Notes: And finally, I am done with the Nagasaki arc. Whee, progress. =) Raul makes his entrance, Tatsumi and Watari are once again with the ambiguity and there is wholesale Hisoka angst. I was trying to be nice, really I was… The second scene takes place just after Tsuzuki and Hisoka have that little chat in the rain at the end of the Nagasaki arc. Somewhere in the Middle A Yami no Matsuei Fanfiction by Amet “Take me to your leader, I sure could use a laugh.” –Duncan Sheik, Good Morning It was nearly seven when the door to the little office slammed open, rocking on its hinges as it shuttered back and forth in the wake of some unseen impetus, fluttering loose files from their orderly stacks to take wing amongst a flurry of whooshing movement. Tatsumi looked up from his reviews, eyes lazily tracking the progress of monthly expense reports and wayward personnel files with his usual impeccable calm, idly contemplating investing in paperweights as he considered the bothersome task of reorganizing his files for the third time that afternoon. He watched evenly as the houseplant Tsuzuki had given him to ‘brighten up this dingy little hovel of an office’ more than twenty years ago suddenly squeaked, a large, flat leaf lifting of its own accord to wave at him enthusiastically before dropping abruptly, a little blur of sketchy browns and peaches dropping from the file cabinet on which it was perched and skittering towards him across the floor. He had no idea what was causing the commotion, of course, but more than fifty years at EnmaCho had taught Tatsumi not to be surprised at anything. He’d already banned 003 from his office for scattering his files the first two times, and her master for the ridiculous rant on animal rights that followed, one so inane that even Watari himself was half-laughing by the time he was done. Tatsumi smiled at memory of Watari’s stifled laughter as he bent to shuffle scattered files into some semblance of order, shaking his finger at the terribly unrepentant bird for disturbing the peace. He set down his pen and waited for the scrabbling noises at the front of his desk to ascend, folding his hands protectively over the last of his files and peering over the side. Another moment and a squeaking figure of mottled paint and scribbled lines heaved itself onto his day planner, letting loose a triumphant little howl as it straightened. It was a ghastly little thing, a giant egg shaped head perched crookedly on a vaguely human-like body, an amorphous brown blob with sticks for arms and legs.(1) It had boxes sketched around the cobalt blue of its eyes that might have been glasses, and a little crooked triangle tucked beneath its chin that wanted badly to resemble a tie. It shook its little stick fist at him, ranting in incoherent, falsetto syllables and made a grab for his pen, snatching it up before he had time to react and shaking it above its head like a club. Tatsumi stared, perplexed and wondering if it were more prudent to wait for his little visitor to come to some sort of decision or simply squash the ghastly creature where it stood. “Well?” He looked up to find a familiar blond head poked into the doorway, eyes alight with the devilish merriment that often defined his friend. The engineer grinned, nodding his head towards the figure still ranting incessantly from its vantage point on the desk, making threatening movements with the pen clutched in its stubby little proto-hands. It snapped the pen over his knuckles as he reached for it, a sharp pain flaring momentarily as Tatsumi drew his hand back, glaring at the little figure as it hopped up and down furiously at the edge of his blotter. It was like being attacked by a cave painting. “Watari-san,” he said, evenly. “What exactly is all this?” Watari stepped fully into the doorway, one hand against the doorframe, careful not to cross into the office lest he break Tatsumi’s embargo before its time. “That, my good man, is your replacement.” “Excuse me?” “You’ve been locked up in this office for the better part of ten hours, and apart from a couple of brief encounters with 003 and myself, have had little in the way of human contact.” He crossed his arms over his chest and mock glared. “That’s not healthy.” “I would hardly call a battle with an owl for possession of the stapler ‘human contact’.” “She likes shiny things. You shoulda forked it over.” Tatsumi glared. “Look, you’re doing reviews, right?” Watari shifted his weight against the doorframe. “A trained monkey could do reviews—it’s just reading case reports over and checking the little box that says you signed off on them. But since we are sadly lacking in trained monkeys and my birds are missing the requisite opposable thumb, I drew you this. Our very own mini Tatsumi-san. I call him Raul.” “What, was Bob already taken?” Tatsumi muttered, shoving the grotesque little creature back with the edge of a case file. “Well yeah,” Watari replied, shaking his head as he gave up and crossed into the office, taking a seat and plucking Raul from the desk. “Know that little toaster thingy you almost stepped on the other day? That’s Bob.” “How arcane.” Watari grinned, extricating his pen from the monstrosity’s clutches and tossing it back. “I try.” “I don’t suppose you plan to explain to me why