Author's notes: wheeeee Another chapter! -holds up the Disclaimer sign- :D

Yo, TheOneYouCallWe, oh psh. Hisoka will be fine. ... Mostly. He survives. :D That's all I'll say.

Hey Literary Eagle, meh. Bashers should eat forks! ... actually they shouldn't, I recently saw on the Discovery channel what happens when you swallow a fork... Oo... -shudder-

Ohayou Gozaimashita, Experimental. I am very glad to have you! (I love critique-l reviews. :3 Yes I do.) I am very relieved that someone noticed the subtle stuff... I was afraid I wasn't doing a good job on that end. (I'm a bit overwhelmed though and nervous on continuing more... Well-written reviews are a double-edged sword afterall...)

Thank you for all your reviews! And thanks for reading:)

Oh and before I forget, the lullaby in the story is something I made up, so I'm saving poetry for next time:o

Holding a hand to his chest, Hisoka woke up soundlessly, sweaty and shocked. He craved isolation, for somewhere to think, but what immediately came to mind was the case. It was far too important to be taking time away from it. His stomach roiled and squirmed in hunger. How long have I been out?

There was Watari huddled over his beakers… There, a single light sat to help the scientist see his work while not disturbing Hisoka's slumber; the walls weren't illuminated by the soft light. Verily, Hisoka felt surrounded by obscure swaths of black that the desk lamp was mercifully, albeit weakly, keeping at bay. Wrapping his arms around himself, he fought onto the fact that it was difficult to grasp ahold a calm stream of logic.

He was burdensome and unworthy of the time spent on him.

Where had that come from? He wondered fuzzily. He wasn't familiar with this vagueness, nor did dreams normally have this affect on him. Plus overloading never left him feeling jittery as if bugs were crawling under his skin. If anything I should be annoyed or maybe even embarrassed.

Instead he worried. Nobody was supposed to be worrying about him and the fact he overloaded would be a cause for their anxiety. There was nothing to be concerned about, but obviously they would be.

Frowning at the swell of vertigo threatening to swoon him again, he rubbed his head failing to knock out the circular reasoning running panicked laps about, and shifted his weight as he sat up. That was just enough movement that Watari looked up.

"Bon? How are you feeling?"

"I'm good. Nothing broken." His tone of voice was his trademark sarcasm, yet his heart fluttered nervously at his lie of omission. Still dizzy he held his head.

"Lights." Stated as a warning, Watari flicked the switch to the fluorescent bulb, while Hisoka winced reflexively. Pulling out a penlight from his pocket, Watari didn't have to bend much to check his abnormally mydriatic pupils, flashing the light briefly. "How do you feel? Your eyes keep twitching minutely."

"I'm fine." His glowering annoyance broke through the damn timidness that had besieged his usual temperament, and quickly pulled his hand away from his forehead.

"I'm not so sure about that. Why don't we do a little test, hmm? Stand up and touch your nose." Watari drawled.

His eye spasmed, but he did as asked.

"Ok, while touching your nose, lift your foot." Watari backed up and scrutinized the way Hisoka held himself.

Huffing, Hisoka lifted his right foot while his left index finger was occupied with its contact with his nose.

"Now how do you feel?"

"Like an idiot." Logic back, he wavered then heavily plopped back down on the cot, comfortably wrapping his epiphany around him.

Was I thinking as Tsuzuki or was it an echo effect? His skull felt like someone was attempting to drive a nail through it, which soured his mood. Not bothering to think more deeply on what was happening to him since it helped alleviate the pain, he asked,"Where's Tsuzuki?"

"He was called back to Godotenrincho to debrief any findings from your encounter with Muraki to Imano Kacho, and because their missing Shinigami agent was located."

"Must've been Kato's partn-" With the force of a sledgehammer, sharp pain mushroomed in his head and slipped across his cursemarks as his eyes rolled back and his entire body crumpled twitching ineffectually.

Like a thing alive on his skin, the familiar angry crimson color flared and shimmered to an intense vermillion. Brighter and brighter until it seeped into the edges of his eyesight.

He could feel it writhing over him like the coils of a snake unfurling after a long slumber, feel it slide and thicken and rearrange itself. The pain resuming once it settled.

Then, he found himself staring up at the ceiling panting.

What the hell..?

/Lay back down/

"Lay back down!" The scientist's voice echoed eerily together with his mind with little separation of time between them.

An idea struck Hisoka at that moment and slowly turning a crimped neck, wary eyes looked up at his friend.

"Why haven't I changed back yet?"

