Warnings: not-quite kissing, but almost. You can ignore it if you want.

Disclaimer: no ownership to No.6 is claimed, and no profit is made.

Nothing at all I gained except for sweet, sweet remarks or comments that readers may choose to leave…

A Pit of Snakes, part 6. by smilingcrescent
Reunion.

Nezumi sits on the roof, leaning against solar panels and clay roof shingles. It's late enough that he doesn't hear much activity within, but something tells him that Shion is inside, and awake. Nezumi sighs, and considers the night.

He has been sitting there for nearly an hour, contemplating.

Nezumi entered the city as quiet and unnoticed as a ghost. After some time, he set to the path he knew he would take as soon as he saw the city on the horizon. But the underground room was empty, and both the luxury apartment and Lost Town bakery are unoccupied. Shion had moved.

The road to Shion's place was unfamiliar, and almost unexpected. A place between the forest, city and West District...he really did think he could make a third option.Nezumi's face is grim and set. Shion is still an enigma, even with four years to ponder his particular nature. A shiver runs through his limbs, though the night is warm.

The wind blows through the nearby trees, and the night sky stretches out endlessly before him. Flowering trees line the light-rail station nearby, and there is even a long line of black walnut and apple trees not far from the building. The earth is fertile- dancing with life, even so early into spring.

From the roof, he considers the small groves. They appear largely untended- by design or lack of personnel?Weeds and foreign saplings play hide and seek among the ram-rod straight rows. A pungent, burnt smell permeates the pace, present in every gentle breath of the wind. A creeping inspection revealed that the damage is mostly limited to buildings, and revealed signs of repair even when the stench is fresh.

Nezumi reads the sign of fire and concludes arson. So Shion lacks the authority to kick down nay-sayors. Though the thought suggests a less than recovered No. 6, Nezumi finds some comfort in it. He may have named Shion the chief rebuilder, but actually seeing the ditz in any sort of power seems impossible. If Shion ever has that kind of total control...nothing would change at all.

And still he sits, and waits.

A moist, heavy smell is on the air. It will rain sometime tonight. Nezumi finds himself on his feet, standing before the open window, taking in the scene before him. But before he can stride in, or sit back down out of sight, a voice calls to him.

"Won't you come in now, Nezumi? I've got bread enough for two, and cocoa or tea if you'd like it." Shion's voice barely carries through the window and out into the night. His tone is conversational, light and unassuming.

Nezumi stoops into a crouch, and leap in, landing nimbly on one knee and foot. He cocks his head, an amused expression on his face. "Tea or cocoa, is it? I see your skills as host have improved." He doesn't bother to hide his amusement, or his sarcasm.

Shion's face is radiant with his smile. The few steps he takes seem like a bound, and in no time at all, he is pulling Nezumi to his feet, urging him into an embrace. Shion buries his face in Nezumi's neck. His shoulders shake from laughter.

"Welcome home," he half sings, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. Nezumi's breath catches in his throat, raw emotion sending contradictory messages. But Shion's smile falters and crumbles. Shion looks nearly as heartbroken as he did all those years ago atop the hill.

"Look at you," Nezumi chides. "Getting teary eyed already?" He feels the tiredness and caution fall away from him, relaxing in the unfamiliar room with a familiar boy. Nezumi brushes a strand of gossamer -white hair out of Shion's face. "Is it such a tragedy to see me again?"

Shion's lip actually trembles, but he laughs again. The smile is back, in spite of the tears. "Nezumi- it's been four years. And it's been a hard week..." Shion could sound bitter, might have a hint of complaint hidden somewhere in those two statements, but Nezumi can't find them. He wonders if he's forgotten what Shion's complaints sound like, or if Shion is only stating the facts.

"Save your tears for something truly heartbreaking," Nezumi teases, two fingers delicately brushing at Shion's cheek.

Shion blinks slowly, his smile still shaky.

Nezumi snorts and looks away. "Though I suppose your burned research center and home are cause enough to shed tears," he says carefully, measuring his words.

"That was—"

"Less than a week ago, by the smell and general lack of repairs."

Shion looks to the open window. "We're handling it." Shion could sigh, could fret and pull his hair, but he's only staring out the window, looking at the night sky.

