A Gentlemanly Conversation

This is all Lilack’s fault. We were playing a game of blackjack one afternoon at University with Tsukineko, and we agreed that the losers were to pay the winner a favor. My favor to Lilack and Tsukineko should I have lost, was to write a Tatsumi x Muraki fic. (NOT like that, you hentais!) I won the game, but the idea of putting Yami no Matsuei’s two most dangerous and gorgeous men together was v-e-r-y interesting ^^.

Sequel to Glass Eyes after the Kyoto Arc, Tsuzuki is traumatised in the hospital, Muraki has disappeared most probably very badly injured, and Tatsumi is not happy at all. Lots of Tatsumi torture/angst and Muraki bashing, with some of Muraki’s usual tricks to spice things up.

For the third time in as many nights, Tatsumi found himself running down the darkened corridors of the Meifu, Hisoka’s mental cry for help ringing silently in his mind. The halls were as winding as any labyrinth and those who did not have Ariadne’s string would be lost indeed. But Tatsumi did know these halls, and he knew that he still had far to go.

::Tatsumi-san, hurry!::

Why oh why did Watari have to make the temporary hospital on the other side of the building?

::I’m coming. Kurosaki-kun, try and help him.::

::It’s no good, Tsuzuki is –::

::TRY!!::

There – a light at the top of the stairs. Not natural or electric light; it flickered eerily as if there were some chemical fire burning inside the room. Tatsumi forced himself to run faster, the memories of Suzaku and Touda’s destruction all-too fresh in his mind.

Please, Tsuzuki-san, not again, please not again . . .

Out of breath but not daring to pause for rest, Tatsumi flung himself into what had been a small dining hall before Tsuzuki had wrecked the hospital, then was forced to stop for his eyes to adjust. Shadows were thrown against the walls in grotesque shapes in a sullen red-violet light. The source of the light was immediately apparent; Tsuzuki, the sole occupant of the hospital, was glowing. He seemed to be on fire, and the image did not help Tatsumi’s peace of mind when he realised that his friend was unconsciously thrashing about in the throes of some nightmare. Perhaps the only reason that he had not yet summoned up one or more of his powerful shikigami was because Hisoka and Watari were doing their best to restrain him. They were struggling – terror, it seemed, gave Tsuzuki strength beyond that of his own limits.

"Can’t you do something?!" Tatsumi shouted at Watari as he ran to the bedside and grabbed hold of Tsuzuki’s bare shoulders.

Watari’s honey-blond hair flew about his face as he tried to hold Tsuzuki down. "I don’t know!" he yelled. "He’s too panicked and stressed for me to give him a sedative-" The scientist was cut off as Tsuzuki convulsed again.

"Tsuzuki-san!" Tatsumi bent over the shinigami, trying to call his friend back to sanity. He faltered a little when he saw Tsuzuki’s eyes; they were wide open without consciousness, and terrified. Tatsumi’s mind was assaulted by the waves of fear and hurt emanating from Tsuzuki – he could only imagine how Hisoka with his empathic abilities was feeling.

Speaking of the empath – "Kurosaki-kun, can you pull him out of this?!" Tatsumi demanded.

Hisoka’s green eyes were helpless. "I’ve already tried," he replied, holding desperately onto Tsuzuki’s hand. "It’s worse this time, he’s gone too far . . ." The boy trailed off as Tsuzuki sobbed, and his eyes filled with tears under the weight of both his and his partner’s emotions. "He’s hurting, Tatsumi-san, really hurting, and I can’t help him!"

Tatsumi shared the younger shinigami’s desperation. Tsuzuki trembled uncontrollably beneath him – he clamped a hand over Tsuzuki’s mouth as he realised Tsuzuki was unconsciously trying to speak a spell. If they couldn’t break Tsuzuki out of this, if Tsuzuki were to summon his shikigami without control, if they were to lose their friend for whom they had already fought so hard for . . .

There was a cry, and Tatsumi looked up to see Hisoka go flying. The shinigami in the sixteen-year old body was too light and nowhere near strong enough to restrain Tsuzuki. He heard Watari frantically asking if Hisoka was all right, heard the boy shakily reply something vague, felt Tsuzuki sobbing beneath his hands . . .

"Tsuzuki-san, wake up," Tatsumi said urgently. The light haloing his friend’s body was growing brighter, was that the cry of a phoenix Tatsumi could hear tugging at the upper levels of his hearing? "Please." Desperation began to creep into Tatsumi’s voice. "Wake up, Tsuzuki-san, you’re safe, you’re home, it’s alright, everything will be alright now . . ."

