Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei
Background Information: This takes place in December 1998. The Gensoukai and Kamakura arcs have not occurred.
Deficiency
"Hey, Hisoka? You okay?"
"What?" Hisoka blinked and looked up. For a moment his vision had become blurred, and he had only seen an assortment of colors before a voice attached to them registered Tsuzuki in Hisoka's mind.
"Your eyes were bleary. Your face is all blotchy, too."
"It's the heat," Hisoka said, fanning himself lightly with the report he was supposed to be filling out. "The heater's on too high."
Tsuzuki frowned and bent over the desk, supporting himself with his elbows. "Did you eat?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"This morning. You're not my mother, Tsuzuki."
"You need a new one, anyway," Tsuzuki said, inspecting Hisoka's face. "Have you been sleeping okay?"
"Yes, for heaven's sake," Hisoka said, tugging his sleeve.
"Why are you wearing long sleeves if you're so hot?"
"It was the only thing that was clean."
"Well, at least roll them up."
"Don't touch me!"
Hisoka jerked his arm away from Tsuzuki's descending hand and stood up, nearly upsetting his chair.
"Hisoka, what the hell?"
"Stop meddling, okay?" Hisoka shot at him, flushing. "I am fine."
"Bullshit. You look like you're about to fall over."
"Look, if I go see Watari, will that make you feel better?"
"Yes, it would."
"Fine, then. I'll go see Watari. You do my report for me."
"Oh no you don't." Tsuzuki stepped in front of Hisoka before he could move. "I'm going with you."
"Excuse me?"
"I'll be escorting you to the infirmary."
"Are you kidding me? I'm not a child."
"No, but you're a masochist. You're just as likely to leave as go see Watari. Now come on. You're going anyway; what's it matter if I'm with you?"
"I said to not touch me!" Hisoka said, stepping away as Tsuzuki reached for his arm.
"Fine," Tsuzuki said steely. "I won't touch you."
"Thank you," Hisoka grumbled, as Tsuzuki stepped aside and allowed Hisoka to walk forward. Tsuzuki fell into step behind him.
It was after Saki's return from the hospital.
Saki was a hemophiliac, just like his late mother, and despite Chika's indignant sniffs that she didn't care what happened to the little bastard Hiraku had him regularly sent to the hospital for prophylaxis. At one of these appointments Saki suddenly collapsed and emergency blood was pumped into him.
Hiraku spent nigh unto two weeks biting his nails and worrying after his illegitimate second-born. Chika on the other hand disappeared for days on end in her private room. Kazutaka often saw her through the window, cradling her dolls as if she'd had a baby again. Kazutaka was her only living child after a series of miscarriages and stillborns before and after his birth, and the only thing that kept her from slicing her wrists open. More nights were spent in her son's bed, tirelessly watching him sleep, than in her husband's, fulfilling her marital obligations.
Saki came home on one of those nights that Hiraku demanded she perform her wifely duties to celebrate the renewed health of his son, which Chika submitted to uninterestedly and more out of habit than any lingering affection she might retain from the beginning of her twenty-year-long marriage. Afterwards she returned to her room to play with her dolls, preferring not to boast to her beloved son that she had copulated with his father, of whom he was also not especially fond.
So instead of Chika, it was Saki who stole into Kazutaka's room and entered his bed. He claimed not wishing to be alone after his near-death experience at the hospital, which Kazutaka recognized as an understatement when Saki's hands somehow found their way under his nightclothes.
Kazutaka enjoyed it. He wasn't sure why. Saki was, after all, his half-brother, and Kazutaka had hated him since they were thirteen, since the night Hiraku keened and wailed that Mai was dead and Saki sat, respectfully silent, in the corner, watching his newfound father and stepfamily, occasionally shedding a tear that Kazutaka couldn't tell was genuine or not. Perhaps it was exactly that revulsion that made it so enjoyable. Kazutaka liked sex and delighted in pain, and Saki seemed dead set on giving him both in one fell swoop. The impersonality of sadistic incest, the flippancy of an illicit relationship, excited him. The memories continued to excite him the next morning, and, despite everything, for years following Saki's death.
"Bon, I keep telling you, you have to take it easy!"
"I have been," Hisoka said through gritted teeth.
"Then what's with these?" Watari demanded, grabbing Hisoka's arm and pulling back his sleeve. "Why are these back?"