Nezumi looks at Shion and sees many things. First, he sees a young man, slight and fine featured; almost an adult. But unexpectedly, he sees a bit of the wild, too….With the red scar against his pale skin, he's reminded of bramble kisses. Red berries on white snow…or bloody impressions from thorns. The thought surprises him. Without thinking, perhaps even to change the course of his thoughts, he speaks.

"Ah, the things I could show you," Nezumi breathes, and as an afterthought, he cocks his head and continues. "And you me." He fingers the sleeve of Shion's night-clothes. "Anything for me to slip into?"
Shion nods. "Sure." His hand slips into Nezumi's for a moment, and almost reluctantly, he pulls away.

Nezumi takes advantage of the moment and walks the perimeter. He finds a bit of a surprise when he realizes the room is not equipped with all the privileges of rank that Shion's committee status might garner. He shifts to avoid upsetting a potted plant, and the layout strikes him as remarkable. Windows here and there to let in light, plants to keep the air fresh and room cheery. Unlike the sparse, eco setting of the research labs, this was comfortable.

Shion returns with something slung over one arm, and two mugs in hand. His smile is so innocently happy Nezumi doesn't know what to make of it. "So which is it?" he asks carefully, setting the two on a hall table. "Tea or cocoa?"

Nezumi cocks his head. "So how is it?" he crosses to meet Shion, and the proffered pajamas aren't quite as bad as he'd have expected. "At last I checked, you were..."

"...recovering?" Shion suggests "But I've been calling into the meetings, and researching at home." He pauses. A hint of some emotion glistens in his eyes. He seems tired, but his eyes are severe. "I've been waiting."

And not just these few days.The words are left unspoken between them. "About-" he clears his throat. "It's late. Let me tell you a story, and we'll talk again in the morning…" he closes his eyes and nods. "To your earlier question; tea in the morning…Cocoa would do nicely."

He watches Shion out of the corner of an eye, drops his traveler's pack to the ground, and turns to Shion subtly. Wonders what the boy would do. He toes off his shoes, loosens his arm guards, and rustles his clock off his shoulders. Shion is touching a spoon to the cocoa, his eyes wide—he had indeed noticed. Nezumi bites back a grin.

Reflecting on it, Nezumi touches a row of buttons on a sleeve and moves a few steps. He shrugs out of the cloak and folds it, settling it neatly on the couch—loveseat, one might call it—and smiles slowly. He glances back at Shion with an actor's grace and skill; Shion may not notice, but he's watching Nezumi, too, and his body language speaks of many things.

As Nezumi straightens the laundry, he looks back at the familiar figure, strangely made new by distance and time. He has a teasing smile as he removes the cloth, and Shion asks blithely, "Would you like a shower?"

Nezumi laughs aloud. "An invitation?" He grins.

Shion turns reflectively. "I suppose you've already washed, then?" He runs his eyes up Nezumi's bare arms, and a smile plays at his lips. He speaks seemingly without thinking. "You wouldn't have showed so much before," he notes. "I never saw your—"

With a smile that could count as devious or romantic, Nezumi interrupts again. "I didn't know you wanted to see," he purrs.

"I didn't know you hadbeen burned, so how could I have wanted to see?" Shion quips.

Startled into another laugh, Nezumi shakes his head dumbly. "…is that all you can think of?" he smirks, turning his back to Shion again. The idiot is probably only looking at the scars…he thinks irritably, but even that thought is touched with fondness. "Toss me that, and I'll change into it."

Shion turns from Nezumi's near-naked form without a hint of embarrassment, and returns the night-things to him. Faster than one might normally think possible, he's handed them off. But his delicate, strong hands grace the skin lightly. First the ghost of a scar Shion helped repair, then the others. His touch is gentle, and though it isn't cold, his warmth is pleasant.

Dancing away with a smooth and effortless stretch, Nezumi changes into the soft clothes. His hands do up the buttons with quick efficiency. "Give me a few minutes…"

With a nod, Shion moves to turn the light down by switching a few switches or pulling strings, and Nezumi rethinks his laundry pile. Moving spitefully on top of a stack of Shion's work papers, he rolls his eyes. By the time Shion has finished putting about with last minute chores, Nezumi has retreated to the sofa.

