Hello all! Big thank-yous to all of you who posted your reviews for chapter 10 – they mean a lot to me. On to the next chapter! I really did want to add more to it, but I didn't realize it had been so long since my last update.. sorry! So I thought I had better post this short chapter. I hope to work harder and faster, wish me luck, you all !

Love and darkness
Part 11
Kazutaka Muraki's purgatory and Oriya Mibu's choice

He was trapped in a dimension of his own making – a nightmarish place of guilt-induced hallucinations. Cackling specters swooped at him. The foundations of this hellish world tilted, spun crazily, rocking and crumbling as he labored to breathe, forced his legs to move. He stumbled and fell to the ground repeatedly…

After his last fall, he glanced behind him and saw the thing that had caused him to stumble: a corpse! Picking himself up, he turned and saw more dead bodies littering the path ahead of him…

The warm rain that pelted him, pouring from the sky, was red…

The driving wind rushing against his face carried the mournful cries of the ones he had murdered…

Kazutaka Muraki covered his face with his lacerated hands and screamed…

In the court of the king of the netherworld, the princely deity, Isao, gasps and cries out. Nagi spins on his feet at the sound, but before he can move, Masato is at the prince's side, steadying the swaying, distressed figure. The hard, black eyes of the king flicker to Isao, narrowing. Knitting his brow, he turns his attention back to the parchment in his hands.

Observing silently from their seats along the wall of the hall, Tatsumi and Konoe exchange puzzled glances. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, the secretary leans closer to his superior, speaking in hushed whispers. "Chief, who are they?"

The one in golden armor is Nagi, the supreme enforcer of the king of heaven. The deity in purple is called Masato; he is brother to the empress, and the one in white is The Snow Prince…"

"The snow prince…?"

Konoe, smiling slightly, replies, "An affectionate sobriquet," while his assistant's eyes, widened in wonderment, take in the form of the splendidly tall deity.

Earlier, Tatsumi had followed Konoe into the court, humbled and apprehensive. Struggling to acclimatize his body and mind to the presence of these powerful beings, his eyes managed to discern a trio of figures, enshrouded by blinding luminescence, exuding intense heat in the usually chilly hall of Hades' monarch. Their auras had flared to blinding levels upon his and his chief's arrival, slowly lessening by degrees after they had been waved to their seats by their sovereign's glare and gesturing, black-gloved hand, allowing the secretary's eyes to gradually make out their appearances but not their faces which remained obscured by the brilliance of their aureoles.

"A most apt nickname," murmurs Tatsumi, sweeping his glance over the prince, clothed in gleaming white vestments, the snow-white hair cascading down his back, almost reaching the black marble floor.

"His name is Isao, firstborn of the celestial emperor," explains Konoe, receiving an awed expression from Tatsumi.

Firstborn… of the king of heaven… here, in Hades? He seems to be affected by something… what's going on…?

The puzzled secretary of the summons division, his fingers curling and uncurling from nervous tension, sees the prince lean into the support provided by Masato's encircling arm. A nudge from Konoe interrupts his thoughts. "Look at the king's face… something's brewing… I've a feeling all this has something to do with our notorious Doctor Muraki…" The older man shifts uncomfortably in his seat, sensing a pair of eyes turning to focus on him from within Isao's aureole.

At length, the king sets the papers he has been reading down on his desk, raises his head to glance thoughtfully out of the window on his left while slowly peeling off his gloves.

He stands beneath the lukewarm spray of water, his body shuddering uncontrollably. Asato Tsuzuki's words reverberate, over and over, in his thoughts.'You were deceived, used… deceived… used…'

An image of the Shinigami's face, drenched with blood, floats into his vision. Those words had been uttered without triumph, without reproach; no hint of judgment had inflected the soft voice of the man who had suffered from his cruel machinations in the past. His revelation - the truth of his 'master's' deceit had been delivered with sadness, reluctance… and… had he seen tears welling in those anguished, violet eyes?

