1. a temporary suspension of the execution of a sentence, especially of a sentence of death
2. interval of ease or relief; respite
He'd known that there was something in them that was different even before the night Tatsumi swallowed the poison and barely missed a stride. Even when they were caught up in the mundane concerns around them, they still seemed untouched; they moved through their encounters with the confident knowledge that they affected change, and they swept through the secrets of Kamakura like the wind over a field of grain.
There was some subtlety to their actions, though. Nagare was aware of their scrutiny as surely as they had to be aware of the watchful attention they received, but they acted with decorum, the same outward illusion of normalcy that was always used to hide the most terrible secrets. It sustained things, at least, and that was enough. It would have to be enough.
They had slipped once. When Tatsumi lost his temper, he'd lashed out in regards to the son Nagare had buried. The subject hadn't been mentioned since, and he began to wonder if he'd imagined it, if it was only one more of so many nightmares. It was growing more difficult to tell the difference between normal life and the times when the demon-god came. The former became more and more distant, until it was as if he moved through a museum of photographed recollections, being propelled by an unseen hand through the motions of living while his skin burned with the memory of Yatonogami, his body slowly losing ground before the creeping taint.
It was cold. It always was, these days. Certainly the blood loss wasn't helping, and he found that the more he lay there in bed, the more keenly he could feel it moving within him, advancing one tiny unnatural scale at a time. Soon, the bandages wouldn't be able to hide the transformation anymore. He wondered what awaited when it had finally overtaken him. Would his mind be subsumed as well? Somehow, that seemed too easy an escape. The demon-god was not that kind.
Someone settled down on the floor beside him and he started faintly, wondering when the door had been opened. He opened his eyes and looked up into a calm blue gaze. Tatsumi was holding a bowl and a glass of water, waiting expectantly for an acknowledgment.
"Sensei," Nagare said softly. His voice, emerging from his slowly healing throat, was hoarse and thin. It hurt even to breathe, and speaking was no easier.
"Master," the other man responded, setting down the dishes. "Let me help you up." He leaned in close and slipped an arm behind Nagare's shoulders. With some effort, and shuttering away the stab of pain from the other wounds, the ones no one knew of, the Kurosaki head sat up, one hand slipping to the floor to brace himself. The other rose to his throat, fingertips brushing over the bandages wrapped there like a collar. A steady hand fell over his and gently tugged it away.
"You shouldn't worry at it," Tatsumi rebuked him. "It will only make it slower to heal."
For a moment, Nagare wondered if that might not be better, but, as always, he turned away from the answer. He nodded in defeat and reached instead for the spoon. Tatsumi lifted the bowl and, for several long minutes, the two sat in a silence broken only by the quiet rustle of Nagare's sleeves and his pained swallows. Tatsumi's support was wordless but firm, patiently unshifting from a position that couldn't be very comfortable.
Nagare could barely taste the soup. He tried to focus externally, to ignore the persistent throbbing in his throat, the sandpaper crawl of scales over his skin, and the dull ache from abuse too frequent now for his body to ever fully heal.
How had Tatsumi known about Hisoka? Was he someone the boy had met in the time that he'd been gone? But even assuming that, why was he here, and why only now? If he'd been a friend, why show such concern for someone Hisoka could only have viewed negatively?
So many questions... They spiralled together in the darkness of guilt and despair, and his hand trembled under the suffocating weight of it, the bottomless well of grief and shame, and he could hear Yatonogami laughing in the depths of his mind, snaking through his blood...
The pause didn't go unnoticed, and Nagare loosed a hitched gasp at the sudden words from the man whose presence he'd all but forgotten..
"Master? Are you all right?"
"It's nothing, sensei," he forced himself to answer, jerking his thoughts away from their downward spiral as he set the spoon down with a wan smile. "Just old regrets. The water now, please."
It's fading. Every day, it's fading. Yatonogami becomes more real as I slip away. Soon, there will be nothing human in this wretched shell, only an avatar for him with the pathetic sacrifice lost to the madness within. It's inevitable. I could die now and the result would be the same, but to preserve the village, even for only a few weeks longer, I would endure it. But I don't want them to know of it. This shame, this torment, is mine alone.
