R - English - Angst/Romance - Reviews: 21 - Publish date: 10-25-02 - Updated: 10-29-02
storyid: 1030791
Author's Notes: Dear gods, this one's coming quickly. Uhm, anyway, for this part I need to know what people think of the first scene. It's my first try at writing Oriya (you can tell by the length of the scene that I was afraid of screwing it up... yay, cutting things short ^^), and I'm not at all sure as to whether the scene... well, fits.
Also, I need to know. Does anyone find any flaw with the -logic- that they're using to assume that Muraki had Hi-chan? I have -so- much trouble writing believable train-of-thought assumptions (especially cause mine don't usually make sense), so please, tell me if it doesn't work.
One more thing: I got a couple of requests to make the chapters longer. If you'll notice, this one was trying to be a bit better about that. I have trouble with longer chapters because I tend to lose interest if I go on for too long, but I'll try and get a little better with each progressive part.
Other than that, the warnings for this part are... Angst. Yaoi. And more Hisoka-torture. Enjoy!
=============== The Rest of Forever =============== Chapter 3 ===============
The sky was grey, a paling shade of the night that had begun to retreat across the horizon. In the garden below the vast expanse of fading stars, all was quiet save the rhythmic clack of a bamboo fountain, filling with water before it connected with the rocks below.
It was peaceful, in a way. Serene, with a hypnotic insistency. After crowded streets and the bustle of the office, the stillness of the natural world was almost unexpected. And certainly unwelcome.
Step for step with Tatsumi's relentless pace, the violet-eyed shinigami let off a mental litany of curses, each one more colorful. At the moment, the finely-cultivated little garden and its neatly trimmed walkways were a hindrance-- and to be honest, Tsuzuki only cared about what was at the path's end.
As though the thought had been a prediction, the building sprang into view: elegantly raised roof, traditional sliding doors, and a paper lantern proclaiming its name to any passersby. "Kou Kaku Rou".
Tsuzuki passed the secretary in two swift strides, closing the distance between himself and the goal at a pace just short of running. The sound of knuckles on wood was deafening in the early morning hours, a shock after the hush of pre-dawn. But the violet-eyed shinigami didn't wince or shy from the noise; instead, he rapped again, louder the second time, and more demanding.
For a long time, there was silence-- the hotel and everything in the world around it seemed to have taken a collective breath, and forgotten to breath out again. The stillness was eerie in its tranquility.
And then, slowly, the door slid open.
A man stood before them, the tangled darkness of his hair falling in unruly waves over his shoulders and down the back of his robe. There was something wary in his face, but something curious as well, dark eyes searching as he trailed his gaze thoughtfully from one shinigami to the other.
"Help you?" Oriya offered, the phrase far more casual than the man's stance suggested.
There was no time to waste. "Where's Muraki?"
It was a sudden demand, the tone sharper than he'd meant it. Hope and anger struggled for dominance in Tsuzuki's features and his heart, and without meaning to, the man took a step forward.
But the wariness in dark eyes became suspicion, the flat line of Oriya's mouth pressed downward into a frown. "You're the one they wanted to find, then," he acknowledged at length, as though confirming something to himself.
Fighting down a wave of frustration that threatened him with tears, Tsuzuki resisted the urge to shake the man. "Do you know where he is?" he asked again, tone borderline desperate.
But the urgency in the shinigami's tone failed to rouse a quick answer, and for a long moment Oriya stood motionless, staring out at the dead men and the grounds beyond. Finally, dark eyes met pleading violet ones, and the harsh expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"...he never came back."
* * *
The boy had started looking for a way out as soon as his limbs stopped shaking enough to support his weight. Ignoring for a time the terror that still ate away at his heart, Hisoka focused instead on a way to make it stop.
The teleportation attempt had been a disaster.
As though sensing the effort, the crimson lines of the curse had flared to life, searing him until breathing was impossible through the pain. And then, just as suddenly, the sensation had stopped, leaving the young shinigami to cry softly, panting on the floor.
He didn't try again.
Instead, the boy settled for exploring his surroundings, much as the darkened room would allow. And the things that Hisoka found surprised him.
Writing lined the floor and lower walls, enfolding and overlapping, a jagged mirror of the runes carved into the boy's flesh. The shadows of the room made them all but invisible, black lines against a floor so darkly grey that the contrast was hardly perceptible. But every symbol had been measured, had been carefully constructed, and occasionally one would glow with a faint light-- a sign that they served well the intended purpose.
The runes must be, Hisoka had concluded, the reason that he was unable to use his powers. Not a single power, but more than one. Because the boy been quick to discover that teleportation wasn't the most important skill he'd lost.
He'd pretended, at first. Told himself that it was just taking longer than usual to heal. That the shock of Muraki's treatment had staggered his powers, and that he would regain them in a few hours-- though truth be told, he had no reason to believe anything of the sort.
Time meant nothing in the dimness of the room, however, and the boy couldn't begin to guess how long he'd been there already. Still, the burn of the curse was a dull ache through the length of his limbs, and the knife wounds screamed in agony, bleeding sluggishly. Nothing was healing.
