Author's Notes: It's 3 am, and I have to work in the morning. Dear gods, don't let this chapter suck as badly as I think it does. _
Warnings? Yaoi. Angst. Hisoka-torture.
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The Rest of Forever
===============
Chapter 4
===============
"Well," came the correction some fourteen hours later, as Watari let himself back into the office. "It seems as though Muraki doesn't keep very good dental records."
Starting out of a near doze, Tsuzuki blinked at him from over the rim of a now-cold cup of coffee. "Eh?" Lack of sleep was beginning to wear on the man. The older shinigami had spent the day combing the streets for his missing partner, panic reaching its highest when his bird shikigami had returned empty-handed; only after sunset had he returned to Meifu, intent on discovering what results another search had uncovered.
With a weak little laugh and a tired smile, the blonde scientist slumped into a chair, waving a stack of papers in the older shinigami's face. "He's got an apartment in Nagasaki in his name, and I found the address of that hospital in Tokyo. Bastard's hard to track."
"Aah!" Faster than Watari would have believed possible, the violet-eyed man had snatched the data sheets from his hand. "That's fantastic!"
"Maybe." But the scientist's golden eyes were uncharacteristically serious, and he offered a rare warning. "No telling if we'll find anything about bon, though-- even if he -does- have him." Sighing, Watari stretched and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks that come with a day hunched over a computer desk. "It's a place to start, and that's about it."
"That's all I need," Tsuzuki told him, determination burning deep in violet eyes. Prepared to match actions to words, the man was on his feet and halfway to the door several seconds later-- but whatever he'd planned was cut short when said door swung inward, revealing Tatsumi in the hallway just beyond.
Weary and grim, the secretary turned a hard blue gaze from one of his co-workers to the other. "I have orders from above," he said simply, tone not quite the business-like calm that they'd come to associate with the man. "Someone is to continue with the assignment."
Tsuzuki watched his ex-partner uncertainly, frozen mid-step. "Assignment?" he hesitated. "Did you report Hisoka missing?"
"It's not Kurosaki-kun that we're to look for." There was an edge to Tatsumi's voice, the inflection making it clear that he was anything but pleased. "It's Arai-san."
Disbelief dawned in expressive violet eyes, shadowed quickly by anger. "My -partner- is missing," the older shinigami declared hotly. "And if they think that I'll ignore that because they need a case sol--"
The secretary calmed the outburst by placing a hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder. "I'd hoped to go with you," he confessed. "But it seems I'll have to stay behind."
Abruptly, the tirade was finished, replaced by the confusion obvious in the crease of the man's brow. "Tatsumi?"
"Go find your partner," the secretary commanded softly, sighing. "I'll take care of the assignment."
A host of emotions flitted across the face of the violet-eyed shinigami, shifting and uncertain, before gratitude finally welled up in the forefront. "Sankyuu, Tatsumi!" he beamed, making once more toward the doorway. "Wish me luck!"
Watching his ex-partner with a fond smile, Tatsumi waited until the man was safely out of hearing range. "Watari..." the secretary began then, reluctantly turning his gaze from the retreating man.
But the scientist was already grinning and nodding, surging to his feet to follow their friend from the room. "Don't worry," he insisted, waving one hand as though to ward off any misgivings. "I'll take good care of him."
Staring after the two departing men, Tatsumi frowned into the darkened hallway. It was fully ten minutes before he thought to open the case files.
* * *
Somehow, it had faded to a manageable level.
The pain was still there, and the cold, but they'd receded to something familiar; a distant burning was all he felt of the thin red strips of the knife wounds. They were frighteningly hot compared to the rest of his skin, but the last time Hisoka had pressed his hand to one, it had come away dry. So at least he wasn't bleeding.
There was no light. The slim stream of it under the doorway had long ago disappeared, extinguished when Muraki had left him. There was no noise-- only the shaky little gasps of his breathing, and the tinny sound of rain on the roof, and a quiet drip of water somewhere in the empty room.
The boy dozed, sometimes-- snatches of unconsciousness that came and went with feverish irregularity, broken when the nightmares would force him sobbing back into reality. Then the blackness of the room would press in on him until he closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he'd be somewhere else when he opened them.
It was hard to believe, though-- and when at last the echo of footsteps broke through the endless stillness, the young shinigami couldn't ignore the sound.
