The music:
Bush - 40 Miles From the Sun
Loreena McKennit - Dante's Prayer
Silverchair - Without You
-
-
Against the Wind
Chapter Eight
-
"Just tonight. Stay."
Stay.
His mind echoed Tatsumi's voice, time and again, hushing his own frantic thoughts. As if under the touch of a soothing spell, Watari felt the tension that had held his resolve together melt away in the warmth of the other's breath against his neck. And Tatsumi was holding him, strong and steady; he was not letting go even as Watari heard his own voice whispering that he had to go.
And gone he should have; that much he knew without any doubt. It was wrong to linger. The irony of the moment stung bitterly somewhere in his heart. Now, of all times, Tatsumi was pleading with him not to leave. Only it was not an escape, what he had to do; not this time – he knew all too well that he had nowhere to run.
But he could stay.
Just tonight.
He stood there, silent, and the free-falling, unrestrained tears felt hot on his face. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he mused absently as he tried to will himself to muster some sense of self control. I wasn't supposed to break.
But he knew all along; there had been cracks in his shell as old as his own heart. They ran deeper and deeper with each year, with every dream that went away; every time he stopped to think of everything he didn't have. It was that touch, he thought; it somehow completed him. It had opened his eyes to a new perspective on the world of delusional belief that he was beyond such simple human needs. And now that it was filling him – that overwhelming sense of completion – in the same instant he realized that it would not last; and it was too much, too heavy, too strong for him to hold on to any of his choices anymore.
Stay.
Holding him up, without needless words, Tatsumi was just there, as if it had always been his place to be. The Shadow Master had leaned his head on his shoulder and buried his face in his tangled hair. Watari listened to his calm, steady breathing, subconsciously calming down as his own strove to synchronize. Just tonight, he repeated, and it was a promise. Just this once. Perhaps it was right. Maybe with nowhere left to hide, he could teach himself to believe that right there and then, he needed not hide anymore. Perhaps just tonight everything would somehow be fine, and maybe in the end he could come to terms with himself, forgive--
A flash of silky black surrounded him and Watari gasped, wrenching himself out of Tatsumi's arms.
"Watari?"
He took a sharp turn, face to face with Tatsumi – not Enma, he told himself, not Enma, for gods' sake – he fixed his frightened stare upon the Shadow Master's face.
"Are you all right?"
Tatsumi was looking at him, a soft yet worried expression on his face. That voice, he knew it so well. That man, the same one Watari had known for years; it had to be him, and no one else – not an illusion, not a trick, not this time, no – and yet, Watari froze in brittle expectation, waiting for the image in front of him to shatter into pieces and crush him all over again.
He let out a shuddering sigh. "I'm fine," he said. "Fine."
Tatsumi shook his head. "No, you're not," he said. He moved as if to approach him, but thought better of it, his hand halting in midair halfway towards Watari's arm. Glancing sideways, Tatsumi reached for his glasses instead and pushed them further up his nose.
"Come," he said in a quiet voice, inclining his head towards the door. "It's cold here. Let's go inside."
Watari nodded, but his legs felt inadequate to the task of taking a step. He inhaled deeply and pressed a cool palm to his forehead. His face was burning; the soothing cold only a momentary relief. Tatsumi stood, waiting, patiently watching him gather the strength again to force himself to move. Through half-closed eyes, Watari observed him carefully for a few long moments, searching for the signs of illusion. As if you could tell, his thoughts never failed to provide a harsh reality check. But Tatsumi was still Tatsumi, and everything around them was silent and calm.
He took one step, and another, and he cast a fearful glance at his partner again in passing, hushing a brief thought that it was not a good idea to let anyone stay behind his back. Tatsumi's steps against the wooden floor chased him and soon the man was at his side. They exchanged looks, the other's no doubt meant to reassure him, though Watari's pounding heart ignored the deep tranquility of Tatsumi's eyes.
