine. It had been a long shot anyway. And he hadn't actually thought - except he had. The stupid werewolf who had told him about it had sworn the guy had a cure but was keeping it quiet and Lowell had believed him and DAMN IT he was not going to cry because he was trying not to be pathetic.
"I'm sorry," Peter said softly.
"It's okay," Lowell stared miserably into his half-empty coffee cup. "It was stupid of me to buy it. I should have known the guy was pulling one over on me."
Peter quirked a brow, "No, you shouldn't have known. He was telling you half truths, and that's usually all it takes to sound sincere."
Lowell shrugged, still not looking at him.
"Look," Peter started to say, before a knock at his back door interrupted. His eyes narrowed, and daring to sneak a peek, Lowell was surprised to see just how unfriendly the doctor suddenly looked. "Go away," he said to his visitor, not even bothering to turn around or get up.
"Won't you lend a neighbor a cup of sugar?" a chipper-sounding voice called through the door.
"No," Peter said coldly. Clearly annoyed at having to get up, he stalked to the door and pulled it open. "Go away."
"My, my. You're as pleasant as ever."
Peter just glared at the unseen visitor, doing his best to keep her out. But her strength was clearly greater than his own, and a moment later a woman strolled into the kitchen as if she owned it.
She beamed at Lowell, "My, you're a handsome one. All those muscles, you must be pretty active. " A wink, "And such stunning green eyes. No wonder he brought you home."
Lowell just stared, nose twitching as she drew close enough he could smell her.
The woman looked like a hippy. Her skirt was a mass of colors and patterns, numerous strips of bright, clashing fabrics sewn together and falling just short of the floor. She wore a red knit tank top and jangled as she walked, so many beads did she have at her neck, wrists and waist. Her hair was a whole separate mess, beads and braids and a pair of chopsticks holding part of it up off her neck.
"Vampire," Lowell said with quiet surprise.
"Aw," the woman winked. "You're so sweet." She pointed her thumb at Peter, who was standing with arms crossed and glaring at her venomously. "This one only ever calls us-"
"Bloodsucker. Get. Out. Of. My. House."
She turned and flapped her hand at him, "In a moment, Mad Scientist. I'm chatting with your new little lover."
Lowell choked on his coffee and turned red as her words registered. "His what."
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, the gesture pushing his glasses up. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed right now, Sally?"
"Don't be silly, I never sleep past eight during the week. I have to do my aerobics tapes before Jeff wakes up. He teases me unmercifully if he catches me doing them," she wrinkled her nose. "I was making breakfast when I saw you pull in. And then I saw someone with you and I simply had to come see!" She shrugged, "I thought at first that you'd managed to find--"
"I didn't. Would you please leave now? You're upsetting both of us."
"You're too high strung. It's all that coffee you drink."
"Shut up."
"Now, now." Sally held up a small, white porcelain cup she'd been dangling from her fingers. "Do you have a cup of sugar I could borrow? Stores are never open this early, and I need sugar to finish making breakfast. Porridge just doesn't taste the same without it, and you know how Jordan likes it in his coffee."
"Oh, for-" Peter descended into dark mutterings as he snatched the cup away, wrestled with a container on his counter and finally handed back it back full of sugar. "Now get the hell out of my house and don't come back."
"You're such a charmer. It's a wonder you ever get laid."
Peter smiled sweetly at her, "Say hello to your breakfast for me. Is it Moore's son again?"
"Heavens no. Jacobson's daughter makes a much nicer blood porridge."
"Still have plenty of the tincture I gave you?"
Sally beamed at him, blowing a kiss as she left. "Of course. They never notice the loss of blood. You're a wonderful mad scientist. Ta, ta, darling. You should bring the new sweetheart over for lunch sometime."
"Never!" Peter declared, slamming the door as she finally went outside. "Stupid bloodsuckers!" He grabbed his mug and Lowell's, fixing them both new fresh cups before sitting down again. "I apologize for her unseemly behavior. Her and Jeff both seem to think they can say or do whatever they like." A sudden thought made him grin.