"Nightmares. The same as it was last time."
Watari dropped Hisoka's arm with a noise of disgust. "How are you doing with the pills? You should be running out by now."
"I am."
"You're lucky I think of you, Bon, because I ordered more a month ago." Watari turned towards his cabinet and opened one of the solid wood doors, withdrawing two white bottles.
"Thanks."
"You know, Bon, they're coming out with something new in America," Watari said, a hopeful lilt in his voice, as he handed the bottles to Hisoka. "Ziagen, they're calling it. It's stronger than Videx. You don't have to chew it. And you might be able to eat before taking it. But you'd still have to take it with the Combivir, and I don't know how well it'll react. Do you want me to look more into it?"
"Definitely. Anything if I can stop trying to force down Videx."
"Okay, then, I will. And now for my standard lecture."
"Watari…"
"It's imperative that you keep your strength up, Bon," Watari interrupted. "I know you can't eat whenever you want, but you've still got to make sure you're eating enough."
"The KS isn't exactly making that easy."
"Then you've got to start resting more. Take more days off."
"And get everyone suspicious? No, thank you."
"So what if they're suspicious? No one will probably guess right, and I'm legally bound to confidentiality."
"I'm not risking it. I don't want anyone to know."
"Not even Tsuzuki?"
"Especially not him."
"Bon, Tsuzuki loves you. No arguments," Watari said quickly as Hisoka opened his mouth. "He knows it; you know it; the entire damn Ministry knows it. My point it, he's not going to abandon you if he finds out. He knows how awful it feels being stigmatized for something you can't control."
"He can hardly withstand his own personal problems, let alone mine. It's barely been a month since Kyoto. I can't saddle him with this."
Watari sighed. "You'll do what you like, Bon, but as your doctor, I'm telling you you're not going to get through this without some kind of support. I know you've got the drugs and our healing abilities, but you've been through a lot in the past two years. You nearly died last month too, don't forget that. If you don't start eating and resting, and if you don't tell the person closest to you about this, you're going to fall apart. And if you die from this, Hisoka, that's it. It's the same as Touda. You won't be able to pass on to Heaven. Your soul will dissipate and you just won't exist anymore."
"I get it, Watari. I understand."
"I don't think you do, Bon, that's the problem."
"I don't understand?" Hisoka snapped, angrily shocked. "Watari, I've had this for five years! I died because of this!"
"Of course you're aware of your situation, Bon. But never once in the two years you've been here have you accepted the fact that you're seriously ill. And it's killing you, Bon. I'm serious. You've got to start taking better care of yourself, physically and emotionally. We're not your parents, Bon…we want you to be healthy and happy."
Hisoka regarded him sullenly, silently.
"Just…promise me you'll at least come up with some sort of schedule for yourself in regards to eating and sleeping, okay? I'll leave you alone about Tsuzuki if you promise me that."
"I will."
"Good. Oh, and I'm giving you an order."
"What?"
"Go home."
"What? Why?"
"Because of those lesions in your GI Tract. If you can't eat properly because of them, you've got to at least rest to make up for the strength you're losing. Don't argue with me," Watari said in a pre-emptive strike. "I'm your doctor and I know best. Go home and get some sleep. Now. Or I won't be able to guarantee that you remain a boy tomorrow."
Unlike Kazutaka, preparing for college so as to fulfill the family tradition of becoming a doctor, Saki had expressed no interest whatsoever in furthering his education, even though both boys' bags were packed. A few days before Kazutaka was scheduled to leave, Saki bid the family individual good-byes. He managed to reciprocate a tearful farewell with Hikaru, and had no problem mimicking a curt nod with Chika (though he nearly had to fend off an attack when he brushed up against one of her porcelain dolls and knocked it to the floor, cracking its face). As for Kazutaka, a final round of incest after a year of sporadic bouts was apparently in order, each time more brutal than the last. Kazutaka reveled in it.
Chika threw a private party the day Saki left, for just her and her son. It consisted of inspecting all the other dolls, lest Saki's offensive presence had contaminated the others.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do without you, Kazutaka," Chika said, once one flawed doll that had previously escaped scrutiny was thrown away. She pawed his face. "My perfect doll-baby. You must write to me often."
"I will."
"And call, and visit. Swear it."
"I swear it."
