Based on Yami no Matsuei by Matsushita Yoko
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First, a word of explanation. This is Dark!Fic. As in, not the darkest dark I've ever written (or read in the YnM fandom), but it's definitely not your happy-go-lucky!Watari teasing the brains out of ever-stiff!Tatsumi. Before you leap on me with your deadly weapon of choice, please note: I'm drawing the theme on the canvas of part 58 of Yami no Matsuei, published in issue #2 of Hana to Yume in 2001. For those of you who don't know, said part concerns Watari and is a rather... strong... hint, in the form of flashbacks and then his behavior, as to how he had started out in Meifu. More detailed explanation below; if you wish to avoid spoilers, don't read neither this nor the story ahead.
www. geocities. com/ yamiflash/ comic 58. htm (remove all spaces for it to work)
The above site contains flash comic, the part of YnM I used as a base for this fic. The entire backstory is elaborated on in Absit Omen, which happens about 25 years prior to this, and covers the first five years of Watari's afterlife in Meifu. It is not necessary to read it to understand this, and the full fledged sequel, Against the Wind, but it might be helpful. :)
This story is, however, a major spoiler fest. Refers back to Tsuzuki/Tatsumi, the Kamakura arc of the manga, faintly hints at Tsuzuki/Hisoka, and makes the idea of Watari/Tatsumi rather obvious. Though not in the least explicit. Not in this one-shot of a story, at least.
Legal stuff: Yami no Matsuei is, of course, not mine. No profit is made, don't sue. Includes hints at shonen ai.
The music:
1) Dead Can Dance - Musica Eternal (for first and last scene in particular, uhh)
2) Karen Matheson - Mi Le M' Uilinn
3) The Eagles - Desperado
e-mail me if you want the music.
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Desperado
by Rhea Logan
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Desperado,
Why don't you come to your senses?
You've been out riding fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
But I know that you've got your reasons
These things that are pleasing you
Can hurt you somehow
The Eagles, Desperado (1973)
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"Chief... I mean... Watari-san..."
"...please, come back... we need you..."
"...please..."
"Please!"
"Watari-san!"
Watari woke with a start, gasping for breath, cold sweat trickling down his face. A stock of papers, beakers, and pencils scattered across the desk and fell onto the floor. He must have swung his arms, and quite violently so, as the dream released him from its claws. Yet another episode of harsh return to reality from yet another nightmare.
He kept his eyes shut against a shattering pain in his head. Pressed his trembling fingers to his temples, gave them a light massage. Attempted to control his breathing.
Breathe in, breathe out, Yutaka. Don't forget to breathe in again.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to the bright light around him. My lab. Shokan. Meifu. Safe, Yutaka. You're safe. Just a dream.
Startled awake from a nap of her own, 003 took flight and was now hovering around his head, hooting miserably in worry about her human.
Without looking, Watari reached out his hand for the owl, reassuring her with light strokes to her breast feathers that she needed not be alarmed.
"Shhh, girl," his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "It's alright. I'm okay."
Not quite believing his words, the tiny owl continued her tirade over his head. He would have preferred silence, but he had not the heart to stop her.
"Yes, yes. It's because I don't sleep enough. I'm getting it for napping at my desk at some ungodly hour, aren't I?" he said with a weak smile. His voice now resembled his own a little more.
The pain subsided as he slowly returned to his senses. "What time is it, anyway?" Watari squinted as he looked at the clock on the wall. Quarter past midnight. Not quite his bedtime yet.
His heart not yet calm enough, still beating to the furious rhythm of the dream he'd had, Watari drew a few deep, steady breaths to force his body into obedience. Only then, calm and collected enough to assess the situation, he looked around.
Beakers, pencils, and the reports he'd been working on were not the only casualties in the aftermath of his unfortunate nap. He must have knocked over his coffee as well; the cup, or whatever was left of it, lay in pieces at his feet. The sticky brown liquid kept dripping from the desktop onto the floor and his lab coat, sinking lazily into the fabric. Huge dark droplets sat on the keyboard; the heralds of trouble much more serious than the broken glass.
Watari cursed under his breath, turning the keyboard upside down. Half a cup worth of coffee spilled onto the desktop. That made it more than clear that the hardware was beyond repair.
"Eh. That will teach me to leave that thing in the break room, ne?" he muttered, half to himself, half to 003, who had meanwhile found a perch on top of the computer monitor. A pair of huge round eyes followed him as Watari made his way to the sink and picked up a cleaning cloth to take care of the mess he had made.
"Well, my bad," he said lightly, winking at his friend. "Tatsumi will be thrilled."
He was not thrilled himself, but it was a good distraction from the thoughts currently out to disturb his mind. That dream... again... He had lost the count of them in the recent months. Watari gave his head a rather violent shake, blinking a few times to chase away the haunting thoughts before they made themselves too comfortable in his head.
003 hooted worriedly.
"Yes, yes. I know. He's going to yell to his heart's delight about a waste of our division's money and some nonsense of such kind," he sighed. "What doesn't kill you..."
He broke off, as if something had derailed his train of thought. Whatever it was, it proved too fleeting to grasp.
Silently, Watari had to admit - if only to himself - that those disquieting dreams in fact disturbed more than just his sleep. They disturbed his mind as he woke, his focus when he needed it most; they returned in waves at the most unfortunate times. They disrupted his peace, but that was another story in and of itself.