A soft blanket of darkness wrapped the interior of the house; the all but impenetrable black disturbed by nothing save an even darker shadow that brushed past him as they entered and Tatsumi moved to turn on the light. The sand under his eyelids dissolved a little, away from the harsh light. The sudden touch of darkness was soothing and strangely calm. Like Tatsumi himself, he mused, though he knew that he couldn't tell what went on in the man's mind under that shield of near-serenity.
The air felt fresh and cool there, he noticed absentmindedly, with a faint scent of coffee lingering on the featherlight breeze from a window, left open somewhere in the house. Tatsumi reached past him for the light switch and Watari caught his hand before he made it there.
"Do you mind leaving it like this?" he asked, suddenly realizing just how strange that must have sounded. He was partly glad that he could not see well.
"Not at all," Tatsumi's soft voice came from somewhere to his right; close, so close, he almost felt the man's breath on his face, almost heard a faint hint of a smile. "If it's fine with you. I can see well in the dark."
Figures, Watari mused. A Shadow Master, after all. Such skills as those Tatsumi possessed had to come with extra perks.
"It feels good," he said, a hair's breadth away from giving in to the urge to let out a bitter laugh. Good fell rather short of an accurate description of how he felt, the uneasiness and fear and a sick sense of expectation gnawing at his stomach all the while. But it would have to do.
"The living room is to your left. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be with you in a moment."
The shadow shifted, a fluid movement at the edge of his peripheral vision, and the soft whisper of Tatsumi's discarded coat reached him before the man vanished in another part of the house. Watari slipped out of his own coat and left his shoes by the door, trying to see around him as his eyes gradually got used to the darkness. He made his way across the hall in a few careful steps. He remembered from his previous visits there that Tatsumi's house was furnished rather sparsely and, with the man's knack for cleanliness, he had a small chance of stumbling upon anything.
In the front room, the half-drawn blinds let in some faint, scattered ribbons of silver light, with long, wide shadows spilling across the floor. Watari stopped in the middle of the room, turning back towards the doorway and listened to the barely audible sounds of Tatsumi moving around, the soft click of glass seeping in from the kitchen.
It felt so... normal, all of a sudden, as if nothing had happened at all. Watari caught himself desperately trying to believe that all of it, until now, had been just a dream. A nightmare, and nothing but; had he not woken up from those before? They always ended before dawn, and he felt fine again, if not a little sore from the restless sleep.
The sofa felt real when he ran a still-shaking hand across the dark, smooth surface. It felt solid as he sank onto it and leaned back, closing his eyes to ease the stubborn burning there. His own hair felt as it always had when he brushed it away from his face, and the cushion under his hand had unquestionable substance as he curled his fingers around it. Yet so had the illusion, he remembered, and he could not tell the difference if his sanity depended on it.
Which it did. The minutes dragged and Watari couldn't rid himself of the overwhelming sense of near-panic that swarmed his thoughts. How did he define reality, again? He had to find a way, fast, before doubt and too many questions took the better of him and he lost whatever he still had left.
The sound of footsteps brought him back to reality – did it? - and Watari started a little, pulling himself up from his lean as Tatsumi walked into the room. He carried two small cups of what that had to be coffee, for the scent of it, and an already lit candle in his other hand. He set all three on the table in front of Watari, making brief eye contact before he settled himself on the sofa, a small distance away.
Questions, Watari mused, glad for the drink – if not for the warmth of the still steaming coffee, then at least for something to occupy his hands with. You must have so many of them, he thought. He watched Tatsumi in silence, the dark profile against the twilight of the room, the faint glow of the candle illuminating his skin. All the how and why and what will happen and what am I going to do now, anyway? I wish I knew, too.
Quiet, Tatsumi stared down at his hands; long fingers of his one hand interlaced with the other. Watari didn't mind giving him time; the man had a lot to think about, and he did not feel particularly talkative, himself.
Yet when Tatsumi spoke again, for the first time in a longer while, he unwittingly pushed Watari back into the searing numbness of dread.
"Why did you agree to such a deal?"