"Good boy," she said, kissing her son with the passion she'd once used for his father. He didn't know this was especially inappropriate. It was how she'd always expressed her affection. The night before Kazutaka left she stayed in his bed, touching every inch of her son as if to ingrain the memory of his skin in her hands. She made him promise again that he would make his presence known at the house at every opportunity, and kissed her doll-baby good-bye as he boarded a train for Shion University.
The sun and cold wind seemed intent on bearing down on Hisoka and making the trek back to his home as difficult as possible. He didn't dare teleport lest he lose energy partway and plummet to the ground wherever he stopped.
Hisoka stopped as strength began to desert him and leaned against a tree, trying to catch his breath. He knew Watari was right, but he couldn't help the fact that his stomach rejected, in one way or another, whatever he tried to eat. And sleep brought nightmares, which only exacerbated the problem.
His legs shook and he slumped down to the ground, still leaning against the tree for support. He tugged at his sleeve again, feeling the papular lesions. His hands went to his face and he felt his jaw as his tongue felt the roof of his mouth. Nothing. He focused his healing powers especially towards his mouth, the one place where he couldn't hide the lesions. This meant he could thank the powers that be that today wasn't especially serious.
His eyes closed against the glare of sunlight and he felt himself nearly melt against the tree. He was tired, and his half-hearted attempts to energize his limbs failed.
He'd taken his noon medication in Watari's office. As long as he was home by four in the afternoon, it would be okay.
His head dropped as he curled up. His last thoughts were a prayer that no nightmares would visit him.
Ukyo was a student at the affiliated high school. Kazutaka met her through Oriya, as her cousin worked at Kokakuro, and both he and she happened to be visiting at the same time. He recognized her as someone he'd known in elementary school, and she'd been gregarious enough to use this vague association as a catalyst for an evening together.
She'd giggled when he kissed her good-night, being a virgin to all manners of romantic contact. Within months Kazutaka had rectified that condition. He wasn't able to completely fulfill his fantasies with her, as she did not understand his fetish with sadomasochism, and upon first seeing him with rope she had panicked, thinking he was trying to strangle her. Nevertheless, Kazutaka enjoyed spending his nights with her. She lived alone, emancipated from her parents, and she was amorous in a way that Chika had never been, with a soft, open sort of affection that demanded nothing of Kazutaka at all. Sex with Ukyo was as refreshing as sex with Saki had been, but in a different way altogether.
She was with him, on one of the rare nights that he was able to sneak her into the dormitories, when Hiraku called with the news that Saki was dead. He had not been heard from in months since leaving home, and Hiraku had issued a search party. He had turned up on the streets outside a whorehouse, deathly pale and starved, grinning madly.
Ukyo and Oriya accompanied Kazutaka back to the Muraki house. They were been taken aback at Chika's greeting of her son, privately comparing it to one a person would give to a long-lost lover. Chika instantly disliked her son's friends. She instantly disliked anything that distracted her doll-baby from herself. As soon as she could she took Kazutaka into her private room to play with the dolls. She had missed that, she told him. Kazutaka had as well.
Yukitaka told his grandson that the autopsy on Saki had been inconclusive. Hiraku was insisting on knowing what had dared kill his beloved son, so Yukitaka had sent a sample of blood to a few friends he had in America.
"Hisoka? Hey, Hisoka!"
Hisoka's eyes opened groggily.
"What happened?" Tsuzuki demanded. "Watari said you went home hours ago!"
The sun was missing, replaced by a silver moon and white stars. "What time is it?"
"Twenty to eight, around."
"Shit." Hisoka pressed his hand against the tree and pulled himself to his feet. "I've gotta get home."
"You sure as hell do," Tsuzuki said, reaching for his partner.
Hisoka stepped away from Tsuzuki's hands and lurched, nearly falling face-first to the ground. He reeled back, blood rushing around his head.
"Hisoka!"
For the first time that day Hisoka did not fight Tsuzuki's touch, though not out of willing capitulation. He felt Tsuzuki's fingers stiffen at the feel of raised bumps under Hisoka's clothes.
"Hisoka, what's wrong with you?"
"Don't ask me that," Hisoka said, closing his eyes to keep his vision from spinning. "Please don't ask me that…"
"Hisoka, you're my partner! I have a right to know!"
"Don't ask me!" Hisoka shouted, pulling forward but held back by Tsuzuki's grip. "Let me go."
