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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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Facio
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Hisoka awoke with a start, a hot searing pain across his face, doubled as the doctor slapped him once again. As he blinked back a new wave of dizziness, he tried to make his vision focus before suddenly biting back a cry of pain as he felt the binds of earlier cutting into his wrists. A slow trickle of blood, making it's way down his arm, Hisoka looked around, trying to make out his surrounding, when he realized, they where much different than before.
"Boy," the doctor called, fingers bruising against his chin. "You'll be happy to know, your Shinigami friends, just missed us." He mocked, amusement flickering across his gaze like light across a pond.
"Tsuzuki?" Hisoka rasped, watching the doctors amusement fade with such swiftness, such intensity, he thought for sure the doctor would slap once again.
"No." The doctor voiced, barely concealed madness hidden beneath his bangs. "He didn't come."
At a loss for what to say, Hisoka looked away, voice hollow and pained. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked, shivering as Muraki smiled and took a step.
"That is not for you to ask." Muraki stated, sidling up the platform, he'd unexpectedly had to drop him on, soon after their escape. "But by the time I'm done, I think you're going to wish you had never asked." He said, lips quirking viciously into the semblance of smile.
"Poor Tsuzuki . . ." Muraki mocked, ghosting hands, gliding over calf's. "He's going to be so distraught when he finds your body . . . A pity I will have to obliterate your soul, ne Hisoka-chan."
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His breath caught—early in the afternoon light, amidst warmth and rays of sun, as a life time worth of knowledge flashed across his mind, he still could not comprehend. How? How, could he have risen from that bed. It was impossible. Tsuzuki had by all medical means been effectively sedated, strapped down to that bed and watched almost . . .
"Constantly," he murmured, running out of the infirmary and out into the main office, in search of Wakaba who he feared might have done something she really, really shouldn't have.
"Kami," he thought, halting at her empty desk before really beginning to despair. He knew where Tatsumi had gone, but he didn't think Tsuzuki knew. Which meant he could have been anywhere out there. Specially if the drugs they'd filled him with had not yet dissipated, he thought. Mournfully looking around the desk area one more time before running out of the building, taking to the skies and hoping beyond all hope that Tsuzuki had at least found Tatsumi. Kami only knew, he would know what to do.
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"The first incision's going to hurt," he murmured, carefully driving the blade deeper into the youth's arm, before briefly glancing at his moistened eyes, lips half parted in a grimace he tried to hide.
Which in part is what made it so much fun, Muraki thought, fiddling with the machine, before infusing the spare with the boys thick red blood.
"It won't be long now." He murmured as he took a slight step back, watching the boys hands fisting together, slower than they had the last time he'd tried . He smiled and approached the bed. Soft hands searching, ghosting over pale light skin.
"You are most beautiful," he breathed—"When covered in blood," he remarked, taking a slow lick of his neck before burying his nose in blood matted locks.
"You should be grateful, I didn't beat you." He murmured, insinuating hands, grasping at his thighs. "Grateful enough to show me, what it was like . . ." He said, breath hot against his face, as he lowered himself further, "Show me what it was like with Tsuzuki-san . . ." He asked, lightly nipping on an ear before Hisoka screamed out in outrage. Kicking at Muraki with enough force to knock him back onto the gurney set up besides his.
Dry heaving in revulsion, Hisoka's turned his face away. For a moment closing his eyes, willing himself to stop before slowly turning back. Face pale and eyes bright, as he watched Muraki rise.
"That is going to cost you," he said, not coming any closer to the bed but watching him instead, as he traced the deep rope-burns on his legs genuinely surprised to find he'd somehow managed to loosen them enough before letting something like amusement turn up the corners of his mouth and touching Hisoka's forehead.
As he watched stiffened limbs become relaxed, he approached the bed, triumph glinting off his gaze at he watched Hisoka dark emerald like eyes fade with conscious thought. Leaving him a poor, helpless little shell like Maria Wong had once been.
"Now," Muraki murmured, mouth pressed close to the boys. "I'm going to mind my brother. You stay there," He said, mocking smile turning up his mouth. "While I get things ready. It won't be long before he's awake I'm just afraid, something as pretty as you will only draw his attention so I'll have to kill you before then." He trusted, hands, slowly rubbing against his thigh before slightly sighing and turning to the gurney set out beside him.
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"He looks peaceful."
"He does," he agreed, gently running his hand through blonde silken locks. His face one of calm resignation, as he looked down at the elfin face.
"You really love him."
It wasn't a question but regardless of the fact, he nodded, acknowledging her comment with a glance of suddenly bright eyes. "He is all I have left." He whispered, dark purple eyes dimming with the thought. "I can't loose him too," he murmured, choking on sob he would not let her witness. "I - I could never survive that."
"Tsuzuki," she whispered, kneeling down in front of the usually genki man. "He's going to be fine." She said, placing a hand over his knee. "He's too stubborn not to right?"
Smiling a bit, he nodded. "I just . . . I worry, Wakaba. He is more vulnerable than you realize. I just . . ." He shook his head.
"Tsuzuki? What is it? What's wrong?"
"I-" He didn't know quite how to begin but—"Wakaba, you and I, we've have been friends a long time, right." When she nodded, his eyes abandoned the sleeping youth. "You know I have never . . . What I feel for Hisoka . . . I want to protect that." He paused, eyes flickering to youth's face before returning to Wakaba's serious expression. "I want to protect him by all necessary means."
Frowning, Wakaba shook her head. "I don't understand."