it is that you feel I need something to do my work for me in the first place?” Watari looked stricken. “You’re seriously gonna sit on your butt and do work all night, aren’t you?” The words were accusatory. “Should I be doing something else?” Tatsumi retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched the little creature settle comfortably against Watari as it was shifted to his other hand, cradled against him as the engineer reached up to fiddle with his glasses. “Yes, dammit, you should get the hell out of this office for more than five minutes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you moping around in here, Tatsumi. You’ve hardly bothered to speak to any of us for days, and this office is just not the same without you yelling about productivity in the background.” There was real worry behind the snapping statement, that same mixture of aghast concern that seemed to characterize their more sober conversations, and Tatsumi fought the urge to sigh. He didn’t want to analyze his behavior, certainly not enough to talk about it and while he knew that he’d been somewhat more… brusque than usual with his subordinates, he hardly thought it was cause for the kind of inundating insistence with which Watari was glaring at him at the moment. He knew this dance. They did it every time Watari called him on his mood swings, the minutiae of which only the engineer seemed shrewd enough to notice. It was ironic, he thought, that the most oblivious of all of them in most matters was the only one with concentration enough to study his movements. Or perhaps he was simply the only one with the inclination to try. “Yutaka,” he snapped, hoping the concession to familiarity would soften the other man. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “But I’m so good at it.” The scientist mock whined, throwing him a small smile. “Besides, it gets you to drop the formality blitz in a lame attempt to get me off topic.” “Watari-san…” His voice held warning, and Watari sighed, dropping his little monstrosity onto the desk. “I knew it was too good to last,” he warbled, shaking his head mournfully. “Look, could you at least humor me and talk about it a little? You’re really starting to creep me out here with the hermit routine, buddy, I mean, you don’t even stop to go to the /bathroom/… it’s inhuman! I get that Tsuzuki’s made himself scarce since Hisoka got better, but it’s not like he’s forgotten the rest of us entirely. He’s earned himself another stalker, and this one’s willing to kill just to get him to agree to tea… boy’s got a lot on his mind, yanno?” Yes, Tsuzuki. Who had wandered off with Kurosaki-kun and then… Well, that was really no longer his concern. Tatsumi had never been particularly good at sharing. It wasn’t even that he wanted Tsuzuki the way he had in decades past, but he had very few close friends and the idea that his oldest had found some new, more fascinating figure to spend his time with was painful despite its practicality. He had all the time in the world to get his work done with Tsuzuki gone so often, and as many times as he’d thrown his friend from the office when the man interrupted him now he found he wanted the distraction back. It was hypocritical and patently annoying, but Tsuzuki had almost died, for crying out loud! Tatsumi remembered in vivid detail the moment Tsuzuki had limped back into the office, literally covered in blood, an equally battered teenager thrown over his shoulder. He wasn’t as injured as he had been, apparently, a side effect of some strange merging of consciousness he’d undergone with the boy in order to save them, and seconds after depositing Kurosaki-kun on an infirmary bed he’d fallen apart, descending into incoherent ramblings until Watari finally assured him the boy would recover. It was frightening and heartbreaking and beautiful to see the bond forming between the two of them, but all Tatsumi had been able to muster in response was an overwhelming urge to throttle the child for frightening his friend so. “And that,” said Watari, wagging a finger at him, “That is the kicked puppy, nobody loves me face and while Asato may be happily oblivious to it, I am not. So start talking so you can feel better and I can stop worrying about it!” He was nearly panting with effort as he finished and Tatsumi was unable to repress a smile, rolling his eyes. “So this is all about you then?” “Of course,” the scientist agreed, grinning. “Stop trying to appeal to my cynical nature.” He forced his eyes away from Watari’s face, moving to shuffle some of the mess on his desk into something resembling order. The little mish-mash of blurry color sitting at the edge of his desk was suddenly spurned into motion, moved by some invisible impetus to snatch the papers from his hand, stacking and collating them faster than Tatsumi’s eyes could track the movement. “You give me some leeway and then you just cut me off,” Watari grumbled. “Besides, at least your cynical nature responds.” “Look,” Tatsumi sighed. “This has been happening for decades. Anytime either of you pays any attention to another person I get irrational and stupid and I really need to just stop, so could we perhaps skip the psychoanalysis? I am more than adequately aware of what the problem is, and… why are you