"No."
"Let me go!"
"I can't. Not when you're like this." He pulled Hisoka back into his chest and wrapped his arms around the smaller body.
"I have to go home, Tsuzuki. Please, just let me go!" He wanted to jam the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the tears that were forming against his wishes. "Please…I have to go home."
"You're going home, I swear it," Tsuzuki said, dropping his head down so his face pressed against the top of Hisoka's head. "I'm just going with you," he said into Hisoka's hair.
When the test results came back, Kazutaka's first thoughts were of Ukyo. The sixteen-year-old girl had been completely unaware of her boyfriend's relationship with his half-brother, and right at that moment she was unknowingly suffering for it.
Then his thoughts turned to his mother, cackling madly in her private room at the poetic justice of the xenophilia. Hiraku had taken a stranger to his bed, and now a foreign illness had claimed his love child.
Claiming the need to study for an exam, Kazutaka left immediately. Oriya and Ukyo were all too glad to leave the house and its insane mistress behind. Upon arriving at Kokakuro Ukyo immediately departed for her apartment, needing sleep, leaving the boys in the cherry gardens of the whorehouse.
"Oriya?"
"Yeah?"
"If I died before you did…even if you didn't mean it…would you shed at least one tear for me?"
"What are you talking about?"
Kazutaka told him everything. At the end of his story Oriya was in tears, kneeling at Kazutaka's feet and begging him and the gods to somehow make truth a lie and the past nothing more than a flight of Kazutaka's twisted fancy. As Kazutaka watched his friend keen at his feet, he knew he had in Oriya what his mother had in him: a perfect doll to depend upon.
Tsuzuki left Hisoka on the couch, claiming the need of the bathroom. Hisoka heard the click of the lock and bolted for the kitchen. His shaking hands barely managed to open the cupboard and grab a glass. He fumbled as he went for the sink and collapsed against the counter, trying to support himself with one hand as the other put the glass in the sink and maladroitly turned the faucet.
He dragged himself upright and swayed on his feet. Steadying himself with a hand against the counter, he drew the two bottles from his pocket and held them close to his face, trying to make out the blurry black writing on their labels. He dropped one on the counter and roughly, clumsily jerked the lid off the remaining bottle. He shook the bottle; when it refused to surrender his contents he let it fall next to its counterpart; a few white pills scattered. His fingers managed to close around one and shove it into his mouth.
The glass was spilling over with water when he wrapped his hand around it and brought it to his mouth. Half the water helped force down the pill. Another quarter spilled down his shirt, and the remainder spread along the hardwood floor as the glass fell to the ground and shattered.
Ukyo took the news of her infection well. Knowing that her boyfriend would be suffering through the same prevented her from hating him; in fact, it seemed to make her love him more. She happily viewed his relationship with Saki as the manipulation of an inexperienced boy by his evil brother, the shame of which kept him from confessing to his girlfriend. Kazutaka let her continue thinking along these lines. It was better for her.
Nobody really knew what to do about this disease. It had only been present in America for two years, and had come to Japan accidentally, through donated blood. It was a foreigner's disease not to be bothered with in Japan.
Kazutaka watched Ukyo continually, waiting for her to succumb. Oddly enough, he felt fine. The disease's name indicated it only affected humans, and Muraki had long suspected that he was not a member of the species. A blood test he had drawn on himself not only revealed that he shared DNA with neither Chika nor Hiraku, but that he did not share DNA with any other homo sapiens. Yukitaka admitted privately to Kazutaka on his deathbed that Chika's baby, like others before it, had died and been set aside for burial, but when they went to present the stillborn to Chika a live baby had been in there in its stead. The parents of this baby and the reason why it was there were unknown, but as it was effectively abandoned, Yukitaka had dubbed it a miracle and gave the child to Chika and Hiraku, calling it their own brought back to life.
Kazutaka kept the confession to himself, as well as knowledge of his illness. He graduated from Shion University as one of the most brilliant students to grace its halls and moved to Tokyo, opening up his own practice. Ukyo went with him.
The disease progressed slowly in her body, so that by 1987 when the first medication came out six years after her diagnosis, she had been enjoying a relatively normal life, blissfully unaware of Saki's head floating in a tank of formaldehyde in the basement of the house she shared with Kazutaka.