He shuddered. Good question, that. He had been asking himself, now and then, but he knew it only amounted to a waste of time. The answer to that question belonged to the decisions he could no longer reverse.
"It was a great opportunity, at that time," he said.
Tatsumi turned his head. "A great opportunity, indeed."
Watari winced. "It's so easy to judge the book by the cover, Tatsumi," he said, impatience and something that, to him, sounded very much like an idle excuse laced into his words. "Make it a plastic-wrapped one. No way to peek inside before you buy it. And I had nothing to lose, anyway." He swallowed around a sudden dryness in his throat. Back then, I didn't, he thought bitterly. "I was twenty four and dead. It's not like I had any better prospects in sight."
Tatsumi gave a small nod of his head but he did not turn. Staring into the window, he slowly sipped his coffee, content to keep his thoughts to himself.
Watari twirled his own cup idly between his fingers, absorbing the quickly escaping warmth it gave off. A feeble comfort, that; but a good distraction, enough to help him contain himself.
"We have known each other for years," Tatsumi said at last. "You don't submit, Watari. I assume you have something resembling a plan..." his voice trailed off as he turned, dark eyes sweeping a careful look around Watari's slightly hunched form.
Inwardly, Watari recoiled a little. "I'll think of something," he murmured under his breath, leaning forward to put his cup away. He met Tatsumi's eyes and took in that strange look in them, tensing a bit at the change in his face.
"But if it's as you said, and Enma--"
An instant shift and Watari's hand covered Tatsumi's mouth. "--is the Lord of Meifu and he will do as he sees fit," he finished pointedly, shaking his head. If he had to take risks himself, he would at least see to it that Tatsumi didn't add a contribution of his own to the collective sum.
Tatsumi caught that hand in one of his, the other setting his coffee cup back onto the table. He didn't let go even as he nodded the confirmation of his understanding for the need of silence.
"Your hands are cold," he said, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to the back of Watari's hand. Then he let go and pulled his eyes off his partner, all of a sudden too self-conscious for comfort.
"They always are," Watari answered calmly, though he failed to keep the sour undertone away from his voice.
He moved to look away; the minute shift of weight still let him watch Tatsumi out of the corner of his eye. His chest felt tight as he caught a glimpse of the Shadow Master reaching out both of his hands towards him; Tatsumi fell motionless like that, frozen in wait for... him? Watari held his breath. That silent determination; he had seen it before, when the man had crossed the threshold and stepped onto the shaky foundation on which it all began. A wordless beckoning, so hopeful in those sapphire eyes; a silent plea for trust. And Watari searched for it desperately inside himself, pushing past the dread, past the memory of the pain, past the scars from the moment when Enma had turned that man he held so dear into a tool that broke his heart.
Just tonight.
He took Tatsumi's hands, uncertain at first, the damp warmth of the other's palms so real, so alive under his touch. Hushing questions, quenching doubt, he pulled himself closer, and closer, reason losing to need as he relished the softness of the Shadow Master's skin. And Tatsumi waited, letting him guide his hands to rest upon his chest, above his pounding heart. He held still until Watari's fingers wandered around his neck, gently sliding across his skin as he pulled him in, lips seeking lips, sharing warm breath. Only then Tatsumi let his arms move slowly to wrap around him – that warmth, Watari craved it – he had for so long; now he followed that need, drawn like a moth to a flame. And Tatsumi gave it freely, and he had so much of it; he radiated the heat of his own need, drawing closer still, one hand pressed between Watari's shoulder blades.
Watari gave in, even as he felt himself break and melt away; he reached to take Tatsumi's glasses, and his own, out of the way and when he leaned into those inviting arms, he knew he was undone. Real or not, it didn't matter anymore. He tasted coffee in the moistness of Tatsumi's mouth, bittersweet like that moment, his control all but gone the instant those lips parted, let him in. Tatsumi's hands coaxed him towards oblivion to all save the miniature world of their shared breath, and Watari went gladly, releasing a quiet moan as they joined into one.
