If you read Desperado, you will find a scene from there in this chapter, only written from Watari's point of view, this time. That's where we get to the point where real new things begin :D Enjoy.
Anukaliate: Thanks for the review :D
Lokemele: Heheh, now that's some bribe, there. Accepted. :P Here's the next part.
The music for this, if you care: Vas - Feast of Silence, Yami no Matsuei OST - Unmei no Kaikou, Dead Can Dance - Summoning of the Muse. Comment/IM/e-mail if you want it.
--
--
Against the Wind
Chapter Two
--
The echo of Enma's steps resonated in the otherwise silent room. It traveled deep through Watari's body, multiplying the pulsating pain that roamed through every fiber of his flesh. The god was gone, yet his presence lingered. He could feel it; he could almost smell it in the air. He felt the residue of Enma's deathlike touch all over his skin. The metallic taste of blood in his dry mouth made him sick.
Watari moaned as he moved, every twitch of muscle taking the pain to a new level. Eyes squeezed shut, he held his breath as he forced himself to roll onto his back. He let the air out in a now-unrestrained cry of pure agony.
It hurt.
The window trembled as he cried out, then everything fell silent again. Watari clenched his teeth, bracing himself against the pain that could not be helped till it passed on its own. Next thing he knew, streaks of hot, salty tears ran down his face and sank into his hair.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. He tried to push his mind past the pain and think, but it proved impossible; for now, at least. So he lay still, feeling the minute trembling of muscle against his will. Only one thing proved to be a match for the waves of pain it caused; Enma's words rang loud in his ears, that voice as clear as though the god were still beside him, cutting his soul open with his blade of bitter truth.
Yes, he had kept the events from thirty years ago to himself. Not just because he had been clearly ordered to do so; he would not have spoken of that if the order had been the opposite. Over time, things had changed; he was less than proud of having...
Watari's thoughts came to a sudden halt. Proud? He was disgusted. With himself. He had not so much as given himself away; he had sold his body, and with it his soul and his very self. That's what he had done. He found no other words.
Few things he had done afterwards had been a lie, but he felt like a traitor nonetheless. The memory of his lapse of self control back in Kamakura was fresh in his mind; it had to happen right in front of Tatsumi, didn't it? Of all people, it had to be him. And now, Tatsumi was coming, and he would...
His eyes snapped open as the thought sank in.
Tatsumi was coming?
Something told him Enma had not lied. He knew well that the god thrived on manipulation and spite and ambition that rivaled his own, but Watari knew he was not one to lie. He had not come to take him. He had only set the wheels of his intricate plan into motion to draw a full circle of trap around the one who had once escaped his nets.
The realization had him gasp, and a burning sensation tore his lungs apart. Watari rolled back on his side and coughed up blood. Figures.
He should be healing, as the Shinigami did. Yet as the minutes dragged at a mercilessly slow pace and he felt no change, dark clouds of worry cast over his mind.
Do you think he would wonder if he saw you like this?
Enma's voice mocked him in his thoughts. Tatsumi would not leave until he told him the truth; the one thing Watari knew he could never do.
He had made that his top priority, way back when – none of his friends would ever get involved. Well aware that Enma was not beyond using them as a method of persuasion, Watari had silently hoped it would not come to that. Now he knew he had miscalculated on more grounds than one. His backdoors to Mother had been compromised.
Had he known that before, he would never have dragged Tatsumi into it like that. It was just a game, to show the Shadow Master there were things at work he knew nothing of, that he should stand his guard. That his superiors were not beyond games and dirty tricks themselves.
He had been certain they had left no trace. He had done that countless times before, always the same way. He had felt too safe... That was what gave him advantage, once. Now, he thought bitterly to himself as he fixed his blank stare on the ceiling above, not really seeing and not caring either, they knew his every move. If he knew the mind behind this, which he did, all of it had been recorded and thoroughly analyzed to predict what he would do.
As it was, he knew his thinking patterns worked in Mother more than well; he had implemented that himself. The simulations he had run had shown that while the system still lacked the creativity to outsmart him, it did too good a job at coming close to predicting his moves. Once, he had been proud of it. Once.