It caught up with her, though, and even as she faithfully took her medication it was becoming harder and harder for her to rise from bed every morning. Lesions were beginning to appear on her lower body. Kazutaka disguised them as tattoos and they went about their days as normal.
Until Kazutaka accidentally cut himself during surgery and bled into Kakyoin Haruka's body.
Then he deliberately tampered with the surgery. Haruka, wife and mother of one, died on the table.
Ukyo cried when he told her about that. She sobbed for hours, and again every time she looked at his face, and even when he was away. After a week Kazutaka called Oriya, and his faithful doll-friend came and took Ukyo back to Kyoto.
More people were dying all over Japan, more people that no doctor, including Kazutaka, could save.
In the basement, Saki's head floated like a trophy given to the loser out of pity.
"Hisoka? Oh, God…"
"I'm fine," Hisoka said through gritted teeth. He had fallen to the floor along with his glass, and his hand had landed against a shard, slicing his palm open. A small pile of glass was stacked in that same hand to avoid cutting the other.
"You're bleeding, Hisoka!"
"I'm fine." Hisoka's free hand flailed in the air before grabbing hold of the counter's edge. He managed to pull himself up and stumble towards his trash can. The glass tinkled as it fell into the bag.
"Hisoka, what the hell is going on? What's wrong with you?" No answer. "And what's with those pills, Hisoka? What aren't you telling me?"
"Just…just leave, Tsuzuki."
"No."
"Leave."
"No!"
"For shit's sake…just leave, Tsuzuki! Please! I can handle this myself."
"You can't even stand up on your own!"
"Tsuzuki…"
"Don't wanna hear it, sorry. I'm not leaving here until you tell me exactly what is going on and I know that you're okay."
The water was still running. Hisoka shoved his hand underneath the faucet to wash the blood and glass away. It was taking longer than it should to heal a small nick.
"Hisoka, please," Tsuzuki said, gentler than before. "What's wrong?"
Hisoka pulled his hand out from underneath the running water. The cut had been healed, finally, and one final rinse accompanied by some dish detergent washed away the last remnants of blood.
"Does this have something to do with…with Muraki?"
Hisoka paused. His head turned. His vision of Tsuzuki was once again blurry, but now it was water that obscured his sight.
"Hisoka…" Tsuzuki stepped forward. His hand grazed Hisoka's face. "Hisoka, please. Tell me what's wrong. I didn't come back just to…to let you close yourself off again."
"Guilt. That's nice."
"Hisoka."
Hisoka covered his eyes, hoping that when he pulled his hand away Tsuzuki wouldn't be there.
"Please."
The awful beg in Tsuzuki's voice ripped at him. He slumped, sliding down the counter to the floor. "You don't want to know."
"Yes, I do."
The first sob escaped. "No. You don't."
Tsuzuki knelt. "Yes, I do."
Hisoka felt rather than saw Tsuzuki lean forward and gently brush Hisoka's forehead with his lips.
"Tsuzuki, no."
The touch transformed into an actual kiss.
"Tsuzuki, no. Please, stop it."
"Why?" Tsuzuki asked, transferring to Hisoka's cheek. "Why can't we? What's wrong, Hisoka? What's so awful that you're still pushing me away, after Touda and everything that happened?"
"Tsuzuki, I have HIV."
Chika rarely left the house, but Kazutaka knew that it was only a matter of time before she saw Ukyo and wondered if Kazutaka had something to do with the girl's appearance.
It took until 1993 for Chika to notice. Hiraku had died and Kazutaka came home for the funeral. After not seeing him for more than a few times per annum for nearly six years, Ukyo attended the memorial service with him. He was grateful for her company. Chika watched them both with hawk eyes.
"What is wrong with Ukyo?" she demanded of Kazutaka when all the guests had left her house and Oriya had escorted Ukyo home.
"She's ill."
"With what?"
"AIDS." Kazutaka had gotten too used to watching patients die under the knife or in their hospital beds to not speak frankly.
"Then you can't be with her any longer," Chika said simply, turning around to ferret some dishes away from the table.
"Pardon?"
"That little bastard Shidou died in a way befitting his station in life, but I will not have my perfect doll-baby contracting a foreigner's disease from a slut."
Kazutaka told her. Ukyo could only be hurt by lies, not truth. Chika could only be hurt by truth, not lies. And he wanted Chika to hurt. Ukyo had suffered silently for years; it was time for someone else to undergo likewise.