Once more, Kazutaka Muraki succumbs to a fit of sobbing, guilt and remorse for his crimes stabbing him through to his core, an agonizing, suffocating pain.

Crushed and exhausted, he pronounces the punishment for the atrocities he committed – he, who studied and trained to heal the sick, had unflinchingly cut down the lives of so many, sometimes torturing, raping them sadistically before killing them… all to compensate for his loss, all in the name of his pain…

I am the embodiment of everything that is unspeakably vile and obscene…
Let my soul be lost… I deserve no mercy…

A while later, lean and strong legs step out of the shower stall into the steam-filled bathroom. A steely silver eye, its lids swollen almost to the point of completely shutting it, strains to open and gaze into the mirror above the washbasin, enthralled by the horrific bruise, tints of deep reds, purples, and indigoes darkening the skin on the left side of the misshapen face.

His hand rises, to slide his fingers slowly along the swollen flesh on his cheek, moving to comb through his wet hair. Blood even now oozes from the gaping gash at the side of his skull. Delving into the wound and smearing his fingers with it, he draws them into his mouth, one by one, licking and sucking at the blood on them. He closes his eye, hissing and shuddering, twinges shooting through his spine, down to his toes and blossoming in his chest when he experiences the bizarre sensation, needle point pricks of pain, caused by his flesh beginning to heal. Inside his head, he can hear bone, muscle, nerves and skin regenerating, soft tapping and squelching sounds.

Where others would be filled with shock, disbelief and possibly, fear, at the phenomenon of self-healing, this man is unfazed. He has long since known that he is far from what is known as 'normal'. What surprises him is not the fact that his self-healing powers are consuming his injuries, but the sheer speed with which it is occurring; that, and by the immeasurable amount of strength – both physical and supernatural – simmering, stirring within him, like lava in the bowels of the earth, bubbling and racing erratically, frantically searching for an opening to be released, to gush forth in torrents of hellfire and brimstone. The awareness of this power unfettering is forceful enough to drive him to his knees and tumble sideways and ball up on the damp tiles, crying out, a single roar vented before succumbing to the black wash of unconsciousness…

It is night when he opens his eyes, blinking them in the gloom, shivering slightly from the chilled air of the bathroom; he uncurls his unclothed body and stands to his feet. Stepping on something hard and cold, he withdraws his foot and reaches for the light switch. He bends and picks up the small sphere lying between his feet, bringing it close to his face to examine it, turning it slowly. His puzzlement fades quickly. Shrugging, he discards the object, flinging it into the bin. The cold gaze of a pair of identical silver eyes, framed by white eyelashes, stare back at him when he brings his face, whole, beautiful and perfect again, close to the mirror. Furious, repulsed by the face reflected in the glass, he shatters the mirror with the force of his mind.

"Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki!"

A hand grasps his shoulder, shaking it urgently. Hisoka's panicked voice calls.

"Wake up! Tsuzuki!"

His heavy eyelids strain to open, closing painfully at the sunlight flooding into the room. "Tsuzuki…? Oh, thank goodness! When Daisuke and I saw Muraki leaving, we thought he had done away with you for good!"

Muraki!

Leaping from the bed, disoriented, disheveled, his face and clothes smeared with scabs of dried blood, Asato Tsuzuki runs shaking hands through his dark hair, the events of the previous night hitting him square in his guts.

"Are you badly hurt? Look at all the blood on you… what did he do to you? Let's go back to Meifu, I want Watari to have a look at you…"

Hisoka's voice sounds distant to the Shinigami, who moves slowly to the armchair near the window to pick up the white overcoat draped over it. Bringing it close to him, he hugs it, burying his nose in it, lowering to the floor on his haunches. His young partner kneels in front of his unresponsive form, peering into unfocused eyes. "Hey…?"

Exasperated, the youth reaches for his partner's shoulders, shaking him again. "For god's sake, speak to me… you're scaring me!"

