6A/N: Alright, here's chapter one. I'm nervous about sharing this story, but oh well. I'm currently working on chapter 4, so hopefully I will stay ahead of this story for once. We'll see how it goes. Let me know if anything needs fixed or sounds wrong. Feedback is appreciated. Thanks.
I'll try to post chapter 2 tomorrow.
Chapter length: 4533
Onward!
CHAPTER ONE: Bar Tastes
Bitter.
Sour.
Blech.
The amber liquid slushed into a frothy mist as Taylor swirled it around in the dark brown bottle. He eyed the liquid, running his tongue across his teeth, the aftertaste foul on his taste buds. Next to him, a blond chugged down a good portion of his own beer, looking pleased. No terrible taste for him.
Must be nice, Taylor thought, not for the first time.
He snuck a beer once, before this all started. He was sixteen and his uncle was passed out on the couch, a half a case of beer on the floor near the armrest. He stole one, and only one. It had a tangy aftertaste he couldn't quite place, and he never tried it again. At sixteen his taste buds were used to sugar; even coffee tasted awful at that age. Beer was downright disgusting.
His uncle was enraged when he discovered the missing beer can in Taylor's room. He still had the scar on his right shoulder from glass exploding against the wall, shards of it scraping into his skin.
Now, at twenty-three, he would never know what actual beer tasted like as an adult. If it truly was an acquired taste, or something he would just grow into liking. Now, everything tasted so…
Blech. Everything tastes blech.
That was a decent descriptor, he thought. And it had nothing to do with the actual beer itself, and everything to do with Taylor's new taste buds. Ever since the Cells, they jumped into overdrive and he tasted entirely too much.
He tasted what he shouldn't have been able to taste.
Emotions. Feelings.
Bitter was anger, vinegar on his tongue. Sour was jealousy, sour apple gummies forcing his eye to twitch as the taste lingered in his mouth.
Amusement slid into his mouth with the edging taste of honey, thick and smooth.
He shot a quick glare at the blond sitting next to him, who was now looking back at him with a faint smirk tugging at thin lips. Dark blue eyes watched him through a veil of shaggy, dark blond bangs.
"Shut it, Lo," Taylor muttered, putting his bottle of beer back down on the table, releasing it. The aftertaste lingered, heavy and stiff, bitter and sour and with too much honey. Lo was enjoying this too much.
Lo was Taylor's best friend. Well, one could call him his only friend, and therefore the best. The two met a year and a half ago, after Taylor pulled himself out of the Big Crestwood River which ran through the southern half of the city, separating it from the west. Flopping, soaked, into the grass and mud, he looked up to find two figures quickly approaching him. One of them was a dog. A black lab with dark blue eyes which seemed too human. Taylor and Lo met, and the rest, as they said, was history.
That didn't mean Lo wasn't an ass, though.
He did think it was amusing that Taylor couldn't ever enjoy the taste of anything.
The honey thickness continued.
"I said shut it."
"I didn't say anything," Lo said in his usual smooth timbre.
"You didn't have to," Taylor commented, scowling as Lo took another drink of beer, golden eyes narrowing at the blond. "Can we leave yet?"
"No."
Short, simple, refusing him…
Lo was the reason Taylor had migraines.
"Then when can we go?" he asked, aware of how petulant he sounded, but at the moment he didn't care. He ran his tongue across the back of his teeth again, attempting to scrape off the tastes swirling together into a horrible concoction.
Tino's Bar was packed full of people on Saturday nights. Why did all the bars have to be filled with people who were either sick of their 'cheating' girlfriends or were here to cheat on said girlfriends? It left this terrible taste in his mouth and no amount of scraping taste buds against his teeth would help.
Toothpaste, he thought. I need lots and lots of toothpaste.
Toothpaste was a man's best friend, after all.
"When the bar closes," Lo said, frowning at him. "I'm sick of workin'."
"Aren't we all?" Taylor asked with a heavy sigh, barely audible over the sudden raucous over at the pool table as a winner was finally declared. "This place tastes terrible, Lo."