Kasane... Both my children... You're well away from this. The death this blood brings ended all your lives, but at least you were spared feeling him strip you of your pride, your beliefs, your ideals, all your hopes and finally your humanity. Rui shall join you soon, if the curse does not dog our steps into eternity. Perhaps someday I shall as well, if I am not damned for all I have done.
Until then, though, he would have to keep going, step by excruciating step, haunted night by waning, colorless day, as his resolve grew ever weaker and his body failed him. Until the very final release he so yearned for, he had to endure.
---
Tatsumi felt the shudder run through the man's body and slightly tightened his grip, watching in unvoiced concern as Nagare put down the glass, dark thoughts lurking behind his unnatural green eyes, his face drawn and pale. There was far more to the situation than anyone in Meifu had guessed, but right now, Tatsumi's main concern was the protection of the man who clung so desperately to the last vestiges of honor through whatever it was--whether the village's storied snake god, or something different entirely--that harried him. More than anything else now, Tatsumi wanted to believe that Hisoka's treatment was somehow justified, that his father was as much a victim of the stranglehold tragedy and suffering had on this house as his son had been.
To find a way to clear the clouds of despair from his eyes, to somehow bring a smile to his face that isn't so resigned and full of sadness. Can it be done?
Nagare had leaned more against him, Tatsumi suddenly noticed, although blond hair hid the man's downturned face. The shinigami supported him for a long moment, then, striving not to break the quiet air between them, softly asked, "That thing which hurts you--it will not visit you while another is here, correct?"
Nagare went very still. Tatsumi wondered if he'd overstepped his bounds, but did not pursue the question further. It was a risk, but if it helped prolong Nagare's life at all, if it kept him from suffering even for only a few hours, it would buy them time to get to the bottom of Kamakura's dark, enigmatic pool of blood-stained secrecy.
Within a month, Watari had said. Would it be enough?
Nagare-san. I swear, if there is a way to save you in the time you have remaining, I will see it done.
Finally, and without lifting his head, Nagare gave a single nod, his face turned into the cloth of Tatsumi's shirt. The shinigami lifted his other arm to gently touch the other man's hair, shifting to settle Nagare more comfortably against him.
"Then I shall stay."
---
Nagare wondered when he became so accustomed to his degradation that the feel of human arms around him, of cool fingertips trailing through his hair, had become more strange than the hot, wet invasion in Yatonogami's coils.
It couldn't be happening, he reflected distantly. The demon-god would not permit such respite. It was surely only a brief and passing dream. It would certainly be only more painful when it was proved false upon his waking.
But then, it had been years since he'd dreamed of anything remotely separate from the curse and all the terrible memories associated with it, so perhaps just a moment of feeling Tatsumi's breath warm and gentle in his hair, the man's arms wrapped protectively around him, was a moment of treachery that he could forgive.
The only thing I can forgive.
He closed his eyes, and tried not to think of the pain.
Okay, so mostly this was written because I like Nagare and can't ever find fics for him. I'm convinced that there's a reason Hisoka was treated as he was, and I do think the manga backs it up--Yatonogami calls Nagare's a noble soul, and compares his torture to the fall of a saint. Nagare didn't kill his daughter as clan protocol demanded; his brother did. Given that, I can't see Nagare being so heartless as to just lock Hisoka up and throw away the key.
Beyond that, the idea of pairing up Tatsumi and Nagare came from Watari's comment in a discussion regarding Nagare that Tatsumi will always put himself out for the people he cares for, even though all things will end and he'll be the one hurting in the end. I think they would make a very interesting little couple, although, given the abuse Nagare's been through and Tatsumi's emotional repression, it would take time to coax them that far. I think Tatsumi does need people to protect, and Nagare's a prime candidate. Thus, Tatsumi/Nagare ficlet. Hopefully, Tatsumi was reasonably in character; I've never written him before.
I don't think I like this as much as Empty Branches; the flow isn't as nice, nor the imagery as catching, but... Eh, beggers can't be choosers, I suppose. Technically, I should probably have run this by my prereader for Yami stuff first, but she's out of town until Tuesday and I'm impatient. ^_^
Incidentally, if anyone knows of any other Tatsumi/Nagare stuff out there, I'd be thrilled to find that I'm not the only one who's ever written it.