Soothingly, the words spilled from his mouth. He noted detachedly that Hisoka had stood up and blood was running down his cheek from a gash above his eye – he must have hit himself against something. The boy ignored the injury, if was even aware that he was bleeding, and gripped Tsuzuki’s hand again. "Tsuzuki!"

There was a flicker of life in the violet eyes, and Tatsumi felt a lurch of hope. "Keep calling him!" he ordered.

Hisoka glanced at him, and Tatsumi got the impression that Hisoka was determined on calling his friend’s name whether told to or not. "Tsuzuki!"

"Tsuzuki!" Watari added his voice to Hisoka’s. "Tsuzuki, wake up!"

"Tsuzuki!"

Tatsumi bent over his friend. "Tsuzuki-san, it’s alright," he whispered, and was rewarded when Tsuzuki’s violet eyes seemed to focus on him for a split second. "We’re all here, we’re all right here with you . . ."

"TSUZUKI!"

" . . . Kurosaki-kun’s here, Watari-san’s here, I’m here . . . please, Tsuzuki-san, it’s alright to come back . . ."

Slowly, the light began to fade. Tsuzuki calmed down also, his convulsions becoming half-hearted, but it still wasn’t enough. The terrified hurt lashing at Tatsumi’s mind hadn’t lessened significantly, cutting into him so sharply that he wanted to scream. Hisoka was weeping, but still he called Tsuzuki’s name, the only thing so far that had garnered any success. Watari, thankfully, had little reikan ability, and so was spared –

Tatsumi blinked as he realised there was a glinting blade in Watari’s hands. "Watari-san?!"

The blond scientist ignored Tatsumi’s shout, grabbed Tsuzuki’s right hand, and stabbed a scalpel through his palm.

Tsuzuki stiffened. His eyes were wild as he stared about the room. As he saw his friends, there was a flash of recognition.

Then Tsuzuki went limp and collapsed. The red-violet light winked out.

Watari gave a long sigh as he pulled the scalpel out of Tsuzuki’s hand. Blood dripped onto the bed-sheets, crimson on white. Hisoka’s green eyes were about to pop out. "What was that for?!" he demanded.

Watari placed the scalpel on the tray from where he had grabbed it, then used the bed-sheets to wipe the blood away from the wound before it healed. "It’s ok, Hisoka-kun," he said reassuringly, though his smile was shaky. "Tsuzuki needed a drastic wake-up call, and I gave it to him."

"But you didn’t have to do that!"

"What, you’d rather that the wake-up call was Suzaku?"

Tatsumi paid little attention to the argument. Tsuzuki was shivering and his skin was damp with sweat. "Stop it, you two," he said curtly, gently drawing the blanket around Tsuzuki and using it as a towel to rub him down. "Watari-san, go get some more blankets. Kurosaki-kun, help me get Tsuzuki-san into the other bed before he goes into shock."

Tatsumi was used to giving orders; Watari and Hisoka were used to obeying him. Obediently Watari went to the linen cupboard and pulled out a thick quilt while Hisoka drew the covers back on the nearest bed and fetched an additional pillow. Tatsumi lifted Tsuzuki and carried him across, laying him down on the fresh sheets. As soon as the comatose shinigami was settled, Hisoka immediately grabbed a chair and sat down, taking Tsuzuki’s hand in his. Tatsumi smiled at that then took a chair himself as Watari returned and laid the quilt over Tsuzuki.

"So what happened this time?" Tatsumi asked wearily, adjusting his glasses. The room seemed overly dark now after Tsuzuki’s light; too tired to be bothered getting up, Tatsumi willed the shadows to turn on a nightlight. The warm glow diffused through the room, and if it wasn’t for the blood, Tatsumi could almost be tempted to believe that the desperate struggle moments ago hadn’t happened.

Watari sighed and flopped into another chair. "I don’t know," he replied. "Tsuzuki started whimpering like he was having a nightmare. I checked his temperature and he was burning up, so I took some of the blankets away and loosened his clothes, but when I tried to touch him he kinda went still for a moment and stared at me looking absolutely terrified. Then he lost it." The scientist ran a hand through his hair. There was a bruise starting to appear on his cheek. "You’d think after we got him out of Muraki’s hands everything would get better."

