Author's notes:

I know I said I would write a Sohryuu-Hisoka interaction fic but this was begging to be written after I wrote "Serpent Visions". Is it obvious yet that I'm obsessed with Nagare and Hisoka? ^_^'

The timeline takes very big liberties and interpretation of the Kamakura and Gensou Kai chapter. Especially the Kamakura chapter. I tried to be vague about the whole thing but to be able to write this, I just couldn't avoid it. So, really, this is an AU and OOC.

The Final Forgiveness

It was a little disconcerting how long ago it seemed that he walked through these halls. Which was utterly ridiculous, of course, since he and Tsuzuki had only been gone a little over two weeks. Still, a lot had happened since then and he bore the scars to prove it. Musing over that very matter, he supposed the scars, given by some Shikigami and some Tenguu, would fade in few days. Only Tsuzuki would insist the need for them to be checked. He had pointed out that Tsuzuki had some scars of his own but by then the older man was wailing over the stack of paper that had piled over his desk during those two weeks and had completely drowned out his voice.

So off he went, walking down the hall to the direction of Watari's lab, muttering to himself about Tsuzuki's natural way of somehow effortlessly convincing him to do what he wanted. He did not really want to go to the lab; all he wanted was a good night's sleep and maybe some few hours of monotonous, boring work to forget the price he had to pay in Gensou Kai. He was tired, irritable, and really sick of the other Shinigamis' questions, equally sick of trying to brush them off. He was barely keeping his empathy in check, suddenly finding himself barraged by human emotions. In Gensou Kai, the only emotions he had felt was Tsuzuki's, and even that was shielded; the rest of the Shikigamis, despite having human form, did not radiate their emotions as humans do. For that, he was immensely grateful.

He passed by an open door that earned him no second glance. It was the interrogation room, barely used, since seldom did they have dead souls, demons, or spirits brought for questioning. Usually, those souls were given to the department handling the passing; the only sign of their existence in Juu-Ou-Cho was the paperwork that appeared on their desk.

He would not have stopped had he not heard Watari's muffled voice coming from the room, "—still, Kurosaki-san."

Kurosaki Hisoka paused and turned his head to the room. The door was barely ajar but the scientist's admonishment was loud enough to escape the small space between it and the doorframe.

There was an answer, a voice dark and low that that it made Hisoka's body still. A pause, then another voice that sounded like Tatsumi-san's before Watari babbled on again, with Hisoka only catching a few words per sentence: "—skin won't really—take care of it but—take a while...So sit still!"

Hisoka walked towards the doorframe and quietly pushed the door open. For a second, memories of his childhood barraged his thoughts and made his blood run cold; the events in Gensou Kai and now this clashed, enough to almost make his emotions snap. Almost.

"Just get it over with as quickly as possible, Wata—" Tatsumi-san's voice stopped as the door creaked open just a little bit, enough though to let the shadow of another person fall into the room.

Hisoka gave a the room a quick glance-over before his eyes settled on the man wearing a traditional yutaka, sitting impatiently as he barely bore Watari's insistence to bandage his arm.

"What," Hisoka asked slowly, "is going on here?"

~ * ~

Tatsumi Seiichiro almost groaned aloud at the sight of the young Shinigami standing by the doorframe. He almost wanted to kick Watari-san and his insistence: "This will be fine, Tatsumi-san. No one comes in the interrogation room and 'sides, this'll be over in a jiffy. No one will know, least of all bon!"

The three people in the room froze at the new figure. Watari was the quickest to move, with his eyes darting frantically from the boy to the man whose arms he was wrapping in bandages. Kurosaki Nagare's reaction was subtle but still visible: his human eyes widened and his back stiffened.

"What is going on here?" Hisoka repeated. His voice shook as he took one step into the room.

"It's a little difficult to explain," Tatsumi began before Watari interrupted.

"Hisoka, meet Kurosaki Nagare." The blond scientist beamed.

This was, most unfortunately, the wrong tactic. Hisoka's face darkened and his hands clenched at his side as if trying to hold on to his senses. "I know who that bastard is!" he screamed. "Why is he here?!"

