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Category: Yami no Matsuei

Title: Hidden research, an experiment in death and rebirth.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An experiment leads to rebirth for a green-eyed Shinigami, tearing him away from death and a devoted partner.

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Receptum

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It was early dusk when they returned. And the sun, just beginning to set on the outside, peaked blithely through the bedrooms' opened window; soft white curtains, billowing lightly on a breeze caught Tsuzuki's attention as he walked into the room, quietly setting a few things down while the bathroom door shut firmly behind an irritated youth, effectively shutting him out, as he had not been able to do . . . all afternoon.

It was a difficult situation, made only worse by the dark-looming promise the doctors mere existence had once extended the green-eyed youth. More so now, that when he'd merely fiddled with the curse that'd covered his entire body.

It had made him angry and anxious, and though he was no where near as good as reading people as his partner, he could easily read the fright the mere sight of white-silver hair had caused the boy today.

He was afraid.

And with a dooming sense of guilt, Tsuzuki would admit, he had every right to be. He was young and beautiful, and innocent in a way, he imagined he had been before that filthy monster had dared laid a hand on him. And yet, Tsuzuki knew he had been all those things before . . . in life, when he had been alive—the boy had exuded such innocence, such innocence still, he made an intoxicating sight.

And so what worried him, now especially, wasn't so much the fact that all those things had been recombined, again. But simply that he really was alive . . . He was defenseless, now, without the power of a Shinigami, without the protective shield that had provided him; he was completely vulnerable to all attacks. And while he had known this since Watari had first informed him of the youth's condition, he'd realized that Hisoka had not yet known or understood that until today, when they'd left the safety of his apartment and the first swell of thoughts, had hit him like a wave beating against the shore. He had staggered against his arms, struggling to raise a shield that would not come when called.

"Tsuzuki?"

The older Shinigami's eyes rose immediately to the elfin face, his worry dissipating, if slightly at the blush staining the youth's cheeks. "Yes?" He asked, already rising from the chair he'd taken comfort in and walking towards the youth who suddenly took a step back before stopping just as swiftly, as he scowled at Tsuzuki. The brunet couldn't help but wonder how much of what he'd been thinking had filtered across the room.

'Baka,' the boy thought, before simply shaking his head and leaving it alone. He had been mean enough all day, he thought and there really was no reason for him to continue to be so, especially now that they'd gotten away from all those people so—"Never mind." He muttered, as he headed for the door, he caught sight of Tsuzuki, just out of the corner of his eye, as he lowered his head.

It made his step falter and the ache in his heart begin anew but he still did not turn, hand already on the knob. He stared at the door, wondering what to say, to sooth him or comfort him in someway but—"Tsuzuki . . ." He lacked the words and courage necessary to say what he had once already said; 'I need you.'

"Hisoka?"

"Aa," he answered, thoughtlessly shaking his head. "Come on," he invited, eyes still level on the door. "I'll make you something to eat while I start on dinner."

And with that he opened the door and made his way. Tsuzuki's emotions, ricocheting of his psyche like fog against glass as he followed closely behind him. Hisoka felt his surge of happiness only for a second before his shields were reinforced and all he was left with was this deep hollow sense of loss.

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Sometimes . . . it was hard . . . for him . . . to remember just where he now was, particularly when it got real quite in the room or he was left to his own devices; like watching tv or laying on the couch, just letting time slip by—until he could almost forget.

Almost . . . just never quite.

Since this whole thing began, Tsuzuki had not been able to breathe without Hisoka's scent or see without the image of his face. He was in his thoughts, all the time. More so than he had been before . . . all of this began. So, it seemed absurd that he could even contemplate the idea of being able to forget, even if for just a second—

Tsuzuki shook his head, exhaling a deep, frustrated breath as he leaned back against the cushions of the couch. Irritated on so many levels, he really didn't know where to begin.

He had known, almost from the beginning, he had known that returning to that place would only cause the tension between them to further increase. And still, he had gone. Because he knew, above all else, that Hisoka had really needed clothes and so he'd pushed aside his thoughts on the matter and readily agreed. Because he had needed to go and because . . .

He sighed again.

It really was like he was obsessed all of a sudden. He just couldn't seem to help himself. He needed to be with him, all the time now, not because he had to be but because he wanted to. He needed it like he needed air. He was in love with him. And while he'd known this for quite a while now he had never felt such a need for him as he did now. He wanted him.

Though he wasn't exactly sure when this feeling had begun to surface he did know that this latest abduction had brought the feeling to the forefront. Either way, he couldn't help but be afraid . . . that . . . in the end, when everything was over and he had at last rid this world of Muraki, he-himself, would not be around to provide the comfort the boy would need.

He would loose . . .

"Tsuzuki."

What mattered to him most . . .

"Tsuzuki . . ."

He raised his head just as Hisoka peaked into the room. A light scowl marring his elfin face. "Dinners ready, come on." The boy beckoned, coming in the rest of the way as he dried his hands on small towel. "What's the matter?"

Tsuzuki shook his head. "It's nothing," he said dismissing the boy's worry. And sighing inwardly as he stood, stretching the kinks out of his back before coming towards the youth who had not yet moved.

As he passed him, Hisoka grabbed his arm, for a second synchronizing with his feelings before letting go as if burned, face flushed pink as he turned and walked away: mumbling something about idiots and meals going to waste.

While Tsuzuki stared after him, wondering what had just taken place, Hisoka called for him again, this time sounding genuinely angry at his dwindling attention span, which prompted the purple-eyed man to quickly rush in after the boy.

