The biggest sacrifices tend to go unnoticed.
Pie stares at his hands, seated on his bed in his threadbare room. Whereas Kish's is the very definition of chaos and Tart's is usually strewn with discarded toys either brought with him from their homeworld or liberated illegally from somewhere in Tokyo, his is particularly neat and organized. It's not that he's obsessive, not at all - it merely helps him think with increased clarity, and Pie spends a lot of time thinking.
His hands are pale, the skin surprisingly flawless. If he looks closely enough, he notices the nearly imperceptible trembling denoting his shattered nerves. So he refrains from focusing on them for too long.
The sound of the ship's other inhabitants has faded, leaving him with silence underlaid with the ambient noise of the ship's machinery. It means Kish and Tart have either drifted off to sleep (or, in Kish's case, folded himself into a corner to brood, as usual), and that it's time for him to head over to the meeting chamber for his audience with Deep Blue.
The trembling in his hands intensifies at the thought of Deep Blue; Pie clenches his fists closed and forces himself to stand. It would not do to be tardy.
He exits his room, door sliding shut behind him quietly, and takes a deep breath in the darkened hallway. The lack of light doesn't bother him too much, given that his kind has fairly effective low light vision, and he'd rather not attract any attention at the moment. It would be a disaster were he to accidentally rouse Tart, or Kish, for that matter.
Pie's memorized the path to Deep Blue's chamber by now. He could teleport, easily, but walking the distance gives him the chance to order his heart to cease its frantic gait. Openly displaying fear is not only dishonorable, but it displays a startling lack of faith in Deep Blue's divinity. Pie is faithful, if nothing else.
He reaches the door to the chamber, within but a few minutes, and finds himself hesitating to reach out and place his hand against the smooth, cool metal. For a brief, paralyzing moment, he finds his feet fixed to the floor, unwilling to carry him further. A small, insistent voice blooms in the back of his head, telling him that this isn't right, that he's making a mistake. It sounds a little too much like Kish for Pie's liking, so much that he's able to move forward, if not out of dedication but defiance.
Tonight Deep Blue's chamber is an endless black sea, with a faint blue light emanating from within the depths. A path of polished pedestals that rise from beneath the still surface of the water leads to the dais; they are not spaced in such a manner that Pie can simply step from one to the other, so he completes the path in a series of quick teleports, sinking to his knees immediately upon reaching the dais. Surprisingly Deep Blue has yet to manifest; it isn't an unpleasant surprise by any means. Pie likes being early.
While he waits, he takes deep, deep breaths. The audience unfortunately follows on the heels of a rather crushing defeat at the hands of a small group of teenage girls that Pie would love to simply smash beneath his heel, like vermin. His hatred of humanity has never been as acute as it's grown in the past few weeks, evolving from mere indifference to actual malice. He retains no illusions that he and his teammates' failure won't factor into whatever offering he is required to make tonight, and the thought sends an involuntary shudder coursing through his body.
When his god makes his entrance, it is without warning. The single soft blue light above the dais dims slightly before winking out altogether, and the chamber is cast into an unnatural darkness that feels thick and foreboding. Pie keeps his eyes trained on the stone beneath him, hands clenched into fists. The impassive expression on his face is an excellent mask for his increasing desire to just run away and never return.
A imperious voice from somewhere above him, behind him, all around him, omnipresent, and fingers running through his hair possessively, "I am disappointed, my servant." And it's too late, so Pie dismisses the idea of running away. He wouldn't have acted on it, anyway.
Deep Blue's presence is intimidating. Not only is Pie incapable of actually getting a glimpse of the entity in the darkness without a single source of illumination, but it's as if he doesn't want to be seen. He never takes on a full physical form, although Pie knows he's strong enough to do so, at this stage in the game. Then again, he is a deity, one that sees and knows all. Who can look upon the true face of a god?
Deep Blue appears to be circling him, if such a thing is possible, and Pie feels so very much like one of the specimens in his lab being examined beneath his own critical gaze. "Perhaps it is my folly in entrusting my revival to those who have, time and time again, proven themselves to be incompetent." Pie doesn't speak. He doesn't have a valid rebuttal to the claim.
Fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head up; Pie finds himself gazing into a pair of blue eyes so intense that he is only able to hold eye contact for a few seconds before glancing away. "You appear to be wasting my time and resources, my servant."
It takes Pie a second to find his voice, under Deep Blue's gaze. "You have my sincere apologies," he says quietly. "I-"
Perhaps this was the wrong thing to say, because the statement is met with a stinging blow to his left cheek, catching him off guard and knocking him backwards. "As always," the entity hisses. "Worthless creature, I have no use for your regrets."
Pie resists the urge to press his palm to his cheek, instead moving to kneel once more, head bowed. He's earned this, he and Tart (and Kish) have, but it's his burden to bear and not theirs. He tries not to flinch at the pressure against his throat, unnervingly close to his jugular. "Were I to take your meaningless life, what would become of the others? Of those you've left behind?"
The answer to this is very simple. Either Tart and Kish will perish in a skirmish, or they'll return home with the news that the mission was a failure. He can clearly imagine the hopelessness in their eyes, because it's the same hopelessness weighting down most of his people. An innate desire to see the sun, crushed under years of living beneath the surface of an inhospitable planet. He'd fail them, just as he's failed Deep Blue.
Whether the entity can read his thoughts or not, he seems to know the scenario running through Pie's head. "You see, my servant, you live not for yourself, but for me, and your people. This life of yours is only such in name." Pie's heart hurts, but he keeps his mouth shut.
The pressure against his throat releases, and his hand strays to the area without permission. He hopes there won't be a bruise. "I thank you for your mercy," he rasps.
"I accept your gratitude." Pie feels the weight in his chest lift somewhat at the kinder tone, only to have it descend once more as the entity continues, "But your gratitude is not enough to appease me. There must be an offering."
Pie bites his lip lower lip, hoping Deep Blues attention is elsewhere so that he doesn't notice how his face has obviously blanched. The fingers on his chin again, directing him to look up when he is being spoken to. The eyes staring down at him are cold and cruel, clearly the eyes of a god for who could ever gaze upon another with such little regard in their expression? "Mind, there will be scars. Perhaps you'll remember this time."
At these words the overhead light flares up, illuminating the dais and its new addition: perched on a perfect crystal sphere the color of the evening sky is the physical manifestation of Deep Blue. Pie can't help but gape - he's never, ever seen Deep Blue take on a complete projection before, and while this is only temporary, the word 'majestic' comes to mind. Somewhat taller than Pie himself, body clad in robes of shifting blue and shadow, long black hair cascading down his back, and the eyes. The eyes are terrible, but they are alluring, and Pie has to swallow, hard. The thin lips quirk up into a fanged smirk that is probably unfitting for a god but Deep Blue can do whatever he wants.
A small, metal object the size of a pen clatters to the ground in front of Pie, and his eyes widen at the sight of it.
"If you are yet loyal, my servant," and the words are dripping with condescension, "Prove it to me."
Pie swallows, once more, and reaches for the scalpel.
The blade is remarkably keen, which may or may not be a blessing. It catches the light, its edge causing his hands to tremble even more erratically.
Blades are not Pie's forte. Tart likes knives, and Kish's sai may be intended to pierce rather than slash but he has an equal appreciation for them. Pie chooses to channel energy through fans because it is cleaner, and also because maybe he doesn't like sharp surfaces that can rend flesh so easily. Especially his own.
"You would hesitate?" Deep Blue sounds bemused, as if this is a game, and maybe for him it is.
Pie's teeth dig into his bottom lip as he places his left hand flat against the stone floor and buries the scalpel into the back of it.
While the attacks levied upon himself and his teammates in their skirmishes with Ichigo and her posse are by no means pleasant, energy-based attacks are far less painful in such a personal way. Every nerve in his arm lights up, and it takes every bit of composure he can muster not to gasp. Withdrawing the blade does little to ease just how much this hurts, but it actually pales in comparison to Deep Blue's next words, "Surely you don't believe that to be satisfactory?"