It had backfired in more ways than he had ever imagined. Well, Yutaka, he thought to himself, probing the floor around him to check if his sore arms could support his weight, you're fucked.
He found his left arm still out of use; a sharp pain shot through it as he tried to rise. Uncertainty rode him hard; Watari began to realize he had no chance to make himself presentable before the Shadow Master came. At first, he thought not to let him in at all, should Enma's words prove true. He had abandoned that idea, albeit somewhat reluctantly, since he knew he could not show up at work like that the next day and look Tatsumi in the eye, pretending nothing had happened. The healing powers seemed to have been impaired. His body was a dead giveaway.
And it hurt just to think that whatever he did, he would have to lie again. Again and again... he had sunk too deep, gone too far to break that vicious circle of lies and deceit.
It must have been just what Enma wanted him to do. He could not deny he had done that before - made sacrifices for what he thought was the greater good. And so Tatsumi had unwittingly become the bait. Had the Mother told them he would sacrifice the man? Watari laughed bitterly and immediately curled up in pain, coughing up more blood. No such thing, Enma DaiOh, he thought.
It was a long shot, but he hoped the system still drew on what he had given it thirty years before, that he had not been any further used while he thought he was exploiting it himself. He was not that man they knew, not anymore. That Watari had died, as had his partner in crime.
He hissed as his body protested the movement, but it obeyed and slowly he managed to sit, breathing hard, even though it hurt. Small beads of sweat danced on his face. He touched his chest, almost falling flat again with nothing to support him. He felt the deep punctured marks on his skin; they were sticky where the blood still flowed and Watari frowned. At least ten minutes had passed; that sort of injury should have healed by now.
It hadn't. A deep frown creased his forehead and Watari pulled at the fabric, tearing it off the spots where the already dried blood glued it to his skin.
It didn't look good. At that rate, he knew, he would still look battered when Tatsumi came, and that could happen any moment now. Not trusting himself to walk, he put as much effort as he could spare into moving himself across the room to a small closet by the couch. He knew he had nothing to clean himself up with at hand; nothing but maybe a towel and a change of clothes, and even that was sparse. He kept most of his everyday belongings in his lab.
He had never cursed his habits as much as he did now.
Slowly he picked himself up and reached for the handle on the door, but he lost balance and landed flat on the hard floor. A moan of pain escaped him; he focused on breathing just to wait out the worst surge of pain. Carefully now, he grasped the edge of the couch to support himself and tried again. He felt lightheaded and weak, but managed to stay on his feet long enough to pull the door open.
Slumping down again, he noticed with a small sigh of relief that breathing had become easier and his heart was no longer pounding furiously against his broken ribs. He knew he should take it easy and just lie down to give his body a better chance to heal, but he had no time. He reached into the closet and pulled out whatever he could find. Those few pieces of clothing would have to do.
He cast a worried look at the door. Take your time, Tatsumi. If you've never been late, make it your first time, he thought and set to work.
Movement meant pain, but he didn't let it hinder what he had to do. It took forever to unbutton his shirt; his fingers were almost numb. His own hands felt cold on his chest when he touched it again; a welcome cold, for a change. Not without a hint of dismay he noticed that some spots were still bleeding; the needles had been thick and they had gone deep.
Just like that time...
Watari shuddered and gave his head a firm shake. Some experiment, that. He forced the bitter memory back to the farthest corner of his mind and focused on the task at hand.
He wiped himself clean as much as he could with the dry cloth, pressing it to the still bleeding spots to force them closed. He left it there, and reached for another piece from the pile on the floor. Rolling up his sleeves, he winced at the sight of the ugly bruised marks the wires had left to accompany the punctures. Those had ceased to bleed; Watari scrubbed some of the blood off his skin and rolled the sleeves back down. Tatsumi didn't need to see this; he would have enough to explain as it was.
Little as he moved, it left him exhausted and somewhat out of breath. He leaned back against the couch and let his eyes slide shut. He needed that moment of rest; being too hard on his abused body would do him no good.
He thought back to the chance meeting with Tatsumi earlier that night. It seemed obvious now why Enma was right. If he knew the Shadow Master at all – which he did, more that he'd admit – Tatsumi had found himself guilty of trespassing his private grounds. No doubt he would come, the good soul he was, to apologize.
