I'm not entirely sure what triggered this fic. Counter measure to the fluff I've recently written, probably. As part III of the Gravity series, this is Tatari as an established relationship. No plot ties to other fics besides that, though - they are a collection of scenes more than anything else, anyway. There aren't that many Dark!Watari fics out there - here's one for you.

The music is Vangelis : 12 O'clock. Yes, the title is taken from the song.

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Twelve O'clock
by Rhea Logan

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There are nights when Watari wakes because it's too quiet. It must be something about the silence that brings the long suppressed unease up to the surface again; to that part of his mind which is awake even when he sleeps.

His thoughts are clear long before his body agrees to let him open his eyes. They rush through his head; a welcome noise to break that silence that stirred him awake. Sometimes he shudders, on the edge between reality and dream, and the bed gives a quiet creak. Then his eyes snap open and he remembers; this is the place he calls home, and the breathy sigh to his left comes from Seiichirou, still embraced by the arms of sleep.

Then he looks around, but the room is a blur of shadow and occasional ribbons of light spilling from the two windows in this quiet place. Not that it matters. His eyes soon follow the curves under the soft blanket, up until his partner's face is all that he can see. He no longer wonders at how Tatsumi's face is always hidden in shadow at night – but only in half. There is always light, however faint, on the other side.

He can't help but notice how it's always the other side – never where he is. His mind tells him it's only because, dead as he is, light doesn't pass through him, and it is his shadow that spills over Tatsumi's face. But something he can't place argues otherwise. Perhaps it is darkness deeper than the shadow that escaped the nets and creeps in, slowly, to lay its lethal claim on the unaware man. And so each night as he wakes, he wonders if there will be time when he can't see Tatsumi at all beneath the shady, ghostly veil.

Minutes roll past at an unbearably slow pace as he lies back on the bed and crosses his hands above his face. He lets his eyes slide shut and takes a few slow breaths. The back of one hand resting on his forehead feels cool against his skin; not the death-like touch he remembers, but a soothing one. There is a stubborn burning sensation behind his eyelids that reminds him dawn will come too soon and he will not have slept enough again, but he can't bring himself to care. It's too quiet again, and the thoughts in his mind grow silent as well.

It's never long before sleep abandons him completely; Watari sits up with a sigh and rubs at his eyes and face. He brushes the heavy, tangled strands of golden hair away. Sometimes he notices how his hands are always cold at night, even when it's with Tatsumi that he shares his bed. He can feel that familiar warmth just next to him but somehow, as he sits there and he begins to hear the beating of his own heart, he knows he won't dare reach for it himself. Tatsumi stirs in his sleep but he never turns; he always takes up exactly as much space as he needs and never an inch more. That leaves Watari with most of the bed for himself, and a feeling that it could very well be empty, for all the cool sheets between them.

Then he scorns himself for such thoughts; it's wrong, and he knows that, even when his inner voice continues to chime on about loneliness he knows he shouldn't feel.

He likes to think that, as he watches his lover sleep, he somehow protects him from the invisible harm that scars his fragile soul. At night, Tatsumi's breath is slow, his face unguarded and calm. But it lasts only so long before tension claims his features and draws him to clench his fingers around the sheets. Watari can't begin to guess the dreams that haunt him, but he knows that once the morning light chases them away, he will not ask. He never does. For both of them, it's better that way. But as a small bead of a tear forms in the corner of Tatsumi's one tightly closed eye, he squeezes his own eyes shut against a sudden whirl of thoughts in his mind.

Watari sees a lot more than most people think. Behind those wire-rimmed glasses there's a pair of eyes nothing can escape. And yet he has never seen Tatsumi cry while he's awake. Not even when the subtle nuances in the Shadow Master's tone tell him he's about to break. Not in all the years he has watched him, from distance and now that they are close. He is there, for Tatsumi and with him, and in times when he knows the dams are about to break, he is the one who understands. The only one who hears that silent, voiceless cry. But Tatsumi stands his guard, in front of him not much less than in front of everybody else. Sometimes he thinks it should pain him, but he knows well it would be nothing but hypocrisy. He too never lets his guard down; it lets him stay strong. It's easier that way.

But in the darkness of the night everything is different. And so Tatsumi isn't Tatsumi; he is Seiichirou. His face no longer bears that polite smile that only sometimes reaches his sapphire eyes; it bears hints of pain - ever so faint, but there nonetheless.

And for a moment there Watari isn't Watari, as he reaches out his hand to wipe that tear away – he is Yutaka, and his unguarded heart absorbs Tatsumi's pain. He doesn't need to know; it is enough to feel. He doesn't need to see; he can almost hear that salty bead tracing a wet path down Tatsumi's cheek. But time resumes its flow as his hand comes to a halt, barely halfway there, and Yutaka is Watari again. He knows only too well; one of those nights will be the last, and he can do without the memory of Tatsumi's tears drying on his skin.

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August 25th 2005
more to come...