They drifted closer, faint at first, but steady and even until at last they trailed to a stop. Light followed, kindling a spark of hope in wide green eyes as they were drawn to the bright line below the door.
He wasn't waiting for his partner. He didn't need-- didn't -want--- the man to save him. But for all Hisoka's logical side insisted that the idiot would just end up getting himself hurt, the boy couldn't stop the crushing half-hope that heaved its way to the forefront.
Tsuzuki. The young shinigami mouthed the word, casting the plea to any god that might be listening. Let it be Tsuzuki. Please. Anything at all, but just please-
The door opened with the same maddening calm that had been obvious in the pace of the footsteps and a moment later, the boy got his answer.
The figure haloed in the bright electric glare was too shadowed for Hisoka to see the man's face, but all he needed was the profile. Too many times, his mind had replayed the image of a silhouette stained red by the moon.
Curled against the far wall, Hisoka squeezed his eyes closed against the sight.
* * *
In the middle of a deserted hallway, Watari stood staring up at a door.
"Alright," the scientist whispered conspiratorially, the volume of his voice scarcely different from his usual talking pitch. Just to be certain, he checked once more to see if the black plastic numbers matched the hastily scribbled ones on the paper clutched in both hands. "Here we are-- go for it."
Startled violet eyes blinked at him. "Go for it?"
"Right." The blonde smiled agreeably. "If Muraki shows up, I'll be out here to give you heads up."
"Oh." Thinking it over, Tsuzuki nodded hesitantly. "Good idea." And with that he faded from view, reappearing on the other side of the door seconds later.
The whole place had been peculiarly disarming. From the brightly lit halls and the nurses chatting behind the main desk, it had been every inch a normal hospital. And though Tsuzuki wasn't sure exactly -what- to expect from Muraki's office, it certainly wasn't what he discovered.
There was a desk. Clean, neat, and with a pile of papers arranged by size in the out box. A file cabinet stood in the corner, topped off by a potted plant. No dolls. No blood. No strange instruments of torture. Just a doctor's office, seeming very empty and quiet without the glaring overhead light.
For the space of several breaths, Tsuzuki was afraid he'd come to the wrong room by mistake. And then a voice in his mind that sounded oddly like his absent partner called him an idiot for jumping to conclusions. Of course it wasn't some sort of dungeon, the violet-eyed shinigami told himself as he crept into the darkened office. It was a regular hospital-- and here, at least, the doctor had to maintain an appearance of normality.
Reassuring himself with that comforting logic, the man took a breath and reached for the desk.
The stack of papers was organized with a frightening degree of precision. Toward the bottom were recent publications of several medical journals, and further up were appointment notices and reminders penned in an immaculate hand.
Biting back a sigh of frustration, the shinigami turned his attention to the metal drawers of the file cabinet.
They were locked of course, but the simple metal keyholes were nothing in the face of Tsuzuki when he was determined to find his partner. They shattered with a sudden jolt of telekinetic force, fragmenting to land on the otherwise spotless floor. The violet-eyed man took some small pleasure from that fact as he wrenched the first drawer open.
Files. Row upon carefully-arranged row of patient files. Muraki's patients, the diagnoses, and the prescribed treatments. On and on the labels went, carefully printed names, and Tsuzuki couldn't help but wonder how many the man had manipulated. And through it all, no hint as to where Hisoka might be.
And so he read through the names, scanning for anything of use, breath caught as he prayed quietly to find some sort of hint. Minoru Sato, Akeno Takahashi, Kyoko Arai...
Pausing in his search, Tsuzuki pressed his lips together and leaned to peer more closely at the name. Kyoko Arai. It might have been coincidence... but with Muraki involved, it was more likely something much more carefully planned.
* * *
"How'd it go?"
Watari needn't have asked the question; the look on his friend's usually cheerful face was answer enough. A quiet shake of the head was his only response, but the scientist couldn't stop his gaze from lingering to the folder clutched in the other shinigami's hand.
"What's that, then?" the blonde asked, frowning thoughtfully.
Preoccupied violet eyes lingered for a moment on the file clutched between slender fingers. "Something for Tatsumi," the man murmured. "I think he could use it."
"Oh?" Raising one eyebrow, the scientist waited for an explanation-- but none was forthcoming.
Tsuzuki shook his head distractedly, as though to clear it. "Come on," he urged, seizing his friend by the sleeve of his lab coat and steering him toward the exit. "Where's the address to that apartment?"
