Author's Notes: Well. This chapter took forever and a day. ^^ Partly because inspiration waned at one point, and partly because I had finals. We're looking at one or two more parts, folks-- probably one. Hope you enjoy. ^__^
Warnings: Yaoi. Angst. Possible OOC, for Tatsumi and Watari especially. Hisoka-torture. Sap.
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The Rest of Forever
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Chapter 8
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The streets seemed faded as he walked, tinged grey a little around the edges. He didn't pay heed to the people crowding in storefronts and on the busy sidewalks; violet eyes, usually so attentive, were turned inward, lost in contemplation. And all around him the world flowed by, taking no notice of the man in its midst.
"Please don't leave me..." said Hisoka's voice in his memory. So quiet, and desperate, and nothing at all like the brusque, biting tone that he'd grown to associate with the boy. "Please..."
Frowning in concentration, the shinigami shook his head as though to clear it. Terrifying though the dream had been, unwelcome as it was-- so dark and tangible and too close to home-- he couldn't force it from his mind. And so he carried it with him, listened to the plea as he walked unseeing through the streets.
It seemed foreign, somehow. The crowds and shops and bustle were different when he didn't have to worry whether Hisoka's empathy was bothering him. The rain was unfamiliar without asking his partner whether he was cold. It was strange, he knew; after all, the man had worked in Nagasaki years before he'd met the last in a long line of partners. Why, then, should the city seem any different without one boy?
There was an answer somewhere, lost among the memories of walking these streets with Hisoka, but it hurt too much to think about. Too many little remembrances hid in simple things.
Almost in response to the thoughts, he saw the building appear on the other side of the street, rising up over the curve in the road as his plodding pace brought him nearer. Bright white in a neighborhood of dingy brown buildings, trimmed with yellow and orange, it had beckoned to him nearly a week ago with the sign above the door proclaiming that it baked the best cakes in Nagasaki. He'd never found out whether it told the truth; his partner had berated him for wasting funds, and he'd settled on a pastry for the two of them. Only getting half of the tasty sweet had been worth seeing the embarrassed flush when he foiled Hisoka's attempts to refuse by feeding him the first bite.
A sad smile crept unbidden onto his lips, wistful and more than a little pained. The boy was gone now; unless Muraki tired of this game, there was precious little that could be done.
But almost worse then the thought of Hisoka in pain was the knowledge just below it. So little could have changed so much; he might have prevented the whole situation by following the boy that night. He was to blame for the start of this nightmare of circumstance-- but then, when wasn't he?
Closing his eyes against the rising sting of tears, Tsuzuki took a breath and let the rain wash over him. It was a long time before he moved forward.
* * *
It had taken all of five minutes.
The realization had taken a good thirty seconds all on its own. The hallway, even taken at a sprint, had been two full minutes-- for some reason, Watari could never remember to teleport when he needed it most. Another minute was sacrificed in attempting to regain his breath enough for a coherent telling, and the next was passed in the necessary rebuke for breaking his promise. Arriving at the apartment took less than a fraction of a second-- and thirty seconds later, the door opened in response to Tatsumi's near-violent knock.
"Ah, Tsuzuki-san," came the voice, infuriatingly calm. "It's good to see that you've reconsi--"
The surprise on the doctor's face might have been amusing in another situation. Might have. Had he not been so scary, and Tatsumi so pissed. Wisely, Watari refrained from comment.
In the doorway, Muraki stiffened, expression inching a shade toward freezing before his composure rushed in to cover the lapse. "Is there anything that I can help you gentlemen with?"
"Yes." The ice in Tatsumi's eyes belied the civil tone. "I believe that there is."
"Oh?" Resting his head against the doorframe, the doctor cocked his head, training an eerie, pale gaze on first one man and then the other. "And what might that be?"
"We're searching for a friend of ours," the secretary informed him, tone somehow smooth and threatening all at once. "You might remember him-- long dark coat, violet eyes?"
A delicately raised eyebrow met the statement. "Is that so? Well, I'll be certain to let you know if I run across him."
The tension thrumming through the silence fell was electric in its intensity. And then, abruptly, Watari decided that he'd had enough of formalities. "Oh, come off it."
Quashing the apprehension that rose when both men fixed their gazes on him, the scientist pressed his lips together in a firm line and pushed onward, determined. "Cut the crap, Muraki," he ordered, matter-of-fact. "We're here for Tsuzuki-- where have you got him?"
The impression that followed was a strange one-- like he'd stumbled into a game that he wasn't aware was going on and inadvertently broken the rules. But seconds passed and no response was forthcoming, so he swallowed his hesitation and pushed onward. "Bon, too." Golden eyes narrowed unpleasantly, Watari offered the doctor a strange, toothy smile that wasn't anything like his usually sunny grins. "Might as well save a trip."
