I apologize for taking so long with this, but I hit a major block on writing 'Taka in... certain situations, let's put it that way, and had to wait until it passed. :)
Thank you very much to everyone who revieved - especially to Triskell who took time to review all chapters. Nice surprise. :D Arigatou!
Big thank-you to Shan for handling Tatsumi in this. ♥
Here's chapter three for you. Enjoy.
The music:
Yami no Matsuei OST II : Kaeru Basho
Noir OST II : Salva Nos II
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Against the Wind
Chapter Three
---
In the wake of Tatsumi's steps across the hall, the thud of the door shutting behind him was nothing but another noise around Watari's mind. He stood there, in the middle of the chaos of his apartment, trying not to follow as the sharp shards of glass around him rattled against the hard flood. He stared ahead, lost in an eerie trance just outside of reality, trying to wrap his mind around the events of the past five minutes, and failing miserably. He reached out his hand, unconsciously, as if in hope that the Shadow Master would somehow return, then let it drop loosely to his side. His heart sank. So, this was it.
A wave of heaviness crashed down on him; a mix of fear and distress and disappointment, and then fear again. He remembered his anger, and Tatsumi's; the powers had barely brushed against each other but what had happened, he couldn't tell.
He reached down, picking one tiny piece of glass. He turned it in his fingers, noticing how the sun reflected in the glittering broken edge, how the light split into countless tiny beams going in all directions. He could bet if it had the ability to feel, it would be as confused at being spread so thin, split so raw, as was he.
Had he done that? He could only remember the shadows, tightening their grip around him – to restrain, not to kill, though he knew Tatsumi could will them to do either as he liked – and the pools of anger and pain Tatsumi's sapphire eyes swam with as their gazes locked. He had never wanted to fight, not with Tatsumi. The deadly adversary that he was, his power seemed like nothing in comparison with what the sheer force of the Shadow Master's pain did to his own heart. It refused to let him fight, and yet it happened.
Watari hurled the tiny shard against the wall. Fool.
He closed his eyes, counting deep, measured breaths – two, three – until his heart slowed down and his mind began to clear. Whatever happened, it would be foolish to sink even deeper than he already had. Whatever was to happen, he needed a plan.
Eyes snapping open, he cast a dark look at the bloody wall and followed the trace of red down to the floor. The chaos around unsettled him, forced the suffocating memories back to the front of his mind. He would need a less distracting environment to think.
Slowly he rose, shedding his clothes as he made his way to the bathroom. The memory of the still persisting residue of Enma's chilly touch of death made him feel stained, filthy. Tatsumi's arms around him, then his shadows – frightening and soothing at once – wrapped him in a veil of something Watari had long since locked in a heavy-lidded box at the very back of his mind. Guilt.
He stepped under the shower, careless of how burning hot the water was. His skin felt numb, as though whatever had touched it left it more dead than he already was. Leaning with both hands against the wall, he let the water run down his body, head bowed, staring at his feet. The dizziness and nausea had mostly passed, leaving him with a peculiar feeling of emptiness down in his stomach. Or perhaps it was just his heart that felt that way.
Turning around, Watari rested against the wall, leaning his head back and he let his eyes slide shut. He pretended not to have noticed how the water that escaped down the drain was faintly pink; the remnants of blood he hadn't washed off at night came off slowly as he ran his hands along his skin. Strands of long wet hair clung to his face, to his arms and chest.
You are mine. You gave yourself to me. Your body, your head, your fate is in my hands. Have you forgotten?
No, he had not forgotten. Not for a moment there, even when everything seemed to have calmed down. He always knew Enma was somewhere there, lurking in the shadows like the supreme sentinel he was, ever acutely aware of everything that went on within the borders of his realm. He had never forgotten the deal that had not been fulfilled. Never forget you've sold yourself to him; not for a second, Yutaka.
He gave his head a quick shake as he realized he had been scrubbing himself so violently he had broken the skin. Heeding instinct, his own arms wrapped around him in a protective hug to suppress a shudder. It was useless to cry over spilt milk. The deal had long since been sealed. And yet, he had never held such bitter regret, such a grudge against himself as he did now. It had gone where he had always hoped it wouldn't go.
He had to wonder why now, why Enma had chosen this time to call him on the unfinished business, what had changed that could have warranted action at that time – but his mind was in turmoil. Frustrated at being quite unable to piece two coherent thoughts together, Watari resolved to just let his body draw comfort from the hot water pouring down on him. Once out of the apartment, away from it all, he knew he would be back on track again.