grinning at me, you insane little man?” Watari’s grin widened as he leaned forward, plucking Raul from the desktop to squish him in an overenthusiastic hug. The creature squeaked, proto-limbs flailing as it was flattened against the engineer’s chest. “You care enough to be irrationally jealous over me!” Watari squealed, nearly vibrating with energy. “I made it onto the /list/!” “The /what/?” “The list! Until now I thought it was a one person list… you know, of people for whom you’d lose your legendary composure,” said Watari, waving his hands. He gave Raul another squeeze. “I feel all warm and fuzzy now!” “Oh, for crying out loud,” Tatsumi muttered, rolling his eyes. “Try to contain your excitement, you’re giving me a headache.” “Hah!” the scientist screeched, pointing an accusatory finger. “You may say that, but now I /know/ you love me! And I may not be able to hug Bon when I want to, but I can hug /you/!” Watari was over the desk before he had time to finish, laughing maniacally as he landed in Tatsumi’s lap, arms flung about his neck. The chair never stood a chance, rocking back on its wheels before capsizing completely, throwing them both to the floor. Tatsumi heard more than felt the sharp crack as his head connected with the bookcase behind, Watari’s muffled shout as his face ended up somewhere in the vicinity of Tatsumi’s armpit. Raul watched in bemusement from where he’d been left on the edge of the desk before shrugging as best his malformed little body would allow and turning back to collating. “You know,” Tatsumi panted, jostling the groaning form beside him as he reached to touch the tender area on the back of his head. “If we were human I’d have some rather interesting fractures. For a mechanical engineer you have little sense of how much force is really necessary.” “Yeah, yeah,” Watari grumbled. “You’re fine, super healing boy. Besides, you make a comfy pillow.” With that Watari nuzzled his face more snugly into the crook of Tatsumi’s arm, which would have been a comfortable position had he not been acutely aware of what they would have looked like to observers. “This wouldn’t look very good if anyone were to walk in right now.” “Tatsumi, are you ashamed of me?” Watari murmured, words muffled into his shirt as the scientist turned mischievous eyes towards him. “Don’t start.” “Then we’d better get going, huh?” Watari smiled, giving him a squeeze before he levered himself up onto his elbows. Tatsumi caught his wrist as he stood up, allowing the other man to pull him up. He hung on for a moment, reaching out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind Watari’s ear and smiling at the look of utter confusion on the engineer’s face. “Thank you,” he murmured, laughing softly as the bemusement seemed to deepen. “For being the annoyingly persistent little git who’s willing to tell me off when I’m being an ass. You always manage to make me smile, despite myself.” Watari’s smile was brilliant, and Tatsumi allowed his hands to linger a bit longer before pulling away, turning to fetch his coat from its place among the deluge of scattered paper. “Somewhere underneath all that is a trench coat,” said Watari, shuffling up behind him. “Somewhere,” he agreed, shoving reports and unfilled forms aside. “And more importantly, dare I ask where you’re dragging me off to this time?” “Apparently,” Watari replied. “And dinner. Food keeps us working at peak performance, which I know you can appreciate. Besides which I found a new café in Kyoto that makes the best cheesecake this side of the Pacific.” Tatsumi managed to extricate his coat from the pile, turning around to smile at his friend as he shrugged into his suit jacket and then the overcoat. “You know if you were alive I’d be warning you against a potential heart attack with all that sugar,” he told the scientist, grinning as Watari rolled his eyes. “Funny man,” said Watari. “You’ve been spending too much time with me, I think.” “Is there such a thing?” Watari rolled his eyes. “Like I said, funny man. Funny man who’s buying me dinner, even.” “And why, pray tell, would I do that?” he asked. “Because I was right and you were wrong. Tsuzuki is totally falling for Hisoka and all is well in the land of them.” Watari nodded authoritatively, sticking his nose haughtily in the air as they left the office--and Raul--behind. “I win, you lose, and now there must be dinner.” It was strange. Tatsumi would have expected such a statement to hurt far more than it did, stirring within him merely an echo of disappointment that Tsuzuki needed to go elsewhere to find some kind of contentment. As it was, he could at least be grateful that for the moment the blond was right, all was well in the land of Meifu. For the time being he could wander off with Watari in the knowledge that Tsuzuki was alright, however fleetingly. It would have to be enough. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Then I’m… whatever. Dust in the wind. Candle in the wind. There’ll be a general wind theme.” –Eliza Dushku, Angel People were staring. The door slammed shut behind them, an echoing jangle of hollow bells ringing through the muted hum of whispered conversation as the room’s occupants turned towards them. Tsuzuki of course was oblivious to the scrutiny, standing dripping in the doorway of the small café, smiling inanely as a teenage waitress in an outdated apron sashayed awkwardly to his side to lead them to their table. The argument over food had ended with Tsuzuki’s sudden inspiration to drag him back here, an iron grip on Hisoka’s arm as he was hauled along in the pouring rain tempered by the giddy laughter flowing from the older man at the prospect of sharing his new discovery. Hisoka’s protests had died before they’d really begun, half-ignoring Tsuzuki’s accusatory speech about being stood up and something about pie. It wasn’t worth the argument, and when he was really honest with himself he could acknowledge that Tsuzuki’s hand was warm where it rested on his shoulder, guiding him along the busy streets of Nagasaki, that the emotions seeping through the contact were affectionate and reassuring, and he really didn’t want the man to let him go. He almost regretted it as they were led by a table of giggling teenagers, acutely aware of their hushed conversation as they tried to catch his eye. He’d never been comfortable around people his own age, they’d always seemed so petty in everything they did and he’d never had much cause to look deeper. Their scrutiny made him uncomfortable--he knew what they wanted, attention, whether it was from Tsuzuki or himself. Because they were pretty, because those girls had no cause to look beyond their human facades to what lay beneath and he almost envied them that ignorance, that simpering obliviousness that so possessed his generation. Tsuzuki noticed his discomfort, pausing to throw a companionable arm over his shoulders and winking at the offending party as he steered Hisoka towards a table in the back, unfazed by the peels of embarrassed laughter his actions provoked. Hisoka was half-numb by the time they’d actually sat down, clothes freeze dried to his skin in the open air and he attempted to ignore their squish as he took his seat, blushing faintly as the waitress threw him an odd little smile. He buried his nose inside the menu the instant it was offered, trying to put as much of a barrier between himself and Tsuzuki’s knowing grin as humanly possible. “Hiding?” A hand snatched out to poke at his menu, pulling it down far enough for Tsuzuki to peek over, violet eyes shimmering in amusement. “Shut up,” he muttered, snapping the menu back into place, perusing its contents just long enough to realize… “An ice cream parlor? You dragged me to an ice cream parlor?” Tsuzuki’s smile had somehow managed to widen, a shit eating self-satisfied grin that dominated his features. “Yup.” Hisoka shook his head. “Only you would think that this constitutes dinner.” Tsuzuki at least had the decency to look abashed. “We can get real food later, if you want,” he began. “But I really wanted to bring you here and you stood me up before and they have really good pie and please can we stay, Hisoka? Please?” It hit him like a bucket of ice water when Tsuzuki descended into childishness, his current sodden state not withstanding. It seemed so wrong, a brittle, cracking mask barely containing the innumerable shifting facets of his personality beneath. Like wearing gloves two sizes too small, forcing jerky movements from normally articulate hands. He seemed plastic, falsehood ringing in every movement and it was blaringly apparent that he was barely holding it together beneath the levity. It hurt to see, knowing that distance was the only thing keeping it from worsening, wanting nothing more than to comfort his partner when to do so would mean their end. “Can we not?” he murmured, catching Tsuzuki’s eye. “Just this once?” “Not what?” Tsuzuki replied, brows drawing together in confusion. “You really hate junk food that much?” “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Tsuzuki sighed, dropping his menu onto the table. He looked as though he might say something for a moment, but their approaching waitress snapped the mask back into place. He ordered for the both of them, an odd combination of tea and apple pie that triggered an impromptu scolding from Tsuzuki about the cold he’d been courting wandering around in the rain and the warming the tea would assure. The surrealism was back, echoes of conversations they would have had without knowledge of the future hanging over them echoing across Hisoka’s empathic sense and he forced it back, hoping at least for the moment to be allowed to speak for himself, to throw off their prefabricated script of half-hearted barbs and recriminations. Because Tsuzuki had come for him. After everything he’d said, all the impulsive put downs and insistences that he would never accept the man, Tsuzuki had risked himself to save him. He remembered waking in the infirmary afterward, turning to find Tsuzuki half-draped over the side of his bed, snoring softly into the rumpled heap of a suit jacket he was using as a pillow. He’d had to force his hand back from petting the dark hair splayed so artfully across the sheets, bare inches from his outstretched fingers, overcome by an inundating contentment at finding his partner beside him that he hadn’t been able to shake. “Aren’t you going to eat that?” said Tsuzuki, startling him from his thoughts. He looked down at the plate in front of him, still warm apple pie melting the ice