Hisoka’s eyes burned at the mention of Muraki’s name. "It’s not that simple, Watari-san. Muraki can do … things to you that last for months. Years, even. They leave a mark on you like a scar; it takes a long time to heal, if it does at all, and while it’s there it’s horrible … ugly …" The boy shivered, memories he’d rather forget awash in his mind, and Tatsumi looked at him sympathetically. The blood from the gash was drying, making it seem as if the spell carved into his body had spread to his face. "It’s not … that … simple …" he repeated, voice tight.

Silence followed Hisoka’s words. Watari bit his lip. "Do you really think that Muraki could have done … that … to Tsuzuki?" he asked quietly.

Hisoka nodded very slowly, looking as if he were about to cry. Tatsumi gripped the sides of his chair in helpless rage. No wonder Tsuzuki had lost control when Watari touched him. Tsuzuki-san, oh gods, my poor Tsuzuki-san . . .

"Hisoka-chan, you’re bleeding," Watari said suddenly.

Hisoka shrugged, and the action made him wince. "It’s already healed," he replied.

Tatsumi gave him a look. "Kurosaki-kun, your eyes aren’t focusing properly. You must have hit your head harder than you thought."

"Really, I’m alright," the boy insisted.

Watari shook his head. "Nuh uh. Best get it checked before you faint and fall down the stairs and crack your head open. Come on." He stood up and thumbed towards the door. "Check-up time with Doctor Watari."

Hisoka shook his head again, which made him dizzy. "But I want to stay-"

Watari glared. "You’re not going to be much help if you have concussion. Don’t worry, Tsuzuki isn’t going to go anywhere, and Tatsumi’s still here to keep an eye on him. Come on."

Reluctantly, Hisoka stood up, and immediately put a hand to his head, other hand fumbling for support. Watari, to his credit, didn’t bother with ‘I told you so’, but took hold of Hisoka’s arm and led him out of the room. Tatsumi didn’t watch them go. He sat there in silence, listening to the sound of footsteps getting further and further away. Then the door shut.

Tatsumi gave a long sigh and hid his face in his hands.

Tsuzuki-san …

They had been so happy to have their friend back after Muraki had kidnapped him that none of them had ever entertained the thought that although Tsuzuki was safe, their troubles weren’t over. Tsuzuki slept fitfully but otherwise safely during the day; it was at night that things began to go wrong. The first night after his return Tsuzuki had sleep-walked out of bed and Watari had found him curled up in the farthest corner, shivering. Hisoka and Tatsumi had had to coax him out as if he were a frightened animal to go back to his bed to sleep. They kept watch over Tsuzuki after that, but even so, the next night Tsuzuki begun to toss and turn so badly and constantly that even after Hisoka had exhausted himself calming Tsuzuki down, Watari had had no choice but to give him a sedative.

Tonight had been the worst. They could have lost Tsuzuki. Again. Tatsumi fervently hoped that after this, nothing more could happen.

Tsuzuki was sleeping peacefully now; Tatsumi leaned over and brushed his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. At his touch, Tsuzuki unconsciously flinched, and Tatsumi gently stroked his hair until the shinigami calmed down again.

It’s all right, Tsuzuki-san, I’m still here, I haven’t left you …

There was very few times in his existence that Tatsumi felt helpless. This was one of them, not that he would ever admit to it. But he still kept stroking Tsuzuki’s hair.

I want nothing more but to make you happy, whatever the price. I was even willing to let you die if that was what you wanted, no matter that it would destroy me. His fingers kept up their ministrations, combing through the silky dark strands. I should thank Kurosaki-kun someday for refusing to let you go … because truly, I don’t want to let you go either, Tsuzuki-san.

But even though you’ve returned to us you’re still hurting …

Tsuzuki had been crying, Tatsumi could see the remnants of tears lining his eyes, and the sight of them made him ache all the more. Before he realised what he was doing, he was wiping them away. They sparkled on his fingers in the light before drying, but silently, more welled up to take their place. Tatsumi clenched his hands.

I can’t even dry your tears.

He hated to see Tsuzuki cry. For so many years he had tried his best to ensure that his friend would never have to cry. Tatsumi never asked for any reward – Tsuzuki’s unaffected smile was enough. And yet … he wiped Tsuzuki’s face dry with no more success than before.

You’re still crying, Tsuzuki-san.

All because of him …

The lurking shadows stirred uneasily in response to Tatsumi’s anger. Realising what was happening, Tatsumi immediately forced himself back under control. He had never lost control of his powers before – only now, watching Tsuzuki like this and being unable to offer any consolation. Another sign of just how badly Tatsumi wanted to rip Muraki’s head off.

