The Leaves that are Green...

The familiar strains of "Scarborough Fair/Canticle" drift down to Alexander's ears. He smiles contentedly and hurls another pebble at the window. The music halts with the sudden stopping of the strings of a guitar. Alexander waits a bit, but nothing else makes itself evident from the second story room of the modest home of the Pulvinus family. Deciding he has been forgotten, Alezander flings another pebble towards the panes just as the window opens.

"OW! Son of a bitc-!" A tan duffel bag rolls down the tiled roof and plops unceremoniously to the ground.

Alexander sucks in his breath. "Sorry, Tor!" he calls.

"Shhhh!" Tor replies, pressing his finger to his lips while creeping out the window. "I'm trying to avoid my dearest, loving mother lecturing me for once," he adds quietly. He swings one leg out the window and ducks his head in order to step out onto the roof with caution. He shifts his weight and ducks more to avoid damaging his accoustic guitar, which is slung onto his back. He finishes stepping out and slides the window shut behind him. Gingerly, he climbs down the molding on the side of the house and drops down to land in front of Alexander.

Together, Alexander and Tor make their ways to the vibrant red roadster parked in the driveway. Alexander unlocks the doors and takes his seat behind the wheel. "Did you even tell your 'dearest, loving mother' you were going away this weekend?" he asks, tipping a pair of sunglasses down over his eyes.

"What, and ruin the surprise for her?" Tor laughed.

Sandy pops the trunk so Tor can load his bag into the trunk. "Point," he admits, shaking his head as his tall Italian companion shuts the trunk to the roadster.

"Still didn't name her?" Tor asks, gingerly setting his guitar in the back seat.

"Who?"

"Who?" he echoes. "Your new car, silly!"

"I was thinking of Sheila," Alexander admits.

Tor shrugs in acquiesce and takes his seat next to Alexander. "I'm surprised you're not going to ask why I'm not telling Mother-Dearest."

"Trust me. After that audio tape of her lecturing you, I think I understand why."

"You mean the one where she's all screechy?"

"When is she not screechy?" He turns the key and lets the roadster - Sheila - start. He sighs and imitates Tor's mother as best he can, raising his voice a couple octaves. "You shouldn't do that Giuseppe... Aren't you coming to church, Giuseppe? I don't like you hanging out with that non-believer, Giuseppe. Y-"

Tor claps his hand over Alexander's mouth. "Really, Sandy. I get it enough from her. Don't you start on me, too."

Alexander smirks a little. "Whatever you say, Giuseppe."

Tor cringes. "And no calling me that."

"It's your given name, Giuseppe. Why shouldn't I call you that?" Alexander replies, mimicing Tor's mother again.

"Sandy. Stop. Please."

"Alright, alright. I'm finished now." He leans over and gives Tor a kiss. "Still, I do appreciate your sacrifice, and I'm glad you decided to come along, if only for the ride."

Tor smiles ambiguously.

"Oh no! If you pull a pun on that one, I'll do worse than calling you Giuseppe!" Sandy cautions.

"Pun? What pun?" Tor asks with mock-innocence. "I was simply going to reitterate how boring your 'business meetings' are. Really, all you guys running around in suits? Please!"

Sandy chuckles and sets Sheila in reverse. "Ready to go?" he asks.

"You sure you don't want to meet Mom?" Tor replies, still grinning devilishly.

"Oh sure! That's on the top of my list: meeting my boyfriend's super-conservative Catholic parents, especially his father whose section of law-enforcement has been after my cell for quite a long time. Nuuuuu thanks."

Tor grins and straps himself down with the seatbelt. "You make it sound like they're out to get you."

"Gee, what gave it away?"

Tor simply chuckles and Sandy backs his roadster out of the driveway and onto the road. He shifts her into gear and Tor begins to fiddle with the radio.

"I really think you're going to enjoy it at the cabin," Sandy admits almost candidly.

"Really?" Tor asks, tuning the radio to a station that just happens to be playing a certain song.

"Oooh no!" Sandy says, and he flicks the radio to the AM stations, which is playing nothing but static fuzz.

"Hey, Sandy? Something wrong?"

Sandy groans. "You know how much I hate that song!"

"What's wrong with 'Walk Like an Egyptian?' Other than the total lack of PC-ness?"

