A/N: Hey reader, sorry this took so long to post. Between issues in my life and my computer breaking, I just didn't have time to update. But, here is chapter seven. :D Disclaimer... Remember, if owned Yami no Matsuei, there would have been lots more sex:B Please review! Enjoy.
The total lack of clutter, glitz and luxury.
The hastily constructed altar.
The knowledge of Aikan's death.
Muraki stood outside the bedroom door for several minutes, holding his head in his hands. Too many thoughts were running through his mind… Why a rather flamboyant man who loved to collect things and spend money would have an empty house, would construct an altar for a non-religious guest, would know of a death that hadn't been whispered to anyone else.
Why, why, why.
Resting the back of his head against the bedroom door, he wished that he could just go back into the room, slip into bed and pretend he was being paranoid. Pretend that nothing was wrong, that people changed and just melt into that pair of arms again…
He sighed, reaching into his coat and pulling out his Taurus gun. Judging from the noise down the hall, Tsuji was in the living room; Muraki opened his eyes and followed the sounds, moving as quietly as possible. Yes, the man was there in the living room, bent over the altar and hastily scribbling something down with low whimpering noises. Muraki's soul recoiled at the sorrow-filled, desperate sound, but thankfully his mind and body pressed forward, years upon years of experience teaching him that such things meant nothing.
It wasn't until he was in range that he cocked the gun. Tsuji's noises stopped, and Muraki's skin crawled when it looked over its shoulder, eyes purely white. "What did you do to him?"
"I should have just killed you," the creature said. "It figures you would stick your nose where it didn't belong."
"Tsuji and Aikan were my friends," Muraki replied coldly, aiming the gun at the thing's chest as it stood and turned. "It was made my business."
"You abandoned them. Some friend you are."
Muraki tightened his finger on the trigger. "I asked you a question. Answer me now."
The creature laughed. "I did nothing. I am only the servant of something far greater. And you, my friend…You who let loose the monster that devoured them…YOU will be the best sacrifice of all."
It lunged faster than expected, and the first bullet missed. The second bullet hit the thing's shoulder, but it didn't stop- Muraki found himself on the floor, claws sinking deep into his arm and shoulder, images flooding into his head as the spirit tried to wedge itself down into his brain. It laughed again, showing Muraki exactly what had happened to the two men…
You like blood, don't you? You like to watch the suffering as the life drains away?
Not like that. Never like that.
Ah, but see how the claws cut through the flesh so cleanly? And the crack of bones, how lovely it sounds…
You…son of a…
This body was a fun one. See how he screams? You like it when they scream, don't you?
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
Screams echoed through the temple as Muraki curled his energy through his arms like a snake, lashing out as blue-white electricity and going straight through the creature on top of him. Blood was everywhere- spilling from a now useless right arm, claws biting through bone…from charred holes through the body of the man who was once called 'friend'…
The creature fell back, howling. Claws lashing out, hitting flesh…that eye was already gone, no harm, no foul… A glint of light on metal, grasping the handle of the gun in the left hand, lunging to meet a solid wall of unearthly fury, hitting back with equal rage.
"Muraki?"
That voice. Muraki stopped, blood running down his face as he aimed the gun at the man. Tsuji's dark eyes stared back, a low whimper rising from his throat along with a small trickle of blood.
"…Muraki...san… what…what have I…"
The gun wavered. For the briefest moment, the gun wavered. "…Forgive me."
One last explosion ended it, and silence fell over the temple once more.
It was several minutes before Muraki stood, wandering away from the body. He didn't know how he made it down the hall, nor what he did once there. His feet moved, his throat spoke words-- anything else were details his mind was not ready to comprehend. Eventually, the glaze went from his eyes and the mental fog parted; he was kneeling on the floor, blood-soaked towel in one hand. The body was gone, and all that remained was one small puddle of crimson that Muraki suddenly realized was coming from his own body.
Tossing the rag into the kitchen sink, he stumbled into the second, empty bedroom and went into the bathroom, turning on the light and giving his reflection a long, detached look. There was a gash across his face, oozing red… the right arm of his shirt was dripping wet, and attempts at moving the arm brought sharp, stabbing pains that traveled through his shoulder and neck. A shaky sigh passed his lips as he peeled off the clothing, preparing mentally for the long night ahead.