Hisoka's choked cries jolt the older man back into the present. Seeing the youth's tears, he is immediately sorry for making the boy cry. Yanking him into his arms, he holds him tightly, to comfort them both. "I'm such a fuck-up, Hisoka… I didn't handle things well at all… we came to blows…"

The young Shinigami watches his partner touch the coat on his lap, absently worrying at the buttons with his fingers, listening to his account of what transpired the night before, omitting of course, his feelings for Muraki, feelings that had, Tsuzuki is convinced, compromised his actions.

"… I should have gone after him… now I've got to find him again," Tsuzuki ends his narrative dejectedly.

Attempting to console him, Hisoka speaks. "Don't be too hard on yourself; what you managed to accomplish was a feat in itself. As for finding him again, well… I told Daisuke to hare after him and stay on his tail… we freaked out when we saw him in that state, and we feared the worst. I'm relieved you're safe… I felt your pain, I couldn't wait any longer, and Daisuke insisted on tagging along."

"Thank you. It's a good thing Daisuke came with you… I'm sorry I made you worry… I'm such a…"

"Enough of that, Tsuzuki. Let's get back to Meifu now. You look awful."

"My injuries have healed, I'm fine, really. But… I have to see our king, right away…"

"Please tell me you're going to get cleaned up first."

"Huh? Um… right."

The boy is quiet when Tsuzuki stands, folds the long coat meticulously and tucks it under his arm.

A low hum resonates in the hall where Meifu's sovereign stands close to Isao and Masato. While they engage in telepathic communication that excludes Konoe and his adjutant, the fearsome warrior Nagi stands slightly apart from the group of three. Tatsumi, having regained his composure and confidence, studies his king's face. Set in its usual severity, it gives nothing away. A final nod of his head signals a conclusion to whatever it was they had been discussing, and both Tatsumi and Konoe rise to their feet as the king approaches them, lowering their heads deferentially.

"I thank you for waiting so patiently," the king addresses the pair in his deep, baritone voice. "Konoe, any word yet from Tsuzuki regarding Muraki?"

"Not yet, Sire, but I'm confident he'll find him soon. I've never seen him so determined…"

Standing behind his superior, Tatsumi, although he cannot see them clearly, becomes aware of the intense interest of the celestial trio in the king's and Konoe's exchange, sensing three pairs of eyes trained on them.

"Hmm… tell me, why didn't you want the Specials division to assist in the mission? I'm positive they would have achieved results by now."

"It was Tsuzuki, m'lord… he wanted to locate Muraki himself, without interference."

"I see. Well, in the light of… recent developments, it seems now to have been the right decision. Urasawa, for all his efficiency, does tend to veer towards extreme measures."

Konoe nods his head in agreement, a cold frisson creeping up his back, chilled from flashbacks of past missions under Masaru Urasawa's command, back when he had been part of the Specials. "Tsuzuki's a good man, Sire. He reminds us all, time and again, never to excise compassion in the execution of our duties…"

The king's rejoinder is prevented by a commotion outside the entrance, a clamoring of the sentries, and above their cries, the ears of the hall's occupants detect another voice, its volume rising in full-blown agitation.

After pulling on his silk pajamas, Kazutaka Muraki flings himself onto his bed. Through the blaze and tempest of his pain and sorrow, he remembers days and nights of a time cut short, stolen from him, a life he would have been content with – no, a life he would have continually thanked the gods for… he hears the voice of Oriya, tender murmurings, thick and laden with love… yes, once his Oriya, calling his name softly… moving his fingers through his hair… caressing his cheek with his warm, soft lips… falling into the depths of honey-colored eyes as they melted against each other… cried out together… exchanging promises…

Why had I become so weak, why had I allowed myself to be deceived…? Why… hadn't I heeded your words…? Oriya! My love… Oriya… I left the blissful haven of your loving arms… oh gods! I allowed him… to use me… to violate you…! For all your love and selfless devotion, that was how I rewarded you…

Heartsickness, and a profound longing to be swathed by the arms of Oriya Mibu, forgiven by him, soothed and comforted by his eyes, paralyzes him…

He shakes his head miserably, struggles to dispel his yearnings.