Sandy cringes. "The Bangles in general."

Tor nods, but soon the static fuzz starts getting on his nerves. "How about we listen to Channel Z?"

"Sick of trying not to ask 'Where's my antenna?'"

"Almost." Tor grins playfully and pulls out a soft-covered CD case. He selects one of the disks and feeds it to the stereo. Soon, the B-52s song, 'Channel Z' begins playing. "It wasn't that bad."

"Oh yes. It was. You even think of playing that song again, and I'll make sure you regret it. Believe me. I will."

Tor nodded. He believed Sandy. He had learned to believe Sandy, especially when he was threatening. Ahh... The joys of driving!

Alexander closes the door to the cabin quietly. He looks around and finally catches a hint of music on the breeze. A smile plays out over his lips, and he follows the strumming of the guitar.

"What a dream I had,
Pressed in organdy,
Clothed in crinalin
Of smokey burgandy
Softer than the rain..." Tor's voice captures the haunting melodies of Simon and Garfunkel's romantic melody 'For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her' amazingly well, Alexander realizes. He turns the corner and spies him - tall, handsome, with dark eyes and spiked lavender hair - perched on one of the moorings of the dock while tickling the strings of his accoustic guitar, Cecilia, named after the patron saints of music and musicians. "I walked down empty streets,
Passed the shop displays;
I heard cathedral bells
tripping down the alleyways.
And I walked on..." He smiles and continues. "And when you ran to me your
Cheeks flushed with the night,
We walked on frosted fields
Of juniper and lamplight.
I held y-"

"Do you even know any songs that weren't written by Simon and Garfunkel?" Sandy asks in amusement, walking down towards the dock.

Tor's head whips up and around, an expression of anger, fear, and surprise dominating his face. "Of course I do, Sandy. If you'd like, I can always play your favourite song," he teases after he is over his initial shock.

"Please. Spare me," Sandy replies, exasperated. "Anyways, Tor, I nee-"

"-Is something the matter, Sandy?" Tor asks suddenly, his eyes wide with concern.

"Why would you think there's something wrong?" Sandy asks cautiously.

Tor gives Sandy a 'Oh, come on!' look, folding his arms across his chest while keeping Cecilia balanced on his knees.

Sandy sighs. "Okay, so you're a Seer. Big freakin' deal. It's not like you can know everything I'm thinking all the time."

Tor raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, what am I thinking right now?"

Tor hesitates for a moment before taking a breath. "How you need to go into ... NO! Sandy! You said this was purely business not a pick-up!"

"Pick-ups are my business, Love. Or did you forget?"

Tor's countenance darkens noticeably. "I --"

"I'll be back around dark, Love. Don't worry. I'm not going to be shot or anything." Sandy smiles congenially and Tor finds it slightly difficult to stay angry with him.

Tor turns away, just so he can stay angry just a little longer. "Fine. Put your life in danger. I don't care."

"Oh, come on, Tor."

"Don't 'come on, Tor' me! You told me you weren't going to do anything dangerous this trip!"

"I told you I wasn't going to do anything to make you worry this trip."

"It's a technicality!" Tor shouts, setting down Cecilia on the docks before standing up and wheeling on Sandy. "It means the same thing!"

Sandy blinks. "Well, not really... I've been doing pick-ups for how long? I'm not going to get hurt."

"I don't care!" Tor replies, his brow furrowing with distress. "I don't want anything to happen to you!"

Sandy smiles gently and takes Tor in his arms. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I promise," he whispers, kissing Tor's hair and rubbing his arm.

Tor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He takes in a shuddering breath before he forces his eyes open. He clings a little closer to Sandy.

Sandy sighs inwardly. He knows Tor is only ever this emotional when he's been having a lot of visions. While Seers can never read thoughts, Tor's pretty good at guessing what Sandy's thinking when he's especially plagued by visions. "Shhh... I'll be fine. I promise. It's not like I can die, Tor."

"Those drugs may be able to protect your body from itself, but they can't help you against a bullet, and you know it," Tor sobs.

Sandy smiles. "I'm not going to be shot. I'm going to do the pick-up and come home. Okay?"

Tor sniffles in response.

"I'll even pick up some Chinese. We can have a Chinese-Take-Out-Slumber-Party. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"

Tor nods wordlessly and swallows hard.