* * *
Somehow, the air had caught fire-- not with smoke and flame, but with feeling. It had crept in gradually, tingling and humming just beyond understanding until the force of it left Tsuzuki standing dumbfounded in the center of the sidewalk as shoppers streamed around him, unheeding.
It was, the man realized with a slow, uncomfortable certainty, not an entirely new sensation. Since he'd awoken from his nap-- or perhaps before, a little voice in his mind insisted-- there had been something tugging at the back of his thoughts, pulling him forward. Now, though, he could sense it with every breath, feel it urging him on.
He should have been afraid. It should have disturbed him that some force, apparently unnoticed by those passing around him, was guiding his steps. Had, in fact, been guiding them all day. But for some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to shy away from the influence, nor could he shake the idea that it felt familiar somehow.
When at last Tsuzuki roused himself from the startled stop that he'd fallen to, only a quiet, lingering doubt remained in one corner of his mind.
It was firmly ignored in the face of the sudden, devastating surge of hope.
* * *
The secretary of the land of the dead was a formidable man. Not only could he bend shadows to his will, but he was meticulous in his methods. If nothing else, it could be said that he knew what was going on around him, and that he planned for it.
When he arrived at Muraki's door with the scatter-brained, rumpled scientist, it therefore came as somewhat of a surprise. As soon as the latter demanded to know where Tsuzuki was, the doctor had cause for a good deal of interest in their visit-- if not with them, after all, then the violet-eyed shinigami was irritatingly unaccounted for. And when he felt the first beginnings of the spell's effects rushing through him, he abruptly knew precisely the place that his prey had stumbled upon.
Pressing his lips together in a gesture of unconscious impatience, the man stared out at them with pale eyes. "Well." Muraki's tone was even when he replied, considering. "I'd like to offer you assistance, but I'm afraid Tsuzuki-san has already been and gone." Reaching for the brass of the doorknob, he made as though to close the two shinigami out into the hallway. "So if you'll excuse me..."
The motion was brought up short when a pale hand closed around the thick, dark wood of the door. Unexpectedly, it belonged to Tatsumi.
"No." Behind the glint of matching lens, blue eyes narrowed threateningly. "I want answers."
* * *
There were footsteps somewhere in the darkness. They drifted in gradually at first, from beyond the little room, and Hisoka couldn't stop a shiver that wasn't entirely from cold. Wrapping thin arms around his chest as though to ward off what he knew was coming, the boy lowered his head and squeezed wide eyes tightly closed.
When the footsteps wavered in their usual, steady pace, the young shinigami didn't dare to wonder what the change in routine could suggest. And then the first of a half-dozen blasts of sudden, jolting force shook rapidly through the room, and the boy cried out in alarm. Eyes snapping open at the unexpected show of energy, Hisoka found himself staring at the doorway: flooded with light from beyond, and attached to the door by only a twisted scrap of metal that used to be a hinge.
When the silhouette appeared, highlighted by the harsh electric glare, the boy couldn't keep his gaze from the figure. Hisoka watched with dreamlike detachment as the man took a few cautious steps into the little room. He felt as though the world had settled into a strange, icy surreality that he could awaken from at any moment.
The figure faltered to a stop in the center of the little room, head inclined as though to stare down at the boy lying crumpled on the cold metal of the floor. "Hisoka...?" It was a quiet question, more than a little frightened, and the man didn't wait for an answer.
Moments later, the empath found that his partner had closed the short distance between them and was pulling him into a tight embrace. He struggled for several short, terrified seconds-- when all he could feel was hands reaching for him, before the skin on skin contact brought emotions flooding in with it.
It -hurt-. The utter strength of the feelings cut through him like the blade of a knife straight between his eyes-- would have knocked him flat had Tsuzuki not been supporting him with both hands. The sheer desperation; sharp, naked joy; crushing relief; a hundred other things too subtle and overwhelming to understand.
Suddenly, in face of his partner's emotions, Hisoka couldn't find the strength to want to push him away. It was easier just to let the arms be warm around him. Easier to drown out the pain with someone else's worry and happiness and love.
...and love?
Blinking carefully, wonderingly, Hisoka turned wide eyes to stare at his partner's face. The man was crying, he realized with a strange, distant sort of understanding. For him.
The boy wanted to say something, wanted to tell Tsuzuki that he shouldn't be worrying about something so stupid... but for some reason, words seemed too much trouble. The world was fading into an indistinct shade of grey, hazy and uncertain.