He threw back his head, running his hands through his long hair. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he wondered if he would ever get the invisible layer of acid residue that was Enma off himself at all. He still felt the offending hands trapping his, those cold fingers threading through the strands of his hair, that breath so close to his face.
You are mine.
"You wish," he snapped back at the voice in his thoughts.
Even if it means losing Tatsumi?
Watari froze, momentarily forgetting the hot water that was still washing over him. I never had him in the first place, he thought bitterly, ignoring the dual sort of connotations with the word 'lose' that sprung in his mind. No matter how much I wished for it, it never happened. Never happened because I didn't dare.
He turned off the water and reached for a towel. Drying himself, he fought to keep his mind clear of all dark thoughts, for now. An old trick he had taught himself decades ago – once he noticed his thoughts trailed off dangerously close to the realm of self-pity, he'd just shut everything out altogether until he was calm and collected enough to think straight again. It worked sometimes, other times it didn't; now, though, it had no other choice.
Still drying his hair, he searched the apartment for something suitable enough to wear when he showed up at work. He ran a quick mental inventory of the things he kept in his private room adjacent to the lab, remembering there had to be enough spare clothing to change to his usual outfit as soon as he arrived. He would make sure nothing looked suspicious, that nobody had the slightest reason to ask.
Same shit, different day.
He squished the little voice that sounded suspiciously like Enma, reminding him of the illusions he'd been living for the past thirty years. One does what one can, or so went the proverb, and he had no ill intentions towards any of his friends. Still, he had to admit it was easier that way – he had never given them reasons to wonder, nobody ever thought to look past his cheerful façade.
Nobody but Tatsumi.
Watari threw his hands up in the air, stopping himself before he let such thoughts invade his mind again. He gave himself a mental punch for going soft at the very thought of his partner. It did him a world of good, in the right time. Now it was anything but the right time to dwell on those things; personal sentiments aside, Tatsumi had unwittingly slipped between Enma and himself. That was unthinkable in and of itself, and more dangerous for the Shadow Master than the man had could guess.
Deliberately oblivious to the surrounding disarray, Watari had not so much as spared his damaged room a glance as he walked past, grabbing his lab coat on his way out the door. He had, however, caught a glimpse of himself in the broken mirror in the hall, and suppressed a shiver at the memory of what had happened there. He shook his head, letting out as small chuckle as he realized that he would draw looks from his co-workers nonetheless; his hair, still wet, was as tousled as it could get, and he didn't even have a spare brush at home.
'Home' was a figure of speech in regards to that place, anyway.
-
Watari fought to keep tension well-covered all the way through the judicial building; down the long corridors, past the offices and rooms, until he sneaked into his lab and closed the door behind him. He had waved cheerfully at Tsuzuki, returned a lighthearted 'good morning' to Wakaba, beamed an apologetic grin at Konoe for being late, and gave a silent thank-you for avoiding a head-on collision with Hisoka. That would have been uncalled for; he knew the empath would have picked up on his distressed state of mind quicker than Watari had a chance to retreat. His waving off the unspoken questions behind the eyebrows raised at his disheveled looks, with bright smiles and a muttered 'Overslept' no less, was nothing unusual. He knew for a fact that Tatsumi had long since locked himself in his office, and had definitely not said a word about the events of the previous night.
His welcome was a hooting tirade as 003 flew down from her perch at the sight of her human. Stroking her feathers when she finally calmed down enough to sit on his shoulder, Watari could at last breathe a sigh of relief.
With another sigh, Watari slumped down in his desk chair. Pushing his glasses out of the way, he rubbed his eyes and brushed both hands across his face. It had never worn him out so much, just being that usual bright self of his around others. It had been like second skin to him, as natural as breathing, and yet now he could almost feel the gloomy curtain of his thoughts coming up to the surface, hindering his attempts at normalcy.
He looked around, taking in the familiar environment of his spacious lab. He liked that place; it worked well to define him, a place of his own that reflected him in more ways than any visitor could guess. There was often what appeared to be chaos to an unadjusted eye, but Watari always knew why things were where they were - all over the place, in a peculiar sort of order only he could grasp. He liked it that way. Something that felt truly his own.