cream atop it into sludge. His hands were cupped protectively around the tea, its soothing warmth seeping into his hands, but he had yet to actually take a sip. Tsuzuki had already devoured half of his food and was contemplating ordering more loudly enough that Hisoka wondered if he was projecting his thoughts on purpose. “Doesn’t it bother you that that’s the only thing you’ve eaten since this morning?” he asked, bringing the cup to his lips. “I feel weird if I don’t have an actual meal in front of me.” Tsuzuki looked puzzled, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. “I’ve been dead for more than seventy years. After a while that whole rhythm of life thing is just lost unless Tatsumi’s there to remind me at regular mealtimes.” Hisoka rolled his eyes, picking up his fork long enough to poke at his own pie and contemplating whether it was better to try the sugar laden mess or just hand it over to Tsuzuki and save them both the lecture they would assure if he bought himself more. Tsuzuki went back to chomping happily, swishing the half-melted mixture of apples and ice cream around until it became one large, lumpy mess of syrup. “C’mon Soka, don’t be like that,” he managed, between bites. “Pie is your friend.” Hisoka’s heart nearly froze in his chest. ’C’mon, Hisoka, don’t be like that. Fuda are your friend.’ ‘I thought pie was my friend.’ It was stupid to be so surprised, Hisoka reasoned, he’d known the conversations witnessed in the dreams were more akin to memory than some prophetic conjecture. But to actually have the proof slip so carelessly from his partner’s mouth… Tsuzuki, oblivious as always, merely shoved another forkful into his mouth and grinned inanely, raising an eyebrow in emphasis. Hisoka opened his mouth to respond, shut it, then opened it again long enough to blurt out, “And do you usually /bite/ your friends?” It was perhaps the most inane thing he could have said, triggering a wave of disembodied disapproval from the dream’s other protagonist, the unwelcome opinion sing-songing condescendingly through his thoughts as Tsuzuki paused, laying his fork down on his plate. He seemed to be deciding something, resting his chin on steepled fingers and tipping his head this way and that, expression carefully neutral as violet eyes raked over Hisoka’s form. “Only if you want me that way,” he finally answered, face splitting into a lascivious grin. The childishness was one thing, but the odd interspersal of innuendo Tsuzuki had begun to work into their conversations never ceased to throw Hisoka off guard. Not that everything else the man did wasn’t enough to keep him off kilter, but the constant cracks about his night in Tsuzuki’s bed, or how adorably he blushed when he was flustered were a ceaseless reminder of those more visceral dreams, of the feel of his partner moving against him, in him. It was harder to ignore those impulses with his partner reminding him how little it would take to sate them at every turn. But where would that get them? A moment of evanescent pleasure was hardly worth the life of the man who would give it to him, the one who he knew would do the same were their roles reversed. In the light of everything that had happened Hisoka refused to sacrifice Tsuzuki simply to satisfy some base desire, to become the monster that had used him so thoroughly by ignoring what was best for his partner. He would not kill them both. Tsuzuki sighed, setting his fork against the edge of his plate and reaching to snatch Hisoka’s, stabbing off a large portion of his pie to dangle inelegantly in front of his face. “Here,” he murmured. “Look, I’ll eat it if you really don’t want to, but you have to at least give it a shot.” The fork waggled closer, and despite himself Hisoka opened his mouth obediently as Tsuzuki maneuvered it in, managing to smear him with most of the ice cream in the process. “There,” he grinned triumphantly. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? Hisoka smiled, brushing his hand against his partner’s in a careless caress as he took possession of his fork, amused as Tsuzuki’s triumph faded into something more watchful, wary. He paused long enough for Tsuzuki to go back to digging at his own plate, moving very deliberately to lick the sticky cream from his lips just as Tsuzuki was taking a sip of his tea, eyeing him warily. He took his time, carefully tracing over the top before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to scrape against his teeth, grinning as Tsuzuki nearly choked on his drink. Startled violet eyes widened before Tsuzuki sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Okay, you can stop looking at me like that.” Tsuzuki laughed. “Not when you do that, I can’t.” Hisoka rolled his eyes, taking another, far neater bite as his partner watched, eyes following the movement as his mouth closed around the fork, tongue moving to catch the cream threatening to spill onto his lips, the slight bobbing at his throat as he swallowed. Hisoka could feel an answering echo in the older man with every movement he made, a thinly veiled interest in the way the tendons in his neck moved with the bowing of his head, the tapered fingers flexing gracefully around the handle of his teacup. It was intoxicating to know that he had such power, that