"Tsuzu... ki..." he managed. "Don't..." But then blackness rose up around him, dragging him into the depths of unconsciousness.
~end part 8~
Warnings: Yaoi. Angst. Possible OOC, for Tatsumi and Watari especially. Hisoka-torture. Sap.
===============
The Rest of Forever
===============
Chapter 8
===============
The streets seemed faded as he walked, tinged grey a little around the edges. He didn't pay heed to the people crowding in storefronts and on the busy sidewalks; violet eyes, usually so attentive, were turned inward, lost in contemplation. And all around him the world flowed by, taking no notice of the man in its midst.
"Please don't leave me..." said Hisoka's voice in his memory. So quiet, and desperate, and nothing at all like the brusque, biting tone that he'd grown to associate with the boy. "Please..."
Frowning in concentration, the shinigami shook his head as though to clear it. Terrifying though the dream had been, unwelcome as it was-- so dark and tangible and too close to home-- he couldn't force it from his mind. And so he carried it with him, listened to the plea as he walked unseeing through the streets.
It seemed foreign, somehow. The crowds and shops and bustle were different when he didn't have to worry whether Hisoka's empathy was bothering him. The rain was unfamiliar without asking his partner whether he was cold. It was strange, he knew; after all, the man had worked in Nagasaki years before he'd met the last in a long line of partners. Why, then, should the city seem any different without one boy?
There was an answer somewhere, lost among the memories of walking these streets with Hisoka, but it hurt too much to think about. Too many little remembrances hid in simple things.
Almost in response to the thoughts, he saw the building appear on the other side of the street, rising up over the curve in the road as his plodding pace brought him nearer. Bright white in a neighborhood of dingy brown buildings, trimmed with yellow and orange, it had beckoned to him nearly a week ago with the sign above the door proclaiming that it baked the best cakes in Nagasaki. He'd never found out whether it told the truth; his partner had berated him for wasting funds, and he'd settled on a pastry for the two of them. Only getting half of the tasty sweet had been worth seeing the embarrassed flush when he foiled Hisoka's attempts to refuse by feeding him the first bite.
A sad smile crept unbidden onto his lips, wistful and more than a little pained. The boy was gone now; unless Muraki tired of this game, there was precious little that could be done.
But almost worse then the thought of Hisoka in pain was the knowledge just below it. So little could have changed so much; he might have prevented the whole situation by following the boy that night. He was to blame for the start of this nightmare of circumstance-- but then, when wasn't he?
Closing his eyes against the rising sting of tears, Tsuzuki took a breath and let the rain wash over him. It was a long time before he moved forward.
* * *
It had taken all of five minutes.
The realization had taken a good thirty seconds all on its own. The hallway, even taken at a sprint, had been two full minutes-- for some reason, Watari could never remember to teleport when he needed it most. Another minute was sacrificed in attempting to regain his breath enough for a coherent telling, and the next was passed in the necessary rebuke for breaking his promise. Arriving at the apartment took less than a fraction of a second-- and thirty seconds later, the door opened in response to Tatsumi's near-violent knock.
"Ah, Tsuzuki-san," came the voice, infuriatingly calm. "It's good to see that you've reconsi--"
The surprise on the doctor's face might have been amusing in another situation. Might have. Had he not been so scary, and Tatsumi so pissed. Wisely, Watari refrained from comment.
In the doorway, Muraki stiffened, expression inching a shade toward freezing before his composure rushed in to cover the lapse. "Is there anything that I can help you gentlemen with?"
"Yes." The ice in Tatsumi's eyes belied the civil tone. "I believe that there is."
"Oh?" Resting his head against the doorframe, the doctor cocked his head, training an eerie, pale gaze on first one man and then the other. "And what might that be?"
"We're searching for a friend of ours," the secretary informed him, tone somehow smooth and threatening all at once. "You might remember him-- long dark coat, violet eyes?"
A delicately raised eyebrow met the statement. "Is that so? Well, I'll be certain to let you know if I run across him."
The tension thrumming through the silence fell was electric in its intensity. And then, abruptly, Watari decided that he'd had enough of formalities. "Oh, come off it."
Quashing the apprehension that rose when both men fixed their gazes on him, the scientist pressed his lips together in a firm line and pushed onward, determined. "Cut the crap, Muraki," he ordered, matter-of-fact. "We're here for Tsuzuki-- where have you got him?"
The impression that followed was a strange one-- like he'd stumbled into a game that he wasn't aware was going on and inadvertently broken the rules. But seconds passed and no response was forthcoming, so he swallowed his hesitation and pushed onward. "Bon, too." Golden eyes narrowed unpleasantly, Watari offered the doctor a strange, toothy smile that wasn't anything like his usually sunny grins. "Might as well save a trip."