A pile of papers, neatly put in a stack atop his desk drew his attention, and Watari frowned. As he looked through the files, his surprise grew; he remembered those were the reports he had been working on the previous night... but he knew for a fact that had never finished. He had fallen asleep, had woken abruptly from a nightmare, scattering the items all around, spilling his coffee...
Following an impulse, he spun in his chair and checked the other desk with the computer he'd been working on that night. The keyboard looked intact, by all signs the very same one as before.
"Hmmm... Can't be," he muttered to himself, getting to his feet. A small frown drew those elegant light eyebrows together, more a sign of curiosity than anything else as he walked over to the other desk. He spared the keyboard a suspicious look, then took it in his hands for a closer study.
Definitely not new, the hardware bore unerring signs of usage, of the likes he'd owned for years.
Perched on his shoulder, 003 chirped nervously, nibbling at a stray strand of her human's still damp hair. Shifting his gaze from the keyboard to his little fluffy ball of a friend and back, Watari knew he presented a perfect picture of perfectly justified confusion.
"Okay..." putting the keyboard back in its place, Watari held up both hands as if against the momentary doubt in his sanity that brushed across his thoughts, then took in the interior of his lab once more. It looked all but normal. And yet... "Something's not quite right around here," he said, half to himself, half to the owl.
Walking briskly along the terminals, Watari switched them on one after another, one hand idly petting the bird on his shoulder. A network of machines came alive, filling the lab with a quiet buzzing noise.
"Mmm, I'm glad to be back, too," he murmured, running a hand across the top of one of the monitors, removing the nonexistent dust. Strangely enough, it felt as though he had been gone much longer. It couldn't have been more than twelve hours, but Watari could have sworn it had been days.
Plopping down in his chair again, he watched the screens of data flash down and past as the systems loaded up. The thought that something seemed strange, different, settled in his stomach in the form of a small knot. It grew and twisted with that sense of being unable to put his finger on the timeline; a feeling he remembered well. It had happened before.
His shoulders shook in an involuntary shudder.
-
"Look at that. He's back."
"Impossible."
Whispery voices filled his mind. Heavy shoes clicked against the hard floor, no doubt approaching, though the sounds were muffled, as if coming from behind a thick veil of glass.
"He is. Pay up."
Harsh, slightly choked laughter. Where have I heard this before?
"No surprise there." Another voice, older, equally familiar. "Mother said he's out there somewhere."
A snort. "Took him long enough."
Mother. Mother... the Project. The Five Generals. They were supposed to--
"Take that thing out."
A pull, and then another. A faint sensation on the edge of perception – at first merely tingling, then burning that rose and grew as it reached his consciousness and settled in. A wave of sickly heat wrapped him 'round and 'round; involuntary contractions stirred his muscles into a trembling rhythm.
"All of it? Are you sure? He's going to--"
"Do it."
More pulling, and a sequence of vicious snapping sounds crushed his still dull senses. From one second to another his mind couldn't help but acknowledge the presence of pain, cold shivers running across the burning flesh, the rapid shifts of perception and ever-increasing impulses assaulting him from all directions.
"You're not going to make it easy on him, are you?"
Another snort. "He can take it."
Metal instruments clicked somewhere to his left. A cacophony of beeping sounds tore into his mind. He tried to swallow to tame the nausea but found that he couldn't; responding instinctively, his body shuddered in violent convulsions. Someone caught him; cold, brutal hands. He fell forward, boneless, gasping for breath. He tried to open his eyes, but his body followed rules of its own, disobeying him completely.
"Put him down somewhere. I'm going to need this terminal."
The same hands pulled him up. "Hook him up to the morphine IV?"
"No. I want to monitor his progress."
The arms holding him stiffened. "That's--"
"Do it." The answering voice was a cool command.
His body arched on its own as he felt hard, cold surface beneath him. He couldn't keep from shaking, the ever-growing searing pain clouded his mind. Soon the sounds around him muffled once more as he gave in, wishing only to succumb to darkness, but something kept him on the verge of consciousness. The walls of the black void that promised relief wouldn't give.
"Once he's out of the haze, he's going to kill you for this."
A low chuckle reached him from afar. "Highly doubt it. He won't remember much."
-
Watari exhaled a low, slow breath. Dangerous misassumption, that. He did remember. All of it. Minutes, hours, days rolled past, and he had made sure none of what had happened would ever be forgotten. Engraved in his memory, those events spurred him onward long afterwards through his painful recovery. Well hidden, his anger could wait for its time.