The suspicion creased to his forehead as well. "Why am I still like this?" He looked up at Watari with those still-large pupils; the scientist couldn't guess at what he was thinking or how he felt by them, but judging by his voice..

"…mistake. There was something wrong with the potion… How?" He looked genuinely disturbed. "The fact you put it in coffee? Didn't research my coffee-drinking habits well enough so I drank a larger dose than I was supposed to. An oversight." He clutched his head staring at Watari as his face drained of any color he had; the silence in the room was stifling.

"Bon, your…"

"Don't you think I know!" He snapped, breathing stilted.

----------------------------

When I silently wished to be more powerful I didn't ask for my empathy to mutate. That was the last thing on my mind! Watari and I were as close as good friends could be, but if things were this bad with him then…

Everything that Watari thought called up his words silently without speaking them; the room filled with noise. The disconcerting part being that no sound was picked up with my ears. "I thought telepathy wasn't supposed to exist."

/It's not../

"It's not.."

"Stop talking! I can hear you without it."

Watari shut his mouth but his thoughts continued.

/Never heard a telepath existing, not in the normal sense anyway. There are two sides to theoretical telepathy anyway, which have never been documented as being paired together: Reception and projection. You've obviously reached a higher level of reception, becoming more like a tele-empath, rather than a simple empath. You can't project your own or manipulate other's thoughts so you aren't a true 'telepath'. /

That brought up my memory of that newbie over in the Chubuu sector. The projector.

Watari's mind paused, wondering at the spaced-out moment on my face before continuing. /You need to practice control and restraint./

"How?"

/This is good practice. (though it's a little strange to be speaking without words. it's very fascinating nonetheless-)/ Watari grinned.

"What happened when I fell?" My face scowled, cutting off his off-topic mental tangents.

/You had an epileptic seizure. Not a lot I can do about that./ Again he bent over to check my eyes and I got strange grin. /Extreme miosis now../

"Miosis?" I stated bluntly. "I can hardly see. If that's what you mean." The only definition I knew of that word related to cell reproduction, not entire organisms.

/Your pupils have dilated to pinprick size from its previously large and abnormal size./

"And what am I supposed to do with the thoughts?" Changing the topic, since I read from him that there was nothing he could do.

/I suggest you get some more rest before attempting to practice some more; you still look a bit pale./

I rolled my eyes but acquiesced. Rotten moods beget a nasty repertoire of language anyway. Curled up on my side again, I tried to relax, but the body again proved cumbersome and awkward and uncomfortable… Maybe it'll fix itself… Who was I kidding? There was no way it'd fix on its own, and I didn't know what to do…

----------------------------

Watari nibbled lightly on the tip of his left forefinger and laid a hand on 003's fluffy head petting. "You ever wonder 003… if perhaps the lab and endless experimentation isn't worth it? I'm afraid the bud was pruned prematurely and there'll be no shoots..."

I'm such a terrible gardener.

Hisoka groaned 'Shut up!', and Watari quickly determined that he should vacate the lab with his owl whom he'd just been conversing in low tones with.

Laid back into the hospital bed, Hatakeyama looked gaunt and thin, nothing like Tsuzuki had remembered her, and apparently this was as new to Kato as well, so it must have been a recent event.

"Long time, no show, Tsuzuki." She smiled at him tiredly. "Managed to grab ahold of a fine, young man is what Sachi here told me. The brat wouldn't quite yammering on about how gorgeous you two were."

A sharp 'hey!' announced from her partner as he complained that she only heard a fourth of what he had to say.

Tsuzuki's stable grin remained on his face. "Glad to see you, too, Nui..." His eyes scanned her skeletal frame. "Unfortunately, I'm here to help the case, not catch up." He paused on her face. "What other capabilities does this soul have?"

"Other than sucking my energy dry like the paste from an anpan? Masking his chi signature without paper charms. Seeing past any illusions I setup. Having fine-tuned control over offensive attacks. Essentially, his method of fighting is an in-and-out procedure. Minimal amount of energy used to break through your defense, and lobbing high-energy attacks with few pauses. He seems to hold little to no defensive methods, though it could be a choice to allow his body to heal as he fights."

Tsuzuki nodded. "Did either of you feel a demon nearby?"

"Of course not or else we'd have reported it." Kato growled grouchily. Nui weakly patted his shoulder, effectively shushing him. "Pardon my partner's rudeness, Tsuzuki. He is quite peevish that you two left him behind."

Uncertain, Tsuzuki chuckled unconvincingly, seeing her partner grimace.

Nui continued. "And I am relieved because I would have been stuck out in the boonies until I had the energy to gain entrance into Meifu. That would have taken at least several days. Ne, Sachi?"