he could enthrall the man with such simple movements. Tsuzuki swallowed hard, made a valiant attempt at ignoring Hisoka’s efforts, stabbing a section of his own pie and shoving it gracelessly into his mouth, but his efforts were ruined as Hisoka moved to lick some of the sticky residue off his fingers. Hisoka couldn’t help it. He laughed. He hid his mouth behind his teacup, desperately attempting to muffle his snickering into the warm liquid as Tsuzuki abandoned the pretense, setting his fork against the side of his plate and leaning back in his seat, smiling ruefully. “I didn’t even know you could laugh,” Tsuzuki said, a hint of incredulity seeping into his voice. “It’s creepy.” “Oh please, at least I’m not the one gaping like a dead fish because of a little pie.” “It’s not the pie, my little friend, it’s the obscene things you’re doing with it.” Tsuzuki sighed, rolling his eyes with all the fervor of the long suffering, waving his hand in dismissal. “Just keep eating, giggle boy, you’re too skinny.” “Not like I’m going to be gaining any weight, Tsuzuki. I’m dead, remember?” “Dead people can get fat. Look at Konoe.” “Konoe-Kacho is not fat.” “He has a gut. I’ve seen it,” Tsuzuki insisted, shaking a finger at him in emphasis. “It’s grotesque! I swear he wears a girdle in the office to hide it.” It was punctuated with another forkful of sludgy dessert, fork freezing mid-chew as Hisoka broke into another fit of laughter at the comically grotesque mental image of Konoe in a girdle. It was disturbingly cute, he decided, the older man’s sudden look of doe eyed confusion, fork hanging limply from his mouth as he stilled long enough to stare incredulously and swallow. “Are you drunk? No, you’d be passed out if you tried that… You didn’t let Watari get you your coffee this morning, did you?” “No,” he answered, shaking his head, relinquishing his hold on his tea to pat gingerly at his side. “No coffee with the gigantic hole in my side, remember? Watari said something ridiculous about caffeine and spontaneous leakage.” It had been Tsuzuki who had dragged them both from the burning building, teleporting them from Nagasaki with the last of his energy before collapsing on the infirmary floor. He’d been less worse for wear than Hisoka himself, who had managed to heal Tsuzuki during their synchronizing only to take most of the lesion on himself, shredding most of the musculature in his flank in an effort to heal Tsuzuki enough to save them both. “That was for me, wasn’t it? That hole in your side.” Tsuzuki’s voice was small, his gaze considering, and Hisoka considered pretending not to understand as his partner’s eyes grew more weary. “I was a hell of a lot more… whole, for lack of a better term, when I woke up, which means you did something. Took the damage on yourself somehow and your body couldn’t keep up with it.” “You do remember the part where I was bleeding too profusely to stand, right?” The words sounded altogether too accusatory, and Hisoka wished for a moment that his partner was a little less shrewd, a little more like the idiot he pretended to be. “It was either heal you or get squished when the building blew. You outweigh me by a good hundred pounds, there was no way I was getting us both out of there.” “You should have left me.” “Oh right,” he huffed, ignoring the implications of Tsuzuki’s quiet statement. He was more than adequately aware of how little his partner valued his own life, and acknowledging it seemed an exercise in futility. “I’ll just leave you there to burn and then I can listen to you bitch while you recover, assuming you survive at all. Thanks, but I don’t need that on my conscience, I’ve been sullied enough for ten lifetimes.” Bitter. The tea was bitter in his mouth, a fitting punctuation as he watched Tsuzuki blink once, twice, comprehension dawning slowly over his features. Hisoka wasn’t certain what conclusions he’d reached, considering that most of the bitterness stemmed from the horrors of dreams he’d yet to share with anyone beyond the occasional angry chat with the shadowed-eyed man, but he seemed to accept Hisoka’s anger and move on. “How did you…?” “Heal you?” he asked. “Hello? Powers? Dead guy magic and all that. Didn’t someone give you my file when I was assigned to you?” Tsuzuki’s smile was rueful. “I didn’t even know about the empathy until you started reading my thoughts.” “Yeah, well if it makes you feel any better I try not to do that,” he muttered, desperate to bury the potentially painful train of thought below their usual banter. “It’s too complicated up there.” “Hisoka…” Tsuzuki began, folding his hands on the table as he leaned forward in his seat to whisper his words. “You really shouldn’t have done that. Healed me, I mean. Not if it’s going to hurt you. Despite my complete lack of common sense I’m old enough to take care of myself, you don’t have to protect me.” “Why not?” he countered, setting down his teacup and leaning forward himself to face off his partner. “You got that wound protecting me. I was the one who fucked up and got captured. Besides, it’s not like it killed me.” He paused long enough to pop a couple of buttons and yank the side of his shirttail up, exposing most of his abdomen. “See? No more hole. Just a whole lot of scarring.” “Yeah.” Tsuzuki