And it had. He was patient. All the way until he'd had enough.
-
"Looking good. You should be up and about sooner than I thought."
Watari kept his eyes closed as he inclined his head in a silent agreement. Calm and steady, his only movement was slow, measured intake of air.
"You are expected back at work by the end of next week."
"No."
Fabric whispered around him. "Do you reckon you need more time?"
He shook his head. His voice was soft, face expressionless. "No."
The man at his side took another step, leaning over him, closer still. "What is the meaning of this?"
He wondered briefly what infuriated the man more; his monosyllabic answers, or the illusion of perfect calm he was served with. Still not looking up, he offered a smooth explanation. "I'm not coming back."
"I beg your pardon?"
Golden eyes snapped open, meeting a pair of gray ones, clearly shock-stricken. Watari regarded the middle-aged looking man with a long, cold stare.
"I think I haven't made myself clear enough, so allow me to reiterate. You suck. I quit."
Large hands grabbed him by his robe, lifting him slightly from the bed, but Watari's eyes never left the other's face. Challenge burned with amber fire; a clear-cut message that his was the decision to be reckoned with. He studied that rising fury in the older man, felt his hands tremble as he held him, saw the reflection of failure flash in his gray eyes and savored that moment, the one he'd been awaiting for months.
"Let him go."
Released at once, Watari fell back on the bed. The man took a sharp turn and bent himself in half in an excessively respectful bow.
"Enma DaiOh-sama," he said, voice betraying emotion. "I beg forgiveness. This--"
"Silence." Enma's silky voice held a note of contempt. He walked past the man, shoving him aside, and stood by the edge of Watari's bed.
"It is not always that the golden cage is best for the golden bird, or so the tale says. It could bring misfortune and hindrance to the prince's plans."
A slender hand came up, wide sleeve of the god's black robe whispered behind his ear as Enma carded his long, cold fingers through Watari's hair. He held his breath.
"Surely you have no wish to add a chapter of woe to the tale of our own? KinU."
Regarded with a smile that never reached Enma's jet-black eyes, Watari suppressed a shiver.
"Like in the tales of old, all things must draw to an end, somewhere down the road. I wish for a happy end, as do you, I'm sure. For now, let the cage be that of your choice."
-
They were far from done, and even back then, thirty years before, Watari knew that more than well. He had to give it to Enma; the god had made himself clear on his future plans regarding him. Even so, he had managed to avoid informing him how he was going to get there. Still, once Enma's desires had surfaced, Watari knew he would oppose it or die trying.
Granted, he was already dead – but not as dead as he could be, and that he knew well, too.
But now his concern revolved around matters of far more importance in the light of the events of the past twelve hours. Watari couldn't help but scorn himself for adding his own share to getting Tatsumi involved, but the logical part of his mind knew it didn't matter. One way or another, the Shadow Master would be tricked into playing his part in the game, if that was the path Enma chose for them to go. If not last night in Watari's apartment, then sooner rather than later Tatsumi would "accidentally" run into something suspicious anyway.
He laughed bitterly at the word accidentally that skimmed across his thoughts. He believed in no such thing as 'coincidence' anymore. One who put their faith in chance anything around here was promptly given a harsh reality check after having any sort of dealings with Enma DaiOh. Within this realm, nothing that happened had no reason. The wheels of this giant machinery they were all caught in spun to the rhythm of its ruler's breath.
The uneasy feeling had returned doubled. Watari rubbed his temples with his fingertips and sighed. He knew what bothered him; he had been going through various scenarios of what could happen now continuously since morning, barely sparing the activity a piece of his mind – not that it wasn't enough to unsettle him again – and nothing he came up with made enough sense. Out of many things Enma could do, not one seemed more probable than the next, except that some had a tad worse outcome than the others. Optimistic by nature, Watari subconsciously opposed the idea of thinking that way, but he knew that the situation could take them – Tatsumi and him – virtually anywhere.
The collective uncertainties, the acute awareness of being a step behind for a change, did tricks of their own.
He knew it all. How stress could cloud his judgment. How trying to guess the other's move could blind him to something already at work. How he had been handed his tickets for a grand guilt trip that night, and it would take but one more step to lose himself completely.
Fine points, his mind mocked him, you've got it all down. Somehow it's not helping. Theory won't get you far, Yutaka.
