Author's Notes: Well, this is what happens when I'm not falling asleep while trying to write. It has been a long time since that's been the case. ^^
Anyway, it looks like there's an end in sight-- I'm thinking two or possibly three more chapters, depending on whether it wants to finish itself up quickly. I'd like to know if... well, lemme know if what's going on is plausible, if you can figure it out yet. ^_^
Warnings? Angst. More angst. Hisoka-torture. -Lots- of angst.
===============
The Rest of Forever
===============
Chapter 7
===============
"Muraki!" The sound of a fist pounding on wood accompanied the call. "Open the door!" It never occurred to Tsuzuki that the doctor would refuse, or that he wouldn't be there; after all, it was his game, and he had to be present to see it played out.
True to form, Muraki cracked the door open after a few tense moments of waiting, peering outside to watch his prey with pale eyes. "Calm yourself, Tsuzuki-san," he suggested coolly. "You're disturbing the neighbors."
The shinigami didn't lower his voice in the slightest. "Take me!" he commanded, ignoring the fact that Muraki's eyebrows shot up with the implication of that particular plea. "If I'm what you want, then you can have me-- just let him go."
Slowly, the door creaked further open, and the doctor stepped aside to give him passage. "Perhaps it would be better to discuss this inside?"
"Not until you agree to let him go," Tsuzuki responded, eyes flashing. "I'm not falling for one of your tricks, so if--"
Smiling an indulgent little smile, Muraki smoothly interrupted the rest of his sentence. "I was simply thinking that negotiations might not go as well in the hallway." Inviting the other man in with a sweep of his hand, the doctor waited until he had accepted to close the door behind them. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"
"This isn't a -game-," the shinigami growled. "I want Hisoka back."
"Oh?" Pale eyes took on an amused glint, and the man peered intently at his prey. A smile began to creep across his lips, politely interested and darkly anticipatory. "I'm sorry, Tsuzuki-san, but I'm afraid that's out of the question."
Whatever response he'd been expecting, the prospect of this one hadn't even occurred to him. He'd assumed that the man wouldn't agree right away-- after all, Muraki seemed to like nothing better than toying with him. Outright refusal, however, hadn't even been a possibility to Tsuzuki's frantic mind, and wide violet eyes stared blankly as his thoughts scrambled to provide a backup plan.
"What do you -want-?" the shinigami demanded in desperation. "You can have me-- you can have anything! Just let him go!"
"It seems as though you've developed selective hearing, Tsuzuki-san," the doctor chided gently. "I told you before-- I want you to forget the boy." Fair, slender fingers reached to caress the side of the man's face, tracing over the scowl that twisted his lips. "And somehow I doubt that returning him to you would speed the process."
Tsuzuki stood motionless, pale and shaking with rage, reaching for words that would come close to the way he felt. "-Bastard-," he managed at last, the word a hiss. "Where is he? If you don't tell me, I swear by all the gods, I'll--"
The interruption was smooth and formal. "I understand that you must be upset, but that's no reason to be rude to your host." Turning to disappear into the wooden-arched door of a room to the left of the entryway, Muraki called from just inside the kitchen. "You're welcome to stay, though; I do so enjoy your company, Tsuzuki-san." There was a brief pause, and then he added almost as an afterthought: "I will need to know your decision about the tea, however."
The sound of the door slamming as Tsuzuki left was the only response he received.
* * *
Perched numbly on the edge of the stiff hotel mattress, Tsuzuki ignored the empty food containers on the floor to trace the patterns on the carpet with his eyes. Though he wasn't officially on the case anymore, the payment for the room had never been stopped-- perhaps the greatest testament as to exactly how worried Tatsumi really was-- and he drifted back occasionally to look in on the place. Somehow, he half-expected the boy to be there waiting, emerald eyes narrowed and sharp tongue flying, berating him for worrying too much.