~end part 4~
Warnings? Yaoi. Angst. Hisoka-torture.
===============
The Rest of Forever
===============
Chapter 4
===============
"Well," came the correction some fourteen hours later, as Watari let himself back into the office. "It seems as though Muraki doesn't keep very good dental records."
Starting out of a near doze, Tsuzuki blinked at him from over the rim of a now-cold cup of coffee. "Eh?" Lack of sleep was beginning to wear on the man. The older shinigami had spent the day combing the streets for his missing partner, panic reaching its highest when his bird shikigami had returned empty-handed; only after sunset had he returned to Meifu, intent on discovering what results another search had uncovered.
With a weak little laugh and a tired smile, the blonde scientist slumped into a chair, waving a stack of papers in the older shinigami's face. "He's got an apartment in Nagasaki in his name, and I found the address of that hospital in Tokyo. Bastard's hard to track."
"Aah!" Faster than Watari would have believed possible, the violet-eyed man had snatched the data sheets from his hand. "That's fantastic!"
"Maybe." But the scientist's golden eyes were uncharacteristically serious, and he offered a rare warning. "No telling if we'll find anything about bon, though-- even if he -does- have him." Sighing, Watari stretched and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks that come with a day hunched over a computer desk. "It's a place to start, and that's about it."
"That's all I need," Tsuzuki told him, determination burning deep in violet eyes. Prepared to match actions to words, the man was on his feet and halfway to the door several seconds later-- but whatever he'd planned was cut short when said door swung inward, revealing Tatsumi in the hallway just beyond.
Weary and grim, the secretary turned a hard blue gaze from one of his co-workers to the other. "I have orders from above," he said simply, tone not quite the business-like calm that they'd come to associate with the man. "Someone is to continue with the assignment."
Tsuzuki watched his ex-partner uncertainly, frozen mid-step. "Assignment?" he hesitated. "Did you report Hisoka missing?"
"It's not Kurosaki-kun that we're to look for." There was an edge to Tatsumi's voice, the inflection making it clear that he was anything but pleased. "It's Arai-san."
Disbelief dawned in expressive violet eyes, shadowed quickly by anger. "My -partner- is missing," the older shinigami declared hotly. "And if they think that I'll ignore that because they need a case sol--"
The secretary calmed the outburst by placing a hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder. "I'd hoped to go with you," he confessed. "But it seems I'll have to stay behind."
Abruptly, the tirade was finished, replaced by the confusion obvious in the crease of the man's brow. "Tatsumi?"
"Go find your partner," the secretary commanded softly, sighing. "I'll take care of the assignment."
A host of emotions flitted across the face of the violet-eyed shinigami, shifting and uncertain, before gratitude finally welled up in the forefront. "Sankyuu, Tatsumi!" he beamed, making once more toward the doorway. "Wish me luck!"
Watching his ex-partner with a fond smile, Tatsumi waited until the man was safely out of hearing range. "Watari..." the secretary began then, reluctantly turning his gaze from the retreating man.
But the scientist was already grinning and nodding, surging to his feet to follow their friend from the room. "Don't worry," he insisted, waving one hand as though to ward off any misgivings. "I'll take good care of him."
Staring after the two departing men, Tatsumi frowned into the darkened hallway. It was fully ten minutes before he thought to open the case files.
* * *
Somehow, it had faded to a manageable level.
The pain was still there, and the cold, but they'd receded to something familiar; a distant burning was all he felt of the thin red strips of the knife wounds. They were frighteningly hot compared to the rest of his skin, but the last time Hisoka had pressed his hand to one, it had come away dry. So at least he wasn't bleeding.
There was no light. The slim stream of it under the doorway had long ago disappeared, extinguished when Muraki had left him. There was no noise-- only the shaky little gasps of his breathing, and the tinny sound of rain on the roof, and a quiet drip of water somewhere in the empty room.
The boy dozed, sometimes-- snatches of unconsciousness that came and went with feverish irregularity, broken when the nightmares would force him sobbing back into reality. Then the blackness of the room would press in on him until he closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he'd be somewhere else when he opened them.
It was hard to believe, though-- and when at last the echo of footsteps broke through the endless stillness, the young shinigami couldn't ignore the sound.
They drifted closer, faint at first, but steady and even until at last they trailed to a stop. Light followed, kindling a spark of hope in wide green eyes as they were drawn to the bright line below the door.