Chika stared at him for a long time, before her hand shook and she threw the cup she was holding at his head before storming angrily from the room. He heard a door slam and the sound of breaking porcelain.
He spent the night at Kokakuro, after transferring Saki's head to the basement of Shion.
Hisoka vaguely felt that he should regret telling Tsuzuki his secret, but looking into the man's eyes only gave him a pang of guilt over not confessing earlier.
Tsuzuki sat back, putting a foot's distance between himself and Hisoka.
"You have…AIDS?"
"No." Hisoka shook his head and then leaned back against the counter. "I have HIV."
"What's the difference?"
"HIV is a virus. AIDS is all the shit that comes after x amount of T-cells are lost because of HIV."
"I don't…I don—I don't understand, Hisoka."
"What?"
"Everything. How…how did you…?"
"Get it?" Hisoka filled in, bitterness creeping into his voice. "That's obvious, isn't it?"
Chika left a scrawled note for the servants that she was going to visit an old friend in Kamakura. Sakaki showed it to Kazutaka. Her leaving annoyed him. The woman had bore him, raised him, adored him as her doll-baby, and now abandoned him the moment his perfection was compromised?
The night before he left for Kamakura he went to Ukyo's bed. For once in their entire life together Ukyo allowed him to live out all his fantasies with her. She screamed, mostly in terror, but continued to allow him to fulfill himself in her. She even appeared to enjoy it, though perhaps Kazutaka was projecting. He left her bed at dawn while she was still asleep and paid a visit to Oriya.
"If you ever need anything, you come here," Oriya told him. Kazutaka nodded, and kissed Oriya, knowing that was what he wanted, and as repayment for being the perfect doll-friend.
The family Chika was visiting was called Kurosaki; Chika had been college friends with the mistress of the house, Rui. When Kazutaka turned up unannounced Chika's fury was apoplectic, but she remained silent on his affliction.
"Rui, where is your lovely son?" Chika asked sometime during the day. "I haven't seen him since he was little yet."
"I'm afraid he has to be kept away from people," Rui said, sipping tea, nonchalant but for a shaking hand. "He's terribly disturbed."
"Ah. Well, perfect babies never remain so, do they?" Chika shot a disgusted look at Kazutaka. He excused himself to explore the grounds. On his fifth circumambulation he noticed a small window at the base of the house. He knelt, and in the basement he saw a young blond boy, around the age Kazutaka had been with Saki first appeared at the Muraki home, curled up in a pile of laundry, sleeping. Rui's former perfect baby no doubt. He looked underfed and mildly ill. Kazutaka would have prescribed sunlight and regular meals had the boy been one of his patients.
Chika left the Kurosaki house late at night, and Kazutaka followed her. In contrast to her earlier reaction she seemed to accept this, and led him to a grove of cherry trees at the edge of the Kurosaki property.
"What happened to my perfect doll-baby, Kazutaka?"
"He was screwed by his brother, Mother."
"My perfect doll-baby, contaminated by that bastard…" She turned around, and he was taken aback to see a knife in her hands. Taken from the Kurosaki, no doubt, as he didn't recognize it as one they kept at home. "You must kill me, Kazutaka."
"I'm not going to kill you, Mother."
"Oh, darling…" Chika said, a tear in her eye. "What have I got left? I have no husband…I never really had one of those. I have no parents or in-laws."
"You have a son."
"A son who is taken from me, by my bastard stepchild and a foreigner's disease. No. My son is a perfect doll-baby. My perfect doll-baby. When he is no longer perfect he is no longer mine. You are only a shadow of him…a memory of that perfection. I cannot live with only memories, Kazutaka."
"You cannot live with the truth, Mother."
She smiled at him. "If you ever loved your Mother, Muraki, you would do this for her."
"So I'm "Muraki" now, eh? In that case I will not help you. You are not my perfect mother; I feel no obligation towards you."
He recanted his words when the knife plunged into her stomach and her face drained of color as she suppressed a scream. With a strangled cry somewhere between anger and sorrow he took her into his arms, seized the knife from her hand, and plunged it into her heart. The last expression she wore was one of thankfulness. Her blood spurted and covered him as the last remnant of her obsessive touch.