When they'd first checked in-- almost two weeks ago, the violet-eyed shinigami realized with a dull ache in his chest-- the look of disgust on Hisoka's face had brought a smile to his own. Privately, he'd vowed to find a perfect match for the loud, gaudy rug that took up most of the floor and present it to Hisoka at the nearest possible opportunity. Just imagining the expression of disbelief on the boy's face had entertained him for entirely too long, forcing his serious partner to berate him for slacking off.
Blinking back the burning sensation that was growing just behind his eyes, Tsuzuki pulled both knees to his chest, settling his chin in the cradle between his legs. Hisoka was gone, now. And there was a part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like the boy, calling him stupid for giving up so easily, but... what else could he do?
There were no clues. His messengers had been unable to aid him. His last resort, the one thing he'd been loathe to fall back upon, had failed. He'd never seen Tatsumi more insistent than when the secretary forced him to promise-- to swear on everything he held dear-- that he wouldn't give in to Muraki's demands. But the one person that he cherished above all else, the only person that made the effort of living worthwhile... was gone.
So he'd broken his promise. And nothing had changed.
Abandoning his seat on the edge of the bed, the shinigami flung himself flat on the mattress in a sudden outburst of grief, clutching onto a pillow with a desperate ferocity. Fighting down the bitter ache that was closing up his throat, the man pressed his face against cool white linen.
He could have followed the boy out of the room that night. He could have been with him, could have saved his partner from yet another nightmare experience in a long line of horrible cruelties.
Instead, he'd fallen asleep.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, the violet-eyed shinigami berated himself. Hisoka had been right all along; he didn't pay enough attention to anything, didn't take anything seriously enough. And now the boy would have to pay for it.
With the startling force behind that thought, for the first time in the days that his partner had been missing, Tsuzuki began to cry.
* * *
Somewhere, there was noise. A drip drip drip sounded from far away, hollow and terribly final, and he couldn't seem to make himself stop shaking. He was sure that there must be a reason; perhaps the water dripping-- -was- it water?-- or the cold, unyielding ground below him were at fault.
But it was better, he'd decided, not to think about the ground or the water, or the fact that every now and then the door would open and reveal a man that was nothing more than silhouette against the glare of outside light. Better to ignore the foreign snatches of feelings that flitted occasionally just outside his reach, not close enough to press in on him but certainly tangible enough to taunt him with their presence.
At this point, the boy might have welcomed them: not his, perhaps, but not all pain and cold and hunger. There was irony in that somewhere, he was sure. Whether he had the energy to pick it apart in his search was another matter entirely, however, and his thoughts drifted again when he found himself unable to anchor them.
It was no surprise that they came to rest on vivid purple eyes and a fond, gentle voice. The boy had discovered that when he was trying not to think of anything, his mind wandered most often to the warmth of his partner's smile-- and in spite of the chill, he frequently took some small comfort from the memories.
In the endless black of the little room, however, the carefully hoarded recollections seemed less than adequate against more recent remembrances of a low, cruel voice, soft in his ear. "One broken little doll," said the wisps of words in his mind. "And he has the rest of forever to forget about you."
The boy couldn't quite suppress a shudder at the memory, wide eyes squeezing instinctively closed as though to block out the voice. But it wasn't so easily ignored; dark and promising, it had succeeded in forcing thoughts of the boy's partner from his mind. Clenching slender fingers tightly into fists, he curled in on himself in an attempt both to preserve heat and to stop the persistent trembling that wracked his form.
"One broken little doll," his memory began again, and in the darkness, Hisoka began to cry, cringing from the pale hands that he knew must be reaching for him.
"Tsuzuki!" It was a wail, terrified and desperate, the boy's voice more than half-gone from screaming already. "Tsuzuki, please!" Harsh, ragged sobs broke the words apart, made them nearly incomprehensible; but there was no one in the darkened room to hear him, anyway.
* * *
Some people, Watari thought to himself, brushing absently at the permanent stains on his lab coat, didn't know when to shut up.
True, had it been any other day, he would have been ecstatic to hear about the newest retail items at his local crafts store-- for some reason, they carried the beakers he went through so rapidly, and at prices much cheaper than other sources in the area-- but this was -not- just any other day. He was supposed to be looking for bon, above and beyond all else. And while he'd been hopeful when the girl he recognized as a weekends-only counter clerk seemed more than willing to offer information, the scientist had deflated considerably when he realized that very little of it was useful. It had been, he noted with an uncharacteristically sour expression, fully an hour and a half before he'd managed to pry himself from the conversation.
