Chapter rated: K
Goku yelps, squirming under Sanzo's hold on his ear. The monk smacks him again with the newspaper he'd been reading and lets him go. "Idiot monkey," he snarls, but when one of the lesser monks begins to voice agreement, he whirls upon him with a glare cold enough to stop a glacier.
"Sanzo," whines Goku, rubbing his head with one hand and his ear with the other. "How was I supposed to know they weren't just painting pictures? I couldn't read any of those words anyway! I wanted to help!"
Sanzo's spine remains straight as a rod, but he deflates somewhat. When he turns, Goku cringes in anticipation of a backhand, but Sanzo does not raise his arm. "How many times have I told you to ask permission?" Sanzo hisses, looking down the length of his nose. "Just because you're bored doesn't mean you get to destroy things without asking."
"I wasn't destroying anything," Goku mutters, looking hurt. Then, gaining resolve, Goku frowns, his hands clenching at his sides. "I wouldn't be so bored if you'd give me something to do!"
Sanzo snorts at that. "Do? This is a monastery. There's nothing for you to do." He crosses the room and digs his coronet out of a dresser drawer, ramming it over his head. "Look, I don't have time for this. I've got work to do outside the temple but I'll be back by this evening."
"Take me with you!" cries Goku, itching at the chance to get away from the sneers and stares of the other monks.
Sanzo shakes his head. "Ask permission," he chides, "even when it's not coming. You stay." When Goku protests, Sanzo glares at him and raises his voice. "Stay."
As he leaves, he turns his fierceness on the spectators, promising swift and bloody retribution should anything be out of line upon his return. He walks away, waiting for Goku to call out to him as usual, in a goodbye or another protest or any one of a million familiar Goku-isms, but no cry comes.
The afternoon is scorching, and Hakkai has all of the windows thrown open to try and maintain some air circulation. It does no good against the stagnant humidity of the day made worse by the ever-present sun, mitigated only slightly by the protection of nearby trees.
When a knock sounds at his door, he knows the sound from the bright recesses of a hospital bed and hopes that, perhaps, Goku has come this time, too.
The door swings inward on a gentle nudge, revealing a dour, familiar face. Hakkai is disappointed, but does not let it show. Instead, he ushers the man inside with an offer of a glass of water, affecting every nuance of his best behavior. His performance will be graded, he knows.
Sanzo is all business, not even sitting down or removing his crown. "How is your job going?" he asks.
Hakkai smiles. "Wonderfully. I enjoy teaching the children and they seem to have gotten used to me. We're learning one another as time goes on."
Sanzo's eyes narrow as the monk searches for anything hiding between Hakkai's lines, but the weave of this suspect's words is tight and strong. The interrogation, for it could never be called civil conversation despite the pleasantries either interjects, lasts nearly forty-five minutes as Sanzo quizzes Hakkai on his behavior, his attitudes, his social machinations and his physical inclinations. Hakkai answers politely, smilingly, convincingly. He does not lie insofar as lying implies telling untruths. His periodic omissions are ignored in favor of more important topics. Sanzo seems far more interested to know about Hakkai's new handyman friend in current context than anything that might have to do with said friend's parentage, and so Hakkai does not touch upon it.
When Hakkai gets in a question of his own, inquiring as to Goku's health and the well-being of Sanzo himself, the monk does not do well to hide the twitch that dilates his pupils. After a beat, Sanzo responds, "Goku is fine. He's been getting himself into a lot of trouble, but that's no surprise. I am too busy to deal with it, and so Goku gets into more trouble."
Hakkai laughs appreciatively, affectionately. "Such is the vicious cycle. Does he have no one to take care of him other than you?"
Sanzo reads the offer in Hakkai's face. He hears the hope thrumming in the man's words, knows his affinity for the love of a child. And he remembers the small smile, the murderer's smile that came with Gonou teaching Goku how to read just one word. Fear and possessiveness bite through him like a lance, hard enough to surprise him and he brushes it off as a rush of instinct. "Yes," Sanzo answers, not entirely untruthfully. "Unfortunately, he seems to be the fastest runner out of them all."
When Sanzo leaves, the sun is still high and Hakkai does not feel any more enlightened than before he came. He shuts the door behind the monk, kicking it once when it does not close. It takes a well-placed thump with the heel of his fine shoe to get the latch to slide and catch, and that is more satisfying than jiggling the doorknob. Hakkai picks up the cup of water he had filled for his guest, swilling the untouched portion against the sides of the glass as he moves to empty it in the sink. Washing the cup gives him something to do.
