The first thing Leon saw when he woke up was a yellow bunny with bat wings. 

Leon blinked.  "Wha fuck?  Ow!"  Pain ripped through his side when he tried to sit up, kicking his ass the rest of the way awake.  He looked down and saw, along with the fact that his jacket and shirt had evidently gone AWOL, that there was a strip of cloth holding some sort of bandage against his right side, just below his ribs.  Oh yeah.  I got shot.  Shit.

"Meep!"  Q-chan replied, turning a few circles in the air in excitement then shooting off out of sight into the darkness of the...the shop.  He had to be at the pet shop.  D had the only bunny with bat wings he knew about.

His better sense berated him that being here might not necessarily be a good thing.  The rest of him, though, couldn't help but relax back against the couch cushions.  At least no one'll be shooting me here.  Worst thing I'll have to worry about is D frustrating me to death.

"Ah, Detective.  It is good to see you awake.  How are you feeling?"

Leon turned his head and raised an eyebrow as the Count came into view.  He seemed to glide more than walk, his low slippers and the thick carpets muffling every light step.  His outfit (cheongsam, he reminded himself.  It was called a cheongsam.  He'd looked it up one day when he was bored) was purple and gold today and, just like always, was one that Leon had never seen before.  It matches his eyes.  Both of them. 

Leon shook his head slightly to clear it.  Christ.  Back on track, Leon, back on track....  "Like I need a couple bottles of Demerol.  What the hell happened?"  He experimentally started to peel away the edge of the cloth.  It was stuck to his side with some sort of herbal-smelling paste.

"Ah, ah."  D's hands appeared, Leon's own hands going mysteriously passive as the light touch moved them back to his sides.  "Let it be.  Your wound is not serious, but give my medicines time to work."

Leon shifted restlessly, but resigned himself to being fussed over.  And tried again.  "How the hell did I end up here?"

"I am not altogether sure.  I answered a rather loud knock on my door last night and found you bleeding quite dramatically on my doorstep."  D perched on the side of the couch next to Leon, setting down on the coffee table the things he had been carrying:  some bandages, white cloth, and a small pot of what looked like some kind of salve.  "I brought you inside and tended to your wound, as you can see."  Leon watched as D delicately dipped the center of one of the squares of white cloth in the salve and rubbed the cloth against itself to coat it.  Entranced more than he should have been by the slim white hands, he nearly missed D's teasing question.  "...considerable effort on your behalf, I feel justified in asking how you came by such an injury?"

Leon shook his head, watching intently as D carefully lifted away the old bandage, which was stained with less blood than he would have expected.  The wound didn't look too bad.  Rather neat, and only seeping blood.  How much blood had he lost, anyway?  And why didn't he feel it more?  "The usual way," he mumbled distractedly.  "Being stupid.  I was helping with a sting operation.  Multiple gang-related homicide.  I ran after a few of them, got separated from my backup and one of the bastards took a potshot me.  I tried to get back to my car, but we'd run pretty far, and...I dunno.  I guess I passed out before I could find a phone."  His brows furrowed.  "I was in Chinatown, but not really near here."

D's hair fell in a dark veil, concealing his face as he turned to delicately set the old bandage aside.  "Perhaps someone recognized you as one of my visitors and thought it best to bring you here."

Leon snorted as he lowered himself back to the cushions.  "Yeah.  Here.  Not to a hospital or a clinic or anything...."

D's head tilted to the side as he laid a fresh square of pungent-smelling cloth over the wound so gently that Leon barely remembered to flinch.  Mismatched eyes held Leon's pointedly.  "Perhaps they trusted my healing skills more than those of doctors they'd never seen."

"Yeah.  Whatever.  Maybe you're right.  I should still go to the hospital, though."

D's hands on his shoulders were firm and, surprisingly, more than enough to keep Leon on the couch.  "On the contrary.  You should stay put, Detective.  The bullet is already out of your wound--" to Leon's horror, D picked up a blood-streaked bullet sitting in a saucer on the coffeetable and showed it to him "--and it hit nothing vital.  Indeed, the bleeding has almost stopped.  A hospital would find all of its work already done.  Moving yourself at this point would very possibly do more damage than good.  Lean up just a bit, please, if you can."  

Leon complied, allowing D to wrap the gauze around his chest, holding the square of cloth tight to the wound.  The salve felt cool against the hot flesh.  D's hands were also cool, his touch soothing and rather professional as he secured his handiwork.  Even the light, sharp brush of his long fingernails (painted wine-purple to match the outfit) was familiar.

Standing, D pulled a blanket from one of the nearby chairs and gently laid it over Leon's body before he even realized that he was starting to shiver a bit in the cool air.  The idea of staying here was absurd.  He still needed to go to the hospital, if only to check up on whatever the hell D did to him.  And he needed to check back in with the department, give them descriptions of the shooter, let them know he wasn't dead.   "But I have to...to call in...."  Why was talking becoming so hard?  Scratch that, why was thinking becoming so hard...?

"Yes.  Your friend Miss Jill called here about an hour ago, wondering if you had made your way here when she could find you nowhere else.  She was most upset when I told her you had been injured but relieved that you were safe and taken care of.  Such a charming young woman.  We had a nice chat, and she made me promise to have you call her when you woke.  However, I don't think that you are in any shape to give her any sort of details at the moment, yes?"

Christ, Jill, thanks a lot.  Leon laid his head back on the pillows, feeling a bit woozy.  Scratch that.  A lot woozy.  He closed his eyes.  "Count,"  Leon said very carefully, "Why is the room spinning?"

A smooth hand came to rest on his forehead, and the contact gave him enough reference to make the darkness behind his eyelids stop whirling.  "Several of the healing herbs I used are very powerful.  However, they also have mild hallucinogenic properties."

Leon's eyes snapped open.  Or attempted to, at least.  He tried to focus on D's face, tried even harder to sound indignant.  "You drugged me?"

D's face still eluded him, but his voice was doing that quiet mournful thing it did so well.  "I am sorry if this is inconvenient, Detective, but I was worried about you, and so used the strongest medicines I had.  I guessed that you would most likely sleep through most of the effects anyway.  Are you tired?"

"Y-yeah."  He was, and the voice of reason that said that falling asleep here, now, was a baaaaad idea was getting small and woozy-sounding itself.

"You should sleep, Detective.  Sleep, and then you can call your friend and file your reports and catch your crooks."

"But...."

Cool lips touched his forehead, accompanied by a wash of lotus-scent.  "Sleep, Leon.  You are safe."

He said my name.  He never says my name. 

But then Leon was out.