What to expect this chapter? Watari has gone all scary and blood-lusty and Tatsumi's just trying to stay alive. Poor bunnies. I hope they'll be okay. Wait…what am I saying? I know what's going to happen! You guys better hope that, then. See you in a few.
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Watari took a sheaf of papers from the photocopier tray and bound them together with his hair ribbon into a neat package. He glanced at the clock, almost six-thirty. Almost twenty-four hours since Tatsumi had been whisked away into the night. The sky was beginning to darken, and he realized there was still much to do and little time to do it in. The young scientist scurried back to the lab, into the little cubby of a room where he used to sleep on a cot in the corner, before Tatsumi, before sharing a bed with another man and waking up to hear his heartbeat pulsing in time with his own. There was a cheap full-length mirror, really only well-shined aluminum, pinned to the door, and Watari noticed his reflection for the first time all day. He looked as though he'd been dragged through the muddy irrigation ditches of some rice paddy in the far-flung countryside and forced to walk all the way back to Meifu with no shoes, uphill the whole route.
He clucked his tongue at the sight of his disheveled state and kicked off his shoes, throwing down the sweater he'd pulled on hurriedly, the wrinkled slacks, until he stood there in the little back room in nothing but the bodysuit he wore under everything, the black material tight against his thin figure. He dug into a filing cabinet that had doubled as a bureau and pulled out a pair of thick-soled black boots, jamming his feet into them and hitching up the laces. The young man rooted around for a hairbrush and ripped it through his long, curling gold locks, lashing the unruly mane into a tight braid, tying it off with a black ribbon. There, he looked less frumpy, more the way a Shinigami was supposed to look. The scientist picked up his packet of papers with hands clad in his usual fingerless gloves and stomped out into the lab proper, filling water dishes and food bowls for his birds before closing up shop for the night. He had more pressing matters to attend to.
Everyone scurried out of their offices and cubicles to line the hallway as Watari strode past, a man on his death march. Tsuzuki and Hisoka stood in their doorway, Tsuzuki's arm around Hisoka's shoulders. Watari paused to speak with them, his amber eyes burning with cold fire.
"If I fail, it's up to you. Don't let Muraki scare you, don't let my or Tatsumi's deaths be in vain. And above all, don't you dare stop believing in me for a single moment. I sure as hell am not going to let that fucking bastard hurt anyone else, not tonight, not ever. It ends now."
Hisoka nodded grimly. Tsuzuki relinquished his hold on the boy to throw his arms about the young scientist's neck, bringing his lips close to his ear.
"Stay safe, fight dirty, bring Tatsumi home," he murmured. "Happy hunting, little brother."
Watari grinned. "Damn right I'm your little brother. And I promise I'll give that son-of-a-bitch an extra couple of smacks for you."
He strode off, banners waving, marching resolutely into Tatsumi's office and shutting the door behind him. Tsuzuki stared at the coworkers still lining the halls. Saya and Yuma were in hysterics, Wakaba was gripping Terazuma's shirtsleeve as tightly as she could, the Gushoshin twins were hovering solemnly. 003 fluttered in and dropped down onto Hisoka's shoulder, the youth putting up a finger to stroke her breast feathers.
"Where's Konoe?" Tsuzuki asked.
Terazuma lit a cigarette. "Last I heard, he and the Count went to go talk to Lord Enma."
"All right everyone," Hisoka piped up, his voice echoing through the hallway. "I think it's in our best interests to get the infirmary ready for their return. Tatsumi's going to be badly injured and Watari will be too tired to tend to him. I want anyone with any sort of medical training to come with me. Everybody else, go with Tsuzuki down to the armory and stock up on fuda talismans and anything you can carry. We have to be prepared for the worst, whichever worst it's going to be."
Inside Tatsumi's office, Watari flipped on the lights. Everything was the way it had been left yesterday morning, down to the cup of coffee left on the blotter. The room was immaculate as always, as if the secretary had merely stepped out for a few minutes and would return momentarily. Watari smiled wistfully at this thought, picking up a coat from the coat rack in the corner. It was a black knee-length trench, one he himself had given Tatsumi for his birthday.
"I saved up every bit I could to buy this damn thing, since my own birthday last April," he murmured, throwing it on. It smelled like Tatsumi's cologne.
The chair to his desk was facing the window, the back to Watari, and he half expected it to slowly spin around to reveal either Muraki leering at him and making some generic Muraki-ish threat or Tatsumi's bloodless body, his filmed-over eyes lolled back in his head. He shuddered, banishing the thoughts from his mind. Tatsumi was still alive; he could sense it, though that tenuous grip was growing fainter with every passing second.