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Hours later, long after dinner had been served and eaten, and he had at last been found and dragged away from his latest book. They both sat on the couch; some distance away, as the movie, they had both missed the title to, continued to play in the background; their thoughts, otherwise occupied as the clock struck nine and the scene on the screen climaxed—

Hisoka blinked, wondering still, what Tsuzuki could have meant by his comment earlier that morning . . .

Though it was redundant obviously, he wasn't that naïve; he still didn't know how to interpret the feelings that inspired such a comment. Tsuzuki had always, always, after all said such things to him before. It was just . . . different, this time around. Though he wasn't exactly sure how or could even begin to explain the particulars on any such distinction for that matter; he knew, there was a difference. He could feel it. Much like Tsuzuki's gaze every now and then, he could sense it and with it, the change in his emotions.

But even that, he found was only a half-truth. Tsuzuki could, in most instances, effectively shut him out. He had been for a while now, hiding behind his shields, which he would admit, he had not paid too much attention to.

Before all of this began . . . that is, the second time around, he and Tsuzuki had finally settled back into a nice angst-free routine he had been coming around to very much like. It had been a step closer towards affection, even if a far cry, from the intimacy Tsuzuki had wished to share. They had a least, been on the same path. Now however, with the threat of Muraki looming over them and this body he was forced to bear, he found himself between a whirlwind of emotions, both his and Tsuzuki's, assailing his resolve.

He loved him.

And yet, he would admit, he did not want to. He did not want to care anything about him. Or even think, of how much he'd risk to save him from himself. Because thinking such things, only made it harder to deny it and if anything, Hisoka had been proud he could still sometimes believe his lies: no matter how much of an idiot that made him.

Tsuzuki sighed and that was enough, he found, to spring him from his thoughts. As he glanced over at the purple eyed man, eyes slightly narrowed. Tsuzuki turned to look at him as well, purples eyes tainted and dark, with a mixture of emotions that made Hisoka's face both pale and suffuse with color.

He wanted him . . .

And could not bare it.

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The movie ended some time after with a classical rendition of Beethoven he had only ever once heard before. Long ago, when he'd thought he'd had his mother's love; he remembered coming into her room just as an old Italian version of the Moonlight Sonata had begun to play.

With its soft, lingering notes permeating the air—Hisoka remembered his mother's face; the soft delicate features beneath that tidy mop of honey blonde hair. Dark-impassive eyes, hidden beneath a fringe of lashes too dark for the frosted way her hair looked beneath the sunlight.

She had been very, very beautiful.

And still, she had considered herself the ugly sister, he remembered as the song began to draw upon its close, the image of the face that'd flashed across her thoughts. With her long-silky locks, loose around her face, and dark loving eyes, as green as any winter leaf. He remembered his real mother's face. And the truth, that later revealed, he thought, bitterly blinking back an excess of moisture gathered around his lashes.

As he casually rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, Tsuzuki turned the movie off, carefully setting the control on the table, with a care that was not at all unbecoming. He was nervous as he studiously avoided his gaze.

Which almost made it seem like he knew, he thought, suddenly becoming angry. He rose off the couch, coolly leaving the room, with his hands tightly fisted in his pockets. Irritated beyond reason, for no reason at all— other than Tsuzuki might have suspected . . . something. And confined as they were, set to spend so much of their time together, his anger found an outlet.

Maddening as it was though he refused to do anything that might otherwise make the older Shinigami cry. That he had learned was a doubled edged sword. His tears and his pain tore his heart apart in a way his own pain never had. He'd made him vulnerable, he realized, much in the same way Tsuzuki had become.

Or like his safety had made him become, he amended, as the previous gathered moisture on his lashes slid down his cheek. Hisoka slammed the bathroom door, locking himself inside until his tears finally subsided.

When he came back out, almost an hour and a half later and after a much needed shower, he found Tsuzuki had been kind enough to turn out all the lights, including the bedrooms which made Hisoka hope, as he glanced over to the silent figure beneath the covers, that it was because he'd already gone to sleep.

Either way, he hoped Tsuzuki would allow him the illusion. He really was tired. And just now, he could think of no better way to escape his miserable life than through a couple hours sleep.

With Tsuzuki at his side, his sleep would most likely be dreamless. And warm, he thought. Yawning, a little as he padded around the bed, already feeling the call of sleep beckoning him in, he slid in silently besides his partner, carefully avoiding pulling on the blankets too hard as he tucked them in around him, dutifully keeping from touching the other man as he made himself comfortable. He felt Tsuzuki turn and mumble, drawing only slightly closer before his motions ceased. And sleep, Hisoka found quickly engulfed him.

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In the middle of the night, as most Shinigami took in their peaceful rest, the outside wall of the infirmary at EnMaCho exploded into debris that landed nearly ten yards away. As Muraki came in, white coat billowing on the winds of his explosion, the alarms began to sound. Drawing in the usually cheerful doctor along with the district's deadly serious secretary, who took half a look around before he'd already summoned shadows.

"Muraki!"

The doctor smiled, in away that made both their skin crawl. "Where is he?"

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I will start this off by saying I'm a bit of liar but I swear I never meant to take this long. I honestly thought it would take me no more than a month or so to write this. But I was wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't abandon the story, I just . . . kind of dropped it to the bottom of the list. There was such a small fandom for it at the time and I was still so heavily involved in writing RK, that . . . I lingered . . . over there, for a really long time. I know. I'm sorry.

But I mean it now, I will continue this and finish it before I even complete the rest of my Mirage of Blaze story or anything else for that matter. So prepare yourself. Grab your tissue and your blanket and all of your comfort food now, and prepare yourself for the next angst/ 'what-are-you-doing-to-us-readers /romance' couple of chapters.

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Recipio, Recepi, Receptum : to go back, retire, recede, retreat.