Sacrifice Tatsumi stepped out of Kanoe-san's office, closed the door, and leaned back against it, head lowered. He fully understood why the chief had asked him to brief the shinigami for this mission. He didn't like it, but he understood. Kanoe-san was too… soft, sometimes. And this was a… difficult… case.
Kyoto. Why did it have to be Kyoto?
Sighing, he headed for Watari's lab.The big gold-brown eyes were anguished, but painful as it was, Watari was not about to shirk his duty. It was his cho after all.
"Ay unnerstand."
"I am sorry to have to ask it of you, Watari-san."
The scientist's shoulders slumped.
"s'what Ay'm here fer."
"Gushoshin ani will go with you, but won't interfere unless absolutely necessary. It shouldn't be necessary." Tatsumi added, eying Watari narrowly. The scientist nodded.
"'t'won' be." He squared his shoulders and stood, face determined. "Ay'll get goin'…"At least his appearance worked in his favour for this sort of mission, he thought, changing into clothes in shades of golden-brown, untying his hair and putting his glasses in his pocket. Androgynous prettiness was unthreatening, and the soul he had to find was going to be distressed enough. Gushoshin ani clucked approvingly as the scientist ran his hands through his hair and turned from the mirror.
"Are you ready, Watari-san?"
He wanted to say no, but sighed and nodded…
A brief moment of disorientation, then they were both hovering over the streets of Kyoto in Chijou, unseen by the teeming crowds below. Gushoshin twisted to regard his temporary partner.
"Do you know where Midori-san might be?"
Watari gazed down sadly.
"Her'll be makin' her way back to her family. In Gojozaka."
"Let's go."The sight that greeted them was heartbreaking - the more so because they had to destroy it. Midori-san - Watari refused to think of her given name, it would only make the whole procedure more painful - was on her knees in the garden, her two young children in her arms while her husband hovered over them all, laughing and crying in equal measures.
"We thought you was dead, mama!"
"I thought so too. I was sure I was going to die - it's a miracle!" Midori-san gazed up at her husband, eyes full of love. Watari lowered his head, feeling tears threaten, then moved to stand in full sunlight behind the woman. The little boy stared over his mother's shoulder, eyes and mouth wide open.
"Mama? Who's that?"
Midori-san glanced backwards, paling to white as she caught sight of Watari, golden in the afternoon light.
"'s'it an angel, mama?" The little girl clutched a lock of her mother's hair, big eyes wondering.
Watari swallowed and held out a hand.
"Midori-san…"
"No… please…"
He held still, and reluctantly, eyes full of dread, she pulled slowly away from the children and turned to face him.
"I didn't… escape, did I?"
"… no…"
"But… surely…"
"Your love for them kept you alive, Midori-san. But s'time to go, now…"
"Please! My family…"
He gazed at her sadly, sunlight gleaming on his tears, and she bit back a sob.
"..can… can I say goodbye…?""Watari-san…?"
Midori-san had been guided on her way, leaving a devastated family behind, and Watari felt completely wretched. Why her? It was so unfair. He tried to console himself with the thought that at least she had been able to say goodbye, reassure her children and husband that she loved them and would never forget them wherever she was going, and would see them all again, one day, but it didn't help much… He gazed hopelessly at Gushoshin, eyes brimming, and the little god frowned.
"Watari-san, we should return. You ought to rest."
He sighed heavily.
"Ay… want to walk for a bit."
"It's irregular…"
"Can't do any harm. This was my home. Ay miss it."
Gushoshin considered for a moment, then nodded.
"I'll tell Tatsumi-san. When will you be back?"
"Soon. T'morrow, prob'ly."
He watched as Gushoshin disappeared, then slid on his glasses, shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his calf-length, flowing coat, and lowered his head, walking aimlessly. Or so he thought.
His steps led him inexorably to KoKakuRou.No questions, just warmth and strong arms around him… Oriya held him, stroking his hair, as he regained his composure.
"… sorry…"
"I thought we'd agreed you don't need to apologise."
Watari managed a small chuckle.
"…'K…" He pulled back a little to gaze tiredly into warm brown eyes. The swordsman inclined his head.
"Would you like to sleep?"
Watari considered the idea, then shook his head.
"Na. Ay wan' t' get drunk."
Oriya blinked, then frowned.
"I don't think that's a good idea…"
"Don' care."
"… very well… The garden?"Oriya gazed down into half-closed and slightly glazed shimmering eyes. In the last two hours Watari had drunk his way through a whole bottle of sake (spluttering the whole time; as he'd explained as he emptied the bottle, he wasn't that fond of it) and four bottles of beer before flopping back along the step, his head in Oriya's lap. The swordsman was beginning to wonder if shinigami could get hangovers, and what he should do if Watari was ill…
Mind you, from what he'd said about his day, Oriya couldn't really blame him. The grief in his eyes as he'd described the scene…
"Does that happen often?"
Watari had inclined his head.
"Na. Not of'en."
Oriya sighed.
"To think that love can be so strong."
Watari nodded, a distant look in his eyes.
"Aa. 's'an amazin' thing, love…"
He subsided into silence, expression melancholy for a moment, then forced a grin that didn't reach his eyes. He raised his bottle in salute. "S'nice yer…"
Oriya smiled and stroked soft golden hair back from the delicate face.
"I'm glad you like it."
The scientist stretched and wriggled slightly, one arm coming up to encircle Oriya's waist.