By the time he was done, Muraki sank onto the cold bed. His wounds were cleaned, and bandaged as best as he could- the arm was useless. Whatever he had done to clean up the mess had pushed a fracture into a break; such a thing was unacceptable, especially with the tasks that lie ahead. There was a small thread of energy left within him, and considering the circumstances, it could only go towards one thing. Closing his eyes, the doctor slipped under the covers, tuning out the rest of the world as he slipped into unconsciousness and began to heal.
;-;-;-;-;
"Have you seen a man about…this tall…like this? …Oh… I see. Well, thank you."
The thick snow had all but shut the Kyoto Station down. A few brave souls had kept a grand sum of four or five booths open, offering refunds and discounts to handfuls of customers. Tsuzuki trudged to each booth, holding up a picture of Watari to the men at each ticket counter; the answer was always the same.
"No one has seen him," Tsuzuki sighed, walking back to Hisoka, who was standing next to a closed booth and waiting. "Muraki either."
Hisoka stared at the empty booth, chewing on one fingernail and thinking. "No one that's here today, anyhow."
Tsuzuki bit his lip. "We've been looking for almost three days, Hisoka. Everyone has. Whatever happened, the trail is just…gone."
Barely hearing Tsuzuki, Hisoka reached out and brushed the snow off of the booth's counter. He lightly rested his fingers on the metal surface; he pulled away quickly and shook his head, moving to the next empty booth and doing the same. Image after image… none of the ones they needed…
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"No, I'm not sure," Hisoka replied tiredly, his temples starting to throb with the beginnings of a headache. He moved to the next booth with a sigh. "But—"
"Two tickets to Nagasaki, please."
That voice. The younger man froze, eyes glazing over as the images unfolded in his mind. Tsuzuki stayed back, watching from a distance; he only moved forward when Hisoka's eyes fluttered shut, catching his partner as he collapsed. Hisoka motioned to the air, muttering for several minutes before the words began to make sense.
"Nagasaki. Watari's with him. They both went."
Tsusuki frowned. "Nagasaki? But why?"
Hisoka shrugged. "No idea," he said, opening his eyes and sitting up. Rubbing his forehead, he glanced at the booth and sighed. "We'll send a few others to Nagasaki, just in case… see if they pick up on anything."
"Wait. Others? We're not going?"
"No, we're not. Because they didn't go to Nagasaki."
Blinking, Tsuzuki let go of Hisoka as the boy stood up and wandered off. "But you said…"
"Muraki smudged every last proverbial fingerprint possible to cover his tracks. Why would he leave that one?"
"Maybe it was an accident."
Hisoka stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Do you really believe that?"
"Considering who we're talking about," Tsuzuki sighed, "not really."
"Well, then. Let's go home… for now. Maybe they'll have an idea what files were hacked into… if we can figure out what Muraki was after, maybe we can find them sooner."
Tsuzuki followed Hisoka through the snow. "Do you…do you think he's going to hurt Watari?"
One hand wrapped around a wrist. Loose hold, could easily be broken…public place, easy to run and make a scene. Easy to get away. So why…
"I don't know, Tsuzuki. I honestly don't know."
A frightening thought, indeed.
;-;-;-;-;
The first day wasn't so bad.
The Shinigami had stayed inside his room the first day, the day when a bloodied Muraki had stood in his doorway and told him everything was 'safe.' It's not like he had a choice, at first- something kept throwing him back each time he tried to leave. But for some reason or another, once the sun had set, Watari found himself able to open the door without repercussions. A sweep of the temple revealed nothing but plenty of locked doors and one gore-covered towel in the kitchen sink. When he ran…no, no…walked quickly…to Muraki's room, he found the door locked like the rest, with not a single sound from inside.
Maybe he was dead. Watari had trudged back to his own room, arms wrapped around himself as he tried to ignore the faint, coppery smell of blood; he wasn't quite sure if he was pleased with that thought as much as he used to be. That alone called for a distraction…
Muraki had left the bags he brought with in the room, and Watari opened the first of the three and carefully peeked through it. Were there any distractions to be found…? Clothes of all sorts, canvas bags with bandages, antibiotics and small vials of liquid inside, a Bon Jovi CD…of all the things…and, the Holy Grail – a small stack of books on quantum physics, mystery fiction and crossword puzzles.
If there was one thing that overrode the snooping instinct, it was the love of books.
But there were towels… and shampoo things… and brushes. Watari's eyes shone with wicked glee; apparently he wasn't the only one who liked to primp, and there was just enough to go around. Fancy that.
