Another slightly longish chapter, and you're probably starting to wonder whether or not Tatsumi's going to wake up or remain a vegetable for the rest of his afterlife. I'll let you find that one out for yourself. See you after the chapter's done.
Tatsumi shivered, feeling physically and emotionally drained. There was no way to gauge time in his mindscape, and he felt as if he'd been walking forever, sifting through the wreckage of his mind. Slowly he'd been piecing everything back together, dredging up the little motes of memory that he could find and playing them like a movie on an old projector, the film black and white and grainy. Most of the memory shards were stuck together, the same monotony of day-to-day work, the usual quarrels over budgets and haranguing his coworkers. But it seemed that by reliving these memories, even just parts of them, he could recall the event fully. He knew the difference between every one of Watari's lab failure induced explosions and every puppy-eyed plea Tsuzuki made on his knees in front of his desk. Some of the memories he didn't even bother watching in full. Some of them he replayed more than once, freezing moments with crystalline clarity. The huge smile that lit up Tsuzuki's face when he found out they were going to Hokkaido for the company trip. The morning Wakaba was given the task of providing breakfast daily, the girl who'd died with aspirations of becoming a four-star chef. The first time he'd seen Hisoka smile. Saya and Yuma redecorating the break room. Terazuma teaching the rookies at martial arts. His first kiss with Watari…which was immediately followed up with the first time they'd made love. And every time he remembered, the air around him grew less dense, the space growing cleaner, brighter. The shrapnel underfoot dissipated. There were patches of grass.
He'd sorted out his weaknesses too, the dark parts of his past, the things that haunted him at night and the memories he'd been forced to relive. The pain of his childhood, his mother's tears, always being hungry. He'd watched her die again, watched himself come home to see the slaughter, to devour his grandfather with shadows he didn't understand how to control. And as he stood there, lips pressed tightly together, Tatsumi admitted something he hadn't been able to say before.
"It wasn't my fault. I didn't kill her. I failed to protect her, but I did all that I could for her and I loved her. I didn't kill my mother."
He'd seen the night he'd left Tsuzuki, felt the old heartache sting. And he'd once more stood in Kyoto, staring in horror at the blazing inferno as it lapped at Tsuzuki's heels, the violet-eyed man empty and begging for his own death. He'd blamed himself for so much of Tsuzuki's pain, and hated himself for not letting him die as per his wishes, but Tatsumi knew he wasn't responsible. He couldn't have protected Tsuzuki from Tsuzuki. And his former lover had Hisoka to watch over him, reach him in a way Tatsumi never could, not understanding the suffering Tsuzuki experienced as his pain was of a different nature. Hisoka knew how Tsuzuki hurt and what to say, or what not to say, to rid that haunted look from his amethyst eyes. And Tsuzuki was happy, which was all Tatsumi had ever really wanted for him.
There were old cases and old wounds, blood he'd spilt and tears he'd shed. Painful and messy cases where the line between right and wrong was undefined and nights he'd sat awake questioning his decision. Times when he'd lost control of his powers, times when he had no powers to speak of. Nights in the infirmary sitting over a bedside, holding vigil. The time Watari had nearly paralyzed himself tapping into the Meifu's Mother Computer. And Tatsumi remembered it all, frightened by his memories and still forced to remember them. There was no other choice. He had to do it if he ever wanted to wake from this nightmarish world.
And then there was only one small patch of darkness left, a shade of black so utterly ominous Tatsumi hadn't dared to approach it before then. He took a steadying breath and walked towards it, fists clenched. He felt his body shift, as it usually did to fit his memories, taking on the physical form he'd been in at the time. It was his immortal body, the form he'd been in through most of his memories, only this one was bruised and bloody. He couldn't even tell what color shirt he was wearing from all the blood, the sleeves tattered, a tear running down from the shoulder seam to expose the scar on his collarbone. His lower lip felt split and there was a thick, rancid taste in his mouth. All around him rose the stench of decay as cold stone walls closed about him. And in the dark there was a beacon of spotless white, gazing back at him with soulless eyes, a cigarette still burning between pale, thin lips. Tatsumi let out a strangled cry.
"No…"
The memory of his torture, of the long day and night Muraki had spent corrupting him, mind and body. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as the color bled from his face. Tatsumi couldn't breathe. He fell on his knees, gasping, choking, dry heaving. He couldn't face this memory.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, a firm but gentle pressure, and Tatsumi silently prayed that it was Watari come to comfort him. He looked up and saw the last person he ever expected to see. He'd only seen the man a few times, and from what he'd seen he'd been surprised to learn that he wasn't the hideous fanged ogre everyone made him out to be. Actually, he was rather attractive, with eyes of an indiscernible and ageless hue.