I cannot, must not... go near him, see him, touch him, ever again… but… I need to… to seek his forgiveness… before I put an end to my existence…

When the doors swung open and Asato Tsuzuki burst into the room, wild-eyed and panting with the two sentries looking somewhat the worse for wear hard on his heels, Konoe moaned and clamped his eyes shut, desperately wishing he was somewhere else. The weary chief of the Summons Bureau focused on a vision of himself soaking up the sun on a tropical beach, sipping sweet coconut juice to prevent himself from losing it completely.

Tatsumi's eyes widened in disbelief, but he quickly collected himself, prepared to smooth things over with the king, and most importantly, to prevent the recalcitrant Shinigami from going ballistic – the secretary assessed he looked crazy enough to do just that. His eyes darted from the speechless, glaring king to the heavenly visitors. He saw nothing more than two blinding orbs of light at the spot where the two princes stood. Upon Tsuzuki's unceremonious intrusion, Isao's and Masato's auras had once more flashed to fiery levels in order to conceal themselves; Nagi seemed more at ease and less alarmed as he stepped forward to peer at the newcomer curiously.

"Tsuzuki! How dare you… you… brazen brat…!" Outrage colored the face of Meifu's monarch a deep red while his voice boomed threateningly.

Tatsumi pursed his lips tightly to stop his laughter from escaping at hearing his king's spluttering.

Right now, I'd like nothing more than to wring that neck of yours, Tsuzuki, but I've got to hand it to you – you've got solid balls on you, barging in here like this. I believe I'm in for some fine entertainment...

The king's irascible words ground the figure charging down the center of the hall to a halt. Breathless, his chest heaving, Tsuzuki looked at his ruler, all the fire in his bearing gone. His expression took on an apologetic, almost innocent quality as he scratched his head distractedly.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Tsuzuki?! How dare you burst in here unannounced, without an appointment?!" The king impatiently gestured to the pair of sentries to return to their posts beyond the doors.

"Ah, I… um, sorry, m'lord…"

Konoe's hands rose to rub his throbbing temples while Tatsumi suppressed a smirk of amusement, thoroughly delighted at the goings-on.

"QUIET!! I haven't given you permission to speak! I've a mind to strip you of your rank and throw you in the slammer for your impertinence… and, for conducting yourself in such an unruly manner in my court, and, in the presence of these," here the king gestured towards his guests, "distinguished deities!"

Bright, wide violet eyes darted around the hall. A flustered Tsuzuki gaped at the perimeter of luminescence and at the armor-clad Nagi, blinked and turned towards Konoe and Tatsumi. Noting their presence for the first time, he grinned happily at their presence, lifted a hand to wave it at them, only to be met by his chief's ominous 'you'll suffer for this' glare. Next to him, Tatsumi responded with a 'who the hell are you, I don't know you' expression and promptly proceeded to inspect the ceiling. Suddenly, horribly aware of the severity of his blunder, he crashed to his knees, lowering before his king, placing forehead between hands on the floor before his feet.

Inside the circle of celestial camouflage, Isao smiled and turned amused eyes to his uncle's. Masato, fingers fidgeting nervously with the medallion at his chest returned his glance with an embarrassed flush. His nephew lowered his head, moved his mouth to whisper at his ear, "So, Uncle, the rumors turn out to be truth. He really is… quite adorable." Masato gazed at the penitent mound at the king's feet tenderly. Wistful tears welled and moistened the fine black hairs lining his lower eyelid, while his nephew smiled sadly, sympathizing with his uncle and understanding all too well what it was he was feeling.

The king's heart softened, as it always did in the presence of Asato Tsuzuki. As troublesome as he was, he could not remain angry with him for long. He had long ceased puzzling over the reasons why – he just accepted it. All he knew was whenever he was harsh with him, his actions always returned to haunt him. Punishing him seemed tantamount to being cruel to a small, furry, defenseless creature, a rabbit or kitten with big, petrified eyes. He bent to place a hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder, addressing him softly. "Up. Stand, Tsuzuki." After the errant Shinigami obeyed him, the king saw what he had expected: tears pooling in doleful, contrite eyes – he sighed at the beautiful color in them and wondered for the millionth time if they were in themselves a spell that could sway and subdue, and cause one to feel guilt at having made those eyes weep.

