Notes: I originally posted this fic under an old account on February 12, 2012.
Reverberation
-x-
The center screen in the control room flickers as it cuts from the radar map to an image of the pale blue planet outside the spaceship, against a backdrop of darkness.
An engineer approaches from the side and inclines his head in a courteous bow. "Shinsuke-sama, we are in orbit around Earth and ready for descent anytime," he says.
Takasugi doesn't immediately react to the engineer's report; his gaze is fixed, instead, on the main display. For the first time in his life, he notices how blue the planet is in contrast to the dull orange smog enveloping the Shinra planet, or the black-yellow-green mixture blotching the surface of the Dakini planet, or the grey clouds bearing down on the Yato. There are also systems far grander than this in the universe, but right here, right now, he sees only the uncountable shades of blue, from light to dark, drifting in blackness, none of it shimmering, none of it alive.
-x-
"What does this say?" Kamui asked, standing before the calligraphy scroll on the wall.
"You could learn how to read," Takasugi remarked while he continued to strum the shamisen, otherwise uninterrupted. The air shifted when Kamui sat down beside him.
"But I won't be able to come here as freely if I knew how to read."
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as Takasugi transitioned to a different melody on the stringed instrument.
All the happenings in this world...
"Everything you play sounds so sad."
The music broke off, and Takasugi glanced at Kamui, who tilted his head in response and flashed an unreadable smile.
Takasugi smirked and handed the shamisen to Kamui. "If you're going to complain, why don't you share some Yato songs?"
The red-head's smile faltered ever so slightly. "I can't," he replied.
"Perhaps Bansai can teach you."
Kamui looked away, directing his gaze at the calligraphy instead. "It's not that," he said, a hint of contempt visible in his smile. "Yato songs sound even worse."
-x-
He had been skeptical at first when Kamui barged into his room every day, uninvited, bringing along a thousand questions, whether they were about the swords in his room, or the porcelain tea set, or the calligraphy ink stone. It didn't take him long to realize, however, that there was nothing behind those questions except mere curiosity and maybe a desire to kill boredom on their long journey. Simple, really.
But maybe a bit too simple.
Smoke rose from his pipe as he watched the Yato kid pick up a branch of dried cherry blossoms from a thin stack of creased rice paper.
Something on the paper caught Kamui's eye, and his gaze lingered on it. "You must really like these flowers," he pointed out.
Takasugi puffed on his pipe, aware that most of the paper there were old paintings of cherry blossoms. Even now, he remembered the uneven brush strokes, the splattered ink, and that obnoxious smudge from Gintoki's brush.
"It's nothing but an oxymoron," Takasugi said, earning him a sideways glance.
"An everlasting moment?" Kamui asked with a knowing smile before setting the flowers aside, looking as though he had more to say, but winding up distracted when he unrolled the scroll next to the stack of paper.
It was another calligraphy painting, not of flowers, but of a river flowing under a moonless, red sky. Lanterns were floating in the river, and on the closer shore, a boy was standing, looking toward the boundary between sky and water, as if that was where he wanted to be.
"You didn't draw this one," Kamui stated.
"What makes you think I drew any of them?"
Putting away the scroll, Kamui picked up a tattered book on the low table and shoved it to Takasugi's face. A familiar green book, slashed and coated in dried blood. "In the same way I know this is yours," Kamui said.
And then he was right there, blue eyes bright and brilliant, nothing like the colorless world he came from. The book fell to the floor, and he wrapped his fingers around Takasugi's wrist. "Who do you actually see when you look at the world?"
Takasugi's expression remained stoic, but his wrist was burning. Their warm breaths mingled, and he could catch a faint scent of citric shampoo above his tobacco. "And who – or what – are you avoiding?"
He could feel Kamui's smile against his skin. "That's an absurd question, samurai."
The intercom beeped, turning Kamui's head, and Matako's voice followed. "Shinsuke-sama, the 7th Squad is looking for their captain – "
"Admiral," Abuto's voice interrupted.
"A-admiral. Hey! You can't just go in there!"
The intercom fell silent with a click, but Matako's shouts grew louder as they approached, protesting whatever it was that Abuto was saying. The smile on Kamui's face thinned, and he rose to his feet, leaving behind a cool, empty space.
-x-
When Takasugi saw Abuto waiting in the hallway in place of Kamui the day after the ships made a stop at the Yato planet, he barely spared a glance, brushing past the tall Yato in silence.
Abuto spoke. "Unlike a certain idiot, I don't mix business and personal affairs. The debt will be repaid, but don't consider us as allies. We have our own matters to settle on Earth."
Takasugi halted his footsteps. "Yoshiwara?" he asked.
"That's none of your business."
"Is he actually tending to his admiral duties today?"
"That's also none of your business."
Takasugi stared over his shoulder, questioning eyes meeting guarded ones, and watched as Abuto turned to take his leave. Looking away, he caught his reflection in the window, overlapping with the stars and the nebulae outside. The ship's engine whirred in the background, but he could suddenly hear the raindrops beating on the purple umbrella above his head when he'd decided to go for a stroll the day before in the city lying in eternal night.
Didn't you say you were staying on the ship?
You'll die if you go into this city without an umbrella, and I can't let that happen. You're mine.
-x-
Takasugi paused when the door to Kamui's room opened automatically, the smell of bitter, medicinal herbs hitting his nose, and again when he walked into a largely empty room. There were clothes and bowls scattered over the floor and table, but almost nothing else, as if the Yato kid had nothing to hide. Nothing to hold on to.
A half-eaten bowl of porridge sat next to the bed, near a smaller bowl with dark brown residue. His eye narrowed when he found Kamui lying under a thick blanket, back facing him.
"It's too easy for someone to kill you right now," Takasugi said.
"If that's all it takes," Kamui mumbled. "I probably should be dead." The sheets rustled as he shifted position and peered at Takasugi over his shoulder, strands of red hair stuck to the side of his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought you were finally being responsible for your squad," Takasugi said as he perched on the edge of Kamui's bed. "But it turns out you're just too sick to even finish your food."
"It was those dumplings I ate in the city," Kamui muttered and gave the samurai a long, searching look. "You're here for something else. Did Abuto say something?" When Takasugi didn't respond, he added, "Ignore him. He cares too much for his own good."
"He has every right to be concerned," Takasugi said belatedly.
"He'll live longer if he – "
Kamui's voice cut off when Takasugi leaned forward and covered his mouth with his, tasting the bitter herbs for an instant before a hand grabbed his shoulder and flipped their positions. This, he expected. Having one arm pinned as Kamui straddled him and the other raised to his neck to block Kamui's arm positioned to crush his windpipe, he also anticipated.
But in the fleeting moment it took for a weak smile to recover on Kamui's face, he saw something different: hesitation and confusion beneath a mask gradually crumbling away, the same sentiment behind the pained look he'd seen on Gintoki's face countless times during the war.
The pressure on his chest suddenly lifted when Kamui pushed himself away and jumped to the floor, leaving the room without another word.
-x-
Takasugi narrows his eye as he sweeps his gaze across the dim room, searching. Off to the side, Takechi is gesturing at the holographic map of Edo and issuing orders to the reconnaissance unit. Toward the center, Matako and Bansai are conversing with the flight operations team, all of them clustered around a line of blinking monitors. People's conversations hum and blend in with the drone of the ship, growing very loud. His gaze falls onto the engineer standing beside him, still awaiting his orders.
"We descend tonight," Takasugi says. "With or without 7th Squad."
-x-
The road to hell is a long and lonely one.
See you down there.