So he set the books on the bed went to the bathroom, spending the next gods knew how many hours of the night compulsively scrubbing, washing, and rinsing away his worries in the shower. Soap, water and shampoo were the Holy Trinity, and by the time he was out of the delicious hot water, a great deal of the tension in his body had been lifted. What remaining stress there was found itself worked to death as he plopped himself in front of the mirror, combing out the snags until his golden hair was nice, soft and snarl free once more.
For the rest of that night, Watari read and solved puzzles, every so often stopping to glance towards the open door. It was dawn when his eyelids became heavy, a miniature clock he found in Muraki's suitcase reading five o'clock sharp. I'll just rest my eyes,he thought, closing them and leaning back against the pillows. When he next opened his eyes, it was nearly seven o'clock and the sun was starting to peek through the window. Just enough sleep to leave him restless, not enough to keep his sanity intact. Watari sighed, sliding out of bed and pacing.
So began day number two.
He wandered out to the kitchen, intending on making himself something to eat. However, at the sight of the bloody towel still lying in the sink, Watari found his appetite had gone missing. He stared at it a moment before grabbing a bag of chips sitting on the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth; there was no way that someone as careful as Muraki would leave something like that out in the open if he could help it. Walking back towards his room, Watari stopped and checked the door to the second bedroom, sighing when he found it still locked.
Damn it, he grumbled to himself. Why couldn't the bastard give him some sort of sign that he was still alive in there? … Why did it matter? After all, if he was dead, Watari was free, and…
… And he needed something to do. The books were read, the puzzles had grown dull. He threw the bag of chips onto the bed and started pacing. Finally, he wandered into the bathroom, looking through all the cabinets until he found what he was searching for- cleaning supplies. Focusing on his chosen task, Watari began to clean everything he could think of… shower, toilet, sink, mirror, floor. When that was done, he moved into the bedroom, attacking the window before beginning a vicious scrubbing assault on anything that could withstand cleaner and a towel.
Finally, Watari looked up at the open window, taking note of the dark, star-filled sky. He should have slept; he needed it. Instead, he continued to scrub at the floors until they were all cleaned and, throwing the rag across the room, grumbling at the fact that his clothes were covered in spilled cleaner, dust and sweat.
And so, day number three began.
Watari sneaked over to the first of Muraki's three bags, peering inside and poking at the clothes. It seemed wrong all of a sudden… but he wasn't about to sit around in those filthy garments for another minute! He fingered a black cashmere sweater; expensive tastes, this doctor had. Shifting his eyes around the room, as if he might just get caught at the worst moment possible, Watari snagged the top- as well as a pair of pants- and ran for the shower. It had become almost an obsessive habit to pass the time, but anything was better than sitting and staring at the walls.
Shampoo, rinse, shampoo, rinse…
As usual, the hot water didn't last long enough. He slid out of the shower and slipped on the warm, clean clothes, letting out a long sigh of joy. And the clothes!Sure, the pants were a bit… okay, quite a bit… long in the legs, as evident when he nearly tripped over himself exiting the bathroom… but oh, it felt too good to be clean! But then, he caught a faint, familiar scent; tilting his head, he sniffed the air, then the sweater he wore. Yes, it was the clothes, the warm, full scent of sandalwood, clove and lavender filling his senses. His mind suddenly trailed back to when he first arrived in Sendai, clinging on Muraki's arm and face very near buried into the man's shoulder. It was the same scent, Muraki's scent, almost… comforting.
Watari wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling… What, exactly? Guilt? Well, the bum shouldn't have just disappeared if he didn't want his stuff rifled through! The blond sank to the floor next to the bags, running a hand over the last, unopened one and frowning. Not guilt…
…Loneliness.
"I don't miss him," he grumbled to himself, opening the bag and poking through it. Books, random shiny objects… something to distract himself. Anything. "I don't, I don't, I…"
Shiny.
Wrapping his fingers around the silver metal, Watari pulled the picture frame from the bag and turned it over to look. Three boys smiled up at him, all dark of hair and eye; the middle one Watari instantly recognized as Tsuji just by the bright, cheerful smile, the young man's arms thrown around the boys that flanked him, one short-haired and also smiling, the other longer-haired and nearly frowning, a strange glint to his eyes. Watari turned the picture back over, looking at writing visible through the clear backing.
