The morning had passed quietly. Watari had slept most of the time, shifting between babbling hyperenthusiasm and a quiet, stunned silence during his few waking moments. Tszuki had slept too, dozing the hours away in a calm placidity which almost made Hisoka jealous. Not that he wanted to sleep, not under conditions of such danger, but it would have been pleasant to sleep so quietly, without nightmares.
After all, Tsuzuki wouldn't be snoring open-mouthed like that if he was having a nightmare, would he? No, the baka was probably just fantasizing about endless apple pies or something similar.
Tatsumi appeared in the door, finger to his lips, a thick stack of folders tucked under one arm. He looked thoughtfully between the peacefully dozing Tsuzuki and the busily reading Watari, then brought the pile of folders with a slam down on the table where Tzuzuki had propped his weary head, approximately one inch from the sleeping shinigami's nose. Dust flew high in the air. Tsuzuki sat bolt upright and began to babble something about not looking good in white lace, before developing puppy ears and trying to crawl under the table.
"Tsuzuki-san," murmured Tatsumi, words clipped, glasses flashing coldly, "you appear to be deep in thought."
"Shouldn't you be in company, Tatsumi-san?" Hisoka asked hastily. Not out of any desire to spare his stupid partner embarrassment, of course. Merely out of curiosity. Having Muraki attack Tatsumi wouldn't do anybody any good at all. He was aware that the secretary had to have some degree of power - all the shinigami did, after all - but he'd never actually found out what it was.
Tatsumi turned to him. "Thank you for your concern, Hisoka-kun, but I believe matters are under control. For the moment." He paused, as though struck by a thought. "Actually, there is one thing which you could do. Besides," he glared at Tsuzuki, "your expenses."
"Certainly," Hisoka replied.
"This won't be easy." Tatsumi hesitated. "Perhaps it might be better not to . . ."
Hisoka stood up proudly, hands on hips. "If there's anything that I can do, naturally I will do it!"
Tatsumi nodded, giving the motion due weight. "Very well. You are, to be frank, the person here who knows Muraki best. If you could sit down somewhere in private, and consider what he's done in the past, and try to conjecture what you think he might do next - where he might hide himself - then I would be extremely grateful. It could provide us with useful insight. But given your past experiences with him, it might not be very comfortable for you . . ."
Hisoka swallowed, and tried to ignore the phantom burning of the curse-marks on his body, and the cold crawling dread in his stomach. He managed to keep his voice level. "Certainly I will do it. And Tsuzuki?"
"Can do his expenses," Tatsumi replied, with a nod of thanks.
Tsuzuki muttered a gloomy assent.
Watari blinked thoughtfully, then blinked again. "Well, if the bouya can't do it, I guess that none of us can . . . oh, while you're out there, could you fetch me a couple of my texts?" He reeled off a list of titles that Hisoka could only hope he was writing down correctly. Testament of Solomon? I don't remember seeing that one on the chemistry shelves . . . He was astonished at the sudden flash of what felt like anger from the Department secretary at the names of some of the books. That's not like Tatsumi at all. Perhaps he's just worried about the amount of lab damage. Some of these sound like antiques.
Tatsumi adjusted his glasses meaningfully. "A dozen books should really be enough, Watari, even for you. Perhaps Tsuzuki can bring them round later, while Hisoka works on his project?"
Tsuzuki nodded a more enthusiastic agreement than before, as this would at least mean freedom from the expenses. He then remembered that he still had to do them, sighed, and trailed out after the less-than-enthusiastic Hisoka. It was the sort of walk that should have been accompanied by a full orchestra playing the Death March.
Tatsumi watched them go, and idly wondered where he'd got that idea about having Hisoka try to predict Muraki's movements. It was a shot in the dark, and it might be a bit risky exposing the boy to that sort of psychological stress, but . . .
it's a good idea
it'll be efficient
. . . and efficiency was one of his prime concerns. He spread out his folders of invoices and expenses on the table where Tsuzuki had been napping, and started to check them systematically.
It was the most reassuring thing he'd done so far that day.
He could relax. Just a little.
Watari frowned, staring at her near-illegible set of notes. They might, under other circumstances, have suggested a split personality. One side was a set of chemical formula, linked to a list of all the chemicals which he could remember having stored in the lab by an increasingly chaotic set of lines, to the extent that it looked as if the page had been attacked by a group of demented spiders drunk on brandied ink.
The other side of the page, in a scribble which only Watari could read, queried, HOW THE HELL DID THE DEMON MANAGE TO STAY IN TSUZUKI AFTER ALL?
It wasn't Muraki. She - he - this whole gender business was a bit more confusing than expected -- was sure of that. She'd heard a lot of dubious things about the perverted psychopathic murderous lunatic sexually obsessed sorcerous doctor, and while she could believe that Muraki Kazukata would be capable of a great deal of malice, she didn't think that he did things at random. And there wasn't exactly a large number of other possible candidates for wanton destruction, who could reach down here, and who had a motivation for vengeance. Clearly the earlier exorcism hadn't been as effective as they'd all thought.
It had been difficult to pretend to sleep with Tsuzuki in the same room, though.
Covertly, from under her eyelashes, Watari glanced at Tatsumi and considered sharing her theory, then decided against it. Everyone knew how much he cared about Tsuzuki. It'd only worry him if she told him what she suspected without proof to back it up, or suggestions as to what to do about it.
She sighed, put her notebook to one side, and curled up in the bed, closing her eyes. She was tired. Her metabolism was still affected. It'd probably be days before she stopped needing medical attention and rest. She was perfectly able to read her own hospital records, after all. She might as well get some sleep. Tatsumi would keep an eye on things.
And as he dropped into the familiar patterns of work, shadows moved and flickered behind Tatsumi's glasses.
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