Deep down he knew it was only true. Enma's rules fell somewhat short of fair, but Watari had signed up for the game on his own. He had only been handed back what he had paid for thirty years before. Guilt trip included. Not the calculated risk, that; he had refused to look that far, back then.
"It's a little late for regret, you know?" he said thoughtfully to 003 as the little owl flew down to sit on his open palm and regarded him with huge, owlish eyes. "I should have known better. I didn't. I gambled big and it didn't fly. Moving on."
The memory of Tatsumi's clouded eyes hit him hard, and Watari winced at the image, still so fresh in his mind. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, stroking his little friend's breast feathers to calm her, and himself.
"I hurt him, 003," he said, looking deep into the owl's eyes. The bird lowered its head and nibbled affectionately at his hand. "I didn't mean to."
003 looked up, making a little noise. Watari's lips twitched in a smile. "Okay, you know better. I did. But that's the best I can think of right now. He has to stay out of this. He's better off pissed at me than worried and involved."
The tiny owl took flight, all feathers and what had to be angry chiding and Watari shooed her gently away when a small wing slapped him one time too many.
"I beg to differ. I can't just walk up to him and shove it all into his hands. Tatsumi worries for a living, girl. Not that I think he cares so much for me to jump into the pit to save me..." he broke off. His eyes unfocused and a small sad smile smoothed his features. "But even if he did, that's a pit that would swallow us both. And we can't have that," he added after a deep breath, his voice now whisper-soft.
Landing on top of his head, 003 pulled at the strands of her human's hair. The angry harangue slipped into a high-pitched, worried one. Watari reached out his hand and caught the little culprit, disentangling her from his locks and set her back on his hand.
"I'm not going anywhere, if I can help it," he told her seriously. He caught himself wondering if that statement, spoken aloud, served more to reassure her or himself in his resolve. It could have been both. "I don't want to make promises I might be unable to keep, but I'll see what I can do."
It just makes me wonder how long I can run against the wind before it blows me too far out of my league, he mused.
Sorting through his options was a gloomy task and one he had not been looking forward to at all. Any attempts at predicting Enma's moves had only rendered him all the more frustrated as the minutes rolled past. He felt woefully out of his league; Enma's influence, his power over Meifu and its inhabitants made him an opponent Watari found impossible to take on. All he could do was resist, for as long as he could – but was it worth it? The god had already shown him a glimpse of how far he was ready to go to accomplish his plans. Eventually he fell into a state of resignation on that ground, deciding that waiting was as good as any action, if not better. In the end, time would show what was there in stock for him, and Watari could only cling to the hope that somehow, he would find a way.
The painfully slow day didn't do much to help him keep his mind off his worries at all. As if everyone had silently agreed to have business anywhere but with him. Several hours and just as many cups of coffee later, he was tired just of sitting idle. He had been working, quite half-heartedly, on debugging the new system he had spent the past few months developing, but his thoughts wandered and he had every right to suspect he had made no progress at all.
The sky had grown dark outside by the time he'd had enough and rose from his chair to stretch his stiffened muscles. Most of the employees must have already gone to their respective homes; it no longer made sense for him to stay locked in there, either.
His routine check of the computers revealed nothing alarming, yet the sight of that keyboard confused and unnerved him anew. For the whole day, he had been trying to recall the previous evening minute by minute, but it couldn't have been just a dream, he knew. He was sure it had happened just as he was certain Tatsumi was still in his office, working his usual late hours like any other day.
Casting one last look around the lab, Watari frowned and flipped the light switch on his way out. "I think I'm losing my mind," he muttered to himself as he locked the door.
-
Empty and quiet, the bullpen looked inviting enough as Watari slid the door open and peeked inside. Despite the sheer amount of it he had poured into himself throughout the day, coffee still looked and smelled just as inviting. He eased himself into the room, stretched his arms and stifled a yawn. It felt ridiculous to be so tired after what was hardly a day of genuine work, but he knew the previous night had worn him out and whatever had slowed down his healing process, had to be affecting him still.
He smiled to himself, pouring a cup of steaming coffee into the cup. The bittersweet scent tickled his nostrils, the warmth entering his body even before his mouth came in contact with the hot liquid itself. If only things could be that simple again, he would have enjoyed it as he always had.