Swept away on a tidal wave of searing need, he let himself sink deeper into that warmth. He felt his body respond to the caress with a tingling that rose and grew at the edges of his sensitized nerves. He buried his hands in the softness of Tatsumi's hair, the gentle insistence reshaping itself to the rhythm of his heartbeat, melting into desperation as he ran his tongue across his lips. He had been starved for such intimacy, each second of it priceless, for so long. Too long. He bit Tatsumi's lip, his heart skipping a beat over a fleeting fear that he'd hurt him, but Tatsumi returned the kiss, over and over again, his hands hot against his back. Guiding him, holding him, keeping his shuddering being together when Watari felt as though he were falling apart at his touch.
"Don't let go," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his heavy breath hot between them. His eyes slid shut and he focused on just being, existing only where the distance between them dissolved in the urgent need to feel, to live again, where there was nothing save Tatsumi in his arms. And he felt as though he came to life again; that sparkle of crystal clear essence of his soul waking up from slumber summoned tears that burned behind his eyes. Don't let go.
When their lips parted, Tatsumi placed a gentle hand on Watari's cheek. He closed his eyes against unbidden memories, letting the caress soothe the scars, willing away all inquiries, unwanted images that tainted the feeling with a bitter layer of residual disgust. If he had understood Enma's reasons before - to an extent, anyway - he hated him now; for spoiling the moment with his lingering presence amidst his thoughts. He sighed.
Tatsumi's fingers traced the length of his face, ghosting over his lips as though he, too, wanted to memorize every curve, every texture, to let his skin remember how he felt. Watari leaned against him, his cheek brushing Tatsumi's, his fingers curling tightly around the man's arm. Like a freefall, he mused, only I'm clinging, this time. He tried not to think of how they could be falling together, from now on; his weight pulling Tatsumi down towards the inevitable end. So unwise of him to have stayed, and yet there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
Tatsumi's warm hands rubbed his stiff shoulders, gently working the painful knots there, time and again brushing as far as his neck. Like an afterthought, an idle caress, and the silence between them disturbed by breath alone felt like a balm on his weary mind. Drifting off under the weight of his eyelids, too heavy to let him keep his eyes open any longer, he tried to will away all thoughts, lose himself in Tatsumi's arms and believe, if only for a moment, that this night would somehow defy the laws of time and last until the end of days. That dawn was too far away for him to care, that he wouldn't have to go anywhere. That all had been said and done before and being here, now, was all that mattered in the world.
He balanced on the thin line between wakefulness and uneasy dreams, in and out, dozing off and waking again when the strain of the never-ending idle thoughts strayed onto too shaky grounds. Sometimes he felt Tatsumi's hand caressing his hair, fingers carding through the strands, untangling the small knots. Other times, vaguely aware of being touched, he moved restlessly against Tatsumi's chest, grasping the clothes under his hand. He chased doubt and momentary panic that all had vanished only because he let himself sleep, heeding the faint echo of a fleeting thought that pushed him to seek his warmth.
Eventually, calmer but not rested, Watari gave up and opened his eyes. He smiled at the rhythmic stroking of Tatsumi's hand at the back of his neck. Still there, he thought. Still with me. Tatsumi himself looked as though he slept, his head resting against the cushions, serenity painted on his face that, without his glasses, seemed eerily young.
"You're awake," he whispered sleepily, shifting his weight to take a closer look.
A hint of a tiny smile tugged at the corners of Tatsumi's mouth. "So are you."
"You've been watching me."
One eye cracked lazily open and Tatsumi looked down, not moving an inch, his hand in Watari's hair never ceasing to brush up and down. "Preposterous."
Watari licked his dry lips, squinting to see the Shadow Master's face. "You have."
"For a while," Tatsumi answered after a moment, leaning over him now for a closer look of his own. "Does it bother you?"
He chuckled. "Like hell."
"I figured."
This close, he studied the pair of eyes locked on his; their blue entrancing, even as something like sadness – a hint of regret, maybe – danced at the back of Tatsumi's gaze, and Watari wondered what he was thinking.