Running a frustrated hand through long blond hair, the scientist rapped quickly on the door to the infirmary, pushing it open without waiting for a response. "Yo, Tsuzu--"
Framed in the doorway, golden eyes huge, Watari stared at the empty bed.
* * *
Somewhere in the shifting nightmares of darkness and rain, a voice was calling his name. "Tsuzuki!" it screamed, real enough that the dreamer could almost see wide emerald eyes filled with tears. "Tsuzuki, please!"
Frantic, he searched the emptiness around him, stricken strangely mute and blind, though the sob-broken words were clear enough to his ears. "Tsuzuki, I need you... Please... please don't leave me..."
The waking world returned with a sudden, violent force, leaving him sprawled across the starchy blanket of the hotel's bed, cheeks sticky with tears. Clutched to his chest was the now-rumpled pillow, and the man's fingers still maintained a lose grip on the sheets.
The violet-eyed shinigami sat slowly, pressing a steadying hand to his temple as he stared blankly around the room. He'd wanted to stay because it was so easy to conjure thoughts of the boy here-- by the little table, sorting paperwork; perched on the edge of the bed, finally eating the ramen that his partner had been pressing on him all night.
Perversely, the little hotel room seemed empty now, quiet. Foreign in a strange way, as though he hadn't lived here with Hisoka for a week.
Thoughts despondent but strangely detached, the man pulled himself to his feet. He needed some air, perhaps, and a change from the cluttered little room that he'd been so fond of. Tripping his way to the room's only window, he pulled back the heavy, tasteless curtains, leaning out to watch the world beyond.
It was raining.
Still not fully awake, the violet-eyed shinigami turned from the grey of the sky, reaching for his coat and fumbling to get both arms into the sleeves. He was gone a moment later, not even sure where it was that he needed so urgently to be.
~end part 7~
Anyway, it looks like there's an end in sight-- I'm thinking two or possibly three more chapters, depending on whether it wants to finish itself up quickly. I'd like to know if... well, lemme know if what's going on is plausible, if you can figure it out yet. ^_^
Warnings? Angst. More angst. Hisoka-torture. -Lots- of angst.
===============
The Rest of Forever
===============
Chapter 7
===============
"Muraki!" The sound of a fist pounding on wood accompanied the call. "Open the door!" It never occurred to Tsuzuki that the doctor would refuse, or that he wouldn't be there; after all, it was his game, and he had to be present to see it played out.
True to form, Muraki cracked the door open after a few tense moments of waiting, peering outside to watch his prey with pale eyes. "Calm yourself, Tsuzuki-san," he suggested coolly. "You're disturbing the neighbors."
The shinigami didn't lower his voice in the slightest. "Take me!" he commanded, ignoring the fact that Muraki's eyebrows shot up with the implication of that particular plea. "If I'm what you want, then you can have me-- just let him go."
Slowly, the door creaked further open, and the doctor stepped aside to give him passage. "Perhaps it would be better to discuss this inside?"
"Not until you agree to let him go," Tsuzuki responded, eyes flashing. "I'm not falling for one of your tricks, so if--"
Smiling an indulgent little smile, Muraki smoothly interrupted the rest of his sentence. "I was simply thinking that negotiations might not go as well in the hallway." Inviting the other man in with a sweep of his hand, the doctor waited until he had accepted to close the door behind them. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"
"This isn't a -game-," the shinigami growled. "I want Hisoka back."
"Oh?" Pale eyes took on an amused glint, and the man peered intently at his prey. A smile began to creep across his lips, politely interested and darkly anticipatory. "I'm sorry, Tsuzuki-san, but I'm afraid that's out of the question."