The mug feels as though it was cast to fit Nezumi's hands. It's a solid, heavy feel in his grip, and the warmth of the cocoa combined with the smell brings back memories. Sorrowful yet fond memories. He breathes in.

Shion sits lightly next to him, one hand gingerly on the cushion and one around his own mug of cocoa. He stirs at it absently, but can only manage to look away from Nezumi for a few seconds. He smiles, knees touching Nezumi's, and nods encouragingly. "You were going to tell me a story."

Feeling a little like he was teaching his little mice, Nezumi scoffs lightly. "Only as long as the cocoa lasts," he warns, knowing that the hot chocolate ought to be drunk slowly.

With a grin like sunshine, Shion nods. "Of course," he says mildly. His eyes are gentle, reflecting an open mood without so much his unpredictable passion.

It's difficult to keep a scowl in face of that. Nezumi shakes his head, looks out the window, and listens to the wind. "I've travelled all over the known world," he begins, and a storyteller's tone overtakes him. He knows better than to talk too much or too deeply tonight, when too much remains unspoken between them. Shion demands too much, too fast, and Nezumi will not be drawn into a whirlwind of questions. "But tonight," he nods imperceptivity, "I would like to tell you about the sea."

Shion stirs at this, and just as Nezumi knew he would, he asks, "Did you—"

"Yes. I travelled near the sea, stood by the ocean, and walked through shallow waves. I learned a bit about the people living near there, and I picked up a few stories on the way. Now shuddup and listen." Immediately after saying as much, he takes a sip of the cocoa just to annoy him. The taste is just as rich as he remembers, and the mildly creamy texture seems to play on his tongue.

"The sea is a beautiful place," he says slowly, and he wishes, oddly, that they could be closer together. But warm drinks do not allow for such closeness.

"The waves layer one on top of another, and the sunlight glints off it in the most extravagant way. Like light hitting a thousand mirrors…it's beautiful, but unlike a mirror, the light is soaked up by half the water, and the light is softer on the eyes." He allows one hand to fall, and he settles it between them. "The wind is another memorable aspect," he muses. "When there's nothing in the way of the wind, it plays and runs, whipping your hair about one minute and softly fluffing your cheeks the next."

Shion nods, an expression of curiosity opening his face. "Did you—"

"While staying with a few fishermen, I heard an interesting story." He nods to himself, and pokes Shion. "Be good. Listen."

Shion stiffens, but he then only closes his eyes. Takes a sip of the cocoa and seems to hold himself apart.

"This is that story." He closes his eyes, and a line of melody breaks the silence. Set to a jaunty scale and in a slightly melancholy key, it seems both lively and inviting at once.

Shion starts. He seems to have forgotten the lure of Nezumi's songs, so he unconsciously leans in, eyes wide open. He would sigh by that look, but afraid of disturbing the melody, he says nothing. Their hands brush.

Nezumi breaks off, his singer's voice hanging in the air. He pushes Shion's hand aside and straightens. His eyes close. He begins to speak.

"A young fisherman lived in the arms of nature, taking only what he needed to survive. He sang to the waves, and they sang back. Every net he cast, he caught fish aplenty, so when he journeyed to the nearest village to trade, he never lacked. He was happy.

"One day, he left late to the boats. As he walked down the beach, he saw a group of children gathered around. He walked closer to them, calling a cheerful hello. 'G'afternoon to you gentle brats,' he teased, and grinned ear to ear. 'What is that you have?'

"The children ignored him for the large part. But one turned about, a scowl on his face. The child toed the girl next to him. 'We're not brats, are we? Ne, mister!' and he gave a vicious kick.

"Thinking the boy had started a fight with his friends, the fisherman ran forward. He called, 'Hey now, don't fight! Don't hurt anyone,' and he pulled at the boy's shoulder. From there he could see that the boy couldn't have kicked a friend, but the poor animal between their knobbed knees and bare feet. It was a sea turtle, great and beautiful as the waves." Nezumi stops to take a drink, and in that moment, Shion opens his mouth.

"A turtle?" Shion interrupts. He's already finished half his drink, and his eyes reflect strangely in the light. A reddish purple instead of a depthless evening sky. "Turtles can live for hundreds of years they say. They were almost hunted to extinction during the-" he cuts himself off at Nezumi's look. Peers into the cocoa and sucks on his spoon. It's a childish, provocative action that takes Nezumi's breath away.

