This is the last chapter...coming soon, the two different sequels and a few one-shots in the same universe, starting with some Leon/D pr0n to thank you all for sticking with this non-shippy one.

As always, Feedback is not only appreciated, it is craved and worshiped.

Chapter 4

At first sight, Russia was as dreary and unwelcoming as Leon had expected and he hastened to travel through it as quickly as possible. He spent scant hours in the towns he came across moving southwest around the perimeter, but eventually, he had to travel inward. There were desolate villages that filled Leon with an overwhelming sense of despair. There were small cities overrun with crime and poverty that reminded Leon of the city in upstate California where he'd been raised. There were sights lovely, beautiful and sad. Leon stayed in one town in the south for a week. The innkeeper made the most delicious meals, and the British owned bookstore in town had several interesting volumes on Chinese mythology. The woman behind the counter was eager to help Leon search for books that answered his questions, and translate relevant text to English.

After a month winding through the country, south, then west, then northeast again, and back, in an ever-tightening circle, Leon found himself in Moscow. It was there he met Sri. She was Indian and French in lineage, British by birth, and had endured an interesting upbringing—winters in Southern France and India, and summers in England. She was strikingly beautiful—a long fall of dark straight hair, large hazel eyes that tended toward green, and generous curves that she covered conservatively.

Sri was travelling, too, though she never told Leon why, and after the first time she refused to tell him, he never asked again. She may have been searching for years, because she seemed to know everything there was to know about all of Europe and most of Asia, but she didn't have the tired look about her that Leon knew he possessed. She was intimate with Russia, having friends who owned several nightclubs in the larger cities. Through silent agreement, they travelled together. Sri could always be counted on for finding them a cheap place to stay.

Sometimes Leon didn't know what day or time it was. Though he didn't like Russia, he found himself oddly at home there. He and Sri would sometimes spend several days in one club, where Sri's sometimes lover, Marcus, would pour them glass after glass of absinthe. It was during those times, after Leon had tired himself out dancing, that he would go to the private room in the back. The black lights played tricks on his eyes, aided in large part by the absinthe, and Leon would have conversations with his mother, D, and Jill, and a dozen other people unseen for years, or dead for even longer.

It took a month before Leon figured there might be something wrong with the way he kept himself preoccupied, and when he told Sri, she only arched an elegant brow and suggested they move on. To India. India in August was hotter than hell. Maybe even literally. The heat was a palpable, living thing, visible in blurs in the air, manifesting
in sweat and condensation and Leon couldn't wear sunglasses because they fogged up, but the sun was so bright without them. The pollution was potentially worse than that Leon had experienced in LA, and his lungs protested the abuse.

Only a day in India told him Sri was as different from the women of the country in so many ways. He'd thought of her as conservative before, but upon observing other women, he saw she was quite easy-going. Sri loved India desperately, though she had not been raised there, and delighted in dragging Leon to all sorts of interesting landmarks and museums, in feeding him food that was spicy and sweet all at once, in teaching him bits and pieces of the languages that were her heritage.

The way she spoke every syllable precisely left Leon hanging on her every word, no matter its language. Her voice was high and piercing, and her words ran together like a song. Sri had quite a way with languages, to be sure. She spoke seven fluently, one of them Chinese, and was more than willing to teach Leon. What amazed him most about Sri was that she never asked for anything in return. She provided him with shelter when possible, food always (she had friends in every city they visited, it seemed, who were always good for a meal and a place to stay), she shared her knowledge and she never once asked him what he was searching for so desperately. It wasn't long before Leon loved her dearly, and was glad to be travelling with her, he hoped for however long it took him to find D.

They rode an elephant together through a broad stretch of jungle. There were fantastic shrines to gods D certainly knew on a first name basis. Sri knew all the stories, though they were dizzyingly complex, and told him about this god's affair with that, and the mortal girl who won the heart of the former, and was slain by the latter. As they
travelled along half buried paths, Sri plucked flowers and wove flowers together and strung them around Leon's neck.

They found the ruins of a statue that must have been D or one of his ancestors in a temple deep in the jungle. Leon spent a long time staring at the familiar face and Sri said nothing, though before they left, she plucked a blossom, and using it as a cup, scooped up water from the basin at D's feet and gave it to Leon to drink. And when he had, she gave him a new name. Amrit, she called him from then on.

They weren't alone in their travels. Two other men both familiar with the jungle, were leading a safari full of rich, white Americans. In late September, the heat was persistent, the bugs more than simply annoying. They spent most their evenings around a large fire, sweltering hot, but safe from any disease carrying insects. There the locals regaled the visitors with all sorts of stories regarding legend and history, from ancient times to British occupation. Leon found himself vaguely annoyed by his countrymen, and kept with Sri, avoiding them best as possible.

"Do you ever wonder?" Sri asked him one night, as they lay in their tent.