Watari sighed. A part of him longed to see him, and perhaps to share, at last, the burdens he carried. He found it out of question and hushed that small voice, quenched the fire it lit. He couldn't bring himself to think about it now lest his resolve break.
Shifting his weight, he leaned heavily on the couch and pulled himself up. Had it not been for the closet within his reach he would have fallen, but he caught it, waiting out the wave of dizziness. Slowly, he took one step, then another, and released his hold. Staggering, he reached the wall. Using it as a support, he made his way to the bathroom.
It was dark, but he knew better than to look in the mirror again. He didn't need the sight he would find there, and time was ticking out. He left the water running for a while till it was icy-cold. It felt good on his skin; he welcomed the relief from the constant burning there that wouldn't go away. He splashed the water on himself, careless of soaking his clothes and hair as he washed his face. Some more blood came off as he ran a wet hand under his shirt, soothing his tender skin.
Trembling with the sheer effort it took to stand, Watari closed the tap and leaned against the wall. Things just had to get complicated again, didn't they? he thought, willing his anger away. It was not the time to rage over the irony of fate, his own carelessness, or the mix of both that had brought him here.
Slowly he walked back to the room, stumbling over whatever scattered items Enma had left in his wake. He didn't bother to look; the place was altogether a mess.
He flipped the light switch. Nothing. Looking up, he saw the lamp had shattered. An eyebrow shot up; he didn't remember when that had happened.
A quick look around revealed what he'd missed before – the coffee table lay upside down, his reading lamp was on the floor. Frowning, he reached down to lift it. He groaned as the flames of pain shot up again and he instinctively reached out his hands to keep himself from falling.
The crack of only just mended bones drew a loud hiss out of him, and Watari bit down on his lips, hard. Carefully, he eased himself onto the floor and turned on the light.
He sighed in resignation at the sight of the picture of chaos that was once his neatly kept living room. It must have been the force of Enma's power the god had unleashed on him that caught his belongings in a whirlwind that scattered them all around. Several framed pictures of his friends that once hung on the walls had shared the same fate. Half-expecting to see a broken window behind him, he looked back, but found it surprisingly intact.
He could now take a closer look at the damage. The next thing he saw made him sick. Dark smudges stained the white wall and the floor where he had collapsed as Enma let him go. The clothes he had used to clean his wounds lay scattered on the floor, among the broken glass.
His breath quickened, anger fighting its way back to the surface and winning, the more he looked around. He'd done it on purpose, that scum of a god. Watari would heal, but the damage was done. Enma's message was now crystal clear. You will not get away, the bloody stains seemed to whisper, the shards of glass around him glimmering in silent agreement. You are mine.
I could force you. Enma's voice rang clear in his ears. But I know how you enjoy a good challenge. I will enjoy watching you come to me.
Nearly shaking with anger, Watari let it loose and the small lamp flew across the room, shattering to pieces as it crashed into the wall. Darkness descended again. He buried his face in his hands.
A knock on the door startled him out of the hell of his thoughts.
His heart skipped a beat, breath catching in his throat and for a split second his mind turned blank. He looked up, staring through the darkness at the door that, at a distance, was merely a blur. Pushing past the pain he scrambled to his feet, hands trembling, blood pounding in his ears. He tried not to shuffle his feet as he walked uncertainly towards the door, gathering the courage to meet his partner face to face.
He stopped halfway and squeezed his eyes shut, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Maybe Tatsumi would leave it be. Maybe he was about to run into a trap whence there was no return. Perhaps the Shadow Master didn't care as much as Watari had thought, and would simply walk away?
"Can't do this," he whispered to himself, shaking his head. Hidden behind a fall of tangled, half-wet hair, his cheeks were burning.
How does it feel to live a constant lie?
Watari froze and his face turned to stone. Liar. You don't trust your partner. You don't trust anyone. He knows this. He will use it...
Another knock echoed in the hall. Watari shivered. He could do this. He could explain this. Without the light, Tatsumi would not see much. He owed it to him, this little bit of himself, the tiny bit of truth. By morning he would heal, and the secret would be safe.