Wiping clean the desktop from the coffee stains, he tried to amuse himself with creative ideas on how he'd write a report for his little accident. 'The unpredictable side effect of the Head Researcher's mandatory time off work was a force of unidentified origin, claiming control over his upper limbs, and spreading disaster throughout his laboratory under the questionable guise of brown liquid commonly known as coffee.'
With a smirk, Watari entertained a question whether such report, were he to really write one, would cause Tatsumi to have a worse fit than the actual incident itself. Probably, he thought to himself, but stopped in mid-thought and held back.
Angry? Or would Tatsumi be simply... disappointed?
It was so hard to see through Tatsumi's ever-so-professional front. Watari would gladly give more than a penny for his thoughts, but that hardly seemed to be an option.
Regardless, he could already see the Secretary's icy glare piercing right through him the moment he sneaked into his office to ask for extra funding. Which, no doubt, he would have to do. First thing in the morning, no less. The loss of his keyboard was like a loss of a piece of mind; only the former could be replaced, given Tatsumi found money to spare.
It had become a tradition, early into his career in the Shokan Division. An anchor point for Watari to cling to and steady himself, among the unstable rhythm of his work and the entire afterlife in Meifu. The money was always needed, and the Secretary was always loath to extend it; but he was always there, sitting in his shadow-rimmed office, bent over a stash of paperwork. Always the same, unchanged – a nice constant for Watari's mind to wander to when he needed a reality check.
Right about then, he needed one. Much.
He had failed to notice when, but it must have been well into his tenth year that the almost daily pilgrimage to the office in question had lost its purely pleasurable touch to something far more subtle. Watari's lips twitched in a small, half-regretful smile when he remembered another one of his spectacular failures, himself in a ripped lab coat that was no longer white, grinning sheepishly at the Secretary.
The man had stood there, arms crossed over his chest, informing him in that signature business-like tone of his that half the cost of getting his lab back in shape would be extracted from his next month's pay. He remembered having a juicy-sweet retort at the tip of his tongue, ready to needle the Secretary in the usual way, when suddenly it hit him.
Tatsumi had looked disappointed. Watari's cheeks had flushed slightly and his eyes had cast down, feeling the long-forgotten burning of shame in the depths of his chest.
Disappointing Tatsumi hurt. It hurt back then, and it did so now. For a long time afterwards, Watari had ignored the reasons why it was so. Still, he had always known that sooner or later he would find himself face to face with those thoughts. He had always known he would be the one to lose.
When that happened, he had entertained the idea that the fascination with the Shadow Master stemmed from the fact that he seemed so completely unreachable. The man would smile, yes; his eyes would glimmer with warmth on those occasions when he thought no one was looking, but he maintained his distance as perfectly as the did the division's expenses. He was cold in his own unique way, Watari had concluded once, but he had learned to appreciate Tatsumi just the way he was.
With a light shrug of his shoulders, he sighed and went about turning off the lights. The idea of continuing his work that night had grown less appealing since the dull pain in his temples had returned, refusing to go away.
Rubbing the back of his head with one hand, Watari locked the lab for the night and made his way out of the building.
--
Sometimes, Tatsumi wondered.
The past years had taken a toll on him, to an extent even he could no longer ignore. Watching Tsuzuki succumb to his own personal darkness had been painful; more painful than ever, when it got through to him that he couldn't help him as much as he would have liked. At first reluctant, he had silently agreed that leaving Asato in Hisoka's care was the very best he could have done.
And so it was; the two Shinigami had found a common ground, and Tatsumi could see all the good that came with that. He could not deny that he felt a sting of jealousy just underneath his skin as he watched the two, engaged in friendly banter, or simply sitting together, sharing peaceful silence. The silence between Tsuzuki and himself had always been bittersweet; filled with regrets each man harbored deep in his heart, and with guilt, and a plethora of negativity of various wicked kinds.
And so, even though he was habitually sober, Tatsumi sat now in a half-empty bar, staring pointlessly into the glass in front of him. He had taken but a sip before he remembered that drinking was not going to ease his mind, but the drink had been enough of an excuse not to go home. Home was not what it was supposed to be – it was empty, and full of memories. Filled with the kind of darkness he was unwilling to deal with that night.
Resting his chin in his upturned palm, he watched the faint light from above reflect in the liquid, trembling ever so slightly to the beat of the music. He ran the tip of his finger absently along the rim of the glass, exhaling a long, slow breath.
The truth was, he had grown confused, and unsure what to do about it.
The decision to leave Tsuzuki and let them both move on had been a tough one, but it didn't take Tatsumi's logical and practical mind to see why it was his only choice. So many years, and he would still beat himself up over it, time and again. Tsuzuki had not possessed the strength of his own to see the good in it, at that time; and even though he had since assured Tatsumi that it had been alright a hundred and one times – each month – it could have hardly stopped the guilt.
Countering his logic's voice, the whisper of something in his heart told him that he had left someone he cared for deeply in the hour of his need. Something Tatsumi himself had always believed to be a truly terrible thing to do.
He hadn't shut his heart then, as most of his colleagues had thought him to have done. He had but taken all the fragile pieces that were left as it shattered, and carefully put them together, concealing them deep within, behind a mask of a polite smile and long hours of thorough work well into each night.
It took a while, but in the end his world was again going in the right direction, with occasional spins and turns that were not nearly dramatic enough to shake him out of control. Tatsumi had not been quite sure that the façade had been convincing, until that night when Tsuzuki had stopped by his office on his way out. Then, in a conversation that seemed strangely brief, he had told Tatsumi that he was glad he had managed to put things in order again, that he had moved on.
