The Ties that Bind A Yami no Matsuei story Sephy For Odile Despite rumors to the contrary, Kurosaki Hisoka was not a morning person. Unlike Tsuzuki, he wasn't one to simply bounce out of bed, carried aloft by a wake of boundless energy. His own rising was sluggish, often a lethargic march towards consciousness, slipping in and out of a doze a good two hours before he finally found a grip on awareness. It was a luxury he hadn't been afforded as a mortal, trained to rise when the sun did. One of his earliest memories was of his father's footsteps; that muffled tread heavy as it stalked proudly past his door, sometimes pausing, as if he could see through the thin rice paper doors into his son's bedroom, daring him to sleep on, to be lazy and therefore, undisciplined. From the time he could walk, Hisoka had taken up that unspoken challenge, wanting nothing more than to emulate the father he had so adored, affecting the stern manner and dignity that held the servants in terrified awe. When love had no longer been an option and approval forever denied, he had still risen, carrying on those traditions ingrained in him within the confines of his cell. Always careful to make his futon and to arrange his belongings in an orderly manner, as if his parents would ever notice beyond their hurried trips to shove food through his door. There was no longer any great mystery in sunrise, only the ghost of a life as dead as he was. He much preferred the creep of afternoon, of days made golden, and an apathetic breeze stirring the leaves across baked pavements. These days he didn't drink coffee so much as guzzle it, finding in it a jittery serenity that gave him the strength to deal with so many minds in such a confined space. Most of who thanks to the advent of their preternatural gifts lit up on his empathy like beacons. It was not so bad now as it had been, experience giving him distance and the tools to shut out all but the strongest of emotions battering against his mental shields and even then, it often took physical touch to cause any real damage. And none of his coworkers with the exception of Tsuzuki and Watari took that type of liberty with him. Tsuzuki by virtue of the fact that they were involved and Watari…Well, Watari somehow managed to place himself outside of the rules of personal space. Like now, Hisoka thought, noting the way Watari was leaning, his body inclining towards Wakaba in what might have been construed as an intensely invasive gesture were it not for the total innocence and lack of sexual interest on his part. One hand resting atop the plastic lip of the copying machine, the other absently scratching his shoulder in the wake of 003's bouncy flittering, the scientist fidgeted, unable to remain still even as his leonine eyes fixed on Wakaba, as if she alone were the sole possessor of his attention. Which was not true, as Hisoka knew from personal experience and those few fragments that bounced off his shields, Watari sometimes having an attention span shorter than Tsuzuki's. Underneath that deluge of golden curls lay a witches' brew, layers of thoughts upon thoughts bubbling and boiling, all whizzing to the surface and multi-tasked with the skill of a master. It felt like a hive, swarms of unceasing ideas and observations pushing the man from one end of the room to the other, as easily absorbed, as he could be bored. The same impetus that caused him to create also derailed whatever social interaction skills he might have been granted. Simply put, Watari didn't have time for small talk, jumping straight into conversations whether he had been included or not, sometimes barging headlong into topics that a more tactful person might have left alone. He had an unerring tendency to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, done without malice or apparently, the common sense to know better. Hisoka had once heard it said that there was an art to conversation and if that were true, then Watari was abstract in its highest form, leaving you to trail behind his galloping pace, out of breath and somehow feeling as if you were still missing something. Which went a long way in explaining why, when those hawk eyes landed upon him, he wasn't sure whether to smile or to heed the pit opening in his stomach. That broad toothy grin containing altogether too much glee would have put Tsuzuki to shame and it made him lean toward the latter rather than the former. His fears were not assuaged in the slightest when the man plopped down on the edge of his desk, removing his glasses long enough to swipe at the lenses with the corner of his lab coat. Hisoka watched as he examined them critically, breathing on them and running over them again before he spoke, voice rolling in a strange burr and cadence, "Well, Moneypenny, it appears as if 007 is gracing us with his presence after all." Rolling his eyes, Hisoka