He sat down, folding his arms on the tabletop and rested his head on his forearms. The cup of coffee was blurred in front of him and Watari blinked, all of a sudden hardly able to resist the need to rest, if only just a while. Fingers curled around the cup, he let his head roll to the side. Once more making a promise to himself that it would not take long, Watari closed his eyes. He began to relax, absorbing the warmth and as it slowly made its way through his skin, up his arms and settled comfortably deep in his chest, his mind drifted away.
-
It had been darkness, soft yet sound, that shielded his mind – the first dreamless sleep since Kamakura. He embraced it as it embraced him; slowly falling into a blind dance. At the edge of consciousness he protested the feel of a gentle hand laid between his shoulder blades; that touch, though soft, tore him out and away from his safe place. Shivering, Watari stopped himself before he jumped.
Tatsumi.
Lifting his head from where it had been resting on his crossed arms, he blinked away the remnants of sleep from his eyes and forced his mind back into focus. He winced as the stiff muscles of his neck protested movement, but by the time he met Tatsumi's eyes, a small smile already danced in the corners of his lips.
The hand that woke him slipped away and Tatsumi's ever-calm, collected countenance faltered, his sapphire gaze dropped and hesitated before he looked back up again.
"Hey." Watari's voice bore trails of sleep, and he cleared his throat.
Tatsumi inclined his head, emotions that played on his face again under control. "Good evening."
Aware that his cheeks must have appeared slightly flushed from the sudden surprise, Watari carefully wiped away all signs of alarm from his face, putting on a neutral expression. Then his heart rate went through the roof the instant he recognized that look on Tatsumi's face – the weary kind of calm that spoke of deep worry eating away at him, small creases on his forehead that gave him the appearance of a man far older than he was – by human standards, anyway. Silent, Tatsumi stepped away and retreated to the corner of the room, pouring himself a cup of coffee with slow, almost painfully deliberate precision.
Once he got past putting his foot down on the idea to get up and run away, Watari choked back on at least three more similarly ridiculous urges and resolved to let Tatsumi make the next move. He half expected to be cornered about the events of the past night and morning and he would have gladly escaped it, but he knew it could not be helped. He could not possibly keep avoiding Tatsumi forever; working together did the trick when it came to rendering such solutions completely useless.
A steaming cup in hand, Tatsumi crossed the room and perched himself down on chair at the far end of the table. His fingers curled around the cup, he kept his gaze low for a longer while before his hand wandered up to shift the glasses on his face.
Watari had to smile inwardly at his inevitable recognition of that trick. One of Tatsumi's ways to buy himself time to give his face that inscrutable look. He had not anticipated word-wasting chatter, but the Secretary's words caught him unawares.
"Do you hate me for what I've done? For how I am?"
Oh, great. Do you ever blame the culprit, Tatsumi, or is it always yourself? Watari squished the urge to get up and beat some logic into his partner's head. He let out a soundless sigh instead, giving his own head a light shake.
"If you mean that little shadow play in the morning – should I? I asked for it."
Visibly uncomfortable with Watari's straightforward approach to the matter, Tatsumi took a slightly deeper breath before he looked up. Watari couldn't help the wave of burning heat that rushed through him under the pressure of that stare. A pair of sapphire eyes indulged in a careful study and he felt as though they read him like an open book.
He could not recall being an open book to anyone. Ever.
At any other time, he would have met those enquiring eyes with ease. He would have flashed one of his signature smiles and changed the subject, easily slipping back onto a neutral ground. But not this time. That endless sky blue kept him frozen in place.
It seemed like forever before Tatsumi disengaged himself from that peculiar staring contest and looked down, twirling his cup between his fingers.
"Then why do you push me away?" he asked at last.
The question cut though him like the coldest ice. His own gaze dropped as Watari slowly swallowed down the lump that had begun to take form in his throat. What do you want me to say? Questions of his own rushed through his head. The truth?
"I'm sorry," he said, a little more hesitantly than he had intended. "I don't have a smart answer to that question."
Out of the corner of his eye, Watari saw Tatsumi's lips draw together in a thin line.
"I don't need a smart answer, Watari," he told him calmly, in that explicatory tone of infinite patience. "A truthful one will do."
I push you away because if I let you come any closer, I will drag you down along with me, if it comes to that. "You of all people should know," Watari managed to keep the tone of his voice even and matter-of-fact, "that asking for a truthful answer isn't always the best of ideas. It could get you more than you bargained for." And you mean too much. Watari's inner voice groaned. If I burn, I burn. But you won't, if I can help it, Seiichirou.
"That's possible. But I can't stand and watch you drown. Something is poisoning you from the inside out. What is it?"