His ex-partner had left him sitting at his desk, feeling empty, shaking his head at the ironic perfection of the illusion he had surrounded himself with. From then on he knew; it was good, and so it had to be.
And then, Tatsumi learned that things were not meant to stay in perfect order forever.
There came a man, intriguing from head to toe – a bouncing ball of energy and joy who never spoke of the reasons he had died, nor of why he had lingered, taking on the gruesome job of the Shinigami; a man who seemed happy to a fault. From the moment he poked his head through Tatsumi's door on his day one in the Shokan Division and cheerfully introduced himself as Watari Yutaka, the Secretary knew the tables had been just about to turn.
At first, he had envied the golden-haired scientist. He had watched the man chatter with the staff, talk to himself while he was completely and utterly engaged in his experiments, gesticulating wildly as he laid out his new theories in front of his tiny pet owl, and thought nobody else was looking. Yes, Tatsumi had envied him that, - the carefree attitude, the light in his amber eyes as he stumbled upon solutions to his scientific struggles; the lightness in his step and the brightness of his laughter when it rang through the corridors. But Tatsumi's inherently reserved demeanor would not have allowed him to mirror the younger Shinigami in any of his ways.
And only sometimes, Seiichirou wondered.
He wondered how it would feel to lose himself in work not to escape, but for pleasure, just like Watari did. He wondered how it would feel to achieve something that in the end brought him pride, not guilt or doubt – or both. On those rare, strange nights like this one, he imagined himself strolling down the corridor of his division, whistling gently, greeting his co-workers with a radiant smile, and receiving the same in return. He thought of all the moments when he could have been happy but wasn't, just because his carefully guarded self would not allow him anything beyond politeness, or banter.
And then, he remembered that strange day at the Kurosaki house in Kamakura, way back when. He had found Watari different, changed. Time had passed, and yet Tatsumi still found himself thinking back to that case; something very much like fear gnawing at his mind. At first, he had thought the scientist was not himself. Watari had denied, brushed away his worry with that cheerful mask, but his alarms had already been triggered.
That night, Tatsumi hadn't slept. He had watched Watari type away on his laptop well into the night with not so much as a twitch of a muscle or his long blond hair, and he began to wonder which side of Watari's was the man's true face.
For all the trouble and silliness he appeared to be, Watari was a treasure in his own right; even if Tatsumi chided himself for thinking of the man that way. There was more to the scientist than met the eye, and every time they had worked together made it clear to Tatsumi that his partner guarded his secrets with even greater care than Tatsumi himself.
As a self-appointed task, he had been watching Watari since that day, to his surprise finding out that there was a peculiar pattern to his behavior. Soon he found himself riddled with curiosity mingled with genuine concern, and a strange, tenuous kind of fear. Once he came to care about someone's well-being, he could hardly stop.
With a soundless sigh, Tatsumi tore his sight away from the glass in front of him and looked around. The bar had emptied while he had been lost in his thoughts, the staff had begun going about the usual routine of getting the place tidied up and closed. Reluctantly, he looked at his wristwatch. No wonder, he thought to himself. Mid-week past midnight, most people in their right minds were sound asleep in their homes, next to their loved ones, in warm beds and dreaming pleasant dreams.
Sometimes, Tatsumi wondered how it felt to have such dreams.
But now, he wondered if Tsuzuki was comfortable in Hisoka's arms. It sent shivers down his spine, leaving him lightheaded and denying the thought its right to surface on sight.
He knew all too well that letting his mind wander into that gray area of thoughts would only make him miserable. Focused on the music, still seeping from the sound set at the bar, Tatsumi let himself slip into the comfort it promised. But then, he felt his heart ache as the words sank in and fell on a vulnerable ground in his mind.
Now it seems to me some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get
Desperado
Tatsumi shrugged lightly, giving his head a firm shake. At any other night, he would have smirked half-heartedly at the irony seeping from such words. Fine things? Exactly what could be considered a fine thing in the existence of a Shinigami? Tsuzuki would have fit into that category, but Tatsumi had cut that thread off a long time ago.
And freedom, oh freedom that's just some people talking
Your prison is walking through this world all alone.
Alone.
That was how Tatsumi felt, during his life and his afterlife alike. He had convinced himself, once, that it was for the better. He had come to believe that being alone was the cure that would mend his heart, for it meant that he stood little chance to hurt someone dear to him again. He had made that mistake with Tsuzuki; he had let his guard down, and the man had snuck quietly into his life, turning it upside down and inside out and before Tatsumi knew, he and his lover were both wallowing in self-pity and mutually induced guilt.
He had sworn to himself, the night after that dreadful day when he had left, that he would never again let himself make such a mistake. And so freedom, in his mind, was depriving himself of intimacy that eventually let the skeletons out of his closet, to haunt whoever was reckless enough to come near him.
Rising to his feet, he looked at his glass with a faint hint of regret, but left it to sit there, untouched.
--
Leaving his spirit form in favor of the human body, Tatsumi landed with grace under Meifu's sakura trees. Another peaceful night, there at home – he had taught himself to think of the place that way. If he belonged anywhere after his death, it was only there.
He smiled as he spotted the only lights still on in the entire building. Watari's lab was still open, the scientist no doubt still in it, lost in his work and utterly oblivious to the passing of time. His smile widened just a bit as Tatsumi remembered the many times he had stood there, watching those windows with amused eyes.