Lo spared him a quick glance before he returned his focus to his neglected beer. "We'll leave in ten minutes, you big tasteful baby."
The eye-roll in response was honestly unavoidable, but it left him with a quick view of the ceiling. "Whatever, dog-boy."
At this, Lo snorted once, loudly. He didn't correct Taylor, though.
And that was why they worked, Taylor decided. They worked as friends because of what they were; Lo was, as Taylor crudely put it, a dog-boy. He was a cynanthrope, a rare relation to lycanthropes, or werewolves. As a weredog, Lo was just as different as Taylor, and probably felt just as out of place here with all these normal people.
Normal people…
Once upon a time, he used to be normal, too. At least Lo was born this way; it was natural. He had no choice in the matter. It was in his DNA. Taylor, on the other hand, was forced into this. He wasn't born like this, and it wasn't natural. He was a freak with a capital 'F'. A freak among deviants.
And to think, he pondered as he attempted another sip of his drink, I used to not even know what a deviant was. I used to be so normal.
"Stop fidgetin'," Lo snapped, shooting him a glare.
Taylor sighed. "Has it been ten minutes yet, oh lord of dog breath?"
Lo snorted again. Taylor was surprised he didn't dislodge some snot that time. "Just for that, we're staying the hour. Bartender! Two more drinks, please."
The emotion taster groaned loudly, running a hand through his disheveled black hair, tugging lightly at the strands as he looked around the room. His tongue trekked back across the back of his teeth and roof of his mouth, attempting to dislodge the lingering tastes.
I hate the public. I can't go into the public. I can't.
Too many tastes, too quick and too much to decipher correctly. He took another sip of his beer, if only as a reflex to attempt to wipe away the lingering sour taste in his mouth from the last drink he took. A moment ago it was sour; now it was honey on steroids, entirely too sweet.
"Lo, c'mon," he groaned, dropping his head down onto the countertop with a small 'thwack'. "I hate this. I hate you. Why… Why did I ever agree to this?"
It sounded fun at first. They were always working and had little downtime, so the thought of actually hanging out at a bar like a normal twenty-three-year-old… well, how could he turn that down? So he said yes, and now he was seriously regretting his choices. There was a reason he never did this before. There was a reason he hadn't gone to many public places since he climbed out of the river.
"I used my doggy charms and made you say yes," Lo said simply, as two more drinks were slid their way across the countertop, the female bartender scurrying away to attend to other customers. There was the quick 'pop' of the cap coming off, and Taylor shot his friend a glare.
"I hate you."
"You don't," Lo said, taking a chug of beer.
At least the honey blocked out some of the sour apple gummies, Taylor thought glumly as he sat back up, glaring down at his new, unopened beer.
You look like amber liquid but you taste like gummies and vinegar. No thanks.
"Have you been practicing with Corbin?"
The sudden change in topic and seriousness of Lo's voice threw him off guard momentarily. He blinked at his friend before he shook his head, scowling at the very thought.
"There's not really much he can do to help me," he said, shrugging. "He doesn't know what it's like, and it's not like I can just block out humanity, right? Unless, of course, they're insane or something."
He could taste all human emotions, but none from animals or crazy people. People without remorse or empathy or a basic understanding of how emotions worked. People like sociopaths. People like Red.
The very thought of the man sent shivers marching down his spine, so he quickly shoved those thoughts away.
"I guess," Lo agreed slowly, frowning. "Maybe…" There he trailed off, and a sudden sharp taste entered Taylor's mouth. Tangy but sweet, like barbeque sauce.
It washed away the honey, at least.
"What?" he asked, because this wasn't the first time he tasted barbeque sauce. He knew it meant 'guilt'. Lo felt guilty about something, but what? "What aren't you telling me?"
Lo grimaced, looking away. "Nothin' gets passed you, huh?"
"Nope, call it a perk of my new taste buds. So spill."
Lo sighed heavily. "It's s'pposed to be a surprise, T."
Taylor grimaced. "So? You hate surprises."