Even that would be too kind for what you did to Tsuzuki-san.

Tatsumi could have a lot of chances to give Muraki a very painful death. After all, the man was still alive.

That meant that Muraki could come back and hurt Tsuzuki again.

Tatsumi couldn’t let that happen.

Footsteps again; he didn’t need reikan ability to know that Hisoka and Watari were returning. They could take his place looking after Tsuzuki. Quietly, swiftly, Tatsumi brushed Tsuzuki’s hair back and kissed him there, then stood up to leave.

"Where are you going?" Watari asked, as Hisoka took Tatsumi’s seat by Tsuzuki’s side.

Tatsumi didn’t bother to look at him. "Out," he said shortly.

Before Watari could ask anything else, Tatsumi left.

I never forgive anyone who hurts Tsuzuki-san.

Muraki.

* * * * * * *

There were dozens of reports from all sectors that went through the JuOhCho everyday. Serial killings, murders, accidents, any unnatural death was reported to the Shokan Division, and as secretary, Tatsumi saw everything from the mundane to the exotic. One report, short and unremarkable, had caught his attention. A young girl walking in the mountains had been caught in a freak rockslide. She had been trying to find a white angel she had claimed to see in the woods two days earlier. Tatsumi smiled humourlessly to himself as he flew there. Angels were supposed to be the guides of the dead.

Shinigami aren’t angels.

It was late at night when he finally alighted on firm ground again. Trees crowded all around him, the wind whispering almost-audible secrets through their branches. It was the only sound there was. No birds, no animals, not even the usual chirping of cicadas. It was as if the entire forest was hiding from a single yellow light that was flickering in the shadows.

Tatsumi walked towards that light. It came from behind the doors of a small traditional-style house. As Tatsumi watched from the shadows, a tall figure appeared silhouetted on the screen of the door. It put on a robe, moving slowly as if in pain or having just woken up from slumber. Tatsumi’s blue eyes hardened. There was no mistaking who this was.

Suddenly, the figure stopped. The light suddenly went out. Footsteps on a tatami floor, then the screen door slid open.

Muraki stood on the veranda.

He was perhaps a little thinner than what Tatsumi remembered from their meeting in Kyoto, but that could have just been the effect of the moonlight and shadows on the soft grey yukata he was wearing. He still wore his glasses, still had that fall of silver-white hair over his right eye. The only sign of injury were the bandages Tatsumi could see in the open neck of the yukata. It did nothing to detract from the sensual beauty that always seemed to leave Tsuzuki so helpless.

Muraki stared out into the shadows for a long moment, prosthetic eye glinting in the moonlight, before speaking aloud.

"I know someone is there. Come out where I can see you."

Tatsumi allowed himself to be surprised. Whatever Muraki had suffered in Kyoto, he didn’t seem to have lost much in the way of magical ability. He stepped into the clearing.

"Good evening, Muraki-sensei."

He could see the doctor stiffen. There was a flash of startlement in Muraki’s face, but it was quickly hidden. The way his stance shifted subtly to the defensive was no less obvious. Still, however, Muraki retained his usual cultured civility.

"Tatsumi-san. What an unexpected pleasure."

The shinigami gave him an unfriendly smile. "Of course it is."

Silence. The two men watched each other warily as the night grew colder. Muraki glanced back at the doors of the house. "I would offer JuOhCho’s shadow-master my hospitality, except that I am not in the habit of entertaining visitors here," he said at last.

Tatsumi nodded slightly. "Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account."

"I suppose it would be foolish to ask about the purpose of your visit?" Muraki asked with one raised eyebrow.

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "We were aware that you are still alive, so I’ve come to inquire about your health," he replied. "If finding you unwell after that inferno, I would be most satisfied. Having discovered that you are quite the opposite …" The shadow-master shrugged. "I suppose I shall have to remedy that."

"Understandable. However, I am not as well as you see." Muraki gestured to his bandages. "Your amethyst-eyed shinigami gave me quite a blow."

The shadow-master gave a dark smile. "I’ve no doubt that you deserved it."

"And I have no doubt you take pleasure in hearing it. So," Muraki continued casually, "how is my Tsuzuki-san?"

Tatsumi’s eyes were cold. "Recovering."