Her partner fizzled out, choosing instead to bristle at his pet name. "Shade."

"Clearly." She grinned wistfully.

Tsuzuki cleared his throat, smiling cheerfully. "I should check on Hisoka..."

"Oh, before you depart, Tsuzuki. Another thing." She fumbled in her pocket and held out a yellowed fuda paper. "This helped contain the soul into a doll, while suppressing his spiritual power, and I suspect his soul mark as well." Holding it out to him, she gave a brief look meant as a 'be careful'. "It has already been sealed. Watari would like to study it, would he not?"

Tsuzuki took it and felt sinister, malicious energy restrained. "Thanks. I'll have Watari look at it..." He looked at it curiously, thumbing over a corner. "Rest well." With a smile he exited.

"I don't like him." Pouted a sulking Sachiya.

"Quiet, youngling. That is some statement to be made of the most powerful and experienced Shinigami within the Bureau. It may do well to hold your tongue as it is said that his hearing is well-attuned."

Her partner made an 'eep!' noise, laughing edgily. "I meant I don't like his personality... because I doubt he'd agree to a shoot." Directly from the semi-nervous attitude to a depressed mode he went and Nui had to shake her head matronly at him.

"With an unmotivated outlook like that, but of course you will never reach your goal."

Turning his head with a look of painful shock, he pepped up again. "I vow to take beautiful pictures of those two!"

Nui had to sigh wistfully at his impressionable mind. He would need to learn to protect himself lest someone else took advantage of it.

A soft crooning sound encased by the silence surrounding them within the cramped apartment wheedled and flitted about. Kan Haseo gentled combed the hair of his ayatsuri out as he murmured an old lullaby.

"Puppet, puppet
the fingers trail silently.
Are you deaf to the beat of death?"

Setting the comb down, the wizened figure bent over to pick up the washcloth to wash his ayatsuri's sweetly porcelain face as if his tracing fingers could declare possession of their own. Those beautiful midnight irises. The curved melody of jaw engaging and exciting Kan's impulses.

"Puppet, puppet
the eyes speechlessly stumble,
What will become of your form?"

There was nothing more for the boy than to stare without reaction. The greatest limitation on him was this man's voice, and it thrilled Kan to his core.

"Air decays. Mere breath rots.
Thread untangles. Glass splits.
Thusly, spoiled apart are you…."

Ba-buhmp. He held a hand over his heart, swallowing. Kan wasn't supposed to go until at least another week! His breath ragged, he held onto the arm of the chair, sweat pouring down his neck and back. He fell to his knees. Like a gaping fish, he sucked in air, then stopped, unable to finish the haunting tune he had begun. "a..yatsu.." The last thing he felt was the air whistle quietly out of his chest. The last thing he thought was… Too soon.

The Demon knew when its contract was over, but roared in anger when he couldn't see the soul it rightly could claim! Snarling it spiraled into the sky invisible to all, except the most sensitive, to collect. Old FOOL! Your soul is forfeit! It was furious, since the soul who was far more precious was the one lost.
Woken up by something, Hisoka sat up; for a moment the world was blurry. He knew he couldn't have been out for more than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.

Tsuzuki?

He was close, very close; closing his eyes from the spiraling lightheadedness, Hisoka could feel that. Feel the comfortable presence, but he shouldn't be able to feel it this far away, so Tsuzuki must be back.

Why was he standing? I should probably lay down get some more rest. But he didn't move, his eyes affixed to the door. I don't really feel very tired anymore.

Now, he was behind the door speaking to Watari softly. Hisoka hesitated, yet drew nearer to the door. They were taking too long! Where were their thoughts? He was wide awake, which was why he was puzzled. Maybe his empathy fixed itself? He could still feel them after all.

And when he opened the door… the sight of Tsuzuki made something in Hisoka pull.

His knees gave out, vision blotting out as a hand grabbed for him.

Nononononononono. His thoughts screamed out, feeling as if blinders shut everything but Tsuzuki's face out.

The old man with a shuddered breath, collapsed bone-thin as if famine had eaten him from within, skin taut over bone and tendon and joint. With keen senses intact, he felt the man's spirit exit the body; the boy stood up seeing choices that had at once been out of grasp.

As the last wisp of the old man's presence removed itself beyond the weak clutches of his mortal frame and wander towards the window, ayatsuri stared through the shadows walking towards the only entrance to the apartment and therefore the only exit away from the dangerous flare of power he felt beyond the building, reciting monotonously the end of the croon, his eyes flashing.