It was rather an evil grin, Lowell thought. Like…what had the vampire called him? Mad scientist. That grin was Mad Scientist Evil. The glasses didn't help, the way they reflected light.
Maybe he should go.
"Please, sit." Peter said tiredly. "This whole things seems to have rather neatly gone to hell."
Lowell reluctantly sat.
"As I was saying before that aggravating bloodsucker interrupted us - what are you planning to do now?"
Shrugging, Lowell slouched down in his chair. "I tend not to think that far ahead."
Peter nodded sympathetically, "I'd imagine not. Stay here, if you like. As long as you need."
"I can't do that," Lowell protested adamantly. "I don't like being an imposition."
"You're not. If you missed that entire recent encounter, I'm all too willing to throw out impositions." He stood, muttering to himself as he went to the fridge. "Though calling her that is a vast understatement, really. 'New lover' -- Oh just wait until I get her back for that one." Pausing in his grousing, he turned back to Lowell. "Hungry?"
Ravenous. Starving. He could eat for a week straight - maybe pause to breath or something - and then go for another week. "A little bit."
"I've got some left over chicken and pasta salad. Bought them at the deli in town." Peter fixed them both plates and sat down again, looking less aggravated than he had before. "Anyway - you can stay here for a bit. I'm usually busy in my lab, so someone floating around the house won't really affect me." He started to say something else, then shrugged and dove into his food.
Lowell did the same, hoping but not really caring if he remembered his rather limited supply of manners.
The smile on Peter's face was the one Lowell was more familiar with, when he finally finished eating and looked up at the doctor.
"Tired?" Peter asked.
Lowell shrugged.
"I put new sheets on the bed in the spare room, and there's plenty of clothes in there for you to wear, if you like. Help yourself to whatever."
Something was weird. Didn't clothes and a made bed and 'stuff' usually mean…"Did some one else used to live here?" he asked abruptly, then ducked his head and muttered an apology.
Peter wasn't smiling anymore. "Yes. Someone did. His name was Stacey."
Lowell jumped at the familiar name, "But that was--"
"The same man that told you I had a cure?" Peter laughed bitterly. "I'm sure he's having a grand time telling everyone that."
"I…" Lowell tried to make himself as little as possible in his seat.
Peter forced a smile, "It's not your fault. I'm sorry for acting so rudely. Come on, I'll show you the room. Stay the night at least, and if you want you can leave in the morning."
He meant to refuse, really he did. Because how fucking logical was it to stay with a guy who lived next door to vampires who called him mad scientist. And what was that crack about him being somebody's sweetheart? No, it was definitely time to get the hell out of dodge. Or Midsummer. Where ever the hell he was. Twilight Zone. "Sure, I guess."
"Excellent. Just leave the dishes, I'll get everything in the morning." Peter led the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He stopped at the door one down from the bathroom, swinging the door open and flicking the light on as they stepped inside. "You can sleep here. Sleep as long as you like, and if you don't see me when you get up help yourself to the kitchen. If for some reason you need me, I'm at the end of the hall. Otherwise, I'll be in my lab tomorrow. Just knock on the door under the stairs if you need me while I'm in there."
"Ah - okay." But Lowell's reply was made to Peter's back, as the doctor all but fled the room.
Confused, Lowell shrugged and closed the door. He looked around the room.
It was nice. And sort of boggling. An entire room to himself? What did you do with a whole room and it was just you? The bed looked really nice, a faded green plaid comforter pulled back to reveal forest green sheets underneath. A pair of grey pajama pants and a white t-shirt had been set out on the bed, and shrugging Lowell changed into them. In the spirit of the stupid gift horse and all that.
The rest of the room was mostly empty - a dress and desk that had obviously been well used but also taken care of. A brush lay on top of it, but nothing else. The desk looked like it hadn't been used in a while.