Whatever response he'd been expecting, the prospect of this one hadn't even occurred to him. He'd assumed that the man wouldn't agree right away-- after all, Muraki seemed to like nothing better than toying with him. Outright refusal, however, hadn't even been a possibility to Tsuzuki's frantic mind, and wide violet eyes stared blankly as his thoughts scrambled to provide a backup plan.
"What do you -want-?" the shinigami demanded in desperation. "You can have me-- you can have anything! Just let him go!"
"It seems as though you've developed selective hearing, Tsuzuki-san," the doctor chided gently. "I told you before-- I want you to forget the boy." Fair, slender fingers reached to caress the side of the man's face, tracing over the scowl that twisted his lips. "And somehow I doubt that returning him to you would speed the process."
Tsuzuki stood motionless, pale and shaking with rage, reaching for words that would come close to the way he felt. "-Bastard-," he managed at last, the word a hiss. "Where is he? If you don't tell me, I swear by all the gods, I'll--"
The interruption was smooth and formal. "I understand that you must be upset, but that's no reason to be rude to your host." Turning to disappear into the wooden-arched door of a room to the left of the entryway, Muraki called from just inside the kitchen. "You're welcome to stay, though; I do so enjoy your company, Tsuzuki-san." There was a brief pause, and then he added almost as an afterthought: "I will need to know your decision about the tea, however."
The sound of the door slamming as Tsuzuki left was the only response he received.
* * *
Perched numbly on the edge of the stiff hotel mattress, Tsuzuki ignored the empty food containers on the floor to trace the patterns on the carpet with his eyes. Though he wasn't officially on the case anymore, the payment for the room had never been stopped-- perhaps the greatest testament as to exactly how worried Tatsumi really was-- and he drifted back occasionally to look in on the place. Somehow, he half-expected the boy to be there waiting, emerald eyes narrowed and sharp tongue flying, berating him for worrying too much.
When they'd first checked in-- almost two weeks ago, the violet-eyed shinigami realized with a dull ache in his chest-- the look of disgust on Hisoka's face had brought a smile to his own. Privately, he'd vowed to find a perfect match for the loud, gaudy rug that took up most of the floor and present it to Hisoka at the nearest possible opportunity. Just imagining the expression of disbelief on the boy's face had entertained him for entirely too long, forcing his serious partner to berate him for slacking off.
Blinking back the burning sensation that was growing just behind his eyes, Tsuzuki pulled both knees to his chest, settling his chin in the cradle between his legs. Hisoka was gone, now. And there was a part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like the boy, calling him stupid for giving up so easily, but... what else could he do?
There were no clues. His messengers had been unable to aid him. His last resort, the one thing he'd been loathe to fall back upon, had failed. He'd never seen Tatsumi more insistent than when the secretary forced him to promise-- to swear on everything he held dear-- that he wouldn't give in to Muraki's demands. But the one person that he cherished above all else, the only person that made the effort of living worthwhile... was gone.
So he'd broken his promise. And nothing had changed.
Abandoning his seat on the edge of the bed, the shinigami flung himself flat on the mattress in a sudden outburst of grief, clutching onto a pillow with a desperate ferocity. Fighting down the bitter ache that was closing up his throat, the man pressed his face against cool white linen.
He could have followed the boy out of the room that night. He could have been with him, could have saved his partner from yet another nightmare experience in a long line of horrible cruelties.
Instead, he'd fallen asleep.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, the violet-eyed shinigami berated himself. Hisoka had been right all along; he didn't pay enough attention to anything, didn't take anything seriously enough. And now the boy would have to pay for it.
With the startling force behind that thought, for the first time in the days that his partner had been missing, Tsuzuki began to cry.
* * *
Somewhere, there was noise. A drip drip drip sounded from far away, hollow and terribly final, and he couldn't seem to make himself stop shaking. He was sure that there must be a reason; perhaps the water dripping-- -was- it water?-- or the cold, unyielding ground below him were at fault.
But it was better, he'd decided, not to think about the ground or the water, or the fact that every now and then the door would open and reveal a man that was nothing more than silhouette against the glare of outside light. Better to ignore the foreign snatches of feelings that flitted occasionally just outside his reach, not close enough to press in on him but certainly tangible enough to taunt him with their presence.
