ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio, che ti fa mia - "Nessun Dorma", Turandot: "And my kiss will dissolve the silence/That makes you mine."

bu shr - Mandarin. "No".

bang

Sometimes Xi wakes at night and in that split half-second reaches for his hand. Bang bang bang bang bang and those hands are flung high above him in a dumpster, over socks and boxes and plastic can-rings and things to put rubbish in and his hair's spread over the debris like he's in some advanced state of deshabille and not lying dead. His hair is floofy, floofy, far too long because Emily likes those soft dark green bits that curl in rakishly at his gold-scaled neck. He once caught them kissing, in front of her dust-spotted window behind her desk, eyes closed to each other as Brian's arms lace around those slim hips and he kisses her like she was the only woman ever truly born. He looked at them, silhouetted in front of the gassy Chicago skyline, Emily's small hands and heartbreakingly lovely face that he knows personally Brian wants to skim his lips over until he knows her by mouth and heart and soul and always-always. Not yet, my children, Emmy wants to wait 'till she's married and by God if she wants to I'll put a padlock on Haddock's jeans. Gold scales, sharp and pretty like a glittering snake, not like brooding Hawkes; something sun-lovely and glowing, tarnished with blood now like the gold leaf on a death mask and

bang

Brian Haddock's ghost walks these halls. His bare feet brush the fringe of that godawful carpet and his fingertips flicker on the peeling paper of the walls; he turns off the light and closes the door on Kort and Meli, half-asleep over cards and a game of poker they never ever seem to finish, one green M&M smudged against those numb-pale lips as she drawls soft Cajun-honeyed goodnights into the Swede's neck. He leans in the doorway and watches Noel's neat, quick letters on a page of foolscap; he sees Andrew's large, calloused fingers as he wraps a metal coil around a tiny branch, the man who can destroy men with his head nurturing trees with his hands. He half-catches Evan Luck - his own mouth twisted-wistful - curved into rough blankets and his Holder as she and he make slow sweet love for the however-manyth time, all sweatsheen skin brushing together over and over as they chase each other's darknesses away. His eyes linger on Emily, half-weeping in frustration over endless numbers that don't quite add, knuckles pushed into the desk as she bites her lip determined not to cry. He sits at the window and watches Xi, restless in his hammock, eyes seeing him as he catapults again into the endless nightmare of alleyways and carcasses and bullets in holes with cold sticky blood again and again and again and

bang

They shot him six times. Or was it seven? It seemed like dozens and dozens of holes, winking rusty eyes cored out of him. He knows corpses; fuck, he might have eaten corpses, those long lonely years of madness when he was a naked filthy creature who ran through the underground tunnels killing rats with blind crimson eyes and a gibber from that obscene fanged jaw. It never matters how much Bruce Springsteen he puts into his boxy old radio; all he hears is bang scream bang and bang Emily bang tinfoil bang bleeding bang bondscream -

bang

Sometimes he thinks that it's Brian's hand, reaching out the darkness, the soft shells of his fingernails as he pushes sweaty locks of coffeepale hair off Xi-Wang Cheng's forehead like a mother and tender tells him hush'n, KZ, before you frighten Turandot so that he gasps one long shuddery breath to breathe himself awake, ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio, che ti fa mia!

"Xi - Xi, man - "

Consciousness throws the bitten fingernails into sharp relief and Evan, those grey-green eyes wide, worried at the shivering and the possibility that Meli's Guardian is going to chuck a grand mal right in front of him and snap off his own tongue with his teeth. Brian's ghost dissolves into nothing, less than smoke, less than the haze you get off cars in hot days, down down again into that dumpster body after the

bang bang bang bang bang

"Bu shr," he rasps, low and grazed velvet, words tucked behind his bandanna as Evan smiles bright enough to bring in morning. Xi lets his own settle, body boneless and suspended, shutting himself down before his shadows add to Meli's and he wakes up anyone else with his head. If Evan knew how much Brian Haddock's shadow walked in him, he'd probably kick Xi awake rather than touch and have to wear a t-shirt that says my hair is not green! My scales are not gold, my scales are not there! You did not kill me, and I do not like 'Thunder Road'!

"I'm here," he murmurs, and slips back into sleep even as Evan grips the cords.

Brian's ghost crawls back into his dumpster.

bang.