More often than not, he would spot the blond man's figure by the window. Convinced he was alone, Watari would pace back and forth, visibly talking to himself – or to 003, which was nothing short of unusual – and gesticulating wildly as he was known to do. The little owl would finally give up on him and demand that he let her out, so the window would open, and Tatsumi would cloak himself in his shadows. He never fancied being noticed; not when he knew it would cost him a good chunk of his pride, come the next day, lunch break time.
He had been staring into Watari's windows, all the while quite unconscious of it as he had wandered into the realm of his thoughts, when the lights went out and called him back into focus. Not bothering to ponder why that left him slightly disappointed, Tatsumi sighed and turned to leave.
Then the door opened, and Watari's slender form eased into the night. Tatsumi froze.
Motionless, he summoned the shadows and stood, watching the man with a small smile painted on his lips. The scientist walked leisurely, in his direction no less; though he couldn't have seen him, Tatsumi retreated a bit further into his shadowed shield, content with remaining unseen.
Few more steps took Watari halfway to Tatsumi's spot. There he stopped, the abrupt motion all unlike his usual grace of step. The Shadow Master frowned as he saw the man come down to a squat and touch his temples with his hands. Torn between a sudden urge to check on his friend and the respect for the other's privacy, he lingered in his place, battling hesitant thoughts.
It seemed like forever before Watari rose to his feet, and though for a second there his steps appeared unsteady, Tatsumi had relaxed.
Not quite.
His mind flashed a warning that wouldn't go away; what he had just witnessed reminded him of that day in Kamakura, when he had found Watari changed, his actions unthinkable even according to his own unique standards.
Uncertainty had grown rather unbearable; Tatsumi resolved to watch the scientist for a little longer. His thoughts sprung questions, as they had many times before since the Kurosaki case, yet Tatsumi wasn't sure it was alright to ask.
--
Used to Meifu's moderate climate as he was, Watari still sometimes marveled at the peaceful stillness of its night air. It seemed as though the world around him would come to a standstill just for him, letting him take in the wonder of the ever-blooming trees against the darkened sky. The graceful descent of the sakura petals was the only sign reminding him that he had not wandered off to a serene dream, but this was his reality, now.
That reality had been harsh on him from day one; by his own choice, no less. He had often wondered how many of his early choices had been wrong. Several of them had since backfired on him in one of many painful ways. He would tell himself it didn't matter; What's past is past, as he liked to say.
Only if that were true, then why did the memories insist on surfacing now? Another surge of sharp pain brought him down to the ground. Forcing his body to keep steady, he focused on his breathing until the awful sensations faded and he could stand again.
Almost thirty years had passed since the day he died, and reality had somewhat become his friend. It consisted of the job of the guardian of death, his lab, his apartment that he rarely got to sleep in, his colleagues, and... Tatsumi. Seiichirou.
Watari had once wondered what Meifu would be like without Tatsumi. He had not enjoyed that thought at all.
Wrapping his arms around himself against the nonexistent wind, the Shinigami took in a long, deep breath. The memory of the dream still lurked in the corners of his mind, refusing to let itself be chased away. Patient still, Watari knew it would take time, but eventually he'd grow calm again as the night drew towards its end.
Under the shelter of the sakura trees, the shadows stirred, and Watari realized he was not alone.
Tatsumi was silent and still, hardly visible inside his dusky shield. It seemed almost as though he belonged to the surrounding landscape; that, no less, must have been his intention. He was a part of it; an integral part, Watari mused with a faint smile, just as was he.
He knew he should just walk away. Something told him it would do no good to linger, but so much more of him wished to stay. The eerily still air and Tatsumi's very presence seemed to be an invitation to act.
As he took a few steps towards the other man, Watari knew for sure that he had been watched; for how long, he could not tell. He held on to the hope it had not been long enough for Tatsumi to have seen his moment of weakness.
Either way, it was now too late.
He stopped at a small distance, greeting the man with a brilliant smile and a small nod of his head.
And then, the unthinkable happened. Out of the darkness, the Shadow Master's voice shot through the air. A question, no less.
"Truth or dare?"
Watari raised an eyebrow, replaying the words in his mind to make sure he'd heard them right. Coming from Tatsumi, that was the kind of question that prompted him to doubt the other's sanity. Yet, his enquiring mind claimed the better of him. Pushed straight into the arms of genuine curiosity as to where that would take them, Watari took the plunge.
"Truth," he said in a light voice. The corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile.
"Why did you come here?"
Surprised, Watari blinked. He had not been expecting silly questions, of the sort Tsuzuki would have asked, had he been the one to entertain such a game. But, that… it was unlike Tatsumi to probe with him the ground that, by an unspoken rule, was forbidden.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he shot back reflexively, to buy himself some time. Trying to cover the signs of confusion that had become apparent in his countenance failed somewhat miserably. The shadows parted, and Watari gave himself a mental kick the second he saw their master shake his head in a dismissive manner.
"Never mind," Tatsumi backpedaled somewhat weakly. "This question has never been asked."
Shaking off the residue of numbness and surprise, Watari watched the man turn and start back towards the building. It took him a second to get a grip on himself and realize what it was Tatsumi had really just tried to do.
Eyes glued to the other's back, watching him leave far slower than he would have expected such a retreat to have been, Watari swallowed down the uneasiness that rode him.
"Would you take the gender-changing potion as an answer?"
Tatsumi stopped, but he hadn't turned, and Watari knew he wasn't wriggling his way out that easily, if he wanted the other man to stay.
Which he did. Oh, Hell, he did.