paused long enough to shrug out of his soft caramel coat, draping it across the back of his chair. He paused long enough to nod good morning to the brown and red-eyed girl vainly trying to hide her wide smile behind the half-ball of a fist pressed to her lips. Turning to glare at the man now swinging his legs back and to, feet tapping against the seat of his chair, Hisoka's voice was scathing with warning when he spoke, "Watari-san." "Really, James, if you're going to be in so late, the least you ought to do is give us a call," Watari chided, making a clucking click with his tongue, voice saccharine with mock sympathy, "Rough night?" For some reason he had yet to fathom, Watari derived a great deal of satisfaction from irritating him with that annoying nickname, had from the time Hisoka first joined the division and Tatsumi had issued him his gun. It was probably the same suicidal impulse that led him to dub and occasionally taunt Tatsumi with chants of "M! M! M!" Time and subsequent forced viewings of James Bond films had led him to understand the references, if not entirely appreciate them. Tsuzuki had thus far escaped, but only because the one time the scientist had tried, he'd ended up fleeing the room due to the combined weight of a blue and green glare. Tsuzuki had spent weeks after that begging to be clued in. Hisoka felt the back of neck burn, a blush still ready to charge out at the memory of Tsuzuki, honey éclair between his lips as Watari said the magical words, jabbing an index finger in the air for emphasis as if the words had just occurred to him, "Honey Ryder! Honey Ryder!"[1] And no amount of wide-eyed excuses, of claiming that he was just making use of Tsuzuki's sweet tooth was going to dispel the images that had generated. 'I really, really should not have let him talk me into re-watching that damn movie after that,' Hisoka sighed. As much as he liked to contemplate the idea of Tsuzuki swaying gently out of the ocean, tracks of salt water dripping from tendrils of hair down his chin and over chest, he really, really didn't need to think about it at work. "Don't you have shit you need to be blowing up? Lab rats that need to be set through their paces?" he replied irritably, reaching out and pushing those gently swinging knees none too gently off the desk. Watari floundered, almost unseated before managing to wave his arms enough to regain his balance, 003 circling over his head, wings fluttering in uncertain jerks. "Oh, no. I'm all yours." "How lucky," Hisoka said dryly, dropping into his seat and rolling forward, picking up some papers and hoping that his friend would take the hint. Of course, Watari could never let anything go as the shadow falling across his desk proved, knees brushing against his arm. Chemical-stained hands, surprisingly cool, tipped his face into the light as Watari peered down, amber eyes almost the same color as the wire frames falling casually down his nose. "You look tired," he announced, before his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, almost but not quite as bad as the wink that joined it. "Tsuzuki keeping you up nights?" "I was working," Hisoka enunciated, each syllable blistering with warning. "Oh, I just bet you were," the scientist smirked, Wakaba's amused titter only serving to encourage him further. "Where is your wayward partner anyway? I hardly recognize you without him attached to your hip." "Ha, ha." "He thinks I'm kidding," Watari tilted his head towards Wakaba, the words spoken sotto voice. "Does the word 'crowbar' mean anything? I'm amazed you get to walk to the bathroom by yourself." Hisoka started to say something then stopped, leaning forward, elbows supporting the hand under his chin, a slow smirk of his own forming. "And would this be the same crowbar used to pry you away from a certain Secretary's office?" That mischievous smile slipped, arms crossing over his chest as Watari scowled at him. "That's low, bouya. Low!" "What? I figured if we were going to speculate about my love life, you wouldn't mind talking about yours. At least I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming you have one, unlike most of the office." "You know, I never thought I'd quote Tsuzuki but," Watari took a breath, mouth widening to mock-bleat, "Mean! Meeeeeean Hisoka." "Oh, shut up. I already have to put up with Tsuzuki doing that, I don't need it from you, too." "Well, if you hadn't given away how much it annoyed you, he wouldn't keep doing it." "Boys, boys," Wakaba chirped, hands held aloft in the universal gesture of peace. "Don't you think this is getting a little out of hand?" "Aww, but he started it, Mom," Watari sniffled. "I was just trying to have a conversation but noooooooo…" "Should I take out my violin? I'm sure I've heard this one somewhere," Hisoka drew a hand in the air, as if playing the aforementioned instrument. "And