* * *
Somehow, the air had caught fire-- not with smoke and flame, but with feeling. It had crept in gradually, tingling and humming just beyond understanding until the force of it left Tsuzuki standing dumbfounded in the center of the sidewalk as shoppers streamed around him, unheeding.
It was, the man realized with a slow, uncomfortable certainty, not an entirely new sensation. Since he'd awoken from his nap-- or perhaps before, a little voice in his mind insisted-- there had been something tugging at the back of his thoughts, pulling him forward. Now, though, he could sense it with every breath, feel it urging him on.
He should have been afraid. It should have disturbed him that some force, apparently unnoticed by those passing around him, was guiding his steps. Had, in fact, been guiding them all day. But for some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to shy away from the influence, nor could he shake the idea that it felt familiar somehow.
When at last Tsuzuki roused himself from the startled stop that he'd fallen to, only a quiet, lingering doubt remained in one corner of his mind.
It was firmly ignored in the face of the sudden, devastating surge of hope.
* * *
The secretary of the land of the dead was a formidable man. Not only could he bend shadows to his will, but he was meticulous in his methods. If nothing else, it could be said that he knew what was going on around him, and that he planned for it.
When he arrived at Muraki's door with the scatter-brained, rumpled scientist, it therefore came as somewhat of a surprise. As soon as the latter demanded to know where Tsuzuki was, the doctor had cause for a good deal of interest in their visit-- if not with them, after all, then the violet-eyed shinigami was irritatingly unaccounted for. And when he felt the first beginnings of the spell's effects rushing through him, he abruptly knew precisely the place that his prey had stumbled upon.
Pressing his lips together in a gesture of unconscious impatience, the man stared out at them with pale eyes. "Well." Muraki's tone was even when he replied, considering. "I'd like to offer you assistance, but I'm afraid Tsuzuki-san has already been and gone." Reaching for the brass of the doorknob, he made as though to close the two shinigami out into the hallway. "So if you'll excuse me..."
The motion was brought up short when a pale hand closed around the thick, dark wood of the door. Unexpectedly, it belonged to Tatsumi.
"No." Behind the glint of matching lens, blue eyes narrowed threateningly. "I want answers."
* * *
There were footsteps somewhere in the darkness. They drifted in gradually at first, from beyond the little room, and Hisoka couldn't stop a shiver that wasn't entirely from cold. Wrapping thin arms around his chest as though to ward off what he knew was coming, the boy lowered his head and squeezed wide eyes tightly closed.
When the footsteps wavered in their usual, steady pace, the young shinigami didn't dare to wonder what the change in routine could suggest. And then the first of a half-dozen blasts of sudden, jolting force shook rapidly through the room, and the boy cried out in alarm. Eyes snapping open at the unexpected show of energy, Hisoka found himself staring at the doorway: flooded with light from beyond, and attached to the door by only a twisted scrap of metal that used to be a hinge.
When the silhouette appeared, highlighted by the harsh electric glare, the boy couldn't keep his gaze from the figure. Hisoka watched with dreamlike detachment as the man took a few cautious steps into the little room. He felt as though the world had settled into a strange, icy surreality that he could awaken from at any moment.
The figure faltered to a stop in the center of the little room, head inclined as though to stare down at the boy lying crumpled on the cold metal of the floor. "Hisoka...?" It was a quiet question, more than a little frightened, and the man didn't wait for an answer.
Moments later, the empath found that his partner had closed the short distance between them and was pulling him into a tight embrace. He struggled for several short, terrified seconds-- when all he could feel was hands reaching for him, before the skin on skin contact brought emotions flooding in with it.
It -hurt-. The utter strength of the feelings cut through him like the blade of a knife straight between his eyes-- would have knocked him flat had Tsuzuki not been supporting him with both hands. The sheer desperation; sharp, naked joy; crushing relief; a hundred other things too subtle and overwhelming to understand.
Suddenly, in face of his partner's emotions, Hisoka couldn't find the strength to want to push him away. It was easier just to let the arms be warm around him. Easier to drown out the pain with someone else's worry and happiness and love.
...and love?
Blinking carefully, wonderingly, Hisoka turned wide eyes to stare at his partner's face. The man was crying, he realized with a strange, distant sort of understanding. For him.
The boy wanted to say something, wanted to tell Tsuzuki that he shouldn't be worrying about something so stupid... but for some reason, words seemed too much trouble. The world was fading into an indistinct shade of grey, hazy and uncertain.
"Tsuzu... ki..." he managed. "Don't..." But then blackness rose up around him, dragging him into the depths of unconsciousness.
~end part 8~