Pie looks up in disbelief. There are words on the tip of his tongue, ohh so many inappropriate words, and he bites them back, shamed by their presence. Faith requires no questioning, and he...is faithful, if nothing else.
He retrieves the scalpel wordlessly and resumes cutting into his own flesh. His vision begins to blur with tears that he refuses to release, and his right hand trembles so badly that it is difficult to continue carving at his hand. The process is eased by how nauseous the idea of Kish or Tart having to do this makes him, but the pain is still almost overwhelming. It's a kind of pain he's never felt, self-inflicted and so malignant. His hand feels as if it's on fire, and by the time he reaches the second character he's openly weeping.
All the while, Deep Blue regards him with amusement, seated upon his sphere with a cruel smile marring his face. Or maybe it's fitting, for a god. He is the only one Pie has ever known, after all.
After the fourth and final character, Pie releases his hold on the bloody scalpel, letting it clatter against the stone and raising his mutilated hand so that Deep Blue can see his name clumsily carved into it. "I present this as an offering," he says evenly; it's only by looking away from the wreckage and focusing on a point somewhere in the dark ocean surrounding them that he manages to hold back the bile in his throat.
"Is that all?"
Deep Blue's words are like another slap in the face, and this time Pie does protest, the rebellious urges rising within him momentarily getting the best of him. "I have drawn more than my share of blood. Is this not enough?"
Deep Blue's fanged grin widens, and his eyes gleam. "No."
Pie is completely unprepared for what follows.
He finds himself thrown back against the tiles by a force that hits him like a battering ram, laid out flat and winded. Before he can acknowledge the fact that he's been physically attacked, he feels the weight of Deep Blue pinning him down, intense blue eyes staring down into his own. He squeezes his shut, only to have them forced open by the pressure being applied to his injured hand. Don't scream.
"You forget your place, my servant," the entity says, with a calmness that contrasts the glee etched out across his face. "Who am I?"
Pie's voice wavers, but he manages to respond, gasping the name as if it's a safe word, "Deep Blue."
"And what am I to you?"
"You are our god. You are all."
"Not the others. To you."
He closes his hand over Pie's, eliciting a sharp cry of pain and a strained, "My god."
"That is correct. I shall not hesitate to remind you, should you forget." Pie's heart is racing, as if trying to escape his chest, and it's rather hard to breathe with Deep Blue's weight pressing him down against the floor. The entity stares into his eyes, toying with his braid idly; he regards Pie with the manner of a child turning a toy over in his hands, reveling in the feeling of ownership. "Who am I, Pie?"
"Deep Blue. My god."
"Mmm, yes." The sound is one of wanton pleasure, and Pie internally gives way to the fear he's been holding back for the past hour.
Deep Blue shifts atop him, thankfully releasing his injured hand, but Pie's breath hitches in his throat once more at the sensation of a hand against his exposed abdomen. "I shall assist you in your offering. There will be scars," Deep Blue croons, and Pie, who is faithful if nothing else, braces himself, closing his eyes and offering up a silent, futile prayer for mercy.
His resolve shatters after the first cut.
The stones beneath him are sprinkled with red, but Pie registers this fact dully. It isn't so important.
Deep Blue is once more seated upon his crystal sphere, a serene expression having taken the place of one Pie refuses to recall. "I trust there will be no further mistakes?"
Pie nods. His throat is raw, and speaking too much is out of the question at the moment. Thankfully Deep Blue doesn't take issue with his silence. He's extracted enough blood and tears from Pie tonight, enough to placate him for a time, at any rate.
"I await news of your success." The entity rises from his sphere; were Pie actually able to look at him, he'd notice that his form has grown faint and insubstantial. "You may utilize a minimal amount of Aqua for your hand. That is all."
Of course. Tart and Kish don't need to see. The events of private audiences are between the two of them, and the others are not to be involved. There is genuine gratitude in Pie's strained voice as he ignores the pain in his throat to thank Deep Blue for his concession.