Cold water blasts out of the faucet, even when he runs the hot for minutes on end. He can hear the grinding of plumbing mechanisms rusting into one another even as his hand goes numb from testing the temperature of the water in the sink. Finally, when his wrist aches in warning, Hakkai pulls his hand back and shuts the water off, resigning the cup to sit on the counter, unwashed and empty.
Hakkai detests the idea. He fingers the limiters on his ear, running his groomed, clipped nails over the skin between them. He doesn't mind playing host to a holy man every once in a while, or to a child with a sweet face and a bright spirit, but he detests the stink of the handyman. The overconfident aura, the scars on his face, the gentleness of his smile that smacks of pity and understanding where he could never, ever understand. Hakkai does not want to invite this liar into his house and watch him call it the home it would never be, watch him love the walls and the floor and the roof and play at being civilized.
The handyman with his boldfaced honesty annoys Hakkai more than any honest liar that does not need to hide under a bit of jewelry for his societal keep. The handyman with his brash familiarity that insinuates itself into a life story he does not know. The handyman, who knows exactly how often and how much Hakkai will need him, whether Hakkai wants it or not.
Hakkai is sure he will be able to maintain polite conversation. He has to be sure of it. He holds on to that thought with both well-manicured hands.
Gojyo swings outside and immediately swings back in. Already the humidity of the night clings to him, attracting mosquitos and discomfort. He throws his jacket off and decides against the leather pants, opting instead for loose, baggy, comfortable jeans with badges from days of hard work acting as ventilation. Plus, girls can't seem to keep their hands from toying with the frayed edges of those holes and that, if nothing else, is a welcome distraction under the table. He leaves his house for the second time, kicking the door shut and locking it behind him.
It's too hot and muggy to smoke outside, so he waits until he gets into a bar with dim lighting and ceiling fans to light up. He doesn't even have time to wave to the barman before he hears the familiar cry of loss echoing from an informal game of poker in the back. Curiosity wins over other vices, and Gojyo slinks toward the sound with an anticipatory, easy smile.
He very nearly loses his cigarette when he recognizes the faces around the table. As it is, he barely manages to shut his mouth in time to keep the filter from falling after his jaw so suddenly dropped.
As if the movement had been audible, Cho Hakkai looks up from his freshest hand and smiles at him. "Oh, hello, Gojyo. I had hoped to find you."
The smile throws Gojyo's brain back into gear. "Done deal," he says, rubbing his head. "You're a gambler? You play poker? …You play poker?"
Hakkai chuckles and motions for Gojyo to pull up a chair at his side. "I've always had uncanny luck with games, I'm afraid," he intones, and slyly lets Gojyo see his hand. Despite himself, Gojyo's eyebrows raise. Immediately, everybody else at the table folds.
Gojyo scoffs, indignant. "I do this for a living, you know."
Agile, white fingers reorganize piles and piles of coins, shuffling with gentle, rapid clicks. Hakkai does not even watch as he does it, but shrugs and keeps his eyes on Gojyo. "I'll be sure to leave some money for you as well, then." His eyes change for a moment, and his entire face lights up. "Oh, yes," he adds, falsifying a serendipitous remembering. "Speaking of making a living, would you mind accompanying me back to my house? There is a growing list of repairs I just can't seem to handle."
Silently, Gojyo gestures to the rest of the table with his eyes. Hakkai raises an eyebrow at his opponents, who seem all to eager to let him go. Problem settled, Hakkai deposits his entire winnings into his pocket, though his pants sag with the weight of so many coins, and pushes his chair back. Even as talk resumes around the table, even as eyes follow them like lead on their backs as they leave, Gojyo can't bring himself to care. He follows, letting Hakkai lead him for the moment.
It is not until they are far outside the limits of the town, among the trees and past the entrance to Gojyo's unused shortcut, that Hakkai opens his mouth again.
"I already knew, Gojyo-san," he murmurs, softly enough that Gojyo almost doesn't catch it. While the man runs to catch up, Hakkai continues, "You didn't have to tell me," with a conscientious fondle of his limiters.
Gojyo smiles, on familiar footing. "I had to find out for myself. Guys like you that pass through, I always want to know."
"Nosy, that." Hakkai looks over and the smile on his lips does not reach the rest of him. "It'll get you into trouble."