"Puppet, puppet

Without caretaker or owner then,

what becomes of you?

I become me. His mind crowed. I become me. An inked piece of paper nearly strangled within the fist of his hand.

The spirit of the old man however howled and lunged for him.

Tsuzuki sat stunned at his desk, idly unfolding and refolding the paper charm that Hatakeyama had given him.

"Hisoka!" Reaching out he had almost touched his partner to keep him from falling, but before his fingers breached the few centimeters of space between them Watari slammed against his side yelling "Don't!"

He sighed trying not to repeat that memory again in his head. Watari had told him specifically (right before Hisoka had decided to come ambling out of the lab) not to come in direct contact with him as Hisoka's empathy was very unstable.

However, Tsuzuki felt abandoned and guilty. The constant need to touch his partner was a calming balm to him, and with it gone, he realized he did it all the time from taps to hugging. There was this hollow feeling in his gut when he realized he couldn't touch him, not because Hisoka's ability was going out of control, which adversely was causing his guilt.

Arms and legs wadded up like a piece of crinkled paper on the floor, Hisoka buried his head whimpering—

"Tsuzuki?'

He looked up at Watari, grinning reflexively. "Hey, Watari!"

"He's awake."

Breath catching, Tsuzuki's eyes widened. "But?"

"He recovered." Watari's tight smile indicated that it was probably going to be something hard to swallow. "It's just a theory, but I think I know what's happening to Bon… Are you up to hearing it?"

He nodded.

"Well…"

Pinching and lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose, the secretary was particularly baffled by the circumstances that he faced. Between Tsuzuki's debriefing of the slippery soul inhabiting a demon's shell, controlled by an energetically weak eccentric shopkeeper, and Muraki's non-participation and the subsequent inside-Bureau reports from the Demon Exorcist division about the actual threat that such a gifted soul would prove to be within its demonic body, Tatsumi had had about enough.

Now stood in front of him the boy, well rather, the man who was currently the partner of his ex-partner. He could very well understand the logic behind his request, but Tatsumi could not permit it. "Get some rest Kurosaki. You're feeling unwell."

"No!" In response, a hand slammed down on his desk. "I'm tired of laying around!"

Tatsumi lifted his eyes, a danger lurking behind them, shadows twitching around him as he said cooly, "You are dismissed."

He stood back like he was burned, glancing at the shadows that were most receptive to Tatsumi's mood, then looked up at him. "Understood, Tatsumi-san." With tight, squared lips and a polite bow, he was gone.

The poor secretary sighed. What is going on? He couldn't imagine any circumstance that would bring Kurosaki in asking to be transferred so suddenly. It seemed inconceivable what with how close he was to Tsuzuki. Of course, Tatsumi thought shrewdly, Kurosaki brought up the transfer when I rejected his request to pull out from the case.

Bringing a hand to cup his chin, he could think of no other likely possibilities that would cause such a thing.

Laying sleek fingers onto the scorched wall, Muraki made quick note of the peculiar etchings.

Closing his eyes, he stood up in the small dingy room that had caught aflame by and contained by as of yet mysterious unknown means. You were here.

Kan Haseo had been a recluse. Any living relatives shunned him and he ignored their existences as well. He was a necromancer himself, but he did not have the ability nor the power to call on something so exquisite to house Saki's soul within, so he had to have had a connection with a middleman who had no interest in muddying up his own soul for his own purposes.

"Who was it?" The doctor murmured, memorizing the etchings by hand and eye for later dissection. It was a disappointment that he could not be present before or during the original examination; apparently, his ties were weakening in the higher ranks of clientele, despite his prestige. He would have to rectify that.

"Sensei, pardon the intrusion, but the owner wishes to refurnish the room as soon as possible—"

"I understand." He stood up and effortlessly walked out the room, the light foam cast wrapped around his arm to keep the fragile, newly reconstructed bone from snapping, which brought to mind another frustrating clue. Distinctly remembering another fellow colleague in the field of medicine who had refused to help him realize his dream with Saki's soul, Muraki's hunch had no evidence to assert its claim that he had a part in this dismal tale.

Muraki smirked. He would find Saki; he knew this without a doubt. Granted, it would take more time than he anticipated. However, it was very certain that he wasn't under the control of the middleman, nor the Bureau as Muraki had sensed a Demon roaming around the city before leaving with an enraged roar. Somehow, Saki had slipped out of view from under all of their noses.

I will find you first. Chuckling to himself, he wandered outside senses attuned and prepared. It was time to pay his acquaintance a visit.

For old time's sake, of course.

TBC.