"You'm good t'me."
"It's my pleasure, Yutaka."
Watari turned his head, sighing contentedly, and nuzzled Oriya's groin.
"Bin a long time."
Suddenly realising he had a drunk and very beautiful - and very arousing - shinigami in his lap, Oriya swallowed hard and tried to control his own reaction.
"Yes, it has."
"Near thirty year f'me…"
The swordsman stared at him. Watari had had no… intimacy since he'd died? But then, were the dead capable of sex? He'd have thought any impulses in that direction would have been lost…
Though the way Watari was nestling closer, cheek rubbing against what was becoming an embarrassment, was rapidly persuading him otherwise.
He licked dry lips.
"Watari-san… I think you should get some rest."
Watari turned onto his side, curling around Oriya and sighing happily.
"Aa. Le's go to bed…"
The swordsman shoved a hand through his hair, eyes wide and almost panicked. He wasn't prepared for this, he really wasn't. In a way it was fortunate that Watari was drunk: Oriya could always claim he didn't want to take advantage.
Which was less than half true.
He groaned silently, gritted his teeth and carefully untangled himself from the shinigami, easing himself upright and pulling Watari with him.
"Yutaka-kun, I'm going to get you into bed, then I have some business to attend to."
Watari - pouted.
"Bu'…"
Oriya kissed him, very gently, on the lips.
"Yutaka… you're - weary. I know you want to do something to forget today, but this… wouldn't be right."
Watari's chatoyant eyes lowered miserably.
"An' you'm waitin' for Muraki. S'OK - Ay dun' mind." He forced a smile. "'m jus' happy t'spend sum time wi' yew."
Oriya bit back a frustrated sigh. That wasn't it at all! But Watari was tired, and fraught, and drunk. It would be better discussed later.
"Come on. Let's go in."
Watari meekly allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, stripped, settled into the bed. And managed to hold back the tears until Oriya had left.Oriya couldn't decide whether the evening was dragging or going far too quickly. His mind was with Watari, curled miserably on the futon (he could almost feel the shinigami's feeling of rejection) and he had no idea how he was going to handle - deal with, he corrected himself firmly - Watari later. He even found himself wishing, for a split-second, that his guest would just… disappear, relieving him of the problem… He shook himself. No, of course he didn't wish that, not really…
But he and Watari really needed to talk.
Or something.
He froze, blinking.
… something… He hadn't felt like this since… Had he ever felt like this? Muraki…
He absently rubbed his shoulder, easing away phantom pain.
Intimacy with Muraki had always been painful, always left him bruised and bleeding, beaten… but craving more.
Why had he felt like that?
He leaned forwards, elbows on his desk, head in his hands, thinking.
He had allowed Muraki to take control. To start with, perhaps, he hadn't fully understood what was happening - wasn't entirely sure Muraki had understood either. But after a while it had become engrained, become habit. His complete fascination with his friend - friend? What sort of friend behaves in such a way? - had prevented him looking elsewhere for companionship. He was afraid of betraying Muraki, afraid of causing him pain. Oh, not in fear of retaliation - at least, not consciously - but because he… loved wasn't the right word. Revered, perhaps… the man.
It had been one-sided, he realised. Muraki had taken his pleasure, deadly as it usually was for his victims, anywhere he wanted. Yet he always returned to Oriya.
Muraki needed him. No one else needed him. Oh, well, yes, he was required to run the business, but there was a wide gulf between that and being needed.
And he believed Muraki wanted him. Trusted him. In fact, he was probably the only person Muraki did trust. And proved it by pushing his luck, and Oriya's patience, by growing more and more careless in his actions, killing more indiscreetly, more wantonly, almost as though he wanted to be discovered - and making it more and more difficult for Oriya to arrange cover-ups for him. The swordsman knew, with a chilling sense of fatality, that it would only be a matter of time before his friend was discovered…
But there were benefits to the relationship, to making himself available when Muraki wanted him. The man was almost tender, afterwards, treating the wounds he'd made, holding Oriya gently, silently, stroking his hair. Making Oriya feel loved, even as he knew he was deluding himself.
He rubbed at his eyes. Gods, how pathetic! Was he that desperate, supporting and abetting a killer because it made him feel as though he mattered to someone? Letting himself be used in order to give some sort of meaning to his life?
He closed his eyes, shivering. Because that's what it came down to, wasn't it? Muraki filled the emptiness, and he'd do anything rather than lose that. The wish to protect Muraki, to try to change him, was only a justification.
Watari would be disgusted if he knew…Watari sat, head resting on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, huddled under the cover.
Ashamed of himself.
He was nowhere near as drunk as he'd made out - yes, a little inebriated, enough to numb today's pain, to make him feel relaxed, but certainly not enough to… 'hit' on his host. What had he been thinking?
Heh, easy enough to answer, now he'd thought about it: for the first time since his death he'd found himself thoroughly attracted to someone, and he'd hoped Oriya would take matters out of his hands. Make the choice for him. What a cowardly thing to do.
He was tempted to just leave. Easy enough to teleport back to Meifu. But he couldn't do that. He had to apologise first.
And then he needed to do some serious thinking. Tsuzuki was right, he, or Oriya, or more likely both, was going to be hurt if he carried on like this. Far better to end it now, while he still could.
He had to say goodbye.
© 2004 April 7th Joules Taylor
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