"Come on. Let's get you to the cabin. I don't think I really trust you like this out here by the lake." He picks up Cecilia and steers Tor towards the homey log cabin overlooking the lake.

"Sandy... Don't go..." Tor pleads once Sandy has him in the cabin and all the sharp objects secured. Tor has never shown himself to be suicidal, but who knew somedays? Regardless, Sandy wanted to make sure he was still there when he came back.

"Why don't you come with me?" Sandy counters.

Tor looks away from Sandy and towards the floor. "Yes, I can see that one," he replies glumly. "Your flightly, Catholic, Seer boyfriend trying not to go fetal in the middle of the room full of your Suits. Riiight."

"They're not my Suits, you know."

"Sandy..."

"That's it. You're coming with me. Come on. Grab your Birkinstocks and let's go."

"But--!"

"No 'but's. You're coming along. I don't trust you all alone here."

"You sound like my mother."

"No. Your mother would be telling you that your visions are merely manifestations of Lucifer residing in your spirit and you ought to pray more. Come on."

"Don't I need to be all Suit-ish?"

"We stopped that back when they filmed the Godfather movies; we don't want to attract attention in the smaller towns."

Tor sighs. He knows he's not going to win this one. He stuffs his feet into a pair of Birkinstocks and nods. Sandy double-checks locks and windows before wrapping his jacket around Tor's shoulders.

"Ready?" he asks.

Tor nods blankly and allows Sandy to usher him out of the cottage and lock the door behind him.

"Buck up. You're not going to die, either."

"You're not packing heat, are you?" Tor asks, hoping for the negative.

"What? Are you crazy?" Sandy asks, unlocking Sheila. "Of course I am! I'm not going to go in there unarmed, not with you there!"

Tor manages a weak smile and nods, a bit more contented now, knowing that Sandy would be armed just for him.

"You're not really all that worried, are you, Tor?" Sandy asks, sollicitous.

"I was..." Tor admits. "But wrongfully so." He smiles and opens his door to Sheila. Sandy had put the top up for the night, and so when he started her up, Tor cracked his window.

Sandy smiles. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to."

"I do. I want to see you at work. It might provide me with incentive."

"For?"

"Getting a job. Moving away from my mother. All sorts of stuff."

"Has she been on your case again?" Sandy asks as he pulls out onto the road.

"I turned nineteen last month, finished school in July. She wants me in college by January."

"I thought you didn't want to go to college."

"I don't want to go to church, either, but I do. She can make life such a living hell somedays."

"What about your father?"

"What about him?"

"Doesn't he have a say?"

Tor chuckles. "Mom's got him in her palm, too. I so need out soon, Sandy."

"Tell you what. Next time you have a fight with your 'dear and loving mother,' call me. I don't have anything against you staying with me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. Thanks, Sandy. That means a lot."

Sandy smiles and continues driving down the road.

After a moment, Tor speaks up once more. "Hey, Sandy? May I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Your headlights aren't turned on."

Sandy bites back a curse before flicking on his headlights. "Thanks. A lot. Now I can tell you something."

"Oh?"

"We're still having a Chinese-Take-Out-Slumber-Party."

"While watching Alfred Hitchcock flicks?"

"Absolutely."

Tor beams for the first time in hours. "Thanks, Sandy. I love you."

"I love you, too, Tor."

"And I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay. I understand that you have it rough somedays."

"Naw. I overreact a lot. I shouldn't have blamed you. Fate's not in your hands." He kisses his thumb and presses it against Sandy's cheek.

Sandy's brown eyes flicker momentarily over to Tor. He smiles elusively. Then, he returns his attention to the road.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you work, something tells me."

Sandy pulls Sheila into a discreet alleyway and shuts off her motor. "Okay. We're here."

"Where are we?" Tor asks.

"In town. The others are around the corner. C'mon. Out you go."

The two exit the roadster and Tor stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks beside Sandy around the corner. There, another vehicle is parked, attended by a pair of Suits.

"I thought you said you guys didn't like the attention Armanis brought..." Tor whispers.

"Shh..." Sandy replies. He nods to the pair and raises his left hand, allowing a briefcase to be revealed.

The Suits nod and one extracts a briefcase of his own.