I don't think it was a conversation so much as you throwing insinuations right and left." "I never throw insinuations," the scientist huffed, flicking a hair out of his face. "I nail them dead on." He wondered at what point he had become so relaxed around the office, around Watari, that he could bring himself to engage in such pointless banter. The initial attempts made by the other man hadn't gone over well, mostly ending with Hisoka half-spooked and wondering if he weren't a little mental. In all his life, no one had ever spoken to him, often with such endearing disrespect, as the blond Shinigami did. As a mortal, save for his parents, everyone had treated him with a fair amount of respect, formality tinting every part of his interactions. He was Hisoka-sama to the servants, Kurosaki-san to the doctors in the hospital. Then he'd come here and while yes, most of the office still addressed him as Kurosaki-kun, never once was it with the politely terrified awe or dislike those in life had used. Here he wasn't just Kurosaki Nagare's son, he was bouya or Bon or Hisoka-san. Even more intimate was Tsuzuki's immediate co-option and insistence on calling him Hisoka, sans honorific, sans nickname. The gesture was intensely personal and the first time his partner had tried, it was all he had been able to do not to openly reprimand him for such impertinence. Time had given him the realization that it was meant without malice. Tsuzuki was just like that with everyone, completely tactless and convinced that a dollop of charm would see him out of any trouble he might land himself in. Unfortunately, he was right on that more often than not. "All I'm saying is that there's no call for you taking pot shots, Bon. There's no need to rub in that you have a love life while some of us," Watari sighed, the sound genuine enough to cause him to straighten, "aren't so lucky." It was no secret to anyone in the office, the object of his affection aside that Watari was crushing on Tatsumi. Though crushing was probably too mild a term for it. Watari was head over beaker, completely besotted with the man who, so far as Hisoka had been able to visually detect, hadn't shown an inkling of interest in that direction. Tatsumi appeared amused, often exasperated with the antics of their exuberant friend, putting up with more from Watari than he did anyone else in the department, save Tsuzuki and that said something. Or so he thought. Hisoka had no way of confirming his suspicions and therefore thought it best not to raise Watari's hopes for fear that it would lead only to disappointment down the line. Besides, it was all he could do to manage his own love life without taking on the responsibility for someone else's. Apparently, Wakaba had no such qualms about expressing her opinions, throwing her arms around the blond scientist and nearly throwing the both of them into Hisoka's lap. "'Aww, Watari-san. It'll work out. Give it time." He patted her back, easing into the hug and winking at Hisoka over her shoulder. "Thank you, Wakaba. It's nice to know someone cares." "Oh I care. I'm caring so much I'm wondering what Terazuma's gonna do when he catches you like this." "Oh, Hajime would never hurt Watari-san," Wakaba giggled again, blinking as though she were utterly convinced of the words. From the glance he exchanged with Watari, he could tell that the other man was no more convinced of that than he was. Terazuma had a temper and coupled with a possessive streak a mile wide where his partner was concerned, it was a guaranteed mix for explosive trouble. Thus far, most of his anger had been reserved for Tsuzuki, nearly destroying the Diet building several times over between the two of them but it could just as easily turn towards one of the others making unwarranted moves on 'his girl.' Wakaba might think it was funny and sweet and completely adorable but he'd seen what a pissed off Terazuma could do and he had no desire to be at ground zero when it happened again. Even if that was almost guaranteed thanks to his proximity to Tsuzuki. "Still, it's probably best not to send his blood pressure up again," Watari squeezed her arm before disentangling himself, eyes darting towards the exits as if he expected Terazuma to come rushing through one of them, blood in his eyes and Shiki unleashed. "Coward," Hisoka teased. "Where is Terazuma, by the way? And Tsuzuki?" Normally at this hour, Tsuzuki was guaranteed to be at his desk, plate overflowing with the staff donuts, enough so that Wakaba had started buying two boxes just so everyone could have something to eat. Coming in usually involved a pink-frosted donut being waved in his face, Tsuzuki intent on sharing his horde, as if he thought that by convincing Hisoka to try just one of those sugar-loaded concoctions that he'd manage to convert the boy. On the whole, Hisoka thought it was for