Title: Dead Energy
Summary: Celty arrives a moment too late, and everything changes. Episode 19 speculation.
Disclaimer: I could wish forever, and DRRR still wouldn't be mine. Many thanks to the creator, Ryohgo Narita.
Warnings: Spoilers for up to episode 19, minor sexual themes

Author's Note: I really wanted to see a confrontation between Kida and Anri in episode 19... but I'm sure we'll be getting the proper one soon. Hope you enjoy!

Dead Energy

It is the first time in years that Saika nearly overwhelms her. The world rattles in its frame, and her muscles scream wordlessly at the effort of constraining her parasite, her host, her heart. Everything is magnified – the cheap pine scent of white wood, the hiss of rain against her skin, the nearing footsteps that suddenly falter.

Kida freezes as he sees her, hidden among the stacks of crates. It only adds to the surreality of the situation. Kida is kinetic, never still, energy itself as he careens through the lives of anyone near him. It's almost funny, this statue, a static impression of a boy that she thought she knew. Almost funny enough to laugh, until she sees the deep set of his eyes, battles Saika's impulse to (cut/cut/escape) as his daze is broken and he leans forward to pluck the cellphone out of her limp hand. Their fingers do not graze, but she still has to clench her eyes shut to block out the tantalizing sight of him, drive the awakened blade deep inside of her.

There is a blip of cellphone keys, a snap of plastic as it is shut. A crunch of gravel, the sound of Kida's voice as he tells his followers to go home, that whoever was watching them has surely escaped by now. His voice is calm and steady, but devoid of emotion. For a hysterical moment Anri is reminded of herself, and Saika slices back into her mind. This time it is much harder to keep the crimson from seeping into her eyes.

She has two options. She can remain where she is, silent, rooted with fear and quiet shock. Or she can fight him to escape, bare her monstrosity for him to see.

Anri chooses the first one. She relies on Saika for love, not bravery. That is a quality that neither of them possesses.

There is another small rattle as Kida makes his way back to her, slowly. His hands hang loosely at his sides, like he doesn't know what to do with them anymore. He looks down, Anri looks up. Neither of them know which one is in control here, who has won whatever battle this is.

His legs are tense and for a moment she thinks he will walk away, but he just silently sits on the box that she's pressed up against, hands gripping the sides of it as he stares at the ground. The rain has turned his hair from gold to dull brown, and his eyes seem dimmer.

She wets her lips. "Thank you for sending them away."

Kida doesn't say anything. Weariness is etched into the planes of his face, and his knuckles are white from clutching at the wood of the box. Anri is quiet, half focused on ruthlessly quelling the murmurs of Saika through her mind.

(let/me/love/him/for/you/love/love/cut/love)

They sit there as the rain continues its work. Kida's hair is plastered to his skull; his lips are turning blue. Anri, although shielded from the cold by Saika's strength, is uncomfortably aware of the way that the water is molding her shirt to her breasts, the way her thighs seem to glow white against the gray sky, gray cement, gray boxes. Kida doesn't leer or make a joke about it, though, like she expects.

"Don't tell Mikado," he eventually says, staring at his knees.

"I'm not a good liar." Anri ducks her head.

Kida's mouth quirks into a half smile, and he looks sideways at her. "It takes one to know one. I'm pretty sure you're better than I am."

At that, Anri feels a chill that has nothing to do with the rain. His eyes remind her of Mother backed into a corner by Father's fist, or the caged leopards at Tokyo zoo – a blank stare of resigned imprisonment, one that must be endured.

She opens her mouth, but finds no words. After a moment he shrugs. "Don't worry, I won't judge you on it. After all, I've been caught red handed. But I've watched you. You're different. Hiding something."

Saika is alarmed – she can feel the anxiety singing through her blood. He can't know. There's no way he could know. Her secret is safe, it has to be. "Kida..."

"Do you hate me now?"

She couldn't even if she wanted to. There is no fine line between love and hate for Anri, no tidal passions that end with broken hearts or the security of belonging. There is only Saika.

"No."

Kida doesn't know any of this, but ignorance is not bliss and his head hangs even lower at the flat answer.

Anri blinks. She has said something wrong, but is at a loss for what. She thinks of the way that Mikado would react if he saw his friend now. The curve of his mouth would tremble and pull down. His hands, always occupied, would clench immobile around his bag. He would sit, and put his head on Kida's shoulder, or take his hand, or pat his back. These are things that she does not know how to do, and for the first time, she regrets. She's not sure what – Saika? Isolation? Something, some nameless filter that she always put between herself and the world, and now does not know how to remove. Regret – new, powerful, far stronger than anything she's felt for the last few years, rushes to fill part of her vast void, and she shrinks in on herself at the sensation.

Kida must misread her gesture, because his shoulders slump and he says, "I'd never hurt you, Anri. Please don't be scared."

Regret abates, replaced with a sadness just as compelling. Saika stirs within her, and Anri clenches a fist in the momentary struggle for control. The blade is interested in this boy, the one who is ushering in a string of humanity that Anri has never before offered her. She wants to love him, see his blood paint the boxes surrounding them in streaks of vivid red, splashes of brilliant life. Anri, too, wants to love him, for an instant – wants to feel his palms on her ribcage, wants the swell of his lips breaking against her neck, wants his breath against her ear and fingers sliding beneath her skirt. The parallel desires twine for a second, and it's all she can do to remain still and suppress the crimson of her eyes, hands shaking with need.