"I'm dead," Kurosaki-san stated, apparently regaining some of his self composure. "I assume you are, too?"

"You, of all people, should know the answer to that," Hisoka snapped back. He whirled to Tatsumi. "Did he finally kill himself?"

"Bon—" Watari tried again.

"I have the right to know!"

"So you do," Tatsumi drawled as he finally recovered enough self-control to push his glasses frame up the bridge of his nose, "and we are not about to begrudge you from it—even if you demand it from us like a spoiled child."

There was a pause as Hisoka's face turned red, out of embarrassment or anger Tatsumi did not know. He did not wish to find out.

Then, as if realizing that it was up to him to break the tension, Watari bounced and clapped his hand. "Well then, let's begin again. Kurosaki Hisoka, meet Kurosaki Nagare. Kurosaki Nagare, this is one of our elite Shinigami who has been working here for almost three years."

Both the Kurosakis' eyes slid over to him. Tatsumi barely had time to roll his eyes before Watari was ushering him out of the door. "I'm sure you two would like some time alone together so we'll see you later bye!" The door shut behind them.

Watari breathed a sigh of relief at finally escaping the room. "Ah, I think I used the wrong scheme."

"WA-TA-RI-SAAAAAN."

Watari glanced up, only to find in alarm that the shadows around the hallway were closing in on him. "N-now, Tatsumi, we can talk about this like responsible adults, right?"

~ * ~

"You're a Shinigami." Nagare finally spoke.

Hisoka crossed his arms over his chest: a sign of discomfort. He fought the urge to cast his eyes down as he had done when he was a child. "I became one after..." His voice trailed away. In the dimly-lit room he thought he saw his father flinch but dismissed it as a trick of shadows or of his mind. He tried to keep his anger in check. "You're dead, though."

"Yes." There was a slight hitch in the voice. A pause. "Tatsumi-san and Watari-san were the ones who brought me here." Hisoka was about to speak again but Nagare calmly went on, "Your mother is dead as well."

Hisoka froze. "Kaasama is...?"

"Dead," the older Kurosaki repeated then had to brace himself with a grunt when a smaller form threw himself to him, fists pounding his chest.

"You killed her, didn't you, you bastard!" Hisoka screamed, face red with fury. "You killed her like you killed my sister, like you killed me—I hate you, I hate you!"

Nagare's eyes dilated as he bore the accusations before he finally caught the wrists of his son, holding them to the air. Hisoka hissed and struggled but Nagare was bigger and he held fast. The boy thrashed against his grip, one hand freeing itself but before it could make its way towards his father's figure a wider palm connected itself to his face, making a loud resounding slap. Stunned, he staggered back and put a hand against his face.

"Restrain yourself," Nagare told him tightly. "This is not how we raised you."

"Your restraint consisted of locking me in a cell," Hisoka retorted.

Something akin to pain flashed in his father's eyes but, of course, Hisoka knew it was impossible. Still, his thoughts were supported by the words Nagare uttered next: "Yes. It was a good thing."

"Bastard!" Hisoka screamed again, but this time he did not attack. Instead, he sank to the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands. "Even when I'm dead, you still haunt me."

Another pause, then Nagare continued, "You should know what killed her: the Yatonogami."

"That curse," Hisoka mumbled, voice muffled as his lips pressed against his palm. "Was it quick?"

"Do you still feel pain over what happened to her?"

"Someone told me," Hisoka replied, looking up briefly, "that I'm not the monster you studiously believed I am."

A small smile appeared on Nagare's lips and he tilted his head. "No," he agreed, "I knew that."

Hisoka glared up at him. His heart was beating erratically and his brain told him he must have heard wrong, that it shouldn't be this way, but he found himself demanding, "What do you mean?"

"Does it matter?" Nagare asked him easily. "Even if I took back all that happened, you would still not believe me." A pause, as if he was pondering over a matter before he went on, "And I suppose I would not have changed anything that happened."

"Don't you have any regrets?" his son asked dully.