He watches for a moment before quietly sipping again. He continues with his mind wandering. "So the young fisherman cries out, aghast. He is unable to speak with his shock, his outrage. For the sea turtle is a sign of wisdom and good luck. To tortue it on the beach is unheard of, and near blasphemy. Only baby turtles are scavenged for food—the little ones must prove their luck before they are protected by it."

Shion nods absently, murmuring, "Only one in near a thousand turtles is said to grow to maturity. I don't know if that's exactly true, but…" he closes his mouth again and idly gives the cocoa a stir.

Nezumi rolls his eyes. "So the fisherman strikes aside their stick, pushes backt heir feet and glowers down on them like the wrath of a god. 'Foolish children!' he roars, and they cower before him, for a fisherman's strength is not half-wrought. But when they have all stepped back, he quieted himself and adopted an admonishing expression. 'This is a most severe offense. The sea gods and kings may frown on you.'

"Turning from the children then, he lies a gentle hand on the turtle's shell. The children began to wimper and shake. They trembled with fear of the man known and the gods unfamiliar and distant. While they shook like banners in the wind, the fisherman took the net from his shoulders and cast it to the sand before them." Nezumi mirrors the action with the cloth he customarily caries, and the action might have spilled hot chocolate if not for his care. He shifts, as though to stand, but his hands straighten instead.

Nezumi tilts his chin up. He adopts an expression unfamiliar to Shion—neither playful nor serious, but some kind of actor's mask he doesn't know how to interpret. "To the turtle he called, 'Please forgive thoughtless children. They are foolish, but they are ours.'" Nezumi touches his own chest, cradling the cocoa to it as though it were something dear. "I hope they will realize the grave error of their ways.' And with that, he lowered himself before the sea turtle, imploring." Nezumi tilts his chin downward, eyes downcast. "'We beg your forgiveness!'" Nezumi pauses dramatically, stirs the cocoa, and looks at Shion from beneath a curtain of hair.

Shion is breathless, the cocoa forgotten as he watches Nezumi's hands, his lips. Waits for glimmer of gray eyes.

Nezumi continues in a low voice. "As he waited, forehead pressed to the sand, the fisherman counted three long seconds before a scratching noise met his ears like old leather on clay. He saw the turtle's eyes, and he knew he had done right. He cried out with joy, and delivered the turtle to the ocean's welcoming waves."

With a soft sigh, Shion smiles. His eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly at the corners. He finishes his cocoa first before setting it down, and touches emptied hands to Nezumi's chilled skin. "It's a nice story," he begins quietly, and absently notes, "You're cold…"

Ignoring that, Nezumi rolls his eyes. "Did that sound like an ending?" he gripes, but Shion's hands have distracted him. He'd have to proceed carefully, lest the story fall to pieces on his tongue.

Shion likewise ignores Nezumi's barbed comment. "Is the turtle a god?" he wonders. "Or does it represent natural harmony?" he muses.

Exasperated, Nezumi snorts. He struggles to find the story, but it comes out in pieces and clumps. "The turtle returns under the waves, slipping into the sea's kingdom easily. The fisherman never thought to saw it again. But on the sea, alone in a small boat, he heard the voice of the wind. Saw the breath of the water. And he knew it was a sea king talking to the gods."

Shion's body is warm against him. He's too close for propriety's sake, and closer than he'd ever have dared before. It's almost as though he was sure Nezumi would disappear if he did not bind him with his presence.

" 'Child of man,' the god called on a wispy wind, and the sea foam repeated it." He hums a little, lost in thought, remembering Shion's voice mingling on the wind with his own…from the tower of tears, the moon-drop….

Shion slips farther back against the cushions, and one arm slides around Nezumi's waist for a moment, then retreats. He settles for rubbing a knot out, and Nezumi almost forgot the story completely.

But stopping here would probably confuse the idiot. " 'Child of man,' the king of the sea echoes. 'You have saved my only daughter. I owe you a boon.'

"'I have done nothing, good king. No boon is owed,' he called graciously, for his boat rocked and waved perilously.

"'Dive into the sea. We have gifted you breathe under water. Stay with us for three days, and choose a bride from our kingdom. We would do this for you.' The king proceeded, ignoring the man's objection." He looks at Shion, and he smiles grimly. "But the man loved his city, his sea's surface, and he did not wish to go. He wanted only to pass peacefully, choose a human wife who understood him, and live without complication."