"Evening, gentlemen," Sandy says cordially.

"Who's your new partner, Mathers?" one of the Suits asks, addressing Sandy by his last name.

"This is Tor. Tor, meet the Garrlikon brothers."

Tor nods to the two Suits. "Pleasure."

One of the two Garrlikon brothers raises his eyebrows. "He's your Tor, eh, Mathers?"

Sandy nods. "Lay a hand on him, and you have me to answer to."

"Hookin' 'em kinda young, aren't you?"

Tor narrows his eyes, but Sandy elbows him in the ribs to make sure he doesn't do anything too stupid. "Absolutely not," Sandy replies tactfully. "Now, if I recall correctly, we're here to discuss business, not my personal life."

"Of course, Mathers." One of the Suits opens the suitcase they brought along and reveals a number of bags full of white powder. Sandy nods, they shut it, and he opens his suitcase to reveal a number of bills, secured in even stacks by rings of adhesive strips of paper.

"Two-hundred Kilos for twelve thousand, as we agreed earlier," Sandy elaborates, and the two men switch briefcases. "Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen." He shakes their hands and nods to them before taking Tor's arm and leading him back to Sheila.

The Suited brothers do similarly, each returning to his vehicle. Sandy reaches up to readjust his rear-view mirror as Tor closes his door. Just as soon as the two are settled and Sandy touches the ignition, however, the glass of the rear-view mirror shatters.

"GET DOWN!" Sandy screams, and unbuckles before sliding down beneath the steering wheel, covering the back of his neck with his hands.

Tor, who had not yet clicked his buckle, hurridly does similarly. "What's going on?" he demands as a hail of gunfire from a submachine gun destroy's Sandy's seats, windshield, and roof.

"It's a hit," Sandy replies calmly, just barely audible to Tor as the gunfire slows. "Leave no witnesses."

"But you could be the target..." Tor observes.

"They wouldn't be so messy with a target," Sandy observes as gunfire opens up further down the alley. "A car bomb or a shot through the head is all that's necessary. They're messier with witness-killing to make sure there's fear instilled in the survivors."

"Who's 'they'?"

In response, another rain of gunfire opens, this time not directed towards them, but rather, further down the alleyway, towards their assailants. Soon, all the shots cease, and someone raps on Sandy's door. The door opens, and a cascade of glass from the shattered window falls to the ground.

"Alex, it's clear," a man says, and he peeks into the bullet-ridden car.

"What took you so long, Cliff?" Sandy asks, dragging himself out from under the steering wheel.

"Cliff?" Tor asks, pulling himself up, too. He waves at the man, who blinks. "Hiya, Cliff."

"You brought Tor along?" Cliff asks, running a hand through his straight brown hair.

"Why not?" Sandy asks, brushing the glass shards off his seat enough to brace himself to get out of the car. "You act as though it's some sort of mortal sin or something."

Cliff claps his hand over Sandy's mouth as Tor makes his way out of the ruined roadster. "You know better than to say those words, Alexander. If anyone heard you..."

Tor cut him off with a half-sigh. "Christ, Sandy. You just named her, too," he observes as he walks around Sheila's holy remains.

Cliff smacks his forehead. They shouldn't be using religious phrases and references. It could get them all killed, and they all knew it.

"Sorry, Cliff," Tor adds meekly. "I'm just so used to it, you know..."

"Of course," Cliff replies, clearing his throat uneasily. "Anyways, I'm sorry it took us so long. If I had known Tor was along... Well, we would have been here sooner, I'm sure."

"So Sandy's not important?" Tor counters.

"I didn't say that," Cliff replies, glaring and remembering why he has little tolerance for the Italian Catholic whom his cousin loves.

Sandy chuckles nervously. "Okay, guys. I'm just glad we're all okay, right? Thanks for your backup, though, Cliff."

"Anytime, Alex. Anyways, I have to get back to the guys and see what's going on with this and how we can prevent it from happening again." With that, Cliff walks off, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Tor, meanwhile, stands there, his arms folded across his chest with that smug 'I told you so' look on his face. Sandy sighs. "Okay, okay. I was in trouble, but I didn't get shot!" he exclaims.