grew quiet, finding some sudden inexplicable interest in his folded hands and the Formica tabletop beneath, sludgy-pie a long forgotten relic from an earlier mood swing. He looked impossibly old, trying to hunch in on himself without tipping off the other customers to his distress, waves of guilt and pain flowing from him so strongly Hisoka could almost see it. His face had taken on a particularly pinched look, eyes suspiciously bright behind the fringe of bangs hanging in front of his down turned face, and Hisoka sighed. “Stop that.” “What?” Tsuzuki answered, faint hurt sketched across his features as his head snapped up. “That,” he snapped, waving a hand at Tsuzuki’s expression. “That kicked-puppy-it’s-all-my-fault look. I don’t want your pity. “It’s not pity, Hisoka, it’s anger. I’m trying to tamp the urge to hunt Muraki down and kill him.” “Well don’t bother. He’s not interested in me anymore, anyway.” “Hisoka…” “Just drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” “Anymore?” Tsuzuki asked, incredulously shaking his head. “When have we /ever/ talked about it? He hurt you, and I /hate/ that he hurt you and there’s nothing I can do about it because you won’t even acknowledge that it happened!” His hands came down on the table with a resounding crash as his voice rose in pitch, vaulting from his seat to tower over Hisoka in a fit of rage that brought every ounce of irrational anger boiling towards the surface. “What am I supposed to say?” Hisoka bellowed, jumping up to glare at Tsuzuki. “You know what happened, he fucking told you himself. He fucked me and then he cursed me and I spent three years wanting to die because it hurt so bad! No amount of talking’s going to make that right.” His words were hissed, strained, and he threw himself back into his seat in disgust as Tsuzuki’s expression melted into horrified compassion. “I just can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner,” he muttered, picking at his food. “You haven’t even seen how far the scars extend… I should’ve realized what they meant.(2) What did I think was gonna happen hunting him down? We’d talk and he’d tell me the sob story that drove him to hurt me? Please. I wanted a reason and I got one. Because the truth is, there was no reason. I was in the wrong place with the wrong psycho and I was too cute for him not to have a little fun with before he finished me off. Is that what you want to hear?” “No, of course not. Hisoka…” “Don’t. Even.” He snapped. “Just stop looking at me like that! Why do you even care?” He shook his head, violently, closing his eyes against the rise of moisture he’d never allow to fall. He glanced about for something, anything to distract himself, settling on Tsuzuki’s much abused dessert and letting loose a small, half-hysterical laugh as he raked a hand through his hair. “And you are so mangling your little friend there.” “Yeah,” Tsuzuki answered, smiling sadly as he poked gingerly at the concoction with his fork. “Well I’ve got another friend who’s more important.” “You’ve known me for all of a week.” Hisoka sighed, voice toneless. “So?” said Tsuzuki, forcing a smile. “I think that’s long enough to outrank baked goods on my list of priorities.” “For anyone but you, maybe,” Hisoka muttered. “Look, to answer your question from earlier, I don’t think a damn thing got solved finding Muraki, it just hurts more. Knowing that he’s still out there… hurting people. And he’ll be back to hurt you.” He shook his head, looking up from his teacup to lock eyes with Tsuzuki, imploring. “Would it be completely hypocritical if I said I wished I’d never found out about this at all?” “No,” Tsuzuki answered, incandescent eyes fathomless reflections of sorrow and sympathy. “No, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” Hisoka laughed again, a relieved, insane little bark of sound that echoed strangely in the sudden silence between them. “I’m just glad the bathrooms in Meifu are as pretty as the rest of the place. I spent a lot of time throwing up after I woke up.” “Oh, Hisoka.” Tsuzuki choked, clenching his eyes shut and drawing a hand over his eyes as his features, quite literally, crumpled. “Gods, Hisoka.” Hisoka saw what he was about to do an instant before the coiling of muscle became evident, the hand falling away from eyes now overflowing with silent tears. For him. The thought was enough to paralyze him where he sat, enough to befuddle his already overtaxed mind long enough for Tsuzuki to launch himself from his seat, shoving in beside him and pulling Hisoka into his arms in less time than the action took to register. “No, no…” he murmured, protesting weakly as his senses struggled to catch up with the reality of the situation. “Tsuzuki, get off!” And Tsuzuki, crying, pain etched in every line of perfect features as he held tight against Hisoka’s increasingly frantic squirming. “No,” he insisted, pulling his arms tighter around Hisoka’s waist. “Stop struggling and let me hold you. People are staring.” “Could that be because you vaulted the table and grabbed me, perhaps?” “Perhaps,” Tsuzuki said, agreeably. He shrugged. “They’ll get over it.” Hisoka attempted to elbow him in retaliation, but Tsuzuki’s arms locked around his own in anticipation of the movement, pinning him against his partner’s