Shrugging to himself, Lowell flicked off the light and climbed into bed. He figured he'd be up the rest of the night trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
*~*~*~*
He woke to screaming.
Howls and wails of furious outrage.
Years of sleeping where he shouldn't be sleeping had taught him to be quick to wake, and by the time he ambled downstairs Lowell was fully alert. He followed the racket to the back door, which was partially ajar.
Last night hadn't been the time for sight seeing, so he was somewhat surprised to see that Peter's house was mostly by itself. He could see another house across the street, down a long, winding driveway, but otherwise there was nothing but forest and field.
Damn could the vampire woman yell. He remembered a woman at the orphanage whom they'd all called 'Banshee.' She couldn’t hold a candle to the shrieking vampire.
And why the hell was it still dark out? Yawning, Lowell tilted his head back to look up at the sliver of moon still bright in the sky. So it was what? Four or five o'clock? His first night in a real bed and a vampire wakes him up at five in the morning?
That was another kick for whoever was laughing at him behind the Pearly Gates. In the face.
Curiosity was a hard mistress to disobey though. In bare feet Lowell trekked down the gravel driveway, across the street and into the vampire's yard. And now he could hear another voice.
Peter.
The doctor was sitting on the steps of the vampire's - Suzy? No…S…Sandra? No…Sally! Sitting on Sally's front porch, laughing hysterically. Lowell watched them both, trying to figure out what was going on.
"How long have you had this rigged, Mad Scientist?"
"Since last week, Bloodsucker."
"He's going to be sick all this week. You ass! I'm going to kill you."
Peter was too busy laughing to be concerned.
He stopped laughing when Sally kicked him hard in the shin. "Hey!" Peter glared, "No violence!"
"And you call smacking us with sunlight nonviolent?"
"Imitation sunlight, and I'll have you know it was hard to make those flares just so. I put a lot of effort into pissing you off; the least you could do is appreciate it."
Sally grimaced, "You're just pissed about my borrowing a cup of sugar."
"Oh, is that what I'm upset about? Because I was pretty sure it was the part where you called him my lover."
"I was just teasing you."
"It wasn't funny."
"Get over yourself, Mad Scientist."
"Shut up, Bloodsucker. Is Jordan all right? The flares worked better than even I had anticipated."
Sally kicked him again, though not as hard. "He's fine. We're just both going to look simply awful for a week or so. Honestly, my skin was looking so fine! And now it's going to be hideously red and I've got my sister's party to attend on Thursday!" She pouted.
"Yeah, yeah." Peter waved her words away and stood, stretching. "Come over tomorrow and I'll give you something to help it. You'll be as lovely and idiotic looking as ever. Tell Jordan I said hello, and that I hope you both turn to ash."
"I hope your next experiment blows up in your face," Sally said with one of her beaming smiles, fangs glinting in the dark. "Good night!"
"Good morning. Freak."
"Jerk."
Turning around, Peter began to walk across her yard - and stumbled to a halt. "Lowell?"
Lowell shuffled nervously, "I, uh, heard screaming."
"Oh," Peter blinked. "That was just the Bloodsucker yowling. It's a wonder she hasn't been arrested for disturbing the peace. Among other things."
Sally started to speak, then just rolled her eyes and climbed the steps and made for her front door. "It's late, I'm going to get a shower and fix dinner, and then I'm going to bed. I'll get you tomorrow."
"Sure, whatever." Peter motioned Lowell to follow him. "I'm sorry we woke you."
"It's okay," Lowell licked his lips nervously. "What did you do?"
"Hmm? Nothing much. Just tossed some flares strong enough to burn them like sunlight down the chimney. Won't do anything more than give them a sunburn for a few days."
A doctor that apparently had an ongoing antagonistic relationship with vampires and thought it was normal to have werewolves as houseguests. So he was a whack job. Lowell supposed he could live with that. Except…he turned pink, grateful for the darkness, unable to ask the question he wanted.