"As you proceed with your endeavors on my behalf," Deep Blue continues casually, "Do keep in mind that should these offerings continue to be necessary, there is far more that I can take of you. Perhaps that which you may not be so willing to give."
Pie's head lifts instantly, unable to mask his horror; the form of Deep Blue has all but faded completely, the predatory smile the last thing he sees before his god leaves him for the night.
Walking is no longer an option, and with the weight of both physical and emotional turmoil bogging him down, it takes almost all of his remaining energy to teleport just outside of Deep Blue's chamber, barely managing to hold himself up against the wall with his right arm pressed gingerly against his stomach.
In retrospect, it comes as no surprise that Kish is seated against the door, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. It's neither scorn, nor concern, which is somewhat alarming. Kish is no master of masking his emotions the way Pie is.
An awkward silence broken only by Pie's labored breathing rises between the two of them, roles reversed; Pie gazes at Kish with his pain and fear and shame, of all things openly bared and who knows what Kish is thinking.
Finally, Pie manages to speak, although it visibly hurts him to do so. "How long?"
Kish raises an eyebrow. "How long have I been sitting here, or how long have I known?"
"Both."
Kish shrugs. "Does knowing really make much of a difference?"
"I see." Pie falls silent, unsure of how to proceed. His body seemingly decides for him, as his legs buckle beneath him, sending him to the floor beside Kish. While it's no surprise that Kish somehow knows about these audiences, what is surprising is how he reacts to Pie's body giving out on him. With a deep sigh turns to him, placing an arm around his shoulders-
-and then they're in the sick bay, Kish panting slightly from the effort of transporting someone somewhat larger than himself. Teleportation with another individual is tricky, and it takes far more energy than going it alone. Pie's throat won't allow him to vocalize his gratitude at the gesture, though; it's all he can do to make it over to a chair and sink into it without passing out.
Kish appears beside him, his face still devoid of emotion. "Let me see."
Somehow, Pie knows he's not talking about his hand. It doesn't matter. He already knows, so it doesn't matter. Haltingly, he lifts his shirt, revealing the careful lines of ancient script sliced into his stomach. The cuts are shallow enough. Deep Blue was exceedingly careful not to hit anything vital, but way Pie shudders at the cloth brushing against his skin says it all.
Kish stares at the wounds for all of five seconds before he is no longer impassive. He opens his mouth, and closes it again, his lips trembling in an attempt to give voice to the ire he's clearly stricken with, but no words come. He turns away from Pie, punching the wall hard enough to leave a dent with a hissed oath that Pie had no idea he even knew. When he turns back to Pie, his face is grim, and tired. Resigned. "Where do you keep the first aid stuff?"
Usually Pie takes the lead of patching himself and his teammates up when they become ill or suffer minor injuries, so it makes sense that Kish wouldn't know. Pie points at a cabinet, and manages to walk Kish through the process of locating the disinfectant and bandages and the small amount of Mew Aqua needed to heal his hand without having to say anything. There isn't much to say, anyway, for it isn't as if either of them is capable of seeing eye to eye on the situation. Pie will continue to fight for Deep Blue, and bear the scars of penance, and Kish will continue to fight for himself. Regardless of their friendship and shared history, they are now on opposite sides of the line, and neither is willing to cross it.
The Mew Aqua is cool and soothing against his hand, relieving the pain and stiffness and sealing the wounds shut perfectly. Pie clenches and unclenches his fist experimentally. Kish glances from the vial to his exposed stomach, but Pie shakes his head, no. There will be scars. He's not willing to risk the alternative. Especially not now, with Deep Blue's threat hanging over his head.
Kish's brow furrows, but he caps the vial anyway, reaching for the disinfectant. "Are you sure?" It's a loaded question, full of so much more than Pie's willing to discuss and Kish is willing to ask.
And really, Pie isn't very sure at all. He used to be, and he likes to think he still is. But there are hairline cracks lining the surface of his faith, and he's not sure what he'll cling to once it shatters. If. When.
"Yes."
And Kish holds his hand while he cries.
A.N.: No, I was not in the best of moods when this one-shot happened. The end.