"Muraki,
Friends forever, right?
Love,
Tsuji, Aikan, Aza."
Watari ran his fingers over the side of the picture, reading over the writing again and again. He obviously held something important in his hands…something cherished. Something that suddenly made his companion seem very, very human. Now the guilt set in, along with curiosity. Questions began to fill his mind as he stood up, wandering over to the bed and picking up the bag of chips. Muraki obviously had a personal vendetta against whatever they were after- it killed someone he knew since goodness knows when, a friend, and had done something to Tsuji…
How come he'd never mentioned the third boy, this Aza…?
…What we're after is human.
It couldn't have been… could it?
Suddenly, a small noise caused Watari to freeze, picture in one hand and chips in the other. He turned, wandering to the door and peeking out into the hallway; nothing was there. A small chill went down his spine, and he forced himself out into the hall, glancing about and half-expecting some hideous creature to spring out at him and eat his face off. But no… there wasn't anything in the hall or the living room. Shaking his head, he turned and started back to his room. Maybe he needed to go to sleep… he was starting to hear things!
And that's when he stopped again, turning and looking towards the other bedroom's door. Watari paused, then slowly walked towards it, staring at the doorknob with wide amber eyes. Shifting the chips into his other hand with the picture, he reached out and turned the knob, gaping when it relented and the door opened silently.
After three days… it had unlocked.
Watari stepped into the room, biting his lip as his eyes fell on the empty bed. The blond set the items down on a dresser top and wandered closer, his stomach sinking; if Muraki wasn't there, where was he? The man had been bleeding like stuck pig for crying out loud, it's not as if he could have just…
Sinking onto the bed, Watari sighed. Yes, he could have just wandered off- it's not as if Muraki was easy to predict, for good or ill. And Watari was, after all, giving Muraki the benefit of the doubt and assuming that he was telling the truth in the grand adventure… that something was desperately wrong and he needed Watari's help to solve it. It was always possible that this was all a grand scheme to lure the others into a well-plotted trap, but…
The others would laugh at me for being so trusting.
…There had been no threats, nor had there been sweetened promises beyond that of an explanation within three day's time. Now those three days were nearly past, and all Watari could do was wait a little bit longer. It was too late to worry about anything else.
Watari brought his knees up to his chest, curling up on the bed and watching the door. He would just stay there until Muraki came back, hah! And then that guy would get the biggest verbal lashing imaginable; shame on Muraki for abandoning him like that. Well, he'd just stay awake all night if he had to, and all morning, too.
All he had to do was stay awake…
…Easy…
;-;-;-;-;
Muraki closed the bathroom door out of habit, yawning at the mirror and flinching at his reflection. Dear lords, he looked like shit- dark circles under his eyes, skin about three shades paler than normal and bandages covering about half his body like some sort of failed attempt at mummification.
He sighed, reaching up and carefully unwinding the fabric from his face. There was a thin white line across the bridge of his nose and just under his right eye, the skin around it still a tad inflamed and slightly bruised. The bandages around his arm were the next to go, and the result was about the same: jagged white scars extending from his shoulder almost to his elbow, the skin around them bruised and caked with dried blood. Muraki flexed the muscles gently, wincing at the dull throb of pain.
Healed, but not completely. It would be a good week before it was done, and even with nearly three days of sleeping, he didn't have the energy to speed it along any more than he already had. He didn't want to think about the injuries his mind and heart had sustained; there were some things that just didn't heal, no matter how much one tried, any quicker than they were meant to. The scars created by Tsuji were nothing compared to the scars created by the loss of the same.
Trying to brush the images from that day out of his mind, Muraki wet a towel in the sink and began washing the blood off himself. Still, even as he scrubbed at his skin, his thoughts wandered, flitting from one subject to another until he glanced at his wrists and the thin metal bonds that wrapped around them.
Watari.