Why did the word 'lover' keep coming up? Did the doctor keep slaves or something? Okay, that was a stupid thought.
Peter broke the silence as they reached his house, "Would you like some breakfast? Or did you want to go back to sleep for a bit?"
Lowell shrugged.
"Then have breakfast with me?"
"Aren't you tired?" Lowell asked, immediately uncertain as to whether or not it was okay to ask that.
Peter just smiled, "I don't sleep very much."
"Oh," Lowell said, feeling dumb but not sure what else he was supposed to say.
"Do you like eggs? Sausage? I can make those okay. Scrambled all right? Have a seat, I'll make us some coffee."
Mmm, coffee. Coffee was good. The few years he'd lived at the orphanage, Lowell used to sneak it from the Adult's Kitchen all the time. Over and over again he was told 'it's bad for you. It will stunt your growth.'
It would have been nice of them to tell him that 'stunt your growth' meant 'you won't get tall' but Lowell figured maybe he could have asked for clarification on that point. Ah, well. Five six was better than being anything less. And now he could drink coffee with impunity. Ha!
He tried not to look too eager when Peter finally handed him a cup of coffee, but Peter's soft chuckle was probably an indication that he'd failed miserably. Nothing new there. Lowell shrugged to himself and drank the coffee with relish.
When the food was ready, he attacked it with equal fervor. He'd been too tired the night before to really notice what he was eating - but he sure as hell noticed it now. It was really good.
Another soft chuckle broke into his happy, oblivious state. He pinked and looked at his plate.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just nice to see someone actually enjoying my efforts." Peter smiled at him.
Lowell frowned. He recognized that smile, too. He should, he used it all the time himself. It was a mixture of happy and sad. Heavy on the sad. "It's really good. I can't remember the last time I had real food. And…no one's ever cooked just for me. Even the old lady just heated up a casserole thing for me." His fork clacked against his plate as he played with what remained of his scrambled eggs, carefully not looking at Peter.
"As I said last night, you're welcome to stay as long as you like." Much of the sadness had faded from Peter's smile. "I enjoy having someone else around. Empty houses never agreed with me. And it is largely my fault that you came out here on a false hope. It is the least I can do."
"But…" Lowell shook his head. "I can't just stay here and freeload like that. Anyway, it was that stupid werewolf who lied to me. You said so yourself, kind of." He rose to take his dishes to the sink, figuring that was something he should be doing.
Peter intercepted him and took the dishes. "It's all right. You're not freeloading. I told you - I enjoy having someone else in the house."
"But…" Lowell said again. He bit his lip, thinking. Which was not his strong suit, obviously. If he was good at it he might have used his damned money instead of hoarding it and walking across he didn't know how many damned states in order to pay for something that clearly had never had a chance of actually existing.
Wasn't there some stupid phrase about spilled milk? That one made less sense than the gift horse thing, because seriously? Spilled anything-related-to-food was a tragedy. But the phrase meant that you should just get over it, or something.
And it would be nice to stay in an actual house for a bit. With coffee and food and a bed - even the vampires across the street wouldn't be so bad. Could he really? Would it be safe?
Some of his doubts must have shown on his face, because Peter spoke up again. "If you're worried about the transforming thing, don't be." That sadness flickered over his face again, "The last guy who lived with me was a werewolf as well. So I'm used to it - and I have potions that can help a bit."
Lowell nodded, unable to look up at the doctor. "What - what if I paid you? To stay here? For the potions and stuff?"
"Pay me? Don't be ridiculous. I would never expect such a thing. And with what would you pay anyway?"
"I…" Lowell licked his lips. "I brought some money with me. I earned it as a I made my way here. Because I didn't know how much…how much it would cost. To help me." He tried not to sound upset about the cure thing again, but was pretty sure he failed.