He received a shrug in response.
Now Taylor was truly intrigued. Lo really did hate surprises; Taylor tried to do something on his birthday and the guy freaked out on him, punching him in the jaw and telling him to never surprise him again. Taylor took that to heart; he had to with how much his face hurt. Lo apologized afterward, but the message was clear: No surprises, ever.
And now Lo was keeping something from Taylor, stating it was supposed to be a surprise.
"Tell me," Taylor said.
"Not my place to tell."
"But you know about it and you hate surprises," Taylor said, before he paused. The only other person who could be involved in this was… "What's Corbin doing?"
Corbin Winters was their boss, in a way. They had an odd job of deviant bounty hunters. Deviants were people born with special abilities and weren't considered 'normal' by society's standards. People like Lo, who was a weredog. People like Taylor, who tasted emotions. Corbin was the head of a subdivision of TORCH, 'The Otherworldly Regulation and Capture House', and Taylor and Lo worked for him. Together, they hunted down rogues, or deviants who used their unique abilities to kill. Corbin was a regulator for TORCH, and Taylor and Lo were his hunters.
"I'm not ruining someone else's surprise," Lo said, shaking his head.
"Since when?"
Lo spared him a sideways, narrowed glance. "Not my place."
Dog-people could be stubborn, Taylor surmised. Very stubborn.
He sighed heavily, eying his drink warily. He tested it out, knowing he was stuck here until Lo said they could leave, since he didn't feel like walking home and Lo was his ride. It was true they'd both been drinking, but weredogs had a faster metabolism than a normal person's, so despite the fact Lo consumed at least three beers that Taylor knew about, he wouldn't be drunk or even tipsy yet. Maybe a little buzzed, but still of sound mind and okay to drive.
Taylor only had the one drink, and it was more than enough for him.
He waved down the bartender, pushing his beer away. "Could I have a water, please?"
She smiled at him and hurried to get him just that. She slid the glass across the counter toward him, and he quickly took a drink of the clear liquid.
Water was more of a neutral taste when Taylor was alone. In the middle of a crowded bar full of people in various drunken stages… well, it wasn't as bad as the beer, exactly, but it was still a strong mixture of tastes. Vinegar and honey weren't a good combination. He put the water back down on the table with an audible 'clank', feeling betrayed by the clear liquid.
Honey entered his mouth, with the faintest mixture of barbeque sauce.
"Stop enjoying this," Taylor muttered, shooting Lo a quick glare. "This isn't fun for me. This sucks. I can't eat or drink anything because of all of these tastes. I can't even eat steak anymore, and I love steak."
The barbeque sauce overpowered the honey.
Guilt.
Lo's expression flattened from somewhat amused, with his lips curled upward ever-so-slightly, to a more blank look, lips pursed. Blue eyes flickered from Taylor toward the interior of the bar.
"It's not really my scene, either," the blond admitted.
"Then why are we here, Lo?" Taylor asked, frowning.
"Because Corbin wants you to practice more, and you won't do it with him," Lo said. "If we're gonna keep working together, you're gonna need to be out in public more often, and sometimes that means goin' through crowds. If you get overwhelmed too easily, it could be dangerous."
He said it all so simply, without even looking at Taylor. Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat was rather difficult. "So you're saying I'm a liability."
Blue eyes snapped toward him sharply. "I'm not sayin' that at all. I'm just tellin' you what Corbin told me. You need to work on your control over your tastes."
Irritation sparked through Taylor. In others, it tasted like too much pepper straight on his tongue. It left his nose wrinkling. In himself, he tasted nothing, but the aftertaste lingered in his mind nevertheless. No matter what, emotions would forever be linked to tastes, even if it was just a thought.
Lo inhaled slowly, looking away again. "I think you should train with Corbin."
"No," Taylor said, shoulders tensing. "I don't want to control this stupid thing. I don't want to use it. I just want it gone." After the words left his mouth, he looked away from his friend, back at the water that betrayed him. "I can control it fine when we're on jobs, but just out in public like this… it's too much. I don't want to control it. I want to get rid of it. It's not natural."