chest as the older man leaned down to nuzzle against his hair. He gave one final heave against Tsuzuki before going limp against him, face buried against Tsuzuki’s neck, wetness seeping from his partner’s skin into his own. Tsuzuki’s scent was all around him, intoxicating in its familiarity, and he sagged within the cradle of his partner’s arms, lost in the overwhelming sense of rightness that permeated the embrace. His eyes slid shut of their own accord, hands clenching against the fabric of Tsuzuki’s shirt as the older man sobbed quietly against him, and for a moment Hisoka allowed himself to believe that they were safe, that they were beyond whatever turmoil sought to destroy them. “Look…” he murmured, awkward words spoken directly into Tsuzuki’s skin. “I just… I wanted to know what happened. I didn’t think I’d get the episodic memory download in full Technicolor. There are some things you just don’t want to relive.” He tucked his head against the crook of Tsuzuki’s neck, brushing his lips against the pulse point there. Not quite a kiss, but a gesture obviously more than platonic in its intentions and Tsuzuki’s arms tightened around him, head tilting to brush his lips against Hisoka’s temple in a similar motion. It wasn’t much, a small concession to feelings he knew would grow if nurtured, given time, when time was a luxury they would never be afforded. “Listen to me,” Tsuzuki was saying, a gentleness to his words as he reached to trace careful fingers over Hisoka’s chin. “No, look at me, Hisoka.” His face was tilted upwards, leaning to meet red-rimmed amethyst eyes alight with pain and wanting. “He will never touch you again.” “You can’t promise that,” he insisted, hands clutching at Tsuzuki’s collar. “You can’t be with me all the time.” “No, I mean it. He will never touch you again so long as I have a say in it.” Hisoka laughed, arms slipping around Tsuzuki’s torso. “You really mean that, don’t you,” he murmured, incredulous. “You insane, idiotic little man, what if you don’t have a say in it?” “Then I track him down and rip him apart in retaliation.” They kept having these moments, instances of perfect stillness between them that grew more common with each passing day he spent in Tsuzuki’s company. Hisoka would find himself gazing into amethyst eyes without thought beyond the comfort of his partner’s presence, overcome by the simple certainty that his contentment was echoed in Tsuzuki. The mere reassurance that the man was alive, real and solid and actually there in front of him was forever a wonder to Hisoka, and he found himself spending more and more time seeking out physical contact, small touches here and there that allowed him awareness of Tsuzuki on a deeper level. The feeling had only intensified with time and familiarity, when Tsuzuki’s joking advances became a little less comical, when their eyes met and their faces were so close Hisoka was struck with the sudden knowledge that if he tilted his head just so, they would be kissing. And how easy that would be. How simple to brush his lips against Tsuzuki’s and still the steady simmering of wanting roiling across his empathy at the man’s touch, to sate his own desires with a willing partner. It would take so little, a small amount of coaxing and Tsuzuki would make love to him, he knew that as certainly as he knew the man’s name, lay him raw and wanting before the alter of past horrors. It was all too easy to forget when he was being coaxed and nuzzled in Tsuzuki’s lap, the heavy leaden truth of the dream lost amongst a humid tide of pleasure at that long denied human contact. But Tsuzuki could not erase the stain, no matter how much Hisoka might wish him to, his hands could soothe, but the truth would still be etched into the skin they touched. And in the end he would destroy them both, tear the beautiful creature in his arms from a world that needed him because he was too weak to resist his own selfish desires. No, their moments could never be more than fleeting touches, unsatisfying in their ambiguity. His fingers found their way to Tsuzuki’s face, tracing the contours of dampened cheekbones as he stared into his partner’s eyes, unmindful of the watchful eyes of the mortals they sat amongst. Tsuzuki smiled, leaning into his caress as he drew a thumb under a swollen eye, caressing lightly in apology. He barely noticed the waitress as she hovered over them, finally resorting to clearing her throat loudly to catch their attention, expression hovering between nervous confusion and disapproval. Tsuzuki turned to look at her with a patently sheepish expression, smile suddenly a mile wide as brought a nervous hand to tussle the hair at the nape of his neck. “Um…” he muttered, glancing briefly at Hisoka before shrugging helplessly at the bewildered girl. “Eh heh… It’s not what it looks like, really!” But it was. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Note-y goodness: (1) Has anybody else noticed that Watari’s drawings look remarkably like Terrance and Phillip from South Park? (2) If by some small chance in hell you haven’t seen that manga scan, Hisoka has scarring on his back that extends almost to his thighs. Even if he couldn’t remember getting them, it’s pretty obvious he was naked when they were drawn. return to splash page