Watari looked up, driven to meet Tatsumi face to face by that determination seeping from the Secretary's every word. It was not the Tatsumi he saw every day, but he had met him before – the previous night, in his own home.
"Why are you so hell-bent on helping me, Tatsumi?"
The look on the Shadow Master's face softened. "Because I'm not heartless. Because I've... learned. Because we're human, Shinigami or not, and you don't have to go through this alone."
Are we? Watari gave his inner voice a mental slap. Unfortunate choice of reason, that. "If you want to help, there's only one thing I can ask of you."
"Let me guess," Tatsumi cut in before Watari had a chance to open his mouth again. "Stay away and let you handle this alone, am I right?" Tatsumi's dark elegant eyebrows drew together in a small frown. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?"
Watari let out a quiet chuckle. It sounded fake even in his own ears. "I was born that way," he threw back the ball of a light retort, but his heart was growing heavier by the second. Because I'm arrogant enough to think I'll work it out.
Tatsumi gave a light shrug. "So was I, but that doesn't take me above needing help from my friends."
You've learned, Watari mused wistfully. He let his hands slide down from the tabletop and rested them both on his lap, then clenched them into fists. Too soft.
"Is that so? I would imagine the facts alone argue otherwise," he said coolly, yet careful not to slip too sharp edges in between the words. I'm sorry. "There's a difference between needing something and being able to allow yourself to ask for it, Tatsumi."
Get a grip, he chastised himself at once. You talk too much.
"Damn it, Watari!"
Too late. The taste of Tatsumi's anger, the frustrated kind, was bitter and it hurt.
But the Shadow Master would not let it loose again this time. "What do I have to do to make you understand..." he broke off with a sigh, self control back in reign. "I want to look behind that mask of yours, no matter what it shows. You've already let me peek. I didn't run away."
Only true. Watari pushed his glasses out of the way and brushed his hand across his face, briefly pressing his fingers to his forehead. His face was burning. He knew he had lost his lead.
"No, you didn't," he whispered, overwhelmed all of a sudden by the sheer load of tension and accumulated emotions of far too contradicting kinds; towards himself, and that man, and Enma and every little part of the world around him. He knew it had to be crystal clear, reflecting in his face and even in the way he still kept his other hand curled into a fist, trying to physically stop the emotionally unstoppable.
He rose to his feet, pushing the chair away. The loud screech it made against the floor drew a wince out of him.
Silently hoping his shaking legs wouldn't buckle under him, he crossed the room, never looking back, nor stopping until he reached the window. Leaning against the windowsill, he took a deep breath to ease the heat of emotion boiling inside him and regain his composure. He looked up. Outside, the darkness had long since fallen, claiming possession of the ever-blooming sakura trees, enveloping them in a thick blanket of deep, impenetrable shadow.
"You should have." Watari hadn't realized he had spoken loud until he heard a barely audible noise behind him, then feather-soft steps across the floor. He found some amusing irony in a sudden bizarre observation that there were three loud thumps of his heart for every silent click of Tatsumi's shoes.
The Shadow Master's blurry reflection took shape in the window and Watari could only stare at him as he approached, and he clenched his fists again to keep himself grounded. He felt the warmth of that man just inches behind his back. So close and yet so far; mere inches that could very well have been miles, for the circumstances that kept them apart.
Tatsumi's whispered words enveloped him in an eerie veil that reduced him to a minutely trembling wreck. "I didn't run, and I never will, Yutaka. Remember that."
His heart skipped a beat and Watari gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut against an overwhelming wave of disappointment and pain that clashed into him. He caught himself hoping that Tatsumi would take that final step, break him, crush that wall between them. It would have taken but a reaching of his hand, and he would crumble down, not caring for what would happen next. Somewhere in his mind a far-off cry screamed of the folly of such hope and how there would be no return, but it was lost on him.
Tatsumi turned on his heel and walked a few tentative steps away.
Watari's dams broke. He not so much turned as whirled around, stopping himself from reaching out to catch the Shadow Master only by the last lone thread of sanity that held him together. He heard himself speak; a broken waterfall of words in a dissonance of thoughts and heartbeat and blood rushing through his ears.
"Why can't you just trust me for once?"
Tatsumi came to an abrupt halt, caught in half-step by that question which Watari knew had to be his doom. The pain that crossed Tatsumi's face sobered him up in an instant and his stomach twisted itself into a knot.