"You said you wanted a peek inside the shell," he said, tracing small circles on Tatsumi's arm with his thumb.
"I regret nothing."
Watari sighed lightly, wiping the remnants of sleep away from his face with the back of his hand. "You probably should."
"I beg to differ." Tatsumi shook his head.
The loose strands of dark hair tickled the tip of his nose. Watari blew them gently away, pulling himself up a little. Propped on one hand, he half-leaned against Tatsumi and he felt himself wake completely at the scent of that man, the warmth of his skin burning under his shirt. He reached out, fingertips brushing at the buttons as his hand ran up, ever so slowly, sneaking beneath the collar to touch that heat, to feel him again.
"If you say so." Mouth ghosting over Tatsumi's neck, he felt his own heartbeat pick up along with the other's, a sudden rush of blood through his veins at every tiniest point of contact left him lightheaded and all but beyond the point of thoughts of any measure of control.
So long, he thought, arching lightly as he felt Tatsumi's warm breath against his skin. So long. He traced the well-defined line of Tatsumi's jaw with the tip of his tongue; his hands grew restless in their roaming across his chest, up his arms, around his neck. Embracing him, Watari pulled himself up onto his knees and shifted his weight until he straddled his hips.
One hand sneaking between Tatsumi's thighs, he leaned over and claimed his half-open mouth, the tension that grew by the second stripping gentleness from his tongue as he urged those lips to part even further. Swept away, forgotten, reason left him and there was only need burning his flesh, guiding him to the warmth that was Tatsumi under him, trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
Tatsumi caught his hands before impatience added too much to the strength with which he pulled at his clothes. "Watari."
Eyes blurry, breath heavy, Watari half-registered that hand stopping him and his name, spoken in a tone that was not passion, but restraint. He looked at Tatsumi's face, the image painted with a thick brush before him and, panting, he tipped his head. "Yes?"
Tatsumi gave his head a light shake, holding Watari's hand down in a grasp that told him more than any words would. "Not like this," he said, his voice gentle yet firm.
Watari watched the blue turn dark, a sickly layer of pulsating fear over his pounding heart. He drew back a little, sandy brow furrowed. "Like how?" For a moment, he only heard the wild racing of his own heart, and his suddenly all too loud, ragged breath. The room whirled around him.
There was too much space between them, he thought frantically, pulling his hand free from Tatsumi's grasp because he kept it too far from the warmth of his lips. And Tatsumi was talking, a muffled sound behind the broken veil around his mind; something about it being the wrong time and how he would feel like he was taking unfair advantage and how the circumstances rendered rash decisions folly. But Watari couldn't care less, his mind shutting down as his head dropped into his hands; and he would have got up and left, if not for the overwhelming numbness that took him.
He pressed his palms to his face, fingers digging into his eyes to burn away the memory of that treacherous blue piercing him with passion, aflame, then put out by logic and fear and gods knew what else, over and over again. His skin felt icy cold now where Tatsumi's hands had been; deprived of touch and lonely, he kept no warmth of his own.
A hand rested against the back of his neck; he shrugged it off, pulled away, but as it did not leave and he reached to remove it, and strong, warm fingers interlaced with his own, the suffocating darkness around him began to disperse. A shuddering sigh escaped his chest.
What the hell am I doing? Watari bowed his head. "Who am I, Tatsumi?"
The Shadow Master moved, rumpled clothes whispering; he let go of his hand and took him by the shoulders, putting gentle pressure on his rigid form until Watari laid his head down on his lap.
"You are Watari Yutaka," he said, smoothing his back with his hand to help him relieve the tension. "My partner."
Watari closed his eyes. "Not anymore."
"You say that now." Tatsumi inclined his head. "But everything changes, doesn't it? How do you know this won't?"