He crossed the distance and stopped in front of the door. Resting a trembling hand on the knob, he let out a deep sigh to calm his nerves and schooled his face to an expression as neutral as he could manage.
He heard the echo of Tatsumi's slow steps behind the door and hesitated. As if on cue, a wave of dizziness washed over him and he rested heavily against the door.
The click of shoes against the floor outside had faded. Watari took a deep breath and pulled the door open, resting his arms against the doorframe for support.
The Shadow Master stood in the twilight of the hall, his back turned. Watari's heart skipped another beat.
"Tatsumi."
"Watari-san," he started.
He couldn't help but catch the weary note in the tone of his partner's voice.
"I came to apologize. It was--"
Tatsumi broke off as he turned to face him. The scientist's gaze dropped under the sheer load of shock in his partner's face.
"Watari." In a few long, quick strides the man was at his side. "Are you alright?"
He opened his mouth to speak but words were lost to him the moment he saw that same horrified look blooming once again on Tatsumi's face. The Shadow Master looked past him, no doubt already seeing the chaos behind him. Tatsumi's gaze shifted between the inside of his apartment and Watari himself. Something in him broke; the desperation written there was so obvious it stung.
"Are you hurt?"
Watari's inner voice laughed bitterly. Oh, Tatsumi.
"Yutaka?"
He shook his head 'no', aware how futile and hopeless that lie had to be, but he could do no more. The way his name was said, that unmistakable concern and fear underlining its tone, cut through him as easily as a hot knife through butter.
A pair of gentle hands took him by the shoulders. Watari suppressed a shiver; that warmth from the other man was so inviting, irresistible. He didn't protest as Tatsumi drew him closer to himself, in a warm embrace that spoke volumes even as neither of them said a word.
Watari bit his lips, the burning behind his eyes assaulting him without mercy as he sunk into those arms. He held his breath, aware that he was trembling from the effort just to stand and emotions that were so rare burning in his chest. He fought with himself; one part of him wished to pull away, another - to let Tatsumi hold him, to forget it all here and now and just be, just breathe, just live.
It felt too good; he was losing himself in that man who was unaware of the fire he had touched. It couldn't last. Seiichirou couldn't burn.
"Tatsumi," he said quietly against the other's neck. "You should go." Go now, before it's too late. He felt the arms around him tense ever so slightly, the minute shift of stance betraying Tatsumi's surprise.
"It's alright," he said levelly, "You can go. You shouldn't have come here in the first place."
Tatsumi didn't push him away, as he had expected, or maybe just silently hoped. He just drew back a little and looked him straight in the eye.
"No."
That single word held a note of determination, mirrored in the depths of the Shadow Master's eyes. Tatsumi walked his own path, his choices were his alone.
"I'm not going anywhere. You can kick me out and I'll keep coming back. Your choice."
It was my choice, once, and I made it, Watari thought to himself. He held up that stare, a silent plea in it; so much gentler than the words he knew were only true. How much easier it would be if they weren't.
"I don't know if you'll ever tell me what caused this, what... happened here, but it's irrelevant right now."
Watari's eyes watered; he couldn't help it. A voice in his mind screamed against that weakness, but he was so tired, and Tatsumi...
"Please."
...Tatsumi pleaded with him not to run.
"Let's go inside. I..." he paused.
Watari looked away.
"I want to help."
You can't help me, his thoughts wailed and he shook his head. Run while you can.
But then, was there anywhere to run anymore?
He let Tatsumi lead him inside. Despite the pose that was Tatsumi's usual, everyday sternness, he was a caring man, not one to leave another in need. He had learned his lesson when he nearly let Tsuzuki die in Touda's flames, and Watari knew his views had changed. Tatsumi would not leave, not now. He could only stand and watch the Shadow Master take the matters in his own hands.
He had asked no questions, but Watari knew it was only a matter of time. The pain that wrenched his body worked well enough to remind him that the state of his apartment was not the only sign of what had happened there. What Tatsumi had made of it Watari couldn't guess; the man was busily cleaning up the couch and said nothing at all. He hadn't asked, much to his relief. If he had...