"When I was little, I dreamed of changing the world." Even though Tatsumi wasn't looking, Watari drew a circle around himself with his hand as he spoke, then let out a quiet laugh. "You know, the big deal. Some major, Earth-shattering discovery that would make me remembered."
The Shadow Master turned, regarding Watari with a slightly cautious look in his squinted eyes.
And he knew all too well that there was irony underneath his own words. Discovery; perhaps it was not that. Earth-shattering - definitely. He recoiled inwardly at Tatsumi's silence, but he refused to let himself be discouraged. "The reason I went into science, you see. I figured, if I did that, someone would remember me years down the road, right? Selfish but not," he added in a somewhat quieter tone.
The look on Tatsumi's face startled him, and Watari almost regretted the small confession he had just made. He watched the other man take a few sure but slow steps back towards him, suddenly feeling rather small, himself.
"Why would someone like you fear being forgotten?" the half-doubt underlining Tatsumi's voice made it clear to Watari that he realized there had to be more to the story than Watari had told. But to his relief, the Kagetsukai chose not to pursue that thread.
Yet, the question was dead-on, and it lodged itself in Watari's mind, demanding an answer there and then, not just for the sake of giving it to Tatsumi, but also to himself. That just happened to be the gray area Watari never wandered to, if he could help it. He didn't like the term 'coincidence' that sprung to his thoughts; such a question, now, when those dreams...
Well, he couldn't go back now – he could have chosen dare, but it was far too late.
"I had to top everyone to be noticed, Tatsumi. No achievements equaled no existence; the way I saw it, and mind you it was not unfounded... I was as good as dead if I did nothing of significance." He shrugged, looked away. This was not going where he thought a conversation with Tatsumi would have gone.
A nearly overwhelming sense of expectation saturated the silence that followed, tainted with urgency to be open, just this once, just that night. Watari had been gambling since day one, juggling chances for a living – why not fall back on the old pattern yet again, and see if it could get him back on a safer track.
"I never got to love either, Tatsumi," he spoke at last, purposefully avoiding the other man's gaze. "I never got to feel it, the chemistry, the butterflies in your stomach, the passion, the drive..." he paused as he noticed, not without a hint of dismay, that he got carried away. Strange feeling, that. Reluctantly, he turned to look at Tatsumi, expecting well-covered embarrassment, but finding a small, wistful smile on the other's face.
There and then, Watari regretted not having Hisoka's mind-reading ability. Tatsumi's expression, while it bore some hints of warmth, was otherwise unreadable. He felt a wave of heat settle in his face, flushing his cheeks, and he gave a silent thank-you to the surrounding darkness for concealing his sudden discomfort.
Tatsumi adjusted his glasses, leaving his hand to linger in front of his face a little longer than necessary. Then he cleared his throat, and his steady gaze returned to Watari's face.
"Thank you," he said, schooling his voice into a neutral tone, "for answering my question."
Struck by a sudden, inexplicable fear that the man would just turn and leave, Watari let go of his pretended relaxed stance and shifted abruptly, taking a step towards Tatsumi.
"Why?" he asked, and his voice trembling, though perhaps only in his own ears. "Why did you want to know? You, the master of business-like approach. Don't you believe in separation of work and life... afterlife..." his voice trailed off, and Watari waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, shaking his head. A fall of golden hair shimmered in the faint light of the moon above them.
If Tatsumi felt uncomfortable with the scientist's sudden change of fronts, he did not let it show. "You didn't have to answer, Watari-san," he replied gently as a few more light steps took him closer still, within reach. Almost to himself, he added, "But you did. I'm glad."
In that instant, Watari became aware of the haunted look on his own face, his quickened breath, the minute trembling of his hands. The sensations brought back to the surface by having Tatsumi this close, with those endlessly blue eyes fixed upon him, clashed with the surfeit regret and long-suppressed need in a fierce fight on the battleground of his mind. His arms ached to be thrown around the other's neck, his skin itched for contact, his lips burned at the mere thought of touch, and Watari bit down on his lower lip, hard, to restrain himself while there was still time.
"Why?" he repeated slowly, staring down at the ground beneath his feet. His hair concealed his face, cascading down his arms and chest. "Why did you want to know?" His voice was all but a whisper.
The air stirred, the shadows twitched, and Tatsumi's hand wandered, ever so slowly, to Watari's face. He gathered the loose strands between his fingers and brushed them off to the side. "Because," he spoke in a small voice that matched Watari's whisper, "I wanted to see the real you." A gentle finger ran down his cheek, and Watari squeezed his eyes shut almost against his will, still biting his lips. "The one behind the mask."
The self-battle was a lost cause, he knew without thinking. Proximity was enough; physical contact was too much. In the end, that was what he had hoped for; yet now that the moment came, in all its glory, and Tatsumi noticed him as he was, Watari knew he had been deluding himself all that time. He braced himself against the distraction Tatsumi's fingers caused as they lingered on his face, searched his mind in a desperate attempt to find some easy joke that would release the tension.
"Yutaka."
The sound of his name shattered whatever focus Watari had managed to attain. Gentle, vibrant, and oh so sweet... that voice. He opened his eyes, and met Tatsumi's, the other man's face slightly blurred, the contours of the figure in front of him dissolved among the shadows. Don't, his mind wailed, you don't know what you're doing.
"Seiichirou..." he started, but his voice trailed off and Watari turned, breaking the contact.
He had expected Tatsumi to leave, without a word. He had expected to be left alone, and the next day, he expected the Shadow Master to act like nothing had happened. This was business, a job, and Tatsumi was as professional as he needed to be. Watari had long since learned to leave all expectations of that kind behind him, and focus on matters that were less confusing, less painful.