The imp probably knows I have a soft spot for him and uses it, knowing he can get away with his mischief time after time… I really should toughen up and punish him for real, lest he become too big for his boots…

"Permission to speak, Sire?" whispered the Shinigami, biting the corner of his lower lip apprehensively.

The king sighed, nodded his head and glanced at Konoe's deeply lined face, his heart going out to the man. Now I know why you continued to age even as an immortal, my friend.

Bending at the waist, Tsuzuki spoke, slowly, calmly. "I am deeply sorry, my lord, for my behavior. And to you all, my lords," he turned to address the three deities to bow low before them as well, "I express my sincerest apologies for entering your presence in such an ungentlemanly fashion. I will accept any punishment you all deem fit to impose upon me." He paused to acknowledge Konoe and the Shadow Master with a dip of his head. "Sorry, Chief, Tatsumi, I know I'm an incurable pain in the butt, thank you for putting up with me. I promise I'll make it up to you soon."

A distinct, rippling giggle resounded from within the sphere of light, a sound that lightened everyone's tension considerably, surprising Tsuzuki, although he dared not glance towards the source of the sound, deciding that he should not assume at this point that he was out of the woods and back in the favor of his monarch.

Determined to appear threatening, the king spoke in menacing tones. "For now, I will accept your apology. As for your punishment, I will be giving it some thought. Now then, I expect there is a reason for your actions. Do enlighten us as to purpose of your visit."

The Shinigami inclined his head respectfully. "M'lord. The reason I came was to inform you that I have located him – Muraki."

All memory of his earlier misconduct flew out the room; the attention of all present became riveted on Tsuzuki.

"Very well done, lad! Where is he now?"

"Sire, begging your pardon and with all due respect, I will not disclose his whereabouts to anyone…" The Shinigami's voice was calm, but inflected with finality.

"What… what do you mean…? Explain yourself!"

The king's temper mounted. Konoe whimpered. Tatsumi's eyebrows climbed.

"Until I am assured that not one hair on Kazutaka Muraki's head will be harmed, I will not hand him over."

The king's eyes narrowed. "Ah. Further enlighten me as to why, Tsuzuki."

Isao and Masato exchanged questioning looks, both their faces lighting up with hope, relieved to learn that they might possibly have gained an ally from the ranks of the Shinigami, and one who was himself a Hybrid, with dormant powers that could prove useful in saving the prodigal child, one whom their emperor now was prepared to recognize as one of his own.

"I have learned that he was seduced and deceived by the nameless one. That loathsome entity took advantage of him, using his grief and loss to warp his mind, augmenting the hatred and lust for revenge for all the wrongs and pain he suffered as a child. Had it not been for that demon's interference, I'm convinced he would not have become the man we've all come to know as a cold-blooded serial killer; he would have overcome his hurt… I came face to face with him, I lured his true self out into the open…" The Shinigami choked then, the outpouring of his impassioned words came to a halt. He seemed to struggle for control of himself and after taking a deep breath continued quietly, "I know… that even now, he's paying the price for all the wrongs he committed in the name of his pain; there's no better punishment than one's own conscience…"

No one moved, nor did the king interrupt him, even when he paused. The hall was filled with static electricity – signs that Tsuzuki's emotions were running out of control, seeping out through his body and manifesting outside of him; such was his determination to deliver his plea, such was his compassion for the man sentenced, body and soul both, to death by the judge of this court he stood in. The Shadow Master stood at full alert, poised for damage control and ready to smother any fires unintentionally sparked by the Shinigami's powers with his shadows.

