Jenna Black - Replica

There were no lights in the underpass, so only the ambient light of the city made the road and the walls by the entrance visible. Nate could see the same ambient light from the other end of the underpass, but in between was a menacing pool of impenetrable darkness. A tiny spot of red glowed briefly in that darkness, then went out. There was a sound Nate took for the crushing of a cigarette butt underfoot, then the echoing of footsteps.

Nate reached for Nadia’s hand as the sound of those measured footsteps approached, not sure if he meant to give or seek comfort. Maybe a little of both.

At first, Nate didn’t recognize the figure that emerged from the darkness. He’d been looking for Kurt’s familiar scruffy hair, for the rings in his ears and the tattoos on his upper body that he displayed whenever he wasn’t in uniform. He hadn’t been looking for a kohl-eyed bald guy wearing a torn crimson muscle shirt that displayed a nipple ring and no tattoos. It took a couple more steps into the light before Nate was able to see past the trappings, to recognize Kurt’s unique way of moving, though even that was camouflaged by the high-heeled boots he was wearing and the sway they put in his hips. Kurt had too many hard edges to ever pull off a truly androgynous look, but this was a close approximation.

Emotion clogged his throat, but Nate wasn’t sure what he would say anyway. He wanted to cross the distance between them, but the lingering aches in his belly and back reminded him that he didn’t know his boyfriend as well as he’d thought he did. And though Nadia might not have come right out and said it, Nate was aware of the implication that Kurt had deliberately infiltrated his household on a mission from his resistance movement, not because he was in love.

Kurt looked him over, frowning when he saw Nate was still holding Nadia’s hand. Nadia tried to let go, but Nate squeezed harder. Kurt had no right to disapprove. For all that had gone wrong between them, Nadia was Nate’s friend, and he needed one. It remained to be seen if that was a role Kurt could ever fulfill again.

Kurt was giving Nadia the evil eye, so Nate put himself between them to draw Kurt’s full attention.

“Don’t look at her like that,” Nate said, and was surprised at how cold his voice came out.

Kurt made a little snorting sound and stepped even closer, until he was only an arm’s length away.

“You are such a fucking pain in my ass,” Kurt said.

Behind Nate, Nadia gasped in indignation, but she couldn’t see the little spark in Kurt’s eyes when he spoke. He might very well mean the words he said, but Nate would stake his life there was at least affection behind them, if not love. Something tight inside him loosened just a fraction.

“Says the man who stole all my money, paid to have some thugs beat me up—probably with the very money he stole from me, no less—and tried to convince me he stabbed me to death.”

“Like I said. A pain in my ass.” But there was a hint of a rueful smile on Kurt’s lips, and he opened his arms.

Nate had a thousand and one questions, and a thousand and one doubts, but he couldn’t refuse the invitation. He stepped willingly into Kurt’s arms and didn’t complain when the hug got too tight and made his bruises ache. For that one moment, he allowed himself to forget everything, to simply revel in the fact that Kurt was here and he was safe. It felt so good to hold him that Nate’s eyes burned.

Nate forced himself to end the hug. The lack of the vigorous back thumping that was the trademark of the guy hug was probably already making Dante look at them askance. He backed off a little, trying to see Kurt with dispassionate eyes, to judge how much he really knew about his boyfriend and how much was just wishful thinking.

An awkward silence descended. There were so many questions Nate wanted to ask that he couldn’t pick just one, and Kurt didn’t look like he had any better idea where to start.

Since Nate couldn’t settle on which important question to ask, he settled for an unimportant one, just to break the silence.

“So did you come down with a raging case of head lice or what?”

Kurt grimaced and ran his hand over his bald head. “Most people change their hair by dying it or wearing wigs,” he said. “Wigs come off, and dye stinks, so I went a different route.”

Nate had to admit, it was a good disguise, especially with the added touch of the boots to change both his height and his gait. Even expecting him as he had, Nate had taken a few moments to recognize him. The bald head and the kohl-lined eyes made him look older and far more dangerous. Forgetting for a moment about his audience, Nate reached out and touched Kurt’s chest where it was exposed by the rips in his shirt.

“And what happened to your tattoos?” He felt a pang of loss, though he’d always claimed to hate them. But they were a part of the Kurt he’d known and loved, and he missed them on this near stranger standing in front of him.

“It’s just makeup,” Kurt said. “Having them removed would have taken more time than I had.” He gave Nate the same head-to-toe examination Nate had just given him. “You still look the same. Except for the shitty makeup job. Is that a Replica thing, or were you in a hurry?”

“In a hurry,” Nate mumbled, and wondered if the fact that he was a Replica had made it easier for Kurt to have him savaged. Maybe he figured that the Nate he knew and loved was dead, and this Replica was less than human. The rioting crowd had certainly thought so. Could Kurt love a Replica? Then again, Nate had no proof besides a hint of affection in his eyes that Kurt had ever loved him at all.

It was time to get some answers. “Tell me what’s going on,” Nate demanded. “Tell me why—” He choked on his words.

Kurt gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. “Let’s go sit in the van and talk. That’ll be more comfortable than standing out here, no?”

Nate looked over Kurt’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes, and that’s when he saw the minute glow of a cigarette in the depths of the darkness from which Kurt had emerged. A chill of alarm traveled down his spine.

“There’s someone out there,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and steady as he moved sideways to put himself between Nadia and the threat.

Kurt followed his gaze, but didn’t look alarmed. “My hosts,” he said, turning back to Nate. He waved at the graffiti on the walls. “We’re in the very heart of Debasement here, in Red Death territory.” Kurt plucked at his red shirt. “I’m an honorary member. As long as the money holds out, at least. They’re here as backup in case anything goes wrong.” He darted a glance at Nadia. “I’ll explain everything, but it’s going to take a while, so let’s go in and sit.”

The back of the van didn’t exactly make for cozy seating arrangements. The milk crates were hard and low, and Nate had seen candles shine brighter than the little emergency lights the driver turned on. But the cavelike interior did feel more secure and private than the underpass, and Nate was pretty sure Kurt was going to say things he should be sitting down to hear. Nate sat on one of the crates. Kurt sat across from him. Nadia sat beside Nate after moving her crate a little closer to his. He gave her a small smile, glad for the solidarity.

“Let me know when you’re ready for me,” Dante said, still outside the van. Then he closed the doors.

Nate raised his eyebrow at Kurt.

“I’m pretty sure Dante suspects about us,” Kurt explained, “but I don’t want him to be sure, and I don’t want to have to watch what I say. I told him we needed some private time, just the three of us.”

“All right,” Nate said, nerves fluttering as he realized he was so close to getting the answers he’d been searching for.