Tatsumi had not so much as flinched. He drew a steady, barely audible breath, and Watari knew he had miscalculated.
"Look at me, Yutaka."
At last his gaze came to rest upon Tatsumi's face; no more indifferent, no longer politely cool, but warm and... affectionate? Something born from deep, deep sorrow danced in Tatsumi's blue eyes. Something Watari himself had known so well. It drew him in, left him holding his breath in expectation and hope.
No, Yutaka. No. Illusions had shattered, and the remnants of reason forced Watari's mask back on.
"Come now, it's nothing," he said, his voice as cheerful as he could make it. "Don't you get to see the real me every day, at work, Tatsumi? I would think it's the real me, with my spectacular failures and even more spectacular achievements and the constant fund-begging that you dislike with such passion."
He listened to himself speak those words that were not true, knowing he would regret them as soon as the echo of his own lie-riddled voice ceased to resound in his mind, but he couldn't help it.
Tatsumi was not taken with it. "Help me here; what does it take to make you serious, again?"
Laugh, and walk away. He was tired. Weary of being himself. Just go, then. Go.
With a thoughtful expression that froze his beautiful features, Watari clasped his hands together, soundlessly, as his eyes slowly regarded the thick shadows around them. "On a night like this, well, let me think a second here. I guess it would take a double coffee. Or a knock in the head." He could have sworn he had caught a glimpse of Tatsumi rolling his eyes, and smirked a little.
"Well, then," the Shadow Master turned and pointed his hand towards the building behind them. "I'm not sure if a double coffee wouldn't make you slip into one of those insane moods of yours, but since I don't feel particularly violent tonight... coffee it is, then."
A slightly sheepish look crossed Watari's face. "Appreciate the offer, Tatsumi. But," he said, stretching out his arms and stifling a somewhat fake yawn to reinforce his point, "I think I'd best be off. It's late, I'm tired, and of course I wouldn't want to keep you awake, either." A waterfall of words, quick enough to prevent an answer, unwavering in their tone, and so, so untrue.
"I'll drop by your office tomorrow, and we'll have one – no, two even – promise!" And one of those you love so much too, Seiichirou – my ongoing fund-begging fest.
He caught Tatsumi's startled look, his elegant dark eyebrows drawn together in a wordless 'why'. That strange hint of disappointment flickered in his sky-blue eyes, but retreat had no alternative that was safe enough. It had to be made while his resolve still held.
Watari turned and walked away, with a silent prayer in his haunted mind that Tatsumi wouldn't call him, that he wouldn't move till he was gone, or his strong will and choices would go straight to Hell.
Instead, it took him back to his seldom-used apartment, as Watari had teleported himself home. It sent him down to the unforgiving floor, shedding silver tears that rolled quietly down his pale cheeks. He couldn't let that happen. Couldn't let himself stray onto that path, nor drag Tatsumi down along with him. No, he thought. Just no.
Eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around himself in a shielding hug, he rocked himself into oblivion to the rhythm of his partner's words.
"Why did you come here?"
--
Tatsumi's arms dropped loosely to his sides. A strange, somewhat unexpected numbness washed over him as he watched Watari turn his back on him and disappear into the night. He stood there, staring at the spot where the scientist had been just a while ago, willing his mind to cleanse of all thoughts, to regain a steady grip on himself.
He wasn't sure he knew why such sudden change in Watari had affected him so; he wasn't sure he wanted to know. And yet, he found himself just standing there, chilled to the bone, feeling somewhat... disappointed? Again.
With himself, above all else.
Shivering, Tatsumi made his way back to the Ministry building. Empty at night, it almost seemed to have been abandoned. More often than not he enjoyed being alone in there; the quiet of the night brought him much appreciated peace, and made his focus on whatever task he had committed himself to so much easier. Now, though, he cast a brief glance at the windows of Watari's lab as he passed, and seeing no light that was usually there even at such ungodly hours made him feel too lonely.
The thoughts of going home that night successfully chased away, Tatsumi made his way to the break room almost on autopilot, then just as routinely he fixed himself a cup of coffee, and eased onto one of the chairs. Twirling the hot cup absently back and forth, he gave in to his mind's urge to go back to the events of the past hour.
Had he made a mistake, asking Watari a question as personal as that? Something in him had said that he shouldn't have, that it was a violation of the unspoken rules that governed the things between the Shinigami and kept their most personal dilemmas in safe guard. Tatsumi felt a familiar sting of guilt at the bottom of his chest, pressing onto his thoughts as he recalled Watari's words.
The way he would turn everything into a joke; and then, the way that cheerful exterior of his fell apart at his touch – what possessed you to do that, again? – the haunted look in the amber eyes... It spoke volumes, and slowly, Tatsumi came to realize that it had not been just this once, that he had seen it before. Only so far, the unspoken plea of those golden eyes had fallen on deaf ears. Dangerous kind of escape, that. Tatsumi had grown to appreciate oblivion to things personal where his co-workers were concerned just a tad too much.
It was a pattern he had succumbed to a long time ago. He would go on for years, denying himself the right to feel. Then, the desperate little voice of pure humanity at the back of his mind would persuade him to listen to his feelings, for once, to give himself another chance. He would act, without sufficient care; his emotionally inept yet hunger-driven self would leap on whoever looked like they could share his personal darkness. Just to drag them down to share his own personal hell.