Tatsumi's touch made him shiver again and Watari swallowed thickly, willing himself to relax. The question did nothing to help with that at all. "At this point, I'm not sure what I know and what I don't," he said. "How do you define reality, Tatsumi?" Sighing, he lifted one hand to ease the pain that had taken up residence in his temple with a light massage. "Even now, I set everything – you, myself, this place – against what I know, and it looks—it feels real, but I go back to the illusion and that felt real, as well. No definition I know covers exceptions that can't be forged. Reality is everything that exists, in every sense of the word, but that means the word's not quite suitable anymore, because all those things there existed, too. In a way, they did. In my mind."
Tatsumi took a deep breath, looking slightly away. "You're working yourself up to--" he broke off, his hands on Watari's back pausing, too.
"To insanity?" Watari let out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Don't feel bad, Tatsumi; you're right and I'm aware of that. But I need a proof. A way to tell beyond doubt. Otherwise I'll just keep running in circles, like right now."
Tatsumi cupped the back of Watari's head, his other hand sliding under his arm to turn him, to meet his eyes before he spoke again. "Will you find it where you're going?"
Looking up, Watari met sadness; Tatsumi's serious eyes searched his for the answer, for proof of his own that it would be truthful. "I hope so," he whispered. "And I wonder who will take my place."
Twirling a thin strand of golden hair around his finger, Tatsumi leaned a little further forth. "No one."
Watari frowned. No one? The calm of the Shadow Master's face seemed almost inadequate. "But someone will have to take care of--"
"You told me there's nothing wrong with doing what I want. I remember that. Kinki is slow. I will watch over it while you're away."
Was that a tint of hope saturating that endless blue? He wondered, blinking as he replayed Tatsumi's words in his mind. "Tatsumi..."
"Your choice and mine don't have to contradict. If you have to go, so be it. Your choice, or a necessity, that's quite irrelevant, right now. But if you have the right to do that, then I have the right to make my own choice, too. And I choose to wait."
Watari shook his head, even as he could not stop a small smile from claiming the corners of his lips. "That figures," he said, as lightly as he could manage. "You've always had a knack for dwelling on the past."
Tatsumi made an impatient noise. "You are not the past," he said.
"I'm not exactly the future, either."
Watari did not know whether either of them was still being serious. But Tatsumi's gaze spoke the truth; that could never lie, he had learned a long time ago, it could never hide the contradiction between the words and the man's heart. And even as he kept looking for it, for a long time, he saw no conflict at all.
Tatsumi only smiled, absently stroking his hair. Watari watched him until the sand under his eyelids returned and the warmth of the Shadow Master's arms embracing him hushed his thoughts.
At the edge of another dreamland opening up before him, he wondered if the soft whisper promising never to let go was Tatsumi's, or his own.
-
Watari woke alone.
He knew that before he opened his eyes; the presence of comfort he had subconsciously sensed before, the warmth of another person sleeping next to him, was gone. He was covered in a thick blanket instead, with a soft pillow under his head. He could not tell how long he had slept, except that the room felt much warmer than the night before, and even the tightly closed blinds could not keep the small, radiant rays of the sun completely out.
He stifled a yawn, stretching cramped muscles. Struggling back into focus, he rubbed the remnants of sleep away from his eyes. The previous night was a blur in his mind, suppressed by a new onset of disquietude as he remembered that was the day he would take the plunge, back to the beginning and, no matter how much he wanted to keep putting it off, it would not work. Not anymore. So he cast his mind back to Tatsumi, and blessed his patience and the silent understanding he had mustered, for him, before Watari himself had managed to push the situation out of control.
The clock on the wall read 11:17 and Watari smiled. For having stayed awake most of the night, Tatsumi still had not so much as considered taking it easy, for a change, nor had he allowed himself a chance for proper rest. But he had gone easy on him, he mused; far easier than he would have expected from a man like him. Even if that no longer mattered. Today, he had no work to rush to again, as he had for years. Today, there was one Shinigami less in the Shokan Division, and Tatsumi... had said that it would stay that way?