Muraki laughed softly. "I’m glad to hear that. I certainly hope you have been giving him lots of sweets – he really does love them. Then again, he’s so cute when he begs for more." The doctor cast a significant look at the shinigami. "I suppose you’d be as good an authority on that subject as I."

Tatsumi glared. "Hardly. I’m not like you."

One silver-fine eyebrow rose slightly. "Are you sure?"

The shinigami gave him a look of barely restrained patience. "Don’t even think that you can play your games with me as you do Tsuzuki-san," he said softly, making his way up the stairs to the veranda to face his enemy. "You won’t win, I assure you of that. And I am not a kind person."

Muraki didn’t move as Tatsumi advanced on him. "Neither am I," he replied. "Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why we are both so drawn to our beautiful shinigami."

In a flash, Tatsumi grabbed the front of Muraki’s yukata and shoved him against the wall. "Don’t liken me to you," he said icily. The yukata, part of him noticed in the moonlight, was embroidered with the dark grey patterns of bamboo. Muraki chuckled, not at all afraid as Tatsumi glared blue ice into his face.

"My, my, aren’t you rather violent over this issue." The doctor’s smile shifted into a knowing smirk. "You want him too, don’t you," he said mockingly.

Slowly, Tatsumi’s other hand came up to clench the grey cloth. "I want him to be free of you."

"Is that so?" Muraki tilted his head, searching gaze sliding past Tatsumi’s glasses. His voice turned silky. "And what would you give me as consolation?" He languidly began to run a finger over the hand tangled in his robe. " … Tatsumi-san."

Tatsumi raised an eyebrow at the touch. He glanced down at their hands, glanced at the doctor’s smile. "You are very obvious, Muraki-sensei."

The doctor shrugged, fingers trailing from Tatsumi’s knuckles to his wrist. "I’ve never been one for subtlety. Besides, I couldn’t be subtle with Tsuzuki-san." The man chuckled as the hands gripping his yukata involuntarily tightened. "You should know that subtlety goes over his head." Muraki gave the shinigami a look. "He doesn’t know about you, does he."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Tatsumi bit out.

Muraki laughed softly. "You don’t have to speak a word, for your eyes say everything." Suddenly his fingers were on Tatsumi’s face, tracing his cheekbone. "Such lovely eyes, just like the ocean. But really, Tatsumi-san, you’ve known Tsuzuki-san for how many decades and you still haven’t told him? I thought you a braver man than that. Or is it because you’re afraid of hurting him?"

The shinigami ignored the fingers on his face, knuckles white under the tension. "I would never hurt Tsuzuki-san."

"But you want to, don’t you." Muraki leered. "You can’t be this forceful without enjoying it. Or perhaps you don’t know how to love him like I do." He laughed at the look on Tatsumi’s face. "Come now, Tatsumi-san, gentleman to gentleman. Don’t tell me you’ve never contemplated taking Tsuzuki-san yourself. I can promise that you will not be dissatisfied by the encounter."

Tatsumi’s long fingers came up to grip Muraki’s neck. "Don’t you dare say another word about him like that," he hissed.

Muraki smirked. "Am I hitting a little too close to home? Perhaps I should warn you, Tsuzuki-san does have a tendency to cry, so you must be gentle with him. Then again, his eyes are so beautiful when filled with tears–"

There was a sharp crack as Tatsumi backhanded Muraki across the face, sending his glasses flying. Unrepentant, the doctor fell to the ground, yukata falling slightly open. He brushed silver-white hair out of his face and grinned.

"Oh dear, I do believe that someone’s jealous." He sat up a little, eye twinkling in the moonlight. "Are you angry because I got to Tsuzuki-san before you could?" The shadows around him were beginning to stir, which made Muraki smirk even more. "You hurt anyone who gets too possessive of your dear shinigami. As long as Tsuzuki-san wasn’t with anyone, you were content. But now …" The doctor’s smile turned scornful. "Now I am the one that knows Tsuzuki-san most intimately … and you don’t like that at all, do you."

That was enough. Tatsumi’s eyes blazed and he let the shadows speak for his anger. They reared up from the ground in waves, silhouettes of trees lashing at Muraki like barbed whips. Still weakened from his injuries in Kyoto, there was little the doctor could do in self-defense except dodge, but the moon was out and the night dark and so there was nowhere for him to hide. Before long Muraki was bleeding, the crimson shockingly bright on his grey yukata. It made Tatsumi smile. He deliberately kept his blows below killing strength, though. It was much more pleasing to see Muraki hurt.

