9. End.
T: A day early because I found some spare time!!! See the title?? Yep this is the very last chapter! In the tradition of my last chapters of late all the warnings go up a notch and there is one lose end left over because it's slightly more 'real' that way! I own nothing that you see here other than the plot bunny.
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For an instant after being left alone with his partner he does not move, for he is afraid, somehow, of making things even worse than they are currently.
Then a muffled noise of agitation leaves his partner's lips and an instant later he is there at the other's side, his hands tangling into Hisoka's and squeezing the blood soaked hand as tightly as he dares.
A whispered sound that may or may not be his name and then Hisoka's eyelids are twitching wildly in a bit to open.
With his free hand he smoothes away the other's bangs and, his voice full of a shaky vulnerability that he had hoped to keep at bay, he says,
"It's alright, go back to sleep, Hisoka."
The boy's grip tightens about his hand and, his voice still little more than a whisper, he says,
"Forgive me,"
His heart ceases at that and, leaning down to press a kiss to the other's forehead, he says,
"Of course."
A little of the other's agitation seems to fade at that and, his grip loosening just barely, Hisoka falls again into silence.
Feeling somewhat more 'himself' he gently extricates his hand from his partner's grip and, securing himself a chair, 'pitches down' at Hisoka's side.
Watari re-appears a moment later and, once assured that the other is now alone, he enquires,
"So what happened?"
"It seems that Bon and Muraki has found a way to not only get the curse to work on Bon's 'immortal' soul but also to make it stronger than it was before. It also seems that Muraki has fallen victim to the curse."
"Something you think that Hisoka played a part in?"
"It sounds foolish, I know, especially considering offensive magic really isn't Bon's thing, but he's had years to memorise every loop and swirl that goes into the making of that curse."
"In otherwords you think that it was the symbols of the curse, rather than Muraki's 'gift' that gave it its power?"
"It's the only theory that makes sense given…" The scientist's mood, already fairly macabre, darkens and, fearful of the reply, he enquires,
"Given what, Watari?"
"Given that the thing was painted onto Muraki with blood that, if we ran a DNA test on it, I am assured would prove to be Bon's."
"Then justice has been served." He is certain that the words sound callous, that perhaps he should pretend to feel some form of compassion, yet he is also assured that Watari will understand well why he can not muster such geniality and not judge him for the choice.
It is a belief that is strengthened a moment later when a gentle smile lights the scientist's face and he says,
"Indeed it has."
He allows the fresh levity within the atmosphere to linger as long as his patience will allow and then he enquires,
"Will this new curse do to him what the old one did?"
"I wish I could give you a clear answer either way, Tsu, but this is new ground for me and thus I can not be certain."
"I see." He returns his attention back to his partner then and bending down to press his forehead against the Hisoka's, he says, "Don't let him win, Hisoka, not now," his voice dropped down into a whisper.
"If you want to take him back to the infirmary I'll cover over our tracks here." The scientist remarks after a few minutes.
"Thank you, Watari."
"Don't mention it."
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He feels unbearably hot, as though there is an inferno burning its way through his bloodstream that he can not staunch, a sensation that he recalls well from the years before his death.
Perhaps he had not died at all.
Perhaps his enrolment as a Shinigami, his introduction to his new 'family' and even Tsuzuki had been little more than a fever induced hallucination.
Why, after all, would someone like Tsuzuki wish to befriend a monster such as himself?
Why would he sacrifice so much just for the sake of that monster's happiness?
Why would he have begun to love that monster?
Thinking on it now it seemed so very obvious that the matter had just been a dream.
A life such as that was not, after all, meant for one such as himself.
He hates that that thought brings tears to his eyes and that his traitorous mind creates the sensation of warm fingers brushing those tears away.
Worst of all though is the voice that follows an instant later; a voice full of warmth, concern, love and the lurking shadow of a pain that might never be forgotten.
"There's no need for that now, is there?" The voice enquires as the fingers dip to brush at his cheek, "It's over, after all."
The touch is coursing emotions through his body, emotions that he had felt only ever in the 'unreality' of that other life and, desperate to rid himself of the bitter sweet torture that they represent, he forces his eyes open.
For an instant his body refuses to give over even the meagre energy needed to focus his eyesight and the world before him remains little more than a kaleidoscope of blurs.
Then random objects begin sliding into focus; a half eaten tray of food settled on the table at his bedside, the intravenous drip pushed hard into his left wrist as well as the fresh layer of skin that has healed about the needle, a fine fingered hand curled tight about his right bicep and the head of messy brown hair pressed but a breath from the angle of his right hip.
His arm trembling for the shear effort he lifts his right hand to touch that hair, to prove to himself, once and for all, if the other is real or no.
He is given an instant to take in the silky texture of the other's hair and then, most likely alerted to his conscious state by the gesture, the other has lifted his head up and away from his grasp.
Violet eyes blink at him with a lazy confusion and, though it is as agony to do as such, he utters the other's name.
Not the stifled formality of his family name but rather the gentle familiarity of his given name.
Those violet eyes fill with desire and, the voice whispers his own name before hot, insistent, lips claim his own.
The touch makes him feel 'alive' again and he pulls himself tight against it, responds with an ardour that he had never believed he would feel.
It is the other that eventually puts an end to the kiss and, settling his head into the crook of his neck, he says,
"We should wait until you are better."
He nods a response and, feeling almost as though he could fly, he says,
"I love you, Asato."
He feels the other's smile bloom against his skin and, but a breath later, he says,
"I love you also, Hisoka."
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T: Review?