Then the moment passes, and the world fits neatly back into its gray-toned frame.

"I'm not frightened," she says, then thinks that Kida is much smarter than he seems, because he is right. She really is getting quite good at lying. He looks at her again with his eyes that are too old for his face, and she is glad Saika's lust has passed, because he looks so exquisitely broken.

"Why are you doing this?"

The question is to keep Saika from noticing how vulnerable he is, to keep him from drawing even further away, to anchor herself. She can see the way things will slip out of control if she's not careful. It has always been a delicate balance with Saika, and these new emotions, stronger than ever, are tipping the scales away from her. She did not consider this, when she decided to let those two boys into her life. Perhaps it was a mistake.

The rain has dampened Kida's essence until it barely clings to his skin. He is someone else, with that scarf around his neck and eyes darkened with responsibility. Or maybe he isn't. It's possible for a person to be many things – she knows that. She's only irked that she didn't see it in him sooner. Does Mikado know about this flip side, this dead energy that has claimed his best friend?

Kida looks like he's in pain, and it takes a few moments for her to realize that it's not physical. "I... can't. I can't tell you, Anri. I'm sorry. But it's... I... it's not because of anything bad. I don't want to hurt anybody. But it's important that I do it. Really important."

His fingers writhe with anxiety, slipping over each other endlessly in the water. Anri watches them. He would be good with a knife.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. She is, again, at a loss. This situation requires information that she simply doesn't have. Some sort of algorithm is missing, a gear, a liquid slice of soul that she can't make work. For a second she is tempted to get up and leave, like she does with Mikado when the blush dusting his face or stammered remarks require a response she doesn't know how to give. Leave the boxes, the rain, these feelings behind. Start again. She's done it to many people.

But Kida is different to them, in ways good and bad. He dispelled Takashi the way a cat scatters pigeons, got rid of the gritty pressure of those fingers on her shoulders. He treats her not as the class representative, or the orphan, or the stalker's friend. She is real and tangible to him – and her words will have power. Power that she doesn't know how to wield. Worse still, he is tangible to her. He does not merely occupy space in her little picture world – he radiates, like the sun. Sometimes he makes color seeps through in patches, a chromatic checkerboard, and she blinks at the brilliance of it. When he and Mikado are side by side, the backs of her retinas flash white from the light.

But she needs to say something. His eyes are waiting, Saika is waiting, the Mikado that she wishes were here instead of her is waiting. He is sorry, and she is his confessional. But forgiveness is not hers to give. The idea is almost funny. The day forgiveness from her is worth something is the day Saika destroys her from the inside out. Parasitic relationships do not last forever – the host eventually gets tired of the burden, and she barely knows which one of them is the leech anymore. And he might not even deserve absolution. He has hidden this side of himself from everyone – what other secrets lurk in the darker edges of his mind? And what would he think of hers?

"It's okay, Kida," she says, lie rolling off her tongue with ease. "Really."

And perhaps she's finally done something right, because the corners of his mouth wobble upwards, and he dashes at his face with his sodden sleeve. She realizes too late that not all the water on his face is rain.

Kida stands, clothes sticking to his skin, and holds out his hand. Anri stares at it for a second, then grasps it lightly. It's freezing, and Saika quivers at the contact (love/love/let/me/love). Kida looks down at their twined fingers, and for a moment she is terrified that he can feel the blade pressing against the inside of her flesh.

"Thank you," he whispers. Something sparks in his eyes again – an opaque light, heavy and low, but a light nonetheless, and it is her joy, not Saika's, that spikes electric through her veins for a moment.

Anri tightens her grip, leads them through the dark maze back into the colorless glow of Ikebukuro evening. There are many things unsaid. She can almost feel the black weight of his other secrets through the rough skin of his palm, and suspects that his eyes have taken in far more in the past few minutes than he has let on. It's almost like an umbilical cord, this winding curve of their arms between them, the realization of their hidden sides passing like osmosis through their skin, knowledge dissolving in the dark corridors of their veins. Or a handshake, baptized by acid rain, sealing some sort of mute, discordant deal.

She will not tell Mikado. He will not press the boundaries that she has laid out.

They stand for a minute at the edge of the road, watching the spray of mist that rises as each car passes through a glistening, stain-glass waterworld of lights.

"I should go," Anri finds herself saying out of habit. She likes this, this feeling of a shared secret, of a world that is not faced entirely alone. Perhaps Kida and Mikado were not a mistake after all. But the fight or flight response has kicked in by now, and her skin is itching to escape. "I need to go."

Kida nods and brings her hand to his lips, brushing it softly with a feather-light kiss of goodbye that has Saika shivering for more. "Anri... I'm glad you're my friend."

It is nothing. A new experience to be stashed away, for further reference in the future. It is everything.

Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle purrs into earshot.

Anri nods at him, then turns away. The rain swallows her within seconds, and the silhouette of the teenage boy watching her leave is lost in the murk of the city.