Laughter echoes so loudly through the woods that nocturnal animals rustle among the undergrowth. Gojyo does not curb the sound, but revels in it. "I can handle myself fine. I can tell you're not used to it. Not yet. You from the woods? Wild-like?" he prods, studying Hakkai's face for anything a limiter might not have been able to hide.
Gojyo is taken aback by the gaze leveled at him when Hakkai turns to respond. He looks away, fighting the urge to flush from the jolt, while Hakkai answers, "No."
The silence stretches on, and silence is what Gojyo knows. He hates it, but he knows it. A sigh escapes him, and he settles into the routine of Opening Up First, Setting His Companion At Ease. At least it fills the air. "Me," he says, "I'm damn' near a fish. Water sprite, you know?" With no reaction from Hakkai, he plunges on. "I can take the limiter off at h-… your place if it makes it easy on you," he adds, hating himself for stumbling again over the word. "Some people like seeing someone else go naked first," he explains finally. The reasoning is good enough in speech, and permits Gojyo to remain altruistic. Deep down, he itches over Hakkai. He desperately wants to see this man-youkai-god-idol in his true form, wants to see what he can really do.
Hakkai's words slap him full in the face. "I…refuse to count myself as such. Out here."
Gojyo does not attempt speech after that. He merely allows Hakkai to usher him inside his own house through a broken door, maintaining all forms of protocol that he can manage. It drops completely when Gojyo dives under the sink, finds his old box of tools, and grins so hard he can barely breathe. It is his joy and the pervading dust and mold that lead into a spectacular coughing fit. He spasms beneath the sink, dust clouds loosened and rising with his every movement, until finally Hakkai brings him a towel and a glass of water. Gojyo wipes his face down and takes a drink, nodding in thanks, and Hakkai gets out of the way. Gojyo does not even need an explanation of what is to be fixed.
Yanking the stove out of the way is not so hard as it used to be. Gojyo knows the pipes and valves Jien put in, the strange inventions Jien devised to keep the place running with minimal cost. The makeshift catches, the temperature gauges, the joints that once had to be held together with duct tape, all of them form a map so ingrained into Gojyo's mind that they overlay the patterns in his veins.
He does not have his newest set of tools. He does not need them. The old tools are cold and dirty and feel like home in his hands. He remembers how to compensate for the size of the wrench, how to hold his breath when moving the roll of measuring tape so it might not break open, how to fix Jien's valves better than even Jien could.
As he works, he hums to himself. Gojyo does not have a sense of tune or of rhythm, but his voice is pleasant enough and his mood is high. He can't possibly sulk while working, while fixing, while sweating behind his old stove to fix his old sink and love his old pipes until the inevitable time when new things must be financed. Gojyo knows the financial strain of teachers. He refuses to put that burden on Hakkai.
Hakkai. As soon as the man comes to mind, he seems to materialize behind Gojyo with a refill on that water. Gojyo scoots out into the middle of the kitchen and accepts the glass, wiping his forehead on his forearm. "Wish I had my bandanna," he mutters, holding up his hair and pressing the glass to the back of his neck.
When he hands the glass back to Hakkai, the man holds his eyes for a moment. "I want to apologize, Gojyo-san."
Gojyo grunts, sliding back into his old position and examining his handiwork. "No problem. Your business."
He hears Hakkai's light laughter. "Do you often play big brother?"
"Not really." Gojyo shares with himself and his tools a hidden, wry smile. "Some folks get hostile when I bring it up, you know?" He raises his voice to a shrill screech in impersonation. "How dare you! All of that. I was raised to be proud of it, mistake or no, so it took me a while to understand repression. Serious fuckin' scary repression, youkai who wanted to be human so bad they'd cut stuff off." He pauses, turns, looks over his shoulder, and examines Hakkai's face with a bit of appreciation for the lack of mutilation. "I don't know what you do to get by, but I can tell ya they say youkai and humans live in peace and they're real boldfaced liars."
Hakkai, however, could not be deterred from an early sticking point. "Mistake?" he echoes, very softly. He realizes what he is doing and flushes brightly, holding up the hand that does not hold Gojyo's glass. "Forgive my prying."
Gojyo turns back to the pipes. "Yeah, well. The thing is, if I clarify you're gonna owe me a story. The real story, and the whole thing."
Staring into the last crescent of water left in the bottom of the glass, Hakkai murmurs, "You deserve it."
"Okay. What I want you to do is go back into the shower and turn it on. Cold first, then hot. At the same time. And turn them off separately," he warns as a quick afterthought. "Hot first, then cold. Cool?"