If asked, Watari knew would have to lie. Again. So much for honesty. The burden of deceit weighed upon him like never before. He had denied any and all emotional attachment for that reason alone. Then he saw through Tatsumi's shell, and his resolve had gone up in flames.
With a quiet sigh, Watari bowed his head and stood there, staring at the floor. So much for trust.
Tatsumi rose and closed the distance between them. He took his partner by the arm. "Come," he said quietly, "You look like you need to sit down."
Still on weak legs, Watari made his way to the now-clean couch, led by Tatsumi who almost radiated an aura of gentleness, although mingled with a strange kind of fear. It was all but there, in the way he held his still sore arm, in how he helped him sit down, how those warm hands lingered. A stray strand of brown hair brushed against Watari's skin, and he shivered.
Tatsumi knelt and took the scientist's hands in his. "I'm going to go to the kitchen now, and make us some tea," he said.
Watari nodded. His stomach twisted into a knot when he remembered what Tatsumi would find once he entered there. The Shadow Master rose in a quiet, fluid move, leaving him alone.
There, Enma, he thought, brushing his hand across his face, that's what he would do. Happy now?
He refused to let anger claim his mind again. Emotion was blinding, he had learned the hard way a long time ago. Now, he could only hope Tatsumi's usual absolute regard for another's right to choose and go their own way would win over curiosity and stop his inquiries. He had to wonder if it mattered at all; if he knew Tatsumi, the man would go out of his way to solve the problems at hand anyway.
Only this was no ordinary case, no problem with an easy solution Tatsumi could find. Unless...
The sound of quiet steps across the floor pulled him out of his thoughts as Tatsumi returned with a mug of steaming tea. Only then Watari realized how thirsty he was, but he couldn't bring himself to reach for the drink. Weariness held him fast in its grip, his body pleading with him to finally let it rest.
Tatsumi seated himself next to him, silent, yet tension was obvious in the way he held himself. Watari felt his questioning eyes rest on him and stay, expectant and uncertain at once. He kept his own gaze fixed on something on the far wall across the room, not really seeing nor looking at anything in particular. He gathered his thoughts. Such silence that rang in his ears could not be left unanswered.
Yet he found no words; for the first time in decades, he found himself unable to give an easy lie, an easy smile. Pretense escaped him and left him with a mind full of bitter regret and fear of where this would lead.
"Ambition..." he whispered, not fully aware it had been aloud until he felt the Shadow Master shift beside him and heard his slightly sharper intake of breath. Maybe... Maybe that could save him.
"It leads straight to madness."
Tatsumi shook his head. "You are not mad."
"No?" Watari turned to look his partner in the eye, putting all he had into what he was about to say. Not exactly a lie, he thought sourly.
"Look around you, Tatsumi. Doesn't this look like something only a madman would do?"
Slowly shaking his head again in protest to those words, Tatsumi managed a simple, "No."
Watari let out a humorless laugh, mentally crossing fingers that it would be convincing, that Tatsumi would look no further. "Then what does it look like to you?" he asked.
"It looks like a side effect of holding too much pain on too short a leash, for a very long time. And you look like someone who lost it, for a moment there, while trying to be everything for everyone but not for himself."
Watari suppressed a sigh. It left a bitter aftertaste, yet he preferred the man to think he had simply lost it. He had not the strength to make up some elaborate lie that would probably be lost on him anyway in the long run. He had to settle for the simple solutions, for now.
Tatsumi's hand wandered to his shoulder and rested there, his gentle fingers tracing a circled path. "You don't have to say anything," he said in a quiet, soothing voice. "I don't think I could say anything to make it better, now. For that, I am sorry."
No, Tatsumi, Watari thought, willing emotions gone. I am sorry.
"And for earlier, too," Tatsumi continued his unnecessary apology. "But can I... at least... hold you?"
He could feel his resolve melt under that gaze, that kindness in Tatsumi's eyes a reminder of how much Watari had come to care for that strange, troubled man. He knew it was wrong. Another mistake. One more step closer towards the brink of disaster, into Enma's trap set up thirty years before. And yet he would walk right into it to save that moment in time, the worst and the best at once. He heard himself whisper, "Please."