Peter shook his head, "If you have money, use it for yourself. It's bad enough you were lead here on a false hope by someone who had no right doing such things. I won't take your money as well." He paused, "How much money do you have?"
Lowell told him.
Something flashed in Peter's eyes - disbelief, and anger. He strode across the room, hands falling on Lowell's shoulders as he shook the werewolf hard enough that Lowell felt his teeth rattle. "You idiot! If I did have a cure, do you think I'd make you pay for it? Even if I did charge for it, I would never make you pay such a high amount! You should have used that money on yourself!"
"But don't things like that always cost a lot of money?" Lowell asked, his urge to break away and run fighting with the urge to enjoy the fact that someone was actually touching him like he would any other person. Touching werewolves when you didn't have to was considered a Bad Idea by most people. Because, you know, touching a werewolf was almost like being bitten by a werewolf. Or something equally stupid and annoying and depressing. Peter had touched him a couple of times before, but not like this. Eve if it was to shake him and call him an idiot.
Peter stopped shaking him, hands sliding from his shoulders.
Lowell told himself he wasn't disappointed. He ducked his head again, as that seemed to be the only way for people to not figure out what he was thinking.
He jumped when Peter's fingers stroked his cheek.
"No, they don't. At least, not with me. I'm sure there are plenty of jerks who would charge a fortune for such a thing, but not me." Peter smiled, "Attempting to create it cost me a fortune, but that is neither here nor there."
Lowell started to ask what he meant, but Peter cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "I am done experimenting with it, I think. It's more or less impossible at present, for various reasons. So keep your money, and do what as you like with it. Stay as long as you like." The doctor turned away, "I'm off to my lab. Do as you please, just try not break anything." He turned to look over his shoulder, grinning in that way that Lowell was rapidly learning to recognize as Trouble. "Unless it's something that belongs to the Bloodsuckers. Their stuff you can break."
Watching him go in silence, Lowell remained where he was until he heard the sound of a door opening and closing, the faint sound of Peter going down a flight of stairs. Then silence. He stood still a moment longer, uncertain as to what he should do. What did one do when he had free reign of a stranger's house?
The old lady had been sweet, willing to put him up for at least the night and Lowell had suspected she wouldn't have minded him staying longer. But she had thought he was human, and so Lowell knew he wouldn't be staying long. Just the one night, enough for a shower, food and a comfy old couch that smelled like chocolate and dust and old lady perfume. He'd woken up early and done a few chores in the yard, stolen a glass of orange juice and was gone before the old lady woke up.
Should he leave now? He didn't want to leave. It was weird, knowing that Peter knew that he was a werewolf and didn't care. How often did that happen?
The last people to know he was a werewolf and let him live with them had been the women at the orphanage -and they'd kept him away from most of the other kids. They were always kept separate.
Because they might bite. Because they might go crazy when they changed. Might, might, might. If humans were kept separate from everyone else and treated like freaks, they'd be hostile too.
Peter didn't treat him like a freak. But the man harassed vampires for fun, so clearly he had issues of his own. Lowell found himself suddenly curious about the man who had taken him in, was being so nice to him for no good reason.
Feeling slightly guilty, because even though Peter had said he could do whatever he wanted Lowell still felt awkward and out of place, he refilled his coffee mug and set about slowly exploring the little house that he was going to be living in for awhile.
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Date: 2005-06-21 01:39 pm (UTC)I suppose I could stretch it out if I wanted, but I don't wanna. It should be complete in three parts. B/c yeah, I'm sick of WIPs. I'm so slow these days because they all overwhelm me. Gods I can't wait 'til my vacation, I'm so looking forward to knocking stories out. It's going to be swing swing.
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Date: 2005-06-21 02:40 pm (UTC)*hugs* Hang in there, it's coming! (Day by day it approaches. :P Of course we want it to get here FASTER ---and I really /do/ mean "we" there--- but at least it's approaching, right? Better than getting stuck in the unforeseeable future.)