None of it was Watari's fault, nor was it his business. It was not what Watari deserved. He had no right to pry into the man's life, his choices, and the reasons behind them. They were his, and his alone.
Which was precisely what he had just shamed himself with, again.
Burying his face in his hands, Tatsumi left himself to wallow in guilt he had dove into; head-first, at that. What was I aiming for anyway? His thoughts inquired without mercy time and again, setting the roller-coaster into motion at a sanity-threatening speed.
Tatsumi straightened himself, pushing his coffee away with too sharp a move. The cup swayed, nearly spilling the content onto the table, but he caught it with a hand that trembled so slightly nobody would notice.
On the inside, Tatsumi was shaking.
He would go to Watari, now, while he was still driven enough not to run away. He would offer the most sincere apology he could spare, with no expectations to be forgiven. He would not explain himself; a simple 'I'm sorry' would have to do.
Somehow, it would be like before, again. As it had always been. Everything would go back to normal. Tonight, if possible.
--
Materializing in front of Watari's door, Tatsumi took a deep breath to regain his composure and school his face into his usual calm look. He straightened his tie, adjusted his glasses, shook the nonexistent dust off the lapels of his suit jacket, and knocked on the door.
Answered by silence alone, he swallowed down the uneasiness and worry. Perhaps coming here was another mistake. Perhaps Watari never came here at all. Tatsumi could see right through him when the scientist had excused himself from his company with the need of sleep. The man had never been more transparent than in that moment.
Frightening, that.
A small voice in his head scorned him for making excuses of his own. He knocked again.
A whole minute later, both disappointed and relieved, Tatsumi released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Eerily silent while he stood and his anticipation had grown, the corridor of the apartment building rang up with the echo of his steps when Tatsumi sighed and turned to leave.
A quiet click of a released lock startled him, and he froze in half-step.
"Tatsumi?"
"Watari-san." Tatsumi began to turn, wearing his best neutral expression, though he had yet to gather enough courage to look the man in the eye. "I came to apologize. It was un--" He broke off as his gaze at last connected with Watari's face.
The man he had known for the past twenty five years as a bright, radiant ball of joy, full of life even after his death, was less than a shadow of himself. His long, blond hair was a horrendous mess of wet strands hanging limply around his face and dry, knotted ones spilling around his arms. Watari himself was leaning in doorway, supporting himself with both hands against the wooden frame. His eyes, when Tatsumi met them, were those of a broken doll - half-open, their light somehow chased away by whatever demons had caught up with him that night.
Shaking off the initial shock at the almost unrecognizable picture before his own wide open eyes, Tatsumi abandoned the idea of explaining the reasons he had come so late.
"Watari," he breathed, rushing to his younger colleague's side. "Are you alright?" Stupid question, his inner voice scorned him, You're not blind, are you now, Seiichirou? "What happened--" his voice trailed off the instant he looked past Watari's shadow-like form towards the apartment behind him.
In the twilight inside, he could see glass shattered to pieces and scattered on the floor. Shreds of cloth mingled with books and Enma himself knew what else, lay around as far as he could see. Tatsumi's eyes darted back and forth between the havoc inside and the owner of the house, desperately trying to understand the meaning of what he was looking at.
Watari stood still, his head down and hidden behind a tangled curtain of hair. Closer now, Tatsumi noticed that the scientist himself had his clothes torn here and there, with occasional smudges of dark red staining his white shirt.
Unsure what to do, Tatsumi felt a small wave of nausea settle in his stomach. A sudden fear and his own helplessness were now approaching the surface, fast. He braced himself against that fear.
"Are you hurt?"
The question came out colder than Tatsumi had intended. He made an almost automatic adjustment to the tone of his voice. "Yutaka?"
Watari shook his head 'no'.
At least a hundred questions crowded in his mind, but Tatsumi knew it would be all but the worst time to ask them. He took Watari gently by the shoulders, hesitating briefly as he did so. He met no resistance; Watari's feeble form, though not much smaller than his own, felt nearly lifeless. Tatsumi let his instincts take precedence over his well-learned reserve, discarding fear and questions both at one go as he drew that fragile body closer to himself.
He could swear he sensed the minute trembling of muscle against his chest, but Watari made neither sound nor move, letting himself be shielded in Tatsumi's hold.
From what? Tatsumi's mind whispered, though he restrained the words; it was better not to say them aloud. What happened here?
Long minutes passed before Tatsumi not so much heard as felt a sigh escape the younger man.
"Tatsumi," Watari said quietly against the skin of his neck. "You should go."
The Shadow Master frowned, but he did not move.
"It's okay. You can go. You shouldn't... have come here in the first place."
Tatsumi drew back and looked straight into Watari's eyes. The strange, haunted darkness in them gave his fear a brand new breath of life.
"No."
Perhaps he understood nothing of what had happened there. Perhaps he would never find out, and maybe he had not so much as the right to ask. But he did understand, while he held Watari in his arms, that he had the right to care.
"I'm not going anywhere. You can kick me out and I'll keep coming back. It's your choice. I don't know if you'll ever tell me what caused this, what... happened tonight, but it's irrelevant right now." He paused. Watari's eyes seemed to glimmer in the faint light, the look on his face indescribable but not at all hostile.
"Please," Tatsumi said in a calm, quiet voice. "Let's go inside. I..."
No more hesitation.
"I want to help."
Watari's only protest was a shake he gave his head, but Tatsumi ignored it. Insisting, ever so gently, with a light squeeze of his fingers around Watari's arm, he led the man inside and closed the door behind them.