"I want you to do me a favor, Wakaba."
"Alright."
Blinking, back the desperation threatening to creep across his face, Tsuzuki sighed, taking a deep breath before all traces of the man she knew disappeared from view. "I want you to help . . ."
"Help me get him back anyway you can." He implored. Hands reaching out for her. "If I am for any reason hurt or incapacitated. I want you to help me. Just help me stand."
"Tsuzuki . . ."
"That is the only way," he cut her off. "I can't survive this world alone Wakaba. I'd rather die fighting to take him back than to survive this knowing I could have saved him."
"But Tsuzuki, Hisoka wouldn't want . . ."
"Please." He snapped, sounding harsh and cold, the image of what he might become without the elfin figure at his side. "It won't matter in the end," he said. Eyes and hands withdrawing, capturing youthful pale hands instead. "I won't let him go."
"Alright," she promised. Fear and trepidation, lacing her posture as she stood, silently watching his face, her heart always regarding him a brother; as he glanced her way, eyes bright once again.
"Thank you Waka-chan. Thank you," he whispered. Returning his gaze back to the elfin face, who in sleep had moved closer towards his partner.
'I can't let you go,' he thought, remembering the youth's face as Wakaba had let herself out, as he had leaned forward and slightly brushed his lips against his hair. 'I can't,' he thought, running into a room purposely set on fire. The wall behind him gaping wide from the explosion his Shikigami had created. As he charged ahead, breaking through another obstacle with Byakko at his side. He could only think of how much he loved the elfin faced youth, what he wouldn't do to keep him. And most importantly, how nothing, nothing he swore would keep him from reaching the boy's side. Muraki least of all, he thought, grimly rushing in after Byakko as the roof collapsed. Shouts of panicked angry friends, filtering through his head before darkness surrounded him once and for all.
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"Your shields seemed have gotten weaker." Muraki mused, face inches from a slowly awaking Shinigami. "I can't say I'm not surprised," he cajoled. "That boy will be the death of you."
"Muraki."
"Temper now, Tsuzuki-san. I can't say I wasn't expecting you. I just thought you'd be by a little later."
"Where is he," Tsuzuki growled, hands pushing off the floor to lift himself up.
"I'm afraid he's not really alive." He murmured, walking out of reach as Tsuzuki turned around, trepidation vanishing as, surprise and anger, washed him off any other clear emotion.
"I'm going to kill you."
"Yes, I've heard that before." The doctor mused, a different kind of smile tugging at his lips at he gazed down at the brown haired man. Disheveled clothes and all, he still looked good enough to toss down and . . . "Maybe later," he offered before turning back around. Walking to a group of gurneys Tsuzuki had not been able to see before.
"Where's Hisoka," he asked again, taking a step closer before coming to a halt, feeling out with his hand as he felt something like an invisible wall obstruct his path.
"You didn't really think I was just going to let you come in here and start destroying things, did you?"
When Tsuzuki scowled, Muraki merely smiled. "I'm almost done Tsuzuki-san. Then after I get rid of the boy you and I can . . . talk, if you like."
"I want Hisoka. Give him to me."
"Now why would I ever do that."
"Because you don't need." Tsuzuki snapped, punching the barrier that stood between them. "Give him to, now."
In the silence of the room, as Muraki and Tsuzuki gazed at one another, the soft humming sounds of a heart monitor came alive as another began to fade.
"Too late now," the doctor murmured, gaze cast of to the side as he watch the slow shallow breaths of someone truly dear to the brown haired man, cease his struggle. "Much too late for him now," he said before watching as Tsuzuki struggled to understand.
Sliding down against the barrier, Tsuzuki felt his heart shatter. Just thinking of the last time—the last time, he'd had him in his arms. As he'd finally kissed him and had felt his heart respond. Tsuzuki cried out, shaking his head, in what could only be denial.
"He can't be dead." He argued. "Hisoka would have waited." He cried. "He would have waited to at least have seen me . . ." One last time, he choked before completely coming apart.
As Muraki watched him, fascinated by the grief the older Shinigami drowned in, something like a shadow rose behind him. The echoes of a monitor wailing, before the sight of wheat color strands over shadowed his.
"Muraki?"
He turned around, eyes wide and fascinated as he saw at last who stood behind him. "Saki," he breathed, a mixture of emotions filling up his being before finding himself trap in the others arms.
"I feel a lifetime of waiting in you Muraki."
His voice Muraki realized had not changed at all. But his strength, had he always been this strong?
"You look so much like your mother," Saki whispered, face pressed close to a suddenly stiff Muraki. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Hatred, he remembered. Dark, black, seeping hatred more tangible than the need for revenge or cold-blooded murder. The doctor yearned to make him pay, to obliterate him down to his very soul. Watch him struggle and fight, and cry before brimstone and fire turned him into ash. "I —" Muraki, stated, in a carefully measured tone— "Am going to . . ."
"Suzaku," someone called.
Catching their attention, as he realized Tsuzuki's prone body lay in the arms of a dead Shinigami, "Suzaku," he called, voice strangely deep and mournful, as the giant phoenix rose behind him, crashing past the barrier with such ease, Muraki tried to step back.
"Who is that?" Saki wondered, eyes alight on a slim figure, with eyes as dark as his original mother.
"The death of us all," Muraki murmured, turning around as the heat of Suzaku's fire enveloped them in flames as bright as the ones he'd soon see in hell he mused before Saki's screams drowned out his own.
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Facio, as used in this story and by definition means to sacrifice; to suffer or to bring about.