the best that he didn't; their budget wasn't enough to support two sugar-happy fiends. "Chief wanted to see the both of them," Watari shrugged. "Oh, God what did they do?" To an outsider, one who didn't know his partner and Terazuma as he did, the overweening dread filling that question might have seemed melodramatic but he knew as well as they did, just how pertinent it was. "Tsuzuki promised--" "Relax, Bon. It's nothing like that," Watari scratched his head. "At least I think. There was no yelling and the Gushoshin haven't been flying off the handle. He just wanted to see them." "Right, because he so often just calls people into his office for a chat." "You've a suspicious turn of mind, Bon," Watari scolded, lifting his glasses and replacing them. "Then again, given what you have to put up with, that really doesn't surprise me." "I'd better go find him," he rose to his feet, the chair rattling in response to his quick ascent. Had he been paying more attention and not fretting over what Tsuzuki had gotten himself into now, he might have noticed the twitch of Watari's eyebrows, Wakaba dusting off her skirt before disappearing with a quick nod. "Kurosaki-kun, a word if you please." To his credit he didn't flinch as he was wont to do when crept upon nor did he whip his sidearm out of its holster. Perhaps it had something to do with location, with knowing that Sagattanus aside no one from the outside had yet to truly breach the defenses of EmnaCho. Or maybe subconsciously he recognized the subtle hole in his empathy, the lack of awareness where it should be, a sucking, gaping void that filtered around his shields, pulling things in but never letting them out. And there was only one person his empathy reacted that way with. Tatsumi Seiichirou He didn't even have to turn around to know he'd find the Secretary at his shoulder, immaculate as usual, brown suit pressed as if it had never known a day without starch. His tie would be perfect, top knot expertly tucked and pinned, the exact opposite of Tsuzuki who couldn't seem to keep his own tie straight if his undead life depended on it. Even his hair would be slicked down, chestnut highlights glinting as he adjusted his spectacles, blue eyes obscured behind a thin wall of glass. Nothing out of place, nothing to disturb the seeming stern serenity that garbed the man, as well worn as that suit. "Tatsumi-san," he replied equally formal, equally remote, his slow pivot giving him enough time to catch Watari's almost invisible wince. The scientist would scold later, fret and fuss even though Hisoka would dare him to find anything untoward or discourteous in tone or speech. There was a time, not so very long ago, before this crow of resentment had taken up residence in his chest, pecking at his heart, a seething anger that begged expression and found none, that he would have found it unthinkable to behave, to even feel this way towards Tatsumi. That was a few psychopaths back, before Tsuzuki had become more than just his partner, before he'd nearly lost the chance to find himself again, to have those feelings that he had always sought to deny. He had admired Tatsumi, appreciated his professional demeanor, kind but remote, and respected his privacy. He had wanted to be like Tatsumi, had wanted to be strong and independent and indebted to no one. Hell, he'd wanted to be Tatsumi because he was fairly certain that the man would never have let what happened to Hisoka happen to himself. Muraki would have had his ass kicked several times over before that ever happened. He wanted that strength, that discipline, anything to ensure that he never, ever had to be the victim again, a pawn played in someone else's game. Being in the infirmary, off the active duty roster, had given him time to reflect on that, to realize that perhaps Tatsumi's aloofness was as much a weakness as it was a strength. Yes, he could be like Tatsumi, holding his professional distance around him like a security blanket, allowing others to get only so close before gently but firmly shutting them out, but it wasn't what he really wanted. Maybe it wasn't what Tatsumi wanted either but it wasn't in his power to change that either. It came down to choices; Tatsumi had made one and Hisoka his. "I wonder if I might speak with you. In private." The words were patient; the man uttering them neither fidgeting nor rushing his answer as he waited, folder at tilted rest against his chest. Only past experience told him not to try that patience, to waste time, lest he see the sharp side of Tatsumi's tongue. "Of course. Did you want Tsuzuki, too? I can find him--" "Just you. It is precisely because Tsuzuki-san is not here, that we should talk." His eyes widened, for once a ready reply not forthcoming. Well, this was unexpected. What in the world could Tatsumi have to say to him that Tsuzuki couldn't be privy to