He had pondered turning on the light, but as he took a quick inventory of the place, it appeared that the lamp had shared the same fate as the other items in Watari's living room. Tatsumi blessed his ability to see in the dark almost as well as in daylight. Without a word, he made his way to the couch.
Several scattered pieces of Watari's clothing lay around there as well; Tatsumi swept all of it down to the floor. The chaos could be taken care of in the morning.
He winced as a piece of broken glass cut into his hand, but he didn't make a sound. Looking around, he spotted a towel on the floor next to him and picked it up. Before reassigning himself to the task of making the couch usable, he wrapped the towel around his hand. It was safer that way to sweep away whatever remnants of glass were still left on the cushions.
That done, he rose and looked behind. Watari was standing by the door, just as Tatsumi had left him, still in the same pose that screamed resignation, staring at the floor.
No, Watari. The you I know would not give up. Not like this.
Tatsumi suppressed a sigh. Careful not to startle that mess of a man, he walked over to him and took him by the arm.
"Come. You look like you need to sit down."
Watari said nothing, but obeyed. He let Tatsumi lead him to the couch and sat down, his body still stiff as if in shock, and the scientist fixed his blank stare at something far ahead of him.
Tatsumi took a look around once more, undecided what to do. He knew he wouldn't leave. He knew he wouldn't ask. He wasn't sure if Watari was even aware of his presence in his house. He seemed oblivious to everything around him, now; his responses as scarce as they could get.
"Watari," he said, kneeling in front of the man. "I'm going to go to the kitchen now, and make us some tea."
The blonde gave a small nod, and Tatsumi relaxed a little, relieved that his partner seemed to be aware of him, after all.
He rose and found his way to the small kitchen on the other side of the apartment. The light there seemed to have survived. Tatsumi switched it on.
The kitchen looked like a lesser hurricane had passed right through it, but it was still quite some display of mess. Tatsumi searched the cupboards for a cup or a glass, but hardly anything that could have been broken was still in one piece, or in there at all. He fished out one small mug from the pile of glass on the floor, the only one left intact that he managed to find.
A few minutes later, he made his way back to the living room. Watari still appeared as lifeless as before, his eyes still set on... something; unseeing, looking past Tatsumi as though he were a ghost.
The Shadow Master picked up a small table from its upside down position in the corner of the room and set it in front of the coach. The steaming mug of tea left on the table top, Tatsumi adjusted his glasses, more out of habit than necessity, and carefully settled himself next to Watari.
He found himself too afraid to speak. His heart ached to find words of comfort, anything he could say to pull Watari out of his reverie, but he feared he would only make things worse. He settled for silence. It was better to share that than nothing at all, and Yutaka... looked like what he needed was time, to pull himself together back into one piece.
"Ambition."
Watari's barely audible whisper broke the eerie silence. Tatsumi looked at him, puzzled.
"It leads straight to madness."
Tatsumi drew a deep breath. "You are not mad."
"No?" For the first time since they came in, Watari moved to look at the Shadow Master's face. "Look around you, Tatsumi. Doesn't this look like something only a madman would do?"
Watari's voice was flat, devoid of emotion, its usual brilliance absent from its tone. Slowly shaking his head in protest to those words, Tatsumi managed a simple, "No."
The scientist let out a humorless laugh. "Then what does it look like, to you?"
"It looks like a side effect of holding too much pain on too short a leash, for a very long time." Tatsumi felt a sting of determination at the back of his mind. "And you look like someone who had lost it, for a moment there, while trying to be everything for everyone but not for himself."
So many years, Tatsumi's inner voice dripped sadness as he thought to himself, and I never noticed. Who are you, Watari Yutaka? Not a word, never, to anyone. Always a smile for everyone around you. Help and advice, that silliness and determination, all in one, you were so strong... Tatsumi's flood of thoughts broke off as he looked at Watari's silent form once more. No. You only seemed that way. Nobody is without weakness. Not even you.
Then and there, a realization dawned upon him when he let himself acknowledge what he felt. He might have been lonely, but he was not alone in that. One could be so easily lost among the crowd, friends or otherwise.
Almost involuntarily, Tatsumi's hand found its way to Watari's shoulder and rested there, his gentle fingers tracing a circled path.
"You don't have to say anything. I don't think I could say anything to make it better, now. For that, I'm sorry. And... for earlier, too. But can I... at least... hold you?"
Watari looked at him, silent, as if considering. "Please."
When he leaned into Tatsumi's open arms and rested his head on the offered shoulder, perhaps not to cry but at least to find support, the Shadow Master's eyes went soft. He didn't feel cold, like before. No longer a lifeless doll, broken by that deeply buried pain. Whatever it was, Tatsumi knew, he would be there. Right there; for Watari, and with him.
He leaned back, taking the man with him to rest against the cushions. Rocking gently left to right, he stroked the long strands of hair until Watari's body relaxed in his arms and his breath grew steady, calmed by sleep.
The tea, forgotten on the table in front of them, had gone cold long before Tatsumi closed his eyes, his hands still buried in his partner's hair.
"Goodnight, Yutaka," he whispered with a small smile, as the other stirred and rested his palm against Tatsumi's cheek.
Perhaps letting someone turn his world upside down was not such a bad idea, after all.
Desperado,
Why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be raining, but there's a rainbow above you
You'd better let somebody love you
Before it's too late
Author's Notes:
It must have really left you wondering just what actually happened there, hm:) If you made it this far, you might like to know that there's a full fledged sequel story to this being written. Go read Against the Wind for more. :)