Nagare looked away. "Hisoka-san, after two years of being a Shinigami, you should have learned that regrets are useless."

"How did she die?"

The older Kurosaki eased himself onto the chair he had sat on, frowning down at the sleeves of his yukata that now concealed the bandages that Watari-san had insisted on wrapping to take care of the wounds that would heal in a few hours. He thought it was useless; they had told him he would be passing on soon. He scratched it idly and wondered how he should answer the question before deciding on telling the truth. "She died screaming."

Hisoka gave a muffled sound which he ignored as he continued, "Which I suppose is a fitting death for someone from our clan. All of us were destined to die in pain: you, your sister, my father, my brother, and I, of course."

The boy hesitated, yet he asked the question that Nagare thought he would not ask: "How did you die?"

"Practically the same." The smile he gave his son was bitter.

"Painfully?"

"I watched the whole clan die," Nagare replied simply as if he did not wish to reveal anymore. "Is it a sufficient answer?"

"Gods," Hisoka muttered brokenly. "And the village?"

"Safe. Tatsumi-san and Watari-san helped. You'll have to ask them for the details; I cannot remember all that they did."

"I'm sorry," Hisoka choked out, again burying his face in his hands. "I still hate you, but I wish...I wish I could have taken the burden off you...that I could have done something..."

"But you couldn't have," Nagare interrupted and his voice was the gentlest sound Hisoka had heard from him. "I have never wished to deny you your death." His voice dropped a notch. "That was the only way to save you, after all."

"You bastard," Hisoka said again but his voice now was hollow. His mind was in turmoil. Somehow, this was the closest he ever had to a conversation with his father and he found himself thanking him while continuing to condemn him. He could not easily forgive, after all, sixteen years of hatred that had welled in his heart. But, he supposed, he could try to understand.

With that in mind, Hisoka looked up and reached out blindly. His fingers touched his father's face, tips lightly brushing against the eyes that closed at his caress. Slowly, fearfully, Hisoka let down his emotional barriers and with his empathy reached for the memories that his father kept hidden, locked away.

When he entered, there was almost blind panic, if from his father or from himself Hisoka could not discern, yet he pursued and he was met with an emotion that he knew well: shame. As a child, Hisoka had been ashamed that he was not the son his parents had wished for him to be; now, he knew that his father was also ashamed that he was not the son his own father wish for him to be, was ashamed that he was hated so much that he bore the evil god in his body without complaint, ashamed that he was not able to protect the village with his own strength. Deeper, deeper, Hisoka plunged into the locked emotion, desperately trying to push aside the surface feelings that cried for his attention and wished to wayside his search. There, there...an affection that was guarded so secretively that he would not have believed it existed.

Hisoka almost wept. This was the proof that his father was human.

And with that memory of emotion he opened his eyes to find that he was sprawled over his father, their right hands locked together. It fascinated him that their fingers could touch and entwine: so different yet so painfully same. Nagare had an arm around his waist to keep him balanced but as soon as he saw that Hisoka was already stirring, he made a move to separate, only Hisoka discovered that his own left hand was still cupping his father's face.

And Kurosaki Nagare had tears streaming from his eyes.

"This isn't forgiveness," Hisoka clarified. He knew he was emotionally exhausted, the Gensou Kai events and this revelation now taking its toll on him. With this excuse in mind, he let himself slump against his father, easing a bit. He felt like a child again, wishing for comfort that only a parent could give. "You should remember...this isn't forgiveness."

"I never expected you to forgive me," Nagare told him and his voice remained the same.

"Good." Hisoka buried his face in his father's neck. "'Cause I never will." And with that he closed his eyes again, not noticing the single tear that escaped his eye. "Tousama, you don't deserve forgiveness."

For the first time in years, Nagare held his sleeping son in his arms and allowed himself to smile at the sensation of holding someone of his flesh and blood. Without malice. Without shame. "Never in a million years," he murmured, "did I think I deserve it."

~ end ~

more notes: Stay tuned for the omake! which will be uploaded next time.