He wasn't waiting for his partner. He didn't need-- didn't -want--- the man to save him. But for all Hisoka's logical side insisted that the idiot would just end up getting himself hurt, the boy couldn't stop the crushing half-hope that heaved its way to the forefront.
Tsuzuki. The young shinigami mouthed the word, casting the plea to any god that might be listening. Let it be Tsuzuki. Please. Anything at all, but just please-
The door opened with the same maddening calm that had been obvious in the pace of the footsteps and a moment later, the boy got his answer.
The figure haloed in the bright electric glare was too shadowed for Hisoka to see the man's face, but all he needed was the profile. Too many times, his mind had replayed the image of a silhouette stained red by the moon.
Curled against the far wall, Hisoka squeezed his eyes closed against the sight.
* * *
In the middle of a deserted hallway, Watari stood staring up at a door.
"Alright," the scientist whispered conspiratorially, the volume of his voice scarcely different from his usual talking pitch. Just to be certain, he checked once more to see if the black plastic numbers matched the hastily scribbled ones on the paper clutched in both hands. "Here we are-- go for it."
Startled violet eyes blinked at him. "Go for it?"
"Right." The blonde smiled agreeably. "If Muraki shows up, I'll be out here to give you heads up."
"Oh." Thinking it over, Tsuzuki nodded hesitantly. "Good idea." And with that he faded from view, reappearing on the other side of the door seconds later.
The whole place had been peculiarly disarming. From the brightly lit halls and the nurses chatting behind the main desk, it had been every inch a normal hospital. And though Tsuzuki wasn't sure exactly -what- to expect from Muraki's office, it certainly wasn't what he discovered.
There was a desk. Clean, neat, and with a pile of papers arranged by size in the out box. A file cabinet stood in the corner, topped off by a potted plant. No dolls. No blood. No strange instruments of torture. Just a doctor's office, seeming very empty and quiet without the glaring overhead light.
For the space of several breaths, Tsuzuki was afraid he'd come to the wrong room by mistake. And then a voice in his mind that sounded oddly like his absent partner called him an idiot for jumping to conclusions. Of course it wasn't some sort of dungeon, the violet-eyed shinigami told himself as he crept into the darkened office. It was a regular hospital-- and here, at least, the doctor had to maintain an appearance of normality.
Reassuring himself with that comforting logic, the man took a breath and reached for the desk.
The stack of papers was organized with a frightening degree of precision. Toward the bottom were recent publications of several medical journals, and further up were appointment notices and reminders penned in an immaculate hand.
Biting back a sigh of frustration, the shinigami turned his attention to the metal drawers of the file cabinet.
They were locked of course, but the simple metal keyholes were nothing in the face of Tsuzuki when he was determined to find his partner. They shattered with a sudden jolt of telekinetic force, fragmenting to land on the otherwise spotless floor. The violet-eyed man took some small pleasure from that fact as he wrenched the first drawer open.
Files. Row upon carefully-arranged row of patient files. Muraki's patients, the diagnoses, and the prescribed treatments. On and on the labels went, carefully printed names, and Tsuzuki couldn't help but wonder how many the man had manipulated. And through it all, no hint as to where Hisoka might be.
And so he read through the names, scanning for anything of use, breath caught as he prayed quietly to find some sort of hint. Minoru Sato, Akeno Takahashi, Kyoko Arai...
Pausing in his search, Tsuzuki pressed his lips together and leaned to peer more closely at the name. Kyoko Arai. It might have been coincidence... but with Muraki involved, it was more likely something much more carefully planned.
* * *
"How'd it go?"
Watari needn't have asked the question; the look on his friend's usually cheerful face was answer enough. A quiet shake of the head was his only response, but the scientist couldn't stop his gaze from lingering to the folder clutched in the other shinigami's hand.
"What's that, then?" the blonde asked, frowning thoughtfully.
Preoccupied violet eyes lingered for a moment on the file clutched between slender fingers. "Something for Tatsumi," the man murmured. "I think he could use it."
"Oh?" Raising one eyebrow, the scientist waited for an explanation-- but none was forthcoming.
Tsuzuki shook his head distractedly, as though to clear it. "Come on," he urged, seizing his friend by the sleeve of his lab coat and steering him toward the exit. "Where's the address to that apartment?"
~end part 4~