Leaning into Tatsumi's arms open wide just for him, Watari closed his eyes. He could only savor that warmth, calmed by the Shadow Master's slowly rocking him to sleep.
The call of his mind to stay watchful was all but lost on him.
--
Watari woke to the darkness of the room, in the arms of shadows and their master both. Tatsumi stirred lightly in his sleep. His calm, even breath was a touch of a feather, soft against his cheek. His body still hurt. He couldn't tell how long he had slept, or when he had slipped into darkness at all. He remembered thinking how it could not be; how ironic was fate to lead him into this man's arms on that most unfortunate of nights.
Tatsumi had stayed, but Watari couldn't decide if it was good at all. Soon the sun would rise, and with it another day when he would have to try his best to find a way out.
No, he thought to himself with a too familiar sting of regret, no way out for you. He would just make sure Tatsumi never followed; how, he didn't know.
Careful not to wake him, Watari rose to his feet. Darkness danced before his eyes, his body displeased with the sudden change. He looked back at the sleeping man and a small smile graced his lips. It had to take such mess to end up like this. What a shame.
Quietly he crossed the room and leaned against the window. The cold glass soon warmed against his forehead and Watari sighed. Rolling up one sleeve, he noted the dark bruises still very much there; the punctured marks had faded but he had not healed.
"Nice move," he whispered under his breath and gave his head a light shake. He should have guessed. When Enma made a move, it went exactly where he wanted to strike.
He spared the thought to leave a minute or two, but it made little sense. Nothing would prompt Tatsumi to look into the matter more than waking up alone in Watari's damaged living room, the owner himself gone.
On top of everything, he refused to run. Once tangled in the nets of that game, he knew better than to think he could get away.
Back by the couch, he sifted through the pile of clothes, finding one shirt he hadn't stained with blood. He took off his torn one, wincing at the sight of the bruised skin underneath. The pain was mostly gone; his body had been healing, but not fast enough. He felt strange; almost lethargic, as though all around him had heeded the call of darkness and fallen asleep. He sat down and watched Tatsumi's peaceful face with warm, gentle eyes. He had seen so much, that man, in his time. Watari understood, even though he kept it to himself, the conflicts that drove him, the thorns in his heart. Each of them had their own, although different, that kept them bound to Earth. Their souls wouldn't rest.
No, he would not run. It didn't make sense. Whatever would come, it had to be alright. Somehow. Someday.
Slowly he leaned back, resting against the cushions as his fingers worked the buttons of his shirt. Tatsumi's warmth radiated so far, beckoning to him, a simple call for closeness he wanted so much. He had watched that man for so long, and now they were here. At any other time, he would have been happy. But there was always an 'if only', it seemed.
Tatsumi turned with a deep sigh, and his arm came to rest across Watari's chest. A new wave of warmth ran through his skin, deep across his body and before he knew, he had to blink back unwanted tears.
"Eh, Seiichirou," he whispered inaudibly, giving in to the urge to stroke the other's hand. "You've made a weakling out of the old me."
It could be just this once, and never again, he thought, leaning in to rest his head against Tatsumi's shoulder.
Just once...
--
Let go!
The wires retreated with a hiss, hanging in midair. He was falling, but the ground didn't hinder his rapid descent... down, down and away.
Let go...
A violent shudder brought Watari back to his senses. A deep groan resonated in his throat. He swallowed hard; the dryness in his mouth and some bitter aftertaste left him slightly nauseous. His eyes snapped open and he looked around. The first seconds back in the waking world had him breathing hard, unsure where he was.
Tatsumi...
The Shadow Master stood, erect and still, just a few steps away from the couch. Watari looked up, squinting a little and forced himself to give a small, bright smile.
"Morning." His voice sounded hoarse; he coughed to clear his throat.
Tatsumi inclined his head but didn't respond. Watari habitually felt around himself for his glasses. He caught a fluid movement out of the corner of his eye. Tatsumi reached out his hand, holding the spectacles out to the still drowsy blonde.
"Oh." Watari smiled. "Thank you."
He wiped his face with his hand and rubbed his eyes before pushing the glasses up his nose. Then he glanced back up and froze.