Finally, Tatsumi eased off. Muraki lay half-curled up in obvious pain on the floor, face hidden behind his hair. He coughed a little, spitting blood. His glasses glinted off to one side. Muraki began to reach out for them, but was abruptly stopped as Tatsumi stepped onto his hand.

"Don’t take what Tsuzuki-san and I have down to your level," said Tatsumi, very softly, very dangerously, grinding the bones of Muraki’s hand under his immaculate shoe to emphasise his words. Muraki hissed in agony, and the shinigami smiled, pressing a little harder. But then the sound slid into something completely different. Tatsumi frowned and gazed warily at his downed enemy. The sound was laughter. It was dark, bordering on the edge of sanity. Somehow, Muraki twisted to look up at Tatsumi, a triumphant smile on his bleeding face.

"I’m not taking anything down, Tatsumi-san. I am merely pointing out to you what you do not yet realise or acknowledge." Suddenly Muraki’s free hand reached out and grabbed Tatsumi’s ankle. With surprising strength, the doctor pulled the shinigami to the ground. The unexpectedness of the action and the pain as he hit the floor stunned Tatsumi for a second, allowing Muraki to place a strong hand on his chest and pin him down. "So tell me, Tatsumi-san," Muraki said conversationally. "Just how far would you go to protect your precious Tsuzuki?"

Tatsumi glared up at him, his soft brown hair in disarray. "Unless you are seeking to lose a limb, I advise you to remove your hand immediately."

Muraki didn’t move, ignoring the threat. "You’d do anything, wouldn’t you." He frowned, as if trying to grasp this concept. "You’d steal, torture, kill, destroy your own self …" Suddenly Muraki leaned down towards him, his voice soft and honeyed. "If I promised never to see, touch, or harm Tsuzuki-san again on the condition that you stayed here tonight, would you?"

The killing glare Tatsumi shot at the doctor was answer enough. Muraki stared at him for a long moment, his eyes disconcerting in the moonlight, and Tatsumi had a sudden insight into how Tsuzuki must feel in the man’s presence. The grey yukata was falling open at the neck, revealing a V of pale skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight. There was a trickle of blood working its way down over that skin. It began from the back of the doctor’s neck until it soaked into the already stained bandages swathing his chest, red on white. Tatsumi watched it for a long moment, disturbed. Tsuzuki’s blood had been just as red. He had been just as warm too. All around the two men, the forest was very, very quiet. Tense.

Finally, Muraki moved away. Tatsumi sat up immediately, his face unreadable. Muraki paid him no attention, looking out over the dark forest with a melodramatic sigh.

"Perhaps I was mistaken."

Without warning Tatsumi lunged, one hand going around Muraki’s neck, and knocked him to the ground so that their positions were reversed. Muraki blinked in surprise. The shadow-master smiled down at him evilly.

"What are the chances of you keeping your promise?"

An interesting array of expressions crossed Muraki’s face as he lay on the floor, as if he were trying each one on for size. First there was astonishment, then suspicion, then his face became almost bloodthirsty as he returned Tatsumi’s smile. "About as likely as you leaving me alive."

Tatsumi smirked, his right hand still around Muraki’s neck. "As long as we understand each other."

"Oh, we do," replied Muraki. "We’d both do anything to achieve our goals, no matter how ruthless we may have to be." The doctor’s silver orbs flicked up to meet Tatsumi’s blue ones. "And of course, neither of us can resist amethyst eyes."

With a single calculated move Tatsumi punched Muraki with his other hand, the shock of bone-against-bone disturbingly satisfying. The doctor took this beating without protest, blood dripping from a cut above his brow. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave Tsuzuki-san out of this," said Tatsumi through gritted teeth.

Muraki’s eyes glittered maliciously. "But I can’t. You can’t either. Just like me, you can’t stop thinking about him. Wanting him." The blood’s crimson seemed washed out in the moonlight as it soaked into his hair, tinting his prosthetic eye with an almost mauve hue. One of the doctor’s hands came up to play with the shinigami’s tie. "What are you thinking?" he whispered, running his fingers along the silk. "Are you imagining someone else in my place? I can play Tsuzuki-san for you if you like . . . Tatsumi."

Tatsumi grabbed Muraki’s wandering hand and slammed it into the ground. The force of the blow caused his glasses to slip, and they fell from his face with a ring of crystal that was ignored. "Don’t you dare say my name like that," Tatsumi hissed.