As if to prove him wrong, a man steps from the shadows holding a pair of UZIs, one in each hands. He screams and opens fire. "GOD WILL PREVAIL!" he shouts, hosing the group of people who had just saved Tor's and Sandy's life.

Sandy watches in horror as Cliff's head explodes and others convulse as scores of bullets puncture their bodies. Then, the man reloads and turns to see Sandy and Tor standing there, agog. He smirks and hoists the UZIs again.

"SANDY!" Tor screams as the man squeezes the triggers. He shoves his companion to the ground and Sandy groans. Deep red blood wells up from Sandy's arm and Tor curses loudly. He pulls out the Desert Eagle Sandy had carried with him and fills the clip. He then waits for the religious hitman to stop firing and pops up from where he was on the ground and pulls off a few good shots, causing the man to fly backwards against a wall of the alley, a few more holes in his chest.

Taking a shuddering breath, the pistol falls from Tor's hands, and he kneels next to Sandy's body. "Are you okay?" he asks, his face screwed up with concern.

Sandy nods and smiles before wincing in pain. "Luckily he only got my arm. But if you even dare say 'I told you so,' I won't have any problems using it to hurt you."

Tor smiles and brushes his hand through Sandy's curly blonde hair. "You wouldn't hurt me," he says knowingly.

"No. I wouldn't. But it sounded like a pretty good threat."

"And it was. You stay right here. I'm going to have to dial for help." He picks up the pistol and presses it into Sandy's hand. "If any more of these relegious psychopaths come along, blow their brains out."

Sandy winks. "You got it. Come back soon."

"Absolutely."

"Thanks, Nurse," Tor says, entering the room as a woman in scrubs opens the door for him. On his back is, of course, Cecilia, and in his hands are a pair of brown paper bags and a trio of roses - white, red, and china. "Hiya, Sandy," Tor says cheerfully, pulling over a chair and setting the bags on the table. "How're you feeling?"

"Tor, I broke my arm; I'm not almost dead. You don't have to sound like I'm getting ready to die," Sandy replies honestly.

"I know. I just want you to know I'm glad you're okay. I mean if I wasn't with you... I'm just glad you're okay." Tor smiles and kisses Sandy gently before pulling Cecilia off his back. "They wouldn't let me bring in Hitchcock movies. They said it wouldn't set a good example for other visitors, but they agreed to let me bring in Chinese take-out. I think they know as well as anyone else how bad hospital food can be." He kicks off his shoes and perches on the side of Sandy's bed, setting Cecilia on the chair he pulled over.

Sandy smiles. "I'm going to be out of here soon, you know."

Tor smiles sympathetically as Sandy sits upright and moves over. "Sandy..."

"I will be. I'm glad you're here. I missed you."

Tor smiles and moves to sit beside Sandy. "I missed you, too. I was so scared when you started bleeding." Tears begin to well in his eyes, but Sandy grabs a tissue from beside him.

"Come on, Tor," he says, dabbing at Sandy's eyes. "Stop being so emotional. You did fine."

"But if he killed you... If any of them killed you..."

"Shhh... They didn't. Now just relax. I'm fine. You're fine. It's okay. Honest."

Tor nods and dries his eyes. "I know. But Cliff and the others..."

"We all have to die sometime."

Tor leans his head on Sandy's shoulder. "What will you do when I'm dead and burried and you're still here?" he asks.

"I don't know," Sandy admits. "That's one of the problems with living forever. Everyone else will be gone..."

"Can't you stop taking those drugs? You can age, too, then."

"Much faster than you will. Tor, I'm going on 125. You're going on 20. I'd be dead before you turned thirty."

Tor nods. Of course he knows this. He smiles sadly and sighs. He looks down towards the bed and starts humming softly.

"Will you play me something?" Sandy asks.

"What do you want me to play?"

"Whatever it was you were just humming."

Tor smiles and grabs Cecilia from the chair beside the bed. "It's a Simon and Garfunkel tune," he warns.

"I don't muchly mind." Sandy smiles weakly. "It's been so long since you played me anything - something just for me to hear."

Tor nods and kisses Sandy's cheek. "As you wish," he says evenly. He pulls out a pick and plays some of the music to the tune he was humming. Sandy closes his eyes and smiles sedately.

Then, Tor begins to sing. "I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I'm twenty-two now but I won't be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand..."