"Wonder what?" Leon frowned, pondering the directionless question.

"Oh, that's just it!" Sri said suddenly and sharply, with the slightest tinge of despair in her voice. Her hand brushed his arms oh-so-lightly, like a whisper of silk. He felt her roll onto her side, and knew she was looking at him, though he didn't look at her.
Sometimes her attention made him uncomfortable, though he knew she didn't desire him. He knew anyway that there was something she wanted from him, though she'd never state it.

"You're not making any sense," Leon muttered and closed his eyes firmly, so he wouldn't have to see her over-bright ones looming above him.

"What are you looking for, Amrit?" Sri asked, after several long moments of
silence, and her voice was startling in the dark.

Leon considered reminding her that she'd told him to mind his own business when he'd once asked her the same question, but sighed instead. "Stop being a freak," He said, rolling away from her. He heard her open her mouth and take in breath to speak, but she never said a word. Then he heard the sound of her pants sliding against her sleeping bag, and her hair shifting on her pillow. "Wonder what?" He asked again, and hoped he sounded more agreeable.

"You're absolutely impossible," Sri said darkly, but Leon could tell she was amused by him.

"I've been told," He said back, a smile tugging at his lips as in his mind he saw all the times D had pushed Leon's feet off the tea table, all the times D had chastised him for being sloppy, or for smoking, or burping, or for plastering his walls with naked women, when D had finally sighed, calming himself and saying those very words. He fell to sleep watching all his favourite memories of D, and didn't realise Sri had never pursued the answer to her question.

Feeling, feeling like I'm twisted all around
Wading through an empty life too long

By mid-October, they had moved onto Korea. In December they took a boat to New Zealand. All of January and most of February was spent in the Australian outback with a man who couldn't have reminded Leon of Crocodile Dundee any more.

Sri seemed to be having the time of her life. She smiled more, the longer they travelled, and was more playful and tactile, touching Leon's arm when she spoke to him, wrapping her arm around him while they walked, pressing herself to his side when they stopped to rest. It was doubtful Leon would have held with such things before. He just
knew that if any of the women he'd considered friends in the past had tried similar things, it wouldn't have gone over well. He just couldn't imagine him being okay with Jill touching him so inappropriately.

In Sydney, Leon treated them to a nice hotel room where they had their first hot showers in months. They ordered room service, watched television, and Leon didn't even blink when Sri began to paint his toenails as he wrote in his journal.

I feel incredibly absurd right now, and I blame you. I'm happy. I'm happy with Sri. She's needy, and weak, and clingy, and funny and smart. And I'm really happy with her, and I hate it. I don't want her, and I don't want to be merely happy. If you were the one painting my toenails right now, I'd be miserable, and I'd love it. She asks me questions I don't have answers for. I never expect it. But when she does, I know why I haven't found you yet. But I will find you. I'll be ready. She's making me ready.

Sri tapped Leon's foot impatiently with the polish bottle and he looked up from his writing. She pointed imperiously at the phone and said, "Call your brother. He's probably really worried, you know."

Leon frowned at her, uncertain when he'd mentioned having a brother, but knowing she was right. He'd sent postcards whenever he could, but of course Chris couldn't respond in any fashion. It had been over seven months since he'd last spoken with his younger brother. The phone was answered on the first ring by a familiar, anxious voice.

"Hey, kid," Leon said, attempting to sound casual, but aware of the tightness of his voice, the actual physical pain in his throat as he forced the words out.

"Are you coming home? Did you find him?" Chris asked, his words fast and breathless, full of barely suppressed excitement.

A shiver like a shock ran through Leon and he closed his eyes. The light was too bright. "N—not yet."

"Where are you? Your last postcard was from Australia. Dad showed me where on the map. I've got a thumbtack for every place I know you've been," Chris said eagerly, and if Leon had been any less perceptive, he would have missed the tears in Chris' voice.

As it was, he chose to pretend he had, and leave Chris to his pre-adolescent dignity. "Sydney. It's on the coastline. And it's big, like LA. I'll send you a postcard from here, of the big concert-opera hall thing."

"Yeah, we've seen pictures of it in class. We're supposed to do projects about a foreign country for geography, and I'm going to use all the letters you've sent me," Chris told him.

"What uh…what grade are you in, now?" Leon asked, rubbing his face, feeling ancient.

"Sixth. I'm going to a prep school in Manhattan. Mom and dad say it's the best, and I can do whatever I want when I finish. But I told them I just want to be a police officer, too." Chris sounded painfully earnest. Leon heard everything he was meant to in that voice. That Chris was desperate for Leon's approval, and love. For Leon himself.

Leon felt the bed shift and Sri curled against his side. Her breath was hot on his throat, her lashes fluttered against his chin in a butterfly kiss. He swallowed hard, and looked at her, at his journal, and listened to Chris talking about joining the school band. He made his decision effortlessly and immediately, and when he was finished talking to Chris, he hung up and began to pack his bag.