"And you're asking me? " No malice. No accusation. Just sorrow.
Free from the hazy world where his burning emotions reigned supreme, Watari's gaze dropped. The real world, cold yet riddled with the echo of Tatsumi's words that should have broken him but somehow didn't, hit him hard. He wanted just to cross his arms to keep from trembling, but he found that he was treating himself to a defensive hug instead. There was not much left to do after that lapse of control.
"It's okay," he said quietly, "I'm probably asking for more than you can give."
"I'm not sure what's okay and what isn't." Tatsumi's voice gained a cool, slightly distant undertone. "But apparently I'm not in the position to judge that. Trust works both ways."
Trust.
Before the sea of piercing heat settled in, Watari's last thought was a plea for forgiveness and an end to those lies he found himself unable to end.
He had thought it all over back and forth, certain he'd left nothing out. There would be colleagues. Friends, maybe; he had always liked people. There would be co-workers and others and it was alright to be who he was. He could have handled being just that, the cheerful soul, everyone's friend, the one never taken all too seriously. He had calculated the risks with meticulous precision, and he had predicted most of the outcomes before he took the plunge.
But he had not predicted love.
"Please," Watari whispered, head bowed under the weight of it all, crushed by the discovery of the right name for the cause of this feeling. Hidden behind a fall of golden hair, he had lost the plan, the words, the resolve. "Please. I know it makes no sense to you. But whatever you do, do not get involved. Let it rest."
Lifting his head but a little, he forced himself to look at his stunned, speechless partner face to face. "Please, Tatsumi."
In the silence around them, Watari could only hear the pounding of his own heart, could only see the endless blue that filled him down to the core, and all thoughts, all hopes, escaped him.
Tatsumi slowly lifted his hand, battling hesitant thoughts. His fingers curled into a loose fist but then the Shinigami let it drop back to his side, heeding an order of a change of heart.
"Do you wish for me to stay away from you altogether?"
The question, whisper-soft, was yet like a rumble of a thunder in Watari's ears, one that lodged itself in his heart and tore it to shreds.
"Tatsumi..." Watari breathed, hardly able to see anything anymore through a blurry mist that claimed his eyes. "I..."
Fool. He's giving you your chance. Do what you must.
Gathering the leftovers of strength and energy Watari tore his gaze away from Tatsumi's blurred face and slowly turned around, away from him, away from it all.
"Yes."
The brittle silence that followed seemed as though it would explode any second; to Watari, anyway. He half expected, half hoped that... No, he had left it all behind.
"I see," Tatsumi spoke in a clear, leveled tone; his signature professional voice. A soft whisper of paper against cloth reached him, but Watari did not turn around. He no longer trusted himself to do even that.
"Someone left this for you earlier today." Tatsumi placed a small piece of paper on the table and took a step back, adjusting his glasses.
Watari couldn't stare into the window anymore. Even as a mere reflection, Tatsumi was too much.
"Goodnight, Watari-san."
-
The next thing he knew, Watari was sitting on the floor, his back against the door, one hand clutching at his hair, the other wiping his eyes. That in itself seemed quite futile; he had lost control when that door had shut, and with it went his strength to keep the fine human traits at bay. There had been no holding back the tears anymore.
He couldn't remember how he got there; not that it mattered, unless Tatsumi had stayed long enough to bear witness. The first coherent thought in Watari's mind was that Tatsumi would have still been there, had he lost it in front of the man. Relieved only so little, he let out a long, shuddering sigh.
He looked around, slowly calming down. The light above him flickered. Everything looked as it always had; not much had changed in the past thirty years. The building had emptied a few hours before; hardly anyone was willingly prolific enough to work after hours, unless in dire need.
Watari found his glasses on his lap, somewhere between the folds of his lab coat and wiped them clean before replacing them on his face. Shifting his weight, he shook his head to rid himself of numbness.
Something white to his right caught his attention. He picked up the small folded piece of paper and frowned. The one Tatsumi had brought and given him before he left. Watari turned it in his trembling fingers. Yet before he unfolded the paper to look at the message it carried, he remembered. He had already read it. His palms went damp, breath catching in his throat.
Palace of Candles, after hours. Come alone. You have work to do.
---
Author's Notes:
If you're confused about certain little details in this chapter, don't worry - it only means you're an attentive reader ;) Bear with me. All of this is there for a good reason... :)