Hakkai nods and leaves, walking with every manner of easiness and efficiency. Gojyo watches him move with an appreciation for his compact power. His hands itch to fight him, but not yet.
A shrill creaking is Gojyo's only warning before the pipe explodes, nearly breaking his nose and drowning him in a deluge of freezing water. The utter ruckus brings Hakkai running, and Gojyo is still spluttering even after the water is shut off. The brunette crouches without touching anything but the toes of his feet to the sopping floor and asks, "Are you all right?"
Gojyo yanks a clamp around the breakage with a loud grunt. The first words out of the drowned sprite beneath the sink are wary. "You shut the shower off the way I told you to, right?"
Hakkai pauses a moment, then colors under his collar. Gojyo watches the blush traverse until it reaches Hakkai's ears, and fills in the blank. "You didn't." He lays his head back in the puddle beneath the sink, his dark hair fanning out in the moldy water. "Fuck. Now I gotta fix the shower too." He brings his legs up and listens to the squelching as his weight shifts. "And your floor."
"That one," Hakkai murmurs, "may have been your fault."
Gojyo laughs, closing his eyes and not just because water drips into them. He takes Hakkai's hand when it is offered and stands up, kicking his legs to try and shake some of the water free. All of the holes in his jeans press spiderweb-strands against his bare skin, creeping up his legs. It's too cold, too dark outside, and his clothes are too thin for comfort. He shivers, dressed for the heat of a humid day and left soaking in the cold. When Hakkai throws towels on the floor to sop up some of the mess and offers one to Gojyo, he struggles out of his wet shirt, throws it into the sink, and accepts the towel with a grateful smile.
Hakkai stands next to him, leans with him against the kitchen counter as they watch the towels soak up the water. There is still a puddle coming from under the sink, still the drip of a stemmed flow. Gojyo sighs, visualizing the wood warping and the mold flourishing.
The sigh is followed by one in kind from Hakkai, although it is forcibly lighter. "Would you care for some tea?" he asks. When Gojyo glances at the sink, horrified, he clarifies, "Iced."
Gojyo can't turn down iced tea. Especially because Hakkai doesn't have any beer. He takes a sip and smiles into it, drinking iced tea without any ice so there is nothing to land against his mouth. The way is clearer, drinking without ice. Even if the stuff tastes like sugar-water. He swirls the tea around in the glass, watching it move. "Sorry," he says softly. "About your floor and the pipes. I thought I had it."
Hakkai shrugs one shoulder, hands empty and his elbows on the counter. "You said yourself they were tricky. I couldn't possibly afford replacing all of the pipes in this house, so the tricky ones will have to stay."
"You're gonna get so sick of me," Gojyo responds, grinning not at Hakkai but at his glass. Then, suddenly and decisively, he sets the glass down, shrugs out of the towel around his shoulders, and scoops up an armful of soggy towels from the floor. "Got any clothesline?"
Gojyo sits, sopping, on the dilapidated front porch. Outside, where the air is thicker and the humidity holds leftover sunlight, he is warmer. A few cigarettes survived in his pocket and he lights one. After a few minutes, Hakkai joins him, but stands away from the smoke. Gojyo notices and keeps the cigarette held away.
"You want the door fixed while the floor dries?" Gojyo rasps, looking over.
Hakkai wraps his arms around himself, rubbing for friction. "It's getting late."
Gojyo shrugs as if he had all the time in the world. "I've done later. Thanks for the tea." He grunts and gets up, wringing out the ends of his pants before sloshing inside to grab his shirt from the sink. He does not struggle into it, but wrings it out one more time and throws it over his shoulder.
Hakkai stands in the doorway of his own house, looking in. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat containing far more than dry air. "Gojyo-san, I'm beginning to realize you may be an indispensable accessory when it comes to the functioning of this place." That sentence out, he pauses to breathe and line up his next words. "The door's still broken, and there's a growing list of needs." It takes his best effort not to look at the floor, but Gojyo does and laughs. The hardest words slip out so quietly Hakkai must repeat them. They are easier the second time. "Come tomorrow."
Gojyo quirks an eyebrow, but Hakkai cuts him off. "While I'm teaching, so I don't get in your way. If you want. I'll pay you for whatever you require, services and parts. How does that sound?"
And Gojyo, standing in the middle of his kitchen, king of a domain he no longer owns, grins like a child in a candy store. "Sounds good."