"It's a part of you," Lo said simply.
"It's not. I wasn't born this way, Lo. I'm not like you. I'm a freak."
Lo's beer slammed harshly down onto the countertop. The bartender shot them a sharp glance but continued seeing to her other patrons. Taylor sighed and glanced at his friend to find the blond glaring at him. "You're not a freak. You might not have been born this way, but it's who you are now. It's natural."
It's really not.
He'd never heard of anyone being able to taste emotions before, and neither had Corbin. If he had been born this way, then he'd deal with it. He'd know how to deal with it. He'd have shields, like Corbin kept mentioning. But he wasn't born this way, and this was forced onto him. It wasn't natural, no matter how much Lo tried to tell him it was.
Maybe practicing with Corbin would help, but that would mean accepting defeat. It would mean accepting that this was forever going to be who he was. That he would never be able to taste steak or anything ever again, because it would be overshadowed by the emotions of those around him, and the aftertastes lingering in his mind.
He'd been with Lo and Corbin for nearly a year and a half now, and while he could control his ability to some degree when he had something else to focus on, like a job, he didn't want to embrace it completely. He wasn't sure he could. Embracing what that maniac did to him was not something with which he'd ever be comfortable.
"What if there's no cure, T?" Lo asked quietly. "What then?"
Taylor swallowed thickly, looking away. "We'll cross that bridge when the highway's down, but until then I say we drive forward." He took a brief sip of his water, grimacing as he put the glass back down. "I don't want to work with this, Lo, and you know it. I just want it gone. Corbin said he'd help me. I want to be normal again. I want to… just be me."
"But this is who you are," Lo said.
"No, it's not," Taylor replied. "It's just a temporary thing that's a derailment, but it will get fixed."
It has to. I can't stay like this forever.
He'd go crazy if he had to taste everyone's emotions forever.
Corbin said he was too old to learn how to shield properly; the best he could hope for was to focus on one person's emotions and use them to block out the rest. But that meant he'd forever be stuck tasting emotions, even if they helped block out the rest of the chaos and mixtures. Tasting one person's emotions wasn't any better than tasting a bunch of people's; the taste was still there, overshadowing his food and drink and everything else.
There had to be a cure somewhere out there. There had to be a way to fix what Red did to him.
It could be worse.
It could always be worse.
He could have an incurable disease from the Cells; he could be crippled from the neck down after some of the beatings he received; he could have something dangerous that he couldn't control, instead of just the ability to taste emotions.
It could be so much worse.
That didn't mean he liked it, though.
He knew others had it worse than him. That did little to quell the anger hidden in his belly, a tight, hot knot ready to unfurl at a moment's notice.
He took another drink of his water, mostly to have something to focus on other than his thoughts. Vinegar hit his tongue, thick and bitter.
Anger.
A second later, a fist slammed into the back of his shoulder, launching him from his bar stool. He smacked painfully into the edge of the counter, releasing a surprised yelp as he managed to catch his footing. He spun in time to see Lo's expression darken, a snarl loosing from his friend's pulled back lips, teeth bared. Lo could look very intimidating.
The taste thickened, overpowering all other tastes. The man who punched Taylor seemed to realize Taylor was not his target, and his target was behind him. He watched as the drunken man turned and threw a sloppy punch at the other man, who appeared just as drunk.
His fist never met its mark.
Lo's fingers curled in the back of the guy's shirt and yanked him back harshly. Taylor winced; he'd probably have whiplash if Lo did that to him. He could only imagine how it felt when one was drunk.
Lo punched the man in the face, teeth still viciously bared, and the man crumpled to the ground in a motionless heap. Lo was stronger than he looked, and that was saying something since he looked quite intimidating at the moment.
After glaring down at the man for a moment, Lo's gaze lifted to focus on Taylor.
A barrage of tastes assaulted Taylor's tongue.
"Oh, fuck," he breathed, eyes wide as he looked around. Everyone was staring at them. "Lo, can't we please go now?"