"Lord Enma…" he breathed, rising to his feet so that he might bow low before the god and his chief employer. The king of Hades bowed in return, a smirking smile on his lips. He looked so young, but then again, he was a god and probably could look any way he so chose.
"Mr. Tatsumi. You seem to be having difficulty with this memory, Mr. Tatsumi. I would have guessed that you wouldn't hesitate in confronting and banishing it, since it is now the only thing holding you to this place," the deity remarked.
"I can't face it, Lord, not this one."
"You confronted memories far worse than this one, the nightmares you've struggled against for decades. Why is this one more painful than any of those? Than even your mother's death?"
Tatsumi stared at the shadow of Muraki, who merely stood there, smoking his cigarette.
"It was his fault…" he whispered.
Enma said nothing, not needing to. He simply stood there, waiting for Tatsumi to speak. He knew what was coming, it was inevitable. The big cathartic rush of emotions, the final confrontation. He'd seen a lot of Shinigami fall subject to mind games, hell, he'd coaxed Tsuzuki out of the web that damned devil had woven, and every time was the same. They always needed one push in the right direction to set them off.
"It was his fault I'm here! I'm trapped in my own mind because of that man! I almost lost everything to him!" Tatsumi cried, fists clenched, tears beginning to roll down cheeks mottled with blood and dust. Enma resisted the urge to smirk in self-satisfaction. "He turned my own mind against me…he made me want to die. He…he threatened to kill everyone I care about. Except for…he…wanted to keep Watari separated from me, keep him from the afterlife. He promised to rape my lover, to torture him, to make him scream in agony and I would be helpless to stop him. That's why I won't see this memory again, Lord Enma. Because I don't ever want to hear him threaten Watari like that again. I couldn't protect my mother, I couldn't protect Tsuzuki, I want to protect Watari with everything I have. I won't let anyone hurt him. Never. I am nothing without him."
The lord of the dead nodded, waving a hand distractedly. The Muraki-shadow faded into motes of darkness, a small stream of sunlight illuminating the burnt-out cigarette butt on the ground where he'd been standing. Tatsumi stared at the cigarette butt, then up at Enma, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"My Lord?"
"I partially blame myself for your abduction, as you were apparently brooding over our meeting when it took place. Consider that your compensation for not being granted that promotion. Besides, Konoe's been telling me that your department is going to pieces without you and your lover is just about ready to tie a cement block around his ankles and go throw himself off the nearest pier," the deity replied.
Tatsumi smiled. "Thank you, Lord Enma. I am in your debt."
"Don't say that, this was hardly much of anything. You're in Mr. Watari's debt for several millennia, I believe. You've been granted roughly three months' paid sabbatical leave; I suggest you use that time making it up to him. After all, you owe that young man your life."
"I owe him far more than that," Tatsumi replied, raking his hand through his hair. "Lord Enma, may I inquire as to what you're doing in my mind?"
He smirked. "You've been in a coma for two-and-a-half weeks. I wanted to ascend you, but I couldn't do it without your partner's validation. So I thought I'd come in and assess the damage, see if you were a lost cause and then persuade Mr. Watari into letting you go. The damned scientist was so stubborn about keeping you in Meifu, I can see why."
"Watari's headstrong all right. It's why I love him."
"Yes, and if you want him to continue reciprocating that love, I suggest you wake up within the next five minutes before he snaps and sets all of Juo-cho on fire with an apocalyptic chemical explosion. I will see you in three months, Mr. Tatsumi. Enjoy your time off."
And with that, the Judge of the Dead himself disappeared without so much as a cloud of smoke or a sparkle of light to mark his exit. Tatsumi gazed out over the open field of his mind, contented with the calm orderliness of it all.
"Now, to get back to where I belong…"
Notes: I know Japanese tradition has Enma looking like a big scary shaggy guy with tusks and a bulbous nose, but considering how good-looking Koenma of Yu-Yu Hakusho is when he's a teenager (and that's his son!) I figured the Judge of the Dead probably isn't as hideous as everyone makes him out to be. I know the resolution was a little anticlimactic, but I was starting to get sick of the fanfic and wanted things resolved. Not to mention the fact that Enma couldn't just stand there and look cool. See you next chapter.