"… I ask only that his life be spared, that he be given a chance to live out his life as the good man he surely would have been had that demon not wreaked havoc with his mind. You may argue, m'lord, that an inherent evil in him made it possible for him to fall prey to the demon's whisperings, but bear this in mind: he cried out in his grief, but not one deity came to his aid. In his madness, he made a mistake and believed that the nameless one was his savior…"

At that point, shut up in his private chambers, the emperor of heaven, who had been privy to everything taking place in Meifu's Great Hall through a mind-link with Isao, hung his head in shame.

The heavenly prince and his uncle were deeply moved, both by the man who held their attention and by his account of the pain-filled childhood years of the condemned, Kazutaka Muraki. These revelations proved to be devastating to Isao. The god let out a sob, audible to all, before he clamped his hand over his mouth to hold back the flood of anguished soul-cries that threatened to break free. That sorrowful sound seemed to affect everyone gathered; it hung over them like a pall of grief as they felt a distinct tremor of the ground beneath their feet. Only Nagi could see the pair – Masato had his nephew in a firm grip, his face pressed against his shoulder as he whispered calming reassurances into his ear. Nagi knew why: Masato could not allow Isao to vent his soul-cries – they had the power to turn the whole of Hades into rubble.

Meanwhile, Konoe's eyes shone with pride. Nevertheless, Tsuzuki's grandstanding worried him – the king might not take too kindly to the fact that he was being upstaged in his own court. Looking at the man standing there, hands fisted tightly at his sides, making a great effort to keep his voice even, Konoe grasped at what it was that was driving him: desperation. The man appeared to be fighting for his own life, and the sight touched the chief's heart. Setting his jaw with determination, he made up his mind to back his Shinigami.

"… I'm not attempting to dismiss or make light of all the lives snuffed out by his hands when I say he was as much a victim as they were. The true murderer is the nameless one, not Muraki. Grant Kazutaka Muraki your mercy, Sire, and direct your wrath at this entity instead."

The Shadow Master resisted his urge to cheer and applaud. Oh, bravo, Tsuzuki! You missed your calling; you would've made a top-class Advocate! As a flash of insight washed through Seiichiro Tatsumi's mind, he sighed with satisfaction. Since he had entered the hall earlier that day, he had been exasperated when faced by the presence of the true immortals and had been steadily trying to figure out what was going on. Being the astute man he was, he prided himself on staying ahead of things. Isao's sorrowful cry had proved his suspicions to be correct. Konoe had been right, he reflected, their presence was indeed related to Muraki – the key word to Tatsumi was: RELATED.

He had been grateful for the work. A sad assignment though it was, it distracted him from his irrepressible urge to see him again…

It had taken him a week to befriend and gently coax her – a child who had died, whose form still roamed the world of the living, refusing to let go, bound to her grieving twin sister. At last, crying pitiful tears that broke his heart, she had taken hold of his hand with her tiny cold one…

"They'll all forget me, won't they? Ayako, Mommy and Daddy… I don't want them to forget me…" He had knelt, pulling the small trembling body into his arms. "No, little one, they'll never forget you, I promise you. You will live on, in their hearts, thoughts and dreams…"

Suddenly aware of another Shinigami's presence, he had looked over the child's head. There, at a respectful distance, stood the tall figure of Seiichiro Tatsumi, his face clouded with concern. Rising with the girl in his arms as Tatsumi quietly approached them, Yutaka Watari spoke in alarmed tones. "Tatsumi? Why have you come? Has something happened?"

Sloughing off his jacket, a reassuring smile softened the Shadow Master's features as he shook his head. "I'm here to take her. She's ready, aren't you, Akiko-chan?" The little girl nodded, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. Behind his glasses, the sapphires in Tatsumi's eyes stared into the widened eyes of the child clinging to Watari. Her eyes grew glazed and sleepy under Tatsumi's spell, her form sagging in the arms of the Shinigami who drew her tightly against his chest, clearly upset and reluctant to relinquish her. Biting down on his lower lip hard to stop the rush of muddled emotions overtaking him, he turned his back on the secretary. "Just give me a moment, Tatsumi, please, and then I'll go with you…"

"No." Tatsumi's voice was quiet, but the word was uttered in a tone that Watari knew all too well – spoken in that tone, everyone in the Summons Bureau knew that it meant 'no and no and no, nothing you say or do will make a difference, when I say no I mean no and that's that, it'll always be that way, and I'll always have my way, so there'.