But still, there had to be a way. Any way to escape the closed darkness of the room. And so he moved methodically, in spite of the pain.
Hisoka crawled slowly around the base of the small chamber, looking for a break in the writing that lined the walls and floor. Where sight failed him, the boy groped blindly, searching for any changes in the cold smoothness of the surface, and small imperfections in the prison.
There were none. The jagged, twisting markings flowed smoothly, flawless in their efficiency, and the room itself was utterly bare. One door, and no windows.
Telling himself firmly that he would ignore the sob building in the back of his throat, Hisoka pressed his forehead to his knees, arms wrapped around his legs for warmth. He would not wish that Tsuzuki was here. He would -not-. Nor would he think about the locked door, and another locked door that he had been so very familiar with, years ago. He would just... wait. But not for his partner. Just wait.
Because it was all he could do.
* * *
"What kind of asshole doesn't tell his best friend that he's alive?" Tsuzuki fumed for the fifth time, pacing steps bringing him back across the office at a surprising speed. Running a hand distractedly through the chocolate brown hair that fell across his face, the shinigami whirled to face the department's secretary. "And where the hell could he have taken him?"
"Tsuzuki..." Behind the ever-present glasses, Tatsumi's eyes were surprisingly soft. "We don't know anything for sure, yet."
"If you didn't think that it was Muraki, we never would have gone there," the violet-eyed shinigami accused, fixing his ex-partner with a level stare.
"I wanted to make sure that we had all of the possibilities covered," Tatsumi disagreed. "Because of Kurosaki-kun's... ah... history, I thought that it might be a good idea to check."
"Then you -don't- think Muraki took him?" Abruptly, Tsuzuki found himself a chair and collapsed into it, the constant motion apparently having taken its toll. Cocking his head to one side, he fixed the secretary with a pleading stare.
For the space of several heartbeats, Tatsumi watched him with a level gaze, unspeaking. And then, against his better judgment, honesty prevailed. "I think that we need to keep other possibilities open," the man corrected. "But right now, I don't see where else Kurosaki-kun could have gone."
The older shinigami frowned, digesting the information. Worry and anger shone brightly in violet eyes, even as his words attempted to sort the swirling thoughts aloud. "Hisoka... wouldn't have gone for -this- long," he admitted quietly. "Not without telling me."
Tatsumi merely nodded, glancing away as he schooled himself to refrain from adding more. Quite simply, had the boy come across the objective of their assignment, he shouldn't have had trouble dealing with the girl. According to the record base, Arai-san was nothing out of the ordinary: just a spirit that seemed intent on evading death. And if it wasn't the mission that had caused the problem, very few solutions came to mind-- aside from the idea that something had interfered purposefully. And interferences, as the past had seemed intent to prove, seemed to come from one source more than any other.
When the secretary looked up from his inner musings, he was alarmed to discover that the other man's eyes were blinking back tears.
"Tatsumi," the older shinigami whispered. "It can't be Muraki, right? I mean, he hasn't even tried to contact us." There was a desperate, clinging quality to the tone. "If it was Muraki, he'd have wanted something in return already... right?"
But the question never got answered, because just then the door to the office banged open and in bustled a disheveled blonde scientist.
"Yo, Tatsumi," he offered with a yawn and a lazy wave. "Getting an early start? You know, it isn't good for you to-- Tsuzuki?!" Golden eyes huge, Watari peered over the brim of his glasses as though to ensure that, yes, it really -was- the office's biggest slacker there at five in the morning. "What... what the...? I thought you and bon were still on assignment!"
A blanket of silence greeted the statement, thick and foreboding.
Blinking in confusion, the scientist stared back uncertainly at the death-glare Tatsumi had fixed on him. "What?" he asked, looking from the face of one co-worker to the other. "What happened? What'd I say?"
* * *
Half an hour later, the scientist was noticeably less perky. With an explanation, the usual smile had faded and golden eyes were dark with worry.
"We could just look," Tsuzuki was saying, voice soft and a little scared. "But that's all it would be-- looking. We don't even know where to start."
Beside him, Tatsumi set a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, disheartened when the touch wasn't even acknowledged. "Just because we haven't received contact yet, doesn't mean that it won't happen," the secretary pointed out. "Or perhaps we could start our search in the areas we've encountered Muraki before."
Another silence descended on the room, awkward and a little hopeless-- until Watari decided that he was sick of the quiet, and stood with a flourish.
"Right!" he announced. "Well, we're sure as hell not waiting for Muraki to come to us!"
Two questioning stares turned toward the suddenly-energetic blonde, taking in the determined manner and clenched fist-- a stance usually indicative of the exhibition of his latest experiment. Now, however, the enthusiastic shinigami's sights were set on a different goal.
"There isn't a person in Japan that you can't research, if you get into the right computer system." Brisk steps brought him past Tsuzuki, and the scientist reached down to ruffle the chocolate-brown mop of hair fondly. "Don't worry-- give me until tonight, and I'll be able to tell you how many times a day the good doctor brushes his teeth."
With a wink and a confident grin, Watari slipped from the room, leaving his co-workers to stare after the closing door.