Watari shook his head. It seemed foolish, even if Tatsumi would likely argue that the budget only benefited from a solution like that. He would, Watari knew, and he knew that it would be just one reason among many others. For what it was worth, Tatsumi had made sure that, before they parted ways, he knew that he had a place to return to. That he would be missed.
Something to try for, he mused as he worked his way out of the tangled covers and rose to his feet.
His eyes made a careful study of the room; he had not expected notes or any signs of Tatsumi at all, beyond the usual hints at someone living there, but curiosity claimed the better of him and he scanned the place cautiously anyway. He suspected he had not so much as stirred when Tatsumi had gone out; exhausted after too many long, stressful hours in the waking world, he made a lame adversary against the need for rest. Tatsumi had left at the crack of dawn, he knew, and he had left quietly. No goodbyes, no well-wishes or promises to remember, to think.
He was glad.
The easy way might have been nothing but a myth, yet all the difficult ones he could think of would not have been welcome at all. Now he remembered the good parts of it, with only a small stain of his lost control to give his memories an extra shade. He felt his cheeks flush slightly at that thought, and he laughed – sincerely, this time. Quite a way, that, to make himself remembered.
He folded the blanket neatly and put it away in the corner of the sofa, the pillow on top of it. For a moment he simply stood there, taking in every detail of the room, committing to memory everything that had taken place there ever since Tatsumi had asked him to stay. He let his mind run through it all over again, to make sure nothing got lost in the haze of his thoughts. He caught himself wishing that he could suddenly find a way, or a reason, not to walk away; that he could hide from the eyes of the world, and it was such a pathetic hope – but he didn't even mind.
Before he left, he would make sure Tatsumi had something from him to return to after work.
Reluctantly, he left the house in spirit form and went back to his apartment, quite loath to linger as every minute added to the knot that had begun to grow in his stomach again. But the sight of the almost perfect order he found at his place made him shed a silent tear; of all the things he could have done, Tatsumi had taken care of his last visit there to be least unpleasant for him.
He took a quick shower and changed his clothes, all the while running a mental check on everything he had yet to arrange. He squished ruthlessly every needless question, all the doubt, when his mind insisted on pondering the situation again. He settled for giving himself time and making the best of what he had, little of it as there was.
Shortly past noon, he left and never looked back.
-
He had hardly seen the JuuOhCho during the day in the recent years; caught up in his work, he had spent countless hours in his lab, and the cases he'd had required visits in other divisions only once or twice. The Ministry had a peculiar sense of life to it; for having employees who were either dead, or not nearly human enough to be considered alive in the usual sense, it could still easily be taken for anything but that. He had only stopped for a short while, before he made his way inside, to take a deep breath – before the plunge, he had mused – which had to be a rather accurate description of what he had come to do. Once there, he decided, he would do his best to find his way out of there again.
Lost in thought, Watari halted at the end of one of the corridors only to realize that he had taken the wrong turn. He shook his head. Old habits died hard, but Shokan was not where he was headed, this time. He turned on his heel with a small sigh, and the way back seemed longer to him, as though he had realized then and there that the way he had gone was not his anymore.
"Watari!"
His head whipped around at the sound of his name. Behind him, Tsuzuki hurried past two young-looking women chattering in front of their office to catch up with him.
All of a sudden, the temperature in the building went right through the roof.
He greeted Tsuzuki with a wave of his hand, cursing in his mind as he watched the man approach him with a worried look on his face. He had hoped he could avoid that, at least, that he would not have to lie. Tough luck, that.
"You wanted to vanish without a word?" Tsuzuki stopped by his side, arms folding over his chest. His shirt was wrinkled, the way it had been for as long as Watari remembered; his tie askew and the state of his hair told him that he must have been grossly late for work again.
He met Tsuzuki's eyes, easily to any side spectator, but he could tell the hints of hurt in his friend's purple eyes. It almost made him flinch. Tsuzuki would not be taken with any of his easy smiles.
"The higher-ups insisted," he said, swallowing down the sting of guilt that lay, like a bitter aftertaste, underneath the words. "I got transferred."