"All right, Yutaka, keep your cool and you'll be just fine. Don't let him intimidate you; he's just a twisted man with a lot of issues. Keep your guard up, don't get distracted, and don't believe a word of the bullshit he tries feeding you because it's all there to frighten you," he said, breathing deeply. Sometimes a scientist's logic was a godsend.
Watari closed his eyes, slowing his breathing down as much as he could. Farseeing was one of those Shinigami talents that were few and far between, and Watari just happened to possess enough of it that he could manage. It helped to be linked to the person you were trying to find in some way, and Watari had a red ribbon guiding him there. He could feel the world shudder as the images flashed before his mind. There was Muraki, leaning against a cold stone wall, a cigarette clenched between his fingers. He was watching something in the darkness, something writhing and twitching and screaming like an inhuman thing. Tatsumi. He could see a charnel house, a cemetery, a hill, a town. His eyes snapped open, blazing.
"Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."
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"It's sort of ironic, really," Muraki said, flicking ash. "Do you even know where we are, Mr. Tatsumi? This is your family's mausoleum. Your mother, your grandfather, your sister…why, I do believe even your body is buried here. It's a lasting tribute to everyone you murdered. And your immortal body will rest here as well, how fitting. Because, to tell you the truth, I honestly doubt you're going to be rescued. Nobody wants you, they're all better off with you gone."
"Lies…" Tatsumi choked out, trying to break from the black shroud covering him. "Lies!"
The silver-haired man hefted his stiletto again. "Oh? What makes you think that? Do tell."
"Watari…Watari won't abandon me…"
"The little blonde in the labcoat? He won't want anything to do with you. You're a monster, a hideous killer. You killed your own mother. How could anyone want to love someone as tainted as you, Mr. Tatsumi? Your soul is just as filthy as mine, as Tsuzuki's, as the boy's."
"No…"
"Yes! It is and you know it. That's why Tsuzuki never loved you, because he saw what you really are, a ravenous bloodthirsty beast."
Muraki came closer, step by menacing step. The shadow-eater wasn't working quickly enough, it was pulling the memories from Tatsumi's subconscious and shoving him face-first into them, but he hadn't come all the way undone yet. Something a touch more drastic seemed necessary. Besides, it would be a shame to let that beautiful body go unspoiled, and he wasn't a fan of necrophilia. One pale hand reached for his belt buckle, the other twirling the slender knife between thin fingers. Tatsumi's suit jacket he'd long since removed, his binding charm was more effective without heavy material in the way, and the dress shirt was so thoroughly soaked in blood it was falling off anyways. He pulled it apart with little effort, exposing the brunette man's shoulder blades. The steely-eyed doctor licked the stiletto blade before carving into the skin, drawing intricate wings over those shoulder blades, blood outlining feathers made from flesh. Wings to accompany his angelically blue eyes. He lazily finished, loosening his belt.
"And now, Mr. Tatsumi, let us see if your little blonde friend will still love you after you've been corrupted. I wonder if he will. Somehow I doubt it. Rape does have a way of scarring someone far more than any other form of torture, and it's so much fun too."
Tatsumi's mind was shutting down. He was going to hide the broken bits he could gather far from Muraki's touch, safe in some dark recess where nobody could harm them. All the memories that couldn't be tainted, locked away with the small crumbs of reason he had. All his love, for Tsuzuki, for Hisoka, and Watari. Every quarrel over the budget that he'd eventually lost, every smile, every lazy Sunday spent lying in bed together, 003 loudly demanding breakfast and going ignored as Watari sprawled over his chest, he threading sunshine gold locks between his fingers. Every touch, every kiss, every time they'd ever made love, it was all being carefully wrapped and put away.
"I'm sorry…" he murmured, letting go.
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Notes: At some point I'll draw up a picture of Watari in his all-black ensemble, if I haven't already done so. I type these notes up in advance, so that I can post chapters that much more quickly.
The comment about Watari being Tsuzuki's little brother, I threw that in there just to emphasize how strong a bond these guys have. Though you really don't get it out of the anime, Watari and Tsuzuki are rather close. After all, who but Tsuzuki would willingly drink some of Watari's potions?
And as for Muraki, the stiletto, and Tatsumi's wings…just in case anyone's confused, a stiletto is a knife with a thin blade, not just a high-heeled shoe. And the scars, well, I kind of see Muraki as a sadist who has this big thing about blood and sex, but I didn't want to put curse scars on Tatsumi because then we'd get stuck with two Hisokas and that'd just be freaking creepy. So I thought scars in the shape of wings over his shoulder blades would look rather cool, even if it is cruel of me to be marking up Tatsumi like that.
See you next chapter!