Tatsumi's face resembled a stone; a pair of piercing blue eyes fixed on him in a cold stare, his arms crossed on his chest.
Watari frowned. "Tatsumi?"
They stared at each other for a few long seconds before Watari's gaze dropped under the force of those sapphire eyes, and at once he understood.
His shirt, although clean, was open; the sleeves rolled up. Bruised and punctured, Watari's skin presented a curious sight. He cursed violently in his mind, falling back on the cushions.
"Care to explain this?" Tatsumi's voice, as cold as his eyes, held a barely masked trembling, just an undertone.
Watari looked away. "There's nothing to explain."
Tatsumi's fingers curled into fists. "The hell there isn't. Eight hours, Watari."
A pair of golden eyebrows shot up; he sent the Shadow Master a quizzical look.
"I came here eight hours ago. You said you weren't hurt?"
The accusation in Tatsumi's voice cut right through him. The man wasn't blind, nor was he stupid. And you're a filthy liar.
"Guess I was wrong," he said rather weakly and shrugged, then pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, attempting to tame the whirlwind of his thoughts.
"What is wrong with you?" The ever-rising pitch of his voice betrayed Tatsumi's anger as it began to take the better of him. "One, you lied. Two; whatever happened, you should have healed."
No way out. "Tatsumi..." Watari rose to his feet, swaying as he stood. His head was spinning. Tatsumi caught him and pulled him up but was pushed away; anger and fear melted into one.
Trembling still, he looked at the Shadow Master from narrowed eyes. He met a shock-stricken gaze and Tatsumi's arms dropped to his sides.
"What have you done this time?" he schooled his voice back to the neutral tone, yet by the look on his face Watari knew it had gone too far. "What is it?" Tatsumi pried on, pointing at the bruises on the blonde's bare arms.
"An experiment gone bad," came the sour reply.
"This isn't time for your jokes!" Tatsumi dropped the pretense of calmness. "As your superior--"
"We're not in the office," Watari cut in brusquely. "Don't worry, I'll be in my lab, working, before you finish that tirade you were about to start."
With that he started towards the door, pushing past Tatsumi but with a quick step and swirl the Shadow Master stood in his way.
"You're not going anywhere."
The shadowed corners seemed to stir with a life of their own. Tatsumi's tone was that which would see no quarrel; the one that promised the consequences of disobedience would be immediate and harsh.
But that was at work. This was not.
"Watch me."
Before he knew, the shadows caught him, restraining him, just tight enough to prevent movement. Watari shot a look of cold anger into Tatsumi's narrowed eyes. "Let go."
The Shadow Master did not so much as twitch under that demanding stare. "Not until you tell me the truth."
Watari kept his calm. "I already have."
"Yutaka..." Tatsumi started with an unwavering resolve to squeeze the answer out of the scientist, one way or another, but he was interrupted again.
"Look, Tatsumi." Watari quenched the urge to strain against the bonds. "This is none of your business. The best you can do is grab your toys and go away. You're already late for work."
Something in Tatsumi's eyes whispered, don't push me away, and his anger faltered.
"I don't recognize you," he said in a quiet voice, slowly shaking his head even as his eyes never left the golden pair.
"Could that be because you have me by the throat with your shadows? " Watari uttered through his gritted teeth, his burning amber gaze piercing through his captor. "Some partnership. Go ahead, let them loose!"
He felt the shadowy bonds tighten around him as Tatsumi trembled, an inch from getting carried away, and Watari wondered if he'd gone too far. It hurt him just as much as he imagined it must have hurt Tatsumi, but he had no time to play fool again.
"Let go," he hissed. Heat rushed up to his face, a swirl of something dark flickered in his mind and he heard the glass at his feet rattle softly as it shot into the air. Shocked, he gasped.
Tatsumi's gaze tore away from his face and he looked away, as did Watari himself, frowning at the glittering spectacle around them. The shadows released him and dispersed, creeping away slowly as their master turned to look at Watari again.
A blank look claimed his features; pale and silent, Tatsumi turned away and walked out of the room, then out of the apartment, the door shutting behind him with a loud thud.
The shards of broken glass fell, lifeless, to the floor.