"So I've heard." Tsuzuki nodded, his eyes narrowing a little. "But you could have told us. A goodbye would have been nice."
Watari fought the urge to look away; a quirk that would not have gone unnoticed on his longtime friend. "Apologies. It was sort of sudden and I--"
"Watari," Tsuzuki interrupted, lifting his hand. "What is this really all about?"
"My transfer?" Watari folded his hands in the small of his back, squeezing both fists tight to keep his composure intact. "They need me elsewhere, that's all. I wouldn't have gone if it were up to me, but obviously it isn't, so--"
"Where are you working now?" Tsuzuki cut in again, suspicion now obvious in the way he made a close study of him and Watari felt himself deflate a little under that questioning stare.
You don't want to know. "The Science Department," he said evenly, holding up Tsuzuki's gaze. The memory of his friend's illusory self flashed in his mind's eye, the accusatory words still fresh in his memory. You lied to us. Watari shrugged.
"I see." Tsuzuki's shoulders slumped. "Drop by some time, will you?" He looked up, a sorrowful glint at the edge of his gaze. "I'll miss you. Potions and all."
Watari forced a smile, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek. "I'll see what I can do," he said. Vain promises is all you have, his inner voice offered a harsh reprimand, but he could not bring himself to say anything closer to the truth. He took a step and flung his arms around Tsuzuki's neck; a brief hug, ended before his calm began to melt. "Take care."
He pulled back and waved, turning quickly before Tsuzuki could see the pain welling up in him. He caught the last glimpse of his friend's face; Tsuzuki nodded solemnly as he watched him go, and he waved back, but the simple gesture bore none of his usual cheer.
The image stayed with him all the way down to where everything had begun, thirty years before.
-
A distant noise of someone's fingers flying over a keyboard was first to welcome him back. The guard at the entrance to the underground facility barely spared him a glance as Watari approached, cautious calm on his face but sharp bolts of dread deep in his heart. Only few could walk in there like that, and he was once their chief. The Head Researcher, big words next to his name that used to matter, before the tables turned. When the facade of secrecy finally fell, all that he had left was a filthy veil under which Watari Yutaka was nothing but a tool.
He did not have the mind to keep up appearances, this time. A closer study of the place revealed no obvious changes at the front; not many, anyway, and he guessed the security system must have been the same as well. Efficiency had always been valued above all else in there; with no need for change, no one would waste the precious time to work on such things.
Past the door, Watari held his breath. The voices hushed, and it felt almost like a déjà vu – heads turned at the sight of him, some of the scientists no doubt recognizing him from the moment he took the first step inside.
"You sure did take your time."
He turned rapidly, only to come face to face with what he had written off as an illusion just the day before. "Tategami," he stammered, his stomach almost flipping backwards as the woman sent him a wry smirk.
"Who did you expect, a ghost?" she asked in a voice that held as much derision as it had mockery.
Watari's last memories of her were nothing like that. She had never been among the nicest people aboard, he could give her that. Then again, such traits fell somewhat short of any of their characters, anyway. "Well," he swallowed forcefully. His mouth went dry. "Last time I checked, you were--"
"Working, while you were wasting time chasing wayward souls." She rolled her eyes. "About damn time you quit fooling around."
"--lost," he finished, his voice trailing off as a quiet sound of clapping hands derailed his train of thought.
He turned, as did Tategami; he watched her bow in well-feigned respect before the tall, black-clad god who crossed the spacious lab in long, unhurried steps.
"Congratulations," Enma said, black eyes measuring Watari from head to toe. "You made the right choice. I hope the last night was a pleasant treat?"
Gods, no. The very words, that tone, the implications made him sick.
Enma swept a calculating look around him, his gaze resting briefly on Tategami before it settled back on Watari's face.
"KinU, GyokuTo," he said, gesturing for them to follow. "This time, do it right."
-
GyokuTo (tr. Jade Hare) - see Yami no Matsuei, chapter 57 for canon reference.