Muraki looked up at him unmoved. "But isn’t that what you want? To touch Tsuzuki without having to worry about the consequences? That Tsuzuki who would love you back . . . " Suddenly he grabbed Tatsumi’s tie and yanked the shinigami down towards him. Tatsumi’s eyes widened in shock as Muraki’s lips grazed his ear. ". . . like this?"

Silence. Tatsumi was very, very still. Only his hands betrayed him. Muraki pulled away and looked at him.

"Tatsumi-san. You’re trembling."

Tatsumi couldn’t answer. He stared down at the other man, the summer blue of his eyes heavy with clouds. Muraki smiled.

"You’ve been avoiding this issue for such a long time, haven’t you," he said. His voice was muted and hushed. Condescending, like a parent to a child. "As a shinigami, you can hide for decades. Centuries, even. But I won’t let you do that any more."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Muraki lifted his free hand, brushing Tatsumi’s hair back. The shinigami stiffened as the doctor gently closed his eyes for him. "You control yourself so well, does anyone know how much you are concealing? How much you care, how much you hurt . . ." His fingers travelled down to run along the shinigami’s shirt-collar, ". . . do you even know yourself?"

Tatsumi didn’t respond. His eyes remained closed. He couldn’t see the smile on Muraki’s face as the doctor began to undo his tie. "Don’t worry," said Muraki, his voice so soft it was virtually unrecognisable as his own. The length of silk was worked loose, and the ends dangled in the air between them. The shinigami’s shirt-buttons shone in the moonlight. Muraki toyed with the topmost one for a moment before loosening it. "You said yourself, you’d never hurt him. You’ve always trusted your instincts, there’s no reason to be any different now, is there . . . Tatsumi."

Tatsumi couldn’t answer. With his eyes closed and limbs frozen, there was nothing but that voice insidiously touching those things he tried not to think about. He could feel another button loosen, and another, but couldn’t bring himself to put a halt to it. And still that silver-tongued voice kept talking.

"Let go. It’s all right. Prove to yourself just how far you’ll go to protect the one you hold most dear." A fourth button. Tatsumi shivered. Then a hand slid through his hair to cradle the back of his head. Very gently, he was pulled down. "Yes, like that. Just like that."

Somehow, the shinigami managed to make the softest of protests. "Shh, there’s nothing to be afraid of," the voice whispered soothingly. "It hurts, but pain in this isn’t pain at all." Warm breath on his chin like laughter. Tatsumi could feel a dark smile against his lips.

"And unlike Tsuzuki-san, I don’t cry."

Tatsumi opened his eyes. With a cry of rage he jerked back, shoving the doctor away from him and standing up. Muraki smirked, yukata falling about his legs.

"Lost your nerve?"

Tatsumi’s breath came in gasps. "Shut up!"

Laughter rang through the night like bells. "What a pity. I’m almost disappointed." Muraki looked up at Tatsumi, one silver eyebrow raised. "I’m not that poor a substitute for Tsuzuki-san, am I?"

Tatsumi’s eyes blazed. At his will, the shadows lurched up from the floor and threw themselves onto the doctor. For a heartbeat Muraki was lost to sight as the shadows roiled and twisted in response to their master’s rage, beating him without mercy. Suddenly there was a bright flash and the shades retreated. Tatsumi clenched his fists as Muraki stood up, bleeding profusely, a slavering hell-hound by his side that he had somehow managed to summon. It leapt towards the shinigami to die a quick death as Tatsumi’s shadows broke its neck, but its purpose as a distraction worked as Muraki opened the door and stepped into the farthest, darkest corner. His shirt still half-undone, Tatsumi sent a shadow hurtling into the darkened room. It disappeared. He tried again with the same result.

"You can’t hurt me like that anymore, shadow-master." If Tatsumi looked hard enough, he could just make out the silver-white form that was the doctor. "There is nothing in this room but darkness. You can’t have shadows without light; therefore, your powers will have no effect in here." Something glinted in the darkness as Muraki held out a hand, and Tatsumi could imagine the other’s smirk. "I have your glasses with me if you wish to have them back."

Too angry to speak, Tatsumi strode into the room. He reached out to snatch his glasses but found himself grasping air as Muraki jerked his hand away. Momentum kept him going and Tatsumi stumbled, blindly stretching out in the darkness for support and finding it. Cloth.

"Be nice, Tatsumi-san." Cool thin metal was slid onto his face, and his vision sharpened. Muraki smirked bloodily just inches from his eyes. "You’ll scare Tsuzuki-san if you play rough."