Sri sat up and watched him for a very long time before she asked where he was going.

"I've got enough cash to get a plane ticket to England, at least, and I've got friends there who can help get me the rest of the way," Leon said. He stuffed his journal into his rucksack and didn't look up at Sri.

"To where?" Sri demanded, eyes wide.

Leon turned to her, meeting her eyes purposefully. "Home. New York. Chris needs me." He zipped up his bag. "Holy shit! I'm fucking insane, do you know it, Sri? I've been chasing a freakin' cross dressing jackass for five years. I've missed my brother grow up, I gave up my job, and my life, and I'm never going to find him. And so what if I do? How is it going to be any different? This," he lifted the bag full of nothing but his journals, "this is all bullshit. Not a word of it is true. I haven't learned anything. The only lesson I got was when he left, and I only just now realised it. So fuck it. Fuck him."

Sri's eyes were brimming with tears. Leon grabbed her wrist. "Come with me."

Sri shook her head fervently and twisted her wrist out of his grasp. She looked absolutely frightening, so furious her countenance. "You go," She told him, gasping with hatred. Leon didn't understand it, this sudden change in her personality and behaviour. She didn't even look the same. She looked smaller and older, absolutely drained.

"Go, Amrit," She repeated, with that same imperious tone she'd used a million times before, always bringing a grin to Leon's face. "And if you ever find D, you tell him I hate him."

The name she spoke that he'd never told her hung between them, along with a thousand secrets and lies. He didn't ask her again to join him.

The city was the same, but none of its people were. Leon had reached London with over half the money he needed for a ticket home, and from there he'd managed to scrape the rest together from old acquaintances, just as he'd thought he could. Seven days after speaking with Chris on the phone, he arrived at his Aunt and Uncle's home in Yonkers and rang the doorbell. From that moment on, he'd been aware of the change.

Chris had grown well over a foot, tall for his age, and still slender, but muscled from playing soccer. He looked ever more like Leon, had even grown his hair long like Leon's had been when last they'd seen each other. They spent that first night going through Leon's journals. Chris didn't ask to read what had been written, but he enjoyed seeing the pictures and hearing Leon's stories. They talked for hours, and though Chris was supposed to go to school the next day, his parents never once told the boys to go to bed.

The next day, Chris was allowed to play hookie, and Leon took him into town. Chris was intimidating in his intelligence. Leon didn't know if he'd been so bright when he was the same age, or if he'd been too long away from children, but it didn't seem right that Chris knew so much, that his vocabulary was so large, that he was capable of such
grand ideas as he was. Leon didn't know his brother at all. But he was ready to know him.

All Leon's roommates had graduated college and had moved on to grad school, marriage, or jobs. Kara was dead, and no one knew that she had been a person, that Leon had talked with her, and joked with her. Even Chris only gave him a sympathetic frown, as though he didn't understand why Leon was so upset.

Leon started working as a Detective for the NYPD, and things were as close to normal as they ever would be again. His partner was a lot older—at least in his late fifties—and he was tough, but he was friendly enough, and he didn't go out of his way to give Leon a hard time. Leon did his job as well as he always had, which was to say, he did an exceptional job. Everyone noticed, and he made friends pretty quickly among the other guys on the force. It was almost like when he'd first become a cop.

A messy but decent apartment downtown was home, and though he was near
Chinatown, he never strayed there. He saw Chris several times a week, usually after Chris got done with prep school. They'd see a show, or have an early dinner. Leon listened while Chris practiced his violin, helped Chris with his math, answered all Chris' questions regarded Leon's travels, and what it was like to be a cop.

Leon loved his work, of course, and he loved being with Chris. He hadn't even realised how much he liked being around the kid until he'd got back, but now he took every opportunity to spend time with him. Weekends and early evenings were often spent at the Irish pub around the corner from the 13th precinct. Occasionally one of his friends from his first stay in New York would invite him out for dinner, or to a show, and he always had a good time.

It was an existence, and not a bad one, either. Everyday he paused, and looked around him, and wondered where his world had gone, where he had gone, what he had become. He didn't have any answers, but it didn't bother him as much as it had used to. Maybe, someday, he'd seek the answers again, but for now, he was bordering on content, if not happy.

It was an existence.

Don't ask me how it happened that I realised, or why, because you were weak, and me too. I should be disgusted by my weakness, and I suppose part of me was, a long time ago. I'll be strong enough for the both of us. Someday.

Songs:
1.) "Superhero" – Ani DiFranco.
2.) "Amazing" – Aerosmith.
3.) "Wicked Little Town" – Steven Trask, performing as Tommy Gnosis in
Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
4.) "Shriner's Park" – Melissa Etheridge.
5.) "Feeling" – Slayers Try soundtrack.