The wild, raspberry colors on Shion's neck stretched onto his back, Nezumi knew, but he hadn't realized it in a while. "He…seems like a complacent man," Shion says slowly. He's barely breathing, and a haunting familiarity strikes him. "Nezumi, did you really—"

"But who can defy a king, two gods, and the ocean below him?" Nezumi asks darkly. "He would either be cast to the sea witless, or he could dive with grace." His eyes shine. "The fisherman dove. And there, he was met with wonders. Colors he could not describe, and beautiful creatures who wore the guise of humans at one moment, and elegant, watery fish at others." He pulls at the cocoa, and turns to watch Shion with cool eyes. "The man was fascinated. Entranced by the mystery and novelty of what he'd never dreamed."

Shion is quiet.

"And the turtle…the turtle who he'd saved, she took the shape of a beautiful woman, and he loved her more than he loved himself." The cooling cocoa sits in his hands, and dreamily, he takes another sip. "They talked. They argued over the benefits of land and sea, and they told tales from their people."

"But he went back." Shion interrupts. His hands have laced themselves around Nezumi again, and his voice is close to his ear. But Shion's embrace is easy, close, and comfortable. Nezumi can't be sure if there's anything more there.

"Yes. He longed to go he could not choose a wife as the king bade him. So when he was to leave, the turtle-princess gave him a gift; a box of beautiful shell and stone, coral and pearl. 'You will not have me for a wife.' She said sadly in parting. 'But I shall send you words on the wind and sea. We shall meet again someday.' But she murmured close to his ear, 'You must never open this box, love. Look at it only, and we shall meet again.'" Nezumi falls silent.

Shion peers into Nezumi's cup, and finds it mostly empty. "What happens next?" he asks curiously.

"He goes back." Nezumi smiles slowly, and untangles himself with difficulty. "He returned, but found home lacking. His city, his boat, had all changed beyond recognition. None knew him, none remembered him. He had been gone a hundred years." He gets up from the sofa.

In the corner of the room, he can see a nest of blankets and nightstand, and it looks quite comfortable. He pads over to the bed and sits down, tucking his feet up and lying down without so much as a 'may I. ' As Nezumi settles himself in bed, the silence continues.

"You sleep with the light on?" Nezumi asks, his question startling Shion more than his movement.

Shion shakes his head, and he too stands up. He hesitates, looking to the bedroom door, but pulls the string, sending them into darkness. "You can't leave off there, Nezumi," he accuses, his voice ever-so-faintly whiny. But he climbs into bed beside Nezumi, and pulls a blanket up around them. "Finish the story,"

Looking into Shion's eyes, and then at his gently sculpted cheekbones, Nezumi ponders what to say. He begins again slowly. "In his loneliness, and longing to see the sea princess again, he looked at the box. He heard her voice, as though singing. It sounded as though she was next to him, singing a lonely song." He captures Shion's strong and graceful hand, closes the fingers tight. Then he pulls gently. "In fear and desperation, loneliness and heartache, he opened it. But instead of the lovely young woman coming into his hands," he lets go of Shion. "He feels magic recede from his body, and his hands age a hundred years."

Shion sighs. "Oh."

"She had taken his age and hid it in the box, sang it away, and locked it tight. But his love for her was beyond understanding, and so he opened it. This brought the heavy burden of age on him like a stone, and the young fisherman was left with a blessing-curse he knew not what to do with."

The sound of words and story reverberate in the room, blocking out the sound of wind and forest. Shion is quiet, perhaps he considers the story, or maybe memory from his own life.

They look quietly at one another until Shion blinks. Smiling, their eyes close. There's a world of distance between them, but for now, happiness is only a handbreadth away.

The darkness is not so lonely. It carries a song of heartbeat and soft breathing. Two young men lay on the bed, content in one another's presence.

"Goodnight," Nezumi murmurs.

Shion nods in the darkness. "I'm glad you're here." He says softly, and Nezumi realizes it.

The night is soft.

The wind still sings.

He closes his eyes, and knows it.

He's home.

Thoughts? Even a "ho there, read it!" is delightful to hear.