"Fine," Lo huffed before he snagged his beer off the table. " 'm takin' my beer." His gaze slid back to Taylor. "Let's go, Princess."
Taylor rolled his eyes but happily pushed off the counter, from where he'd been leaning against it, putting down enough bills to cover their tab and leave the bartender a tip. After that, he followed Lo out of the bar, pushing through the drunken crowd, all the while running his tongue roughly across the back of his teeth, attempting to scratch off the tastes.
Toothpaste, he thought. Lots and lots of toothpaste.
Toothpaste became his best friend after he got these emotion tasting abilities. He wasn't sure if the toothpaste actually helped get rid of the tastes since there wasn't anything physical to wash out of his mouth, or if it was more mental than anything, but somehow it seemed to help. That was all he could ask for.
They exited the bar and climbed into Lo's '96 cherry black mustang. It was rusted in some places, and the paint job had certainly seen better days, but it was Lo's baby and it got them from point A to point B. It was more than Taylor had. Taylor didn't even have a license, though he'd been working on learning to drive. As a teenager, he never had the opportunity; there was no car for him to practice with, and there was no way his uncle was going to pay for him to take Driver's Ed. After he escaped from the Cells, he had more pressing matters, like the fact he could taste emotions, and he'd been thrust unceremoniously into a strange new life which involved hunting down rogues.
The normal police weren't equipped for them, Corbin said, so it was up to other deviants to hunt down these rogues and capture them. After they were caught, they were sent to the Roundhouse, a prison designed specifically to hold any type of deviant. At first, Taylor was wary of hunting down these rogues; he had no experience doing anything like this, and just developed his emotion tasting abilities after years of torture and experimentation. Why would they want him to help them?
Corbin explained that, while he hadn't heard of anyone being able to taste emotions before, empaths were quite useful on the hunt. He surmised that Taylor was probably going to be an empath, but during the bits of torture, wires in his brain got crossed and instead of feeling what others felt, he tasted it. A synesthete, he called him. Where two conflicting senses in the brain crossed and became connected. In normal humans, it usually involved colors being linked to sounds, or auras around people. For him, it meant he was essentially an empath, but he tasted what others felt instead of feeling it himself.
Useful, Corbin told him.
Except Taylor couldn't shield properly. Empaths developed their abilities in early adolescence, developing familial bonds and creating basic shields as the ability slowly became noticeable. They relied heavily on their family to keep them focused until suitable shields could be created. Since Taylor had no such transition period, and was an adult by the time this happened to him, and he was flung into it so suddenly, Corbin doubted he'd ever be able to properly shield like a normal empath. The best he could hope for was to find a focus, an anchor, and focus entirely on that person's feelings instead of other's, to block out the mess.
That wasn't what Taylor wanted out of life.
Something bittersweet entered his mouth, reminding him of caramel frosting with an aftertaste of strong coffee.
Bittersweet meant concern, he knew.
"I'm fine," he said before Lo could say anything, keeping his gaze focused out the passenger window as they drove through the city. "I'm just tired and ready to go home."
'Home' to them meant Clover Apartments, located on the north side of the city. They shared a two-bedroom apartment, and fought over the refrigerator and shower. Since they were partners in their work, it only seemed fitting for them to share an apartment, especially since Taylor didn't really know anyone else except Corbin. Lo wasn't too keen on having a roommate at first, but the two got along well enough.
At the apartment, they could be themselves. For Lo, that meant he could enter his dog form whenever he wanted, and for Taylor, that meant he had a touch of freedom locked away in his room, actively not searching out any emotions, when Lo was in his dog form. He couldn't taste Lo's emotions when he wasn't human; it was a brief respite from the honey-glazed peppers which had become synonymous with the blond's emotional vocabulary.
The temperature had dropped considerably in the twenty minute ride from Tino's Bar to Clover Apartments. Rain dripped lazily from the sky, a prelude to the storm the weathermen warned them about early that day. Taylor and Lo exited the car and entered the apartment building. Their apartment was located on the third floor, but they headed toward the stairs anyway.