Watari spun round to face the taller man, startled to find him so close since he hadn't heard him move, his eyes flashing at cool blue ones. "What…? Why…? What do you mean?"

Unaffected by his colleague's sudden hostility, Tatsumi shifted even closer, so close that the blond could smell the lemongrass-scented soap that the man was partial to, and Watari glared, a part of him baffled by his own defiance and anger. In the manner he had seen him perform hundreds of times with a rebellious or depressed Tsuzuki, Tatsumi's practiced hand rose like a magician's. His long fingers curled beneath the blond's chin, lifting it, then slid upwards to press his palm against his cheek. Smiling with his mouth and eyes, the secretary leaned his face nearer the blond's.

What in heaven's name is he doing?!

Stunned and panicked, believing the Shadow Master intended to kiss him, he tried to jerk free but found he could not move. He watched, fascinated, as the waxy lips stopped short of kissing him; they parted and sweet-smelling breath, with its overtones of jasmine and a hint of frankincense, came wafting from between them. He yielded to its witchery, feeling his rancor drain out of him.

He's a demon in a suit! He probably has more hocus pocus tricks up his sleeve than Muraki has!

Watari's irreverent thoughts weren't meant unkindly as he shook his head and smiled at the cheeky glint in Tatsumi's eyes as he stepped back and held out his spread jacket. "Come, give her to me. This case has been difficult for you. Allow me to bring her to Meifu. Don't worry; she'll be perfectly fine. You need a break, Watari… wander around your beloved Kyoto for a while, until you feel better, all right? And, don't fret about Konoe, I'll square things with him."

"Tatsumi, I…" It seemed to Watari that something, or someone, clamped his mouth shut.

Tatsumi's sturdy arms shifted the swaddled, sleeping child, placing her tousled head against his shoulder. "Besides, it's autumn, and I do know how you adore Kyoto when she's draped in fall colors," he whispered with a wink and an enigmatic smile before he and Akiko disappeared, leaving a befuddled, open-mouthed Watari standing alone in the playground.

As the chilly wind scooped up the ends of his mane and played with them, loosening the knot of his orange bow, he dawdled, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his boot. His brow crinkled at the recollection of Tatsumi's eyes, the soft twinkle in them just before he'd vanished had transmitted… what? Understanding? Shaking his head, he exhaled tiredly, suddenly immensely grateful to the secretary. He was right, Watari conceded, he did need a break so very badly. His weeklong mission had exhausted him; it seemed more like a month had passed as he struggled to find strength to continue convincing the girl that she had to let go, trying to remain unaffected by her plight – her young happy life cut short so mercilessly by a freak accident – and, constantly… memories of a voice, so deep that it dipped to a throaty rasp at times, sumptuous dark hair and melancholy brown eyes vied for a place in his waking and sleeping thoughts. He felt his knees weaken with love and desire.

Still so lovesick… what will become of me? Will I eventually wither away and die from a broken heart like some besotted character in an ancient fairytale?

Laughing weakly, sadly, at himself, he wrapped his shawl tighter around his neck and began walking, making a mental note to pick up a special gift for Tatsumi and treats for the others. His eyes soaked in the scarlet, brown and ochre shades of the trees; the fallen leaves crackled and crunched beneath the tread of his boots. He stopped at a playing field for a while, to watch some youngsters, yelling boys at their soccer game, feeling the ache in his bones fading away. Long after the sun dipped below the horizon, his stroll to the shops where he intended to purchase his presents took him past narrow streets lined by the establishments that purveyed nightlife entertainment, and froze in his tracks at the entrance of a very familiar lane…

There, just up ahead, swaying in the breeze, beckoning, was Kokakuro's lantern…

Irresolute, he was rendered immobile for a full ten minutes. The ache in his heart grew unbearable, and it settled the emotional deadlock for him. "Just a glimpse," he whispered, his eyes lit up like a young child's at the prospect of opening a pile of birthday presents.