hearing? Part of him wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that. "Uh. All right." Hisoka snatched his jacket, needing to feel its protective, comforting weight on his shoulders, as if it might prove proof against the chill of gentians studying him. It was stupid really, to feel his stomach seize up, a unpleasant thrill opening up there. This was Tatsumi. What could he do? Anything he damn well wanted up to partnering him with someone else, Hisoka answered his own question. Was that why he didn't want Tsuzuki there? Was he so displeased with Hisoka that he felt reassignment was in order? An official reprimand for going against orders and rushing headlong into Touda's fury, endangering not just himself but his fellow Shinigami? Tatsumi might have let them burn but he knew, perhaps had known, that Watari would never let that happen. He had trusted to that hunch, prayed that when it came down to it, the scientist would find a way to get them out of that mess when he could not. A stupid, devious, foolhardy hope but he had played the card and won. Or maybe something else was going on, deeper forces at work? He lifted his shoulder, adjusting the constrictions of his jacket, the clump of shirt sleeve caught smoothing out. "Oooh, busted," Watari whispered, punching his shoulder as he walked past. Still, there was something strangely wistful in the corners of his smile, soldered into feline depths, gold and sunflower shimmers banding in the light. Tatsumi paused, looking over his shoulder at just the right angle for the light to catch across his glasses, sapphire eyes hidden in a white glare. "You too, Watari-san." "Me?" Hisoka nearly laughed at the pole-axed expression on the other man's face, jumping forward and off the desk with a nervous hop, managing to bang his knee against Hisoka's chair in the process. He didn't quite leap about holding his knee and wailing but the scrunching up of his face was interesting nonetheless. Glaring at the chair, he gave it a vicious nudge. "Ow. So, what? The chairs are attacking me now?" "I can't imagine why anyone would want to attack you, Watari." "Laugh it up, bouya. How would you like your stapler to suddenly sprout legs and walk away? Literally?" "Only if you want to wake up bald." White hands flew to awry locks as if checking to make sure they were still there. "Thou shalt not touch the hair. Not with scissors. Not ever!" "I'm amazed you haven't managed to get it caught in all those gears you work with." "It's a skill," Watari admitted modestly. "Still, no touchee! It's a commandment. One of the ten, I'm sure." "How would you know? You're not even Christian." "Yeah, well even so. It's one of my commandments," he made a face. "Like what? Not being able to draw a straight line to save your life?" "Gentlemen," Tatsumi drawled the word, each syllable gaining more importance than the ones before, "If Comedy Hour is quite finished?" Watari threw his arms wide, skipping towards the glowering Secretary and affecting that thick gaijin burr that he knew drove everyone in the office crazy. "Sorry, darling, I forgot. Duty calls." 'Idiot,' Hisoka thought but there was genuine affection behind it. It was a little harder to feel as though he were facing a potential firing squad with Watari trailing along after Tatsumi, matching him stride for stride and all but dancing around him, 003 nesting atop the Secretary's shoulder. Tatsumi patted the little owl absently, eyes trained on Watari and sidestepping every time a potential opportunity for tripping occurred. While he was sure that Watari wasn't doing it on purpose, he had all ideas that his friend wouldn't object if some minor accident caused Tatsumi to land in his lap--both figuratively and literally speaking. For good or ill, this was his life now, with friends -- no, family. Family and Tsuzuki who was nearer and dearer to him than that. Dysfunctional though they might be, they all had one thing in common -- they needed each other and that was a damn sight better than the family Hisoka had been born into. They were different ties than the ones he'd had before but no less binding. No less binding at all, he shook his head, thinking of Tsuzuki and Hisoka smiled. ***End [1]. Honey Ryder. The ultimate Bond girl and the one most often referred to (Well, save for the infamous Pussy Galore) in Bond montages or interviews. Played by Ursula Andress, she's the one you always see in the clips, the blond bombshell rising out of the ocean clad in nothing but a thin flesh colored bikini and a knife. She was also parodied in the Austin Powers sequel, The Spy Who Shagged Me with both Heather Graham and Mike Myers sauntering out of the water wearing the same get-up. I'm not suggesting that Hisoka's imagining Tsuzuki in a bikini but I feel that Tsuzuki romping wet out of the ocean is a nice thought anyway. return to splash page