He'd nearly forgotten that he'd placed the bonds on himself as well as the Shinigami, and suddenly a flicker of concern went through his mind. The bonds served to alert Muraki to Watari's emotions, as well as keep the little blond ferret within a contained area… but it also worked both ways, and Muraki quickly realized that whatever he had felt that day, Watari would have felt… And then to suddenly feel nothing, to see hide nor hair of life and what with the door locked…
"Damn it," Muraki growled at himself. The poor thing probably thought he'd been abandoned. Maybe he'd left. Muraki didn't know if he had the energy levels to keep a firm hold on the bonds in anything but an empathic way, and if Watari thought Muraki was gone, well…
Tossing the towel into the shower, the doctor shut off the light and slipped out of the bathroom, heading towards the door with the intention of getting his bags from Watari's room… and hopefully finding the man still there. However, his plan went out the window as he heard a small noise come from his bed. Muraki stopped in the doorframe and turned, listening; sure enough, it was a soft snore. He blinked and wandered back to his bed, one corner of his mouth tugging up at the sight of Watari, curled up in a little ball and fast asleep. An empty chip bag was clutched in one of the blond's hands, and Muraki shook his head at the fact that Watari had decided to steal the taller man's clothes- no matter, he looked…
…Cute.
Muraki reached over and carefully hooked one finger into the chip bag, slipping it out of Watari's hands and dropping it into the trash can nearby. Watari stirred, eyes opening just enough to show the barest hint of gold; he was obviously still half-asleep, at best. He let out a soft murmur, one hand twitching, reaching out for… what?
"Go back to sleep, dove," Muraki murmured, stroking the man's cheek. "It's only me."
A phrase that could make some of the bravest whimper, and whimper the blond did, but the word that followed caused the doctor to stare.
"Stay…"
Silent for a moment, Muraki finally spoke, his tone just the slightest bit strained. "Are you sure…?"
"...Yeah…" Watari mumbled. His eyes opened a bit more as Muraki slid into the empty half of the bed, gaze dulled by the haze that came with walking between dreams and reality. "I…you're okay."
The taller man smiled slightly, tucking his good arm under his head for a pillow. "Relatively speaking."
"Thought…thought you were dead or somethin'."
"Worried, eh?"
Watari suddenly shifted closer, wrapping his arms around Muraki like he'd done days earlier. "…Yeah."
Muraki blinked slowly as Watari nestled against his chest; was the man completely delirious or just incredibly insane? Not that the doctor truly minded, but… it wasn't right. The gold-haired creature was obviously under the influence of sleep deprivation. Yet…
Once his thoughts finished crashing into one another, he slid his good arm around Watari's waist and gently kissed the blond's forehead. "…I'm sorry."
"…Don't do that again."
"Kiss you?" he asked with a small smirk.
Watari looked up; his eyes were frighteningly clear for one half-asleep. "Leave me."
The smirk was wiped right off his face. For the first time in a long time, Muraki found himself completely at a loss for words. "…Go back to sleep, you silly thing," the doctor finally scowled, turning his gaze away from those amber orbs and focusing on the window.
"...M'kay."
It wasn't a tall order, apparently. Soon, Watari was snoring away once again, and Muraki was left wide awake to contemplate his situation. When this little adventure had first stared, the goals were rather simple- get the locations of the portals, check them out and do what was necessary, then find the thing responsible and kill it. He'd known deep inside that Tsuji would involved somehow… but he still wasn't ready for the truth. Now that he knew that truth, knew what he would have to ask of himself, of the man that lay curled up in his arms…
It didn't matter, did it? Wasn't he himself a puppet master? Use others and discard them at leisure? It shouldn't have mattered.
A disturbance in the air and a small ball of warmth snuggling against his back drew him from his thoughts. You're upset, a silver voice sighed through his mind.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Tsuki, he replied to the dragon. I thought I knew, I thought it was going to be easy.
But it's not, is it.
No. It's not. Muraki shook his head. I'm going to have to use him, you know.
You knew that from the start. It's why you chose him, another voice chimed in as a second ball of warmth curled up along the back of Muraki's neck.
He has a point, master. You knew from the beginning it might come to this; you were ready for it.
Muraki sighed. You're right on the former…you're wrong on the latter. I wasn't ready for this.
If he could have seen the two dragons behind him, Muraki would have seen the reptiles exchange a knowing look, an almost amused glint in their eyes.
Taiyo restrained the small laugh that tried to dance through his head. Why not, master?
After a few heartbeats, Muraki closed his eyes. The realization sapped the last of the energy he had; sleep seemed like a very good idea, if only to close his mind to the thoughts that quite suddenly decided to try and override the careful barriers he'd set up around certain sectors of his brain.
But Tsuki wanted her answer, and it was one that couldn't be ignored forever.
My friends, Muraki finally sighed, slipping off into a thankfully dreamless sleep. I expected to seduce him. I never expected to love him.