Dispensing with entering through the front door, Yutaka Watari assumed ghost form and rose upwards, landing in the middle of the private garden of the man who had snared his heart, a heart that now hammered away in his chest when he heard the soft treading of sandaled feet on cobblestone, smelled the tobacco…

The man he had been craving to see came into his view, walking slowly, head bowed, pipe in hand. As the boggle-eyed Shinigami held his breath, Oriya came to a halt a few feet away from him. He saw the dark head lifting and then the beautiful face was presented to him, smooth, freshly scrubbed, free of the powder and paint he wore for his performances, his heavy hair still slightly wet, draped around the plain teal yukata that covered his tall, slender frame. As Watari stared, his eyes drinking in every inch of his splendor, thanking the deities for answering his prayers and granting him this magnificent sight, Oriya closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, turning his head slowly, finally letting it tilt backwards. He remained in that stance, his head languidly turning this way and that, almost like he was attempting to sense something, all the while offering Watari a view of an expanse of his neck, a neck that appeared masculine, strong, and femininely delicate in the same breath. The Shinigami's need of him rose to a dangerous level, wanting desperately to act out all the erotic fantasies he had been indulging in right there and then; his frame shook as he fought for self-control.

"Yutaka?"

The blond jumped at the sound of that beloved voice, before stilling, mute with shock, legs turning into jelly at having heard his name called.

"You're here, aren't you? Let me see you."

"Yes, I'm here, Oriya," he answered, his voice thick with passion, taking a few moments to regain his wits before he revealed himself.

Although he had been prepared for Watari's appearance, Oriya gasped softly; his pipe clattered to the ground. The eyes that stared at the Shinigami were hungry, as hungry as the ones that returned his gaze, roaming covetously over his angel's desirable form. The golden glow of the long wavy hair lit up the garden, and once more, Oriya thought of the sun. The warmth that emanated from this being that had cared for him so tenderly, so selflessly, reached him, wrapped him, heating his cool skin. The faint 'bong' of a shrine's stone bell sounded somewhere in the distance, but it was deafening to Oriya. He knew in that moment that he was standing at a crossroads – that he could choose to continue existing in the shadows where his heart would eventually freeze over – or, he could step on to the path bathed in the light of this guileless man, whose love for him was so tangible, laid so plainly bare, his for the taking…

In the span of a few heartbeats, Oriya Mibu made his choice, casting off the hurt and loneliness he had worn like a weighted cloak for so long.

The smile on Oriya's flushed lips was at once shy and inviting as he moved, coming to stand close to his visitor from the netherworld, giving Watari the courage to speak.

"I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to trespass, or intrude upon your privacy… but I just… had to see you, Oriya…"

Cool fingers on his lips silenced him. "I'm glad you came. I've been… longing to see you. I've missed you, Yutaka."

Oriya's whispers, as breathless as his own had been, the rosy tinge on pale cheeks that complemented the blushing moon set low in the night sky, entranced the Shinigami, filled him with untold joy.

They slammed together, embracing tightly, breathing hard, before separating, love-sated eyes meeting. Their quivering lips joined, tentatively, shyly, at first; tender kisses quickly became rough, tongues pushing, delving deep, tasting, wild, demanding. Fingers tangled in hair, roamed over each other, groped and gripped as they groaned softly.

While they pressed their heated bodies together, each wanting to claim the other completely, a lone figure, concealed behind the trunk of a maple tree, observed them with sorrowful eyes.

When they finally broke apart from their frenzied embrace, feeling the unstoppable urge to lie down with each other, unencumbered by their clothes, Oriya, his robe loosened and shoulder bared, grasped the blond's hand and tugged him towards the raised verandah.

Kazutaka Muraki sighed deeply. Pressing his forehead against the cool bark, he smashed his fist against it, sending a tremor through the tree, dislodging a multitude of its leaves. Standing beneath the spray of falling red leaves, his shoulders heaved and shook from his bitter sobbing.

To be continued