Tatsumi glared at the doctor. Then he punched him in the face. Muraki dropped heavily to the floor, yet still managed to smile. Disgusted, Tatsumi stood over him and raised a fist. The yukata had slipped a little, revealing Muraki’s pale neck. Tatsumi found himself studying the way the silky hairs lay against the skin, imagining what it would be like if they belonged to someone else . . .

"Do you understand now?" said Muraki quietly.

Tatsumi pulled his thoughts back to reality. "Shut up!"

The doctor shifted painfully to look at the shinigami, and Tatsumi realised that he had broken the doctor’s arm. Muraki’s eyes were almost mad. "You like hurting me, don’t you? Come, shadow-master, get your hands dirty with my blood before you go back to your Tsuzuki-san. You can be the one to hurt him instead. Won’t that be fun?"

For a long moment Tatsumi stood there, his eyes wild. Silence. He could hear his heartbeat. Muraki lay still at his feet, waiting for the final blow.

Abruptly, Tatsumi turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

"We’re more alike that you’d like to admit, you know," Muraki called out after him.

Tatsumi didn’t turn around as he descended the stairs and walked faster. In a very short time, he disappeared.

Muraki sighed and leaned heavily against the wall. He watched the sun rise over the forest, feeling blood drip down his broken arm. He remained like that until another figure stepped into the clearing.

"You were asking for it, you do realise," said Oriya, running a critical eye over his friend.

Muraki managed a low chuckle. "He didn’t kill me, did he."

Oriya sighed. Then he went to fetch some water and bandages.

* * * * * * *

"Oi, Tatsumi!" yelled Watari, seeing the brown-suited shinigami walking quickly down the hall. "Where’ve you been the entire day? Konoe-Kacho’s been throwing a fit cause he’s lost some document or other–" He broke off as Tatsumi brushed past him as if he weren’t even there. The blonde scientist blinked.

"What’s up with him?"

Hisoka was the next person Tatsumi met. The boy-shinigami paused in the corridor with a file under his arm. Seeing him, Tatsumi slowed, carefully keeping his thoughts well-guarded. The last thing he wanted was for the empath to sense his agitated state of mind.

"Tatsumi-san." Both shinigami stopped and faced each other. Hisoka’s green eyes frowned as he realised that the usually impeccably dressed secretary had his tie undone. "Where did you go?"

Tatsumi tried to smile as if nothing was wrong. "I had some business to take care of. How is Tsuzuki-san?" he asked.

"He still hasn’t woken up yet, but he’s calmed down and hasn’t had anymore panic attacks." Hisoka looked at him curiously. "Tatsumi-san? Are you alright?"

Tatsumi’s smile grew strained. "Yes, yes, I’m alright, thank you, Kurosaki-kun." He glanced at his watch. "If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do." Before Hisoka could say anymore, Tatsumi walked away, his steps a little more quick than before. Still, however, he could feel the other shinigami’s eyes on him as he turned the corner to the temporary hospital.

He didn’t run into anyone else after that. It was late afternoon, and most people had left for dinner break or home. His footsteps echoed hollowly, sometimes making it seem as if there were someone – something – else following behind. It stopped when he stopped though.

Finally, he reached the door. Tatsumi stared at the handle for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes and opened it.

Tsuzuki was still in the same bed where he had left him. Quietly, Tatsumi made to the bedside. The younger shinigami’s head was tilted away from him, chest steadily rising and falling beneath the loose robe with each breath. Tatsumi watched him for a moment, the strained expression on his face melting a little. Tsuzuki was safe, sleeping peacefully. Unable to resist, Tatsumi reached out and stroked his friend’s dark hair. Silky soft. He ran his fingers through the strands, brushing them away so he could see Tsuzuki’s face better. Tsuzuki stirred a little, turning towards him before settling once more into slumber.

Tatsumi smiled. Softly, gently, his fingers trailed down over Tsuzuki’s cheek towards his lips. They ran over Tsuzuki’s throat and stroked the skin soothingly as the shinigami unconsciously stiffened in response, then relaxed. Still Tatsumi’s hands wandered, over Tsuzuki’s collarbone, down his chest, tracing the edge of the robe’s low-cut neck for a moment before exploring further . . .

Tatsumi froze. Horrified, he pulled his hand away as if burnt and threw himself against the wall, breathing hard. His hands were shaking. He stared at them with wild, almost frightened blue eyes.

Oblivious, Tsuzuki slept on.

~owari~