At this point, the boy might have welcomed them: not his, perhaps, but not all pain and cold and hunger. There was irony in that somewhere, he was sure. Whether he had the energy to pick it apart in his search was another matter entirely, however, and his thoughts drifted again when he found himself unable to anchor them.
It was no surprise that they came to rest on vivid purple eyes and a fond, gentle voice. The boy had discovered that when he was trying not to think of anything, his mind wandered most often to the warmth of his partner's smile-- and in spite of the chill, he frequently took some small comfort from the memories.
In the endless black of the little room, however, the carefully hoarded recollections seemed less than adequate against more recent remembrances of a low, cruel voice, soft in his ear. "One broken little doll," said the wisps of words in his mind. "And he has the rest of forever to forget about you."
The boy couldn't quite suppress a shudder at the memory, wide eyes squeezing instinctively closed as though to block out the voice. But it wasn't so easily ignored; dark and promising, it had succeeded in forcing thoughts of the boy's partner from his mind. Clenching slender fingers tightly into fists, he curled in on himself in an attempt both to preserve heat and to stop the persistent trembling that wracked his form.
"One broken little doll," his memory began again, and in the darkness, Hisoka began to cry, cringing from the pale hands that he knew must be reaching for him.
"Tsuzuki!" It was a wail, terrified and desperate, the boy's voice more than half-gone from screaming already. "Tsuzuki, please!" Harsh, ragged sobs broke the words apart, made them nearly incomprehensible; but there was no one in the darkened room to hear him, anyway.
* * *
Some people, Watari thought to himself, brushing absently at the permanent stains on his lab coat, didn't know when to shut up.
True, had it been any other day, he would have been ecstatic to hear about the newest retail items at his local crafts store-- for some reason, they carried the beakers he went through so rapidly, and at prices much cheaper than other sources in the area-- but this was -not- just any other day. He was supposed to be looking for bon, above and beyond all else. And while he'd been hopeful when the girl he recognized as a weekends-only counter clerk seemed more than willing to offer information, the scientist had deflated considerably when he realized that very little of it was useful. It had been, he noted with an uncharacteristically sour expression, fully an hour and a half before he'd managed to pry himself from the conversation.
Running a frustrated hand through long blond hair, the scientist rapped quickly on the door to the infirmary, pushing it open without waiting for a response. "Yo, Tsuzu--"
Framed in the doorway, golden eyes huge, Watari stared at the empty bed.
* * *
Somewhere in the shifting nightmares of darkness and rain, a voice was calling his name. "Tsuzuki!" it screamed, real enough that the dreamer could almost see wide emerald eyes filled with tears. "Tsuzuki, please!"
Frantic, he searched the emptiness around him, stricken strangely mute and blind, though the sob-broken words were clear enough to his ears. "Tsuzuki, I need you... Please... please don't leave me..."
The waking world returned with a sudden, violent force, leaving him sprawled across the starchy blanket of the hotel's bed, cheeks sticky with tears. Clutched to his chest was the now-rumpled pillow, and the man's fingers still maintained a lose grip on the sheets.
The violet-eyed shinigami sat slowly, pressing a steadying hand to his temple as he stared blankly around the room. He'd wanted to stay because it was so easy to conjure thoughts of the boy here-- by the little table, sorting paperwork; perched on the edge of the bed, finally eating the ramen that his partner had been pressing on him all night.
Perversely, the little hotel room seemed empty now, quiet. Foreign in a strange way, as though he hadn't lived here with Hisoka for a week.
Thoughts despondent but strangely detached, the man pulled himself to his feet. He needed some air, perhaps, and a change from the cluttered little room that he'd been so fond of. Tripping his way to the room's only window, he pulled back the heavy, tasteless curtains, leaning out to watch the world beyond.
It was raining.
Still not fully awake, the violet-eyed shinigami turned from the grey of the sky, reaching for his coat and fumbling to get both arms into the sleeves. He was gone a moment later, not even sure where it was that he needed so urgently to be.
~end part 7~