Lo disliked elevators. He stated he wasn't afraid of them, but didn't like them. There was a difference, he said adamantly. And thus, they never took the elevator. On the bright side, Taylor's calves were in the best shape they'd ever been in his entire life.
When Lo finally keyed the lock to their apartment, they pushed inside and closed the door behind them. Taylor made a beeline for the bathroom and his beloved toothbrush. Lo headed toward the kitchen, presumably to feed his bottomless pit of a stomach.
Taylor preferred the cinnamon swirl flavored toothpaste over the regular gel or fresh mint; it seemed to get into his senses and wash away the remnants better. Again, he assumed this was all in his head, but as long as it worked, he wasn't complaining.
He brushed his teeth four times before running his tongue across the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth.
The lingering taste of honey remained, but there were worse things to have stuck in his mouth, he decided.
Satisfied, he exited the bathroom and headed across the hall to his bedroom.
The walls here were thick and metal. Metal seemed to keep out the unwanted tastes for the most part; the further way, the better. So when Lo was here, it was typically very hard to keep from tasting what the blond felt. Lo seemed to mainly feel irritated or amused, usually at Taylor's expense. While not the best combination to taste, it wasn't the worst.
Taylor sat on his bed and kicked off his shoes, flexing his toes momentarily.
There was a knock on his door a few minutes later.
"I have food," Lo said.
Taylor smirked tiredly, getting to his feet. He padded barefoot across the room and pried open the door, but Lo was already gone. He exited his room and walked through the living room into the kitchen, where he found Lo sitting at the table.
Ham and cheese sandwiches waited for them.
Lo could be grouchy and stubborn, and forced him into public places he hated, but he had his moments.
Barbeque sauce momentarily entered his mouth.
"Don't feel guilty," he said, sitting at the table. "Tonight wasn't your fault; I just suck at crowds. Maybe you're right."
He wasn't sure who was more shocked by his words – himself, or Lo.
Shock was an odd taste, to be honest. It was a mixture depending on which way the shock leaned toward – something good, or something bad. Right now it was more like surprised relief, which tasted like calming ice water, surprisingly neutral.
"I just… I mean, you were right, I should practice with Corbin. I'll never be able to fully shield, but… I don't want to be a liability, either."
Lo scowled, irritation entering Taylor's mouth. "You're not a liability."
He shrugged. "Still, I should practice, I know. I just don't want this to be a permanent part of my life… but you're right. There might not be a way out of this."
It pained him to say it, but it was the truth. Not everything in life was perfect; there weren't always happy endings. Maybe one day he'd be rid of this ability and would go back to being normal, but then again, maybe he'd be like this forever.
"Corbin wants me to focus on your emotions, you know," he said quietly.
It was something they both knew, in the back of their minds, but they never mentioned it. They avoided this conversation like the plague.
Lo's posture stiffened. His gaze lowered toward the food on his plate.
"I mean – it's why he insisted we live together, right? And why he made us partners, despite my lack of experience."
It was always something that bothered Taylor. He knew Corbin pushed this friendship on them, and it was lucky it worked, and he knew Corbin wanted him to use Lo as his anchor… but what was Lo getting out of this? It was always something he wanted answered, but never asked. If he got an anchor out of this arrangement, what did Lo get?
"I just don't get what you get out of this," he said, voicing those thoughts aloud for the first time. "I mean – I can see why he'd partner me with you, for my sake; I need someone to focus on, and you were the first person I met after I… escaped. But what do you get out of this? Why partner us together, for your sake? I was inexperienced and uncontrolled and by all accounts, a liability."
Lo snorted, but said nothing.
Taylor sighed heavily. "I'm just curious. You don't have to answer me."
He'd like an answer, but he wouldn't force Lo into anything.
However, the faintest taste of barbeque sauce told him the blond was hiding something. That left a sour taste in his mouth which had nothing to do with Lo's emotions.
He bit into his food quickly, even though he had no appetite anymore.