A twig snap. Kazutaka turned. Rui's former doll-baby stared at him from some distance away, with sad, defeated eyes. A gasp. His peridot-green eyes widened at the sight of the dead woman at Kazutaka's feet.
"Show me the gruesome glow of your spirit as you die" Kazutaka told the boy, and wanted it, more than anything, more than a cure. He wanted to see the boy, someone, anyone else suffer. The boy screamed and cried but did not fight, like Ukyo had the night before, which excited Kazutaka even further. In the boy's eyes he saw Ukyo; in his body Kazutaka felt himself with Saki twelve years ago, reveling in torturous, forbidden pleasure.
At the end Kazutaka dragged him to a small lake on the property and washed him off as if bathing a baby to get rid of the evidence; the boy was too terrified and weak to protest. Then Kazutaka dressed him, as carefully as if he were a priceless, antique doll.
"What a beautiful poppet," Kazutaka said, tossing the white-faced, trembling, bleeding boy against the cherry tree. "What a beautiful doll-baby."
"Is this…is this what killed you?"
"Sort of," Hisoka said, amazed at the calm, informative tone of his voice. "It isn't the virus that kills you…it just kills off your T-cells—so you don't have immunity to anything," he added at Tsuzuki's confused look. "HIV just makes it easier for something else to kill you. In my case, undernutrition. I know that's difficult to believe," he said sarcastically, looking down at his thin frame.
"H-how?"
"Because of…because of these." Hisoka grimaced and pulled up his sleeve.
"Your curse marks?"
Hisoka grabbed Tsuzuki's hand and slapped it against his arm. "Feel that? I don't know how he did it, but he made them look like this. So no one could tell what they are without touching them."
"What are they?"
"Kaposi's Sarcoma lesions. They're…they're cancer tumors. I have them…here…all over," he gestured to his person, "and in my mouth, but I always heal those so you can't see them…and my stomach."
"How did you get them there?"
"I swal—" Hisoka cut himself off and turned his head away, face burning. He felt Tsuzuki's horrified comprehension. "Whenever they appear I can't keep food down well, and whatever I manage to not throw up doesn't get absorbed properly, so there's no point in eating."
"Did you really eat this morning?"
"Yes. I just…threw it all up."
"But…these lesions…they don't appear all the time?" Tsuzuki said, searching for a silver lining.
Hisoka shook his head.
"When do they…you know…show up?"
"Muraki controls that. Through the connection he has with me. When I get those nightmares…I get the lesions."
"Oh my God, Hisoka." Tsuzuki's hand reached out and touched Hisoka's face, before sliding down his neck and stopping at his shoulders. "Come on, let's…let's get you off the floor."
He took Hisoka's hands delicately, as if expecting them to break, and stood up slowly, pulling Hisoka along with him. Hisoka was unsteady on his feet and Tsuzuki held him tightly.
"What are those?"
Hisoka turned slightly in Tsuzuki's grasp. He reached out robotically and began to collect the scattered pills. "My medication. This stuff," he picked up the open bottle and began depositing pills back into it, "is Combivir. It's called a fixed dose combination…two drugs in one, basically. The other stuff is Videx. I was only taking that when I died…I'd taken it while I was still alive…but I was starting to get resistant to it. Combivir came out in September last year, so Watari put me on it, but told me to stick with the older stuff, too…"three drugs are better than two"…"
"What do they do?"
"Stop the virus from spreading so my T-cell count goes up. I've been using them so I wouldn't have to focus all my healing abilities on repairing my immune system…so I could patch myself up if I get cut up on the job before I bleed on anyone. Can I…sit down?"
"Of course," Tsuzuki said hurriedly. He began to move and then hesitated, before reaching one arm down towards Hisoka's legs and picking him up to carry him to the couch.
"Hisoka, is that…that the only way to get it?" Tsuzuki asked as he gently deposited his partner on the sofa. "I'm sorry, I'm asking all these questions, but I hardly know anything about this. I've only brought in a few people who've had this, and they just don't want to talk about it."
"No, it's not the only way," Hisoka said listlessly. "If I bled into someone's open wound, there's a ninety percent chance that person would get HIV. God, Tsuzuki," his voice suddenly seemed to begin breaking, "that time in Nagasaki…I was so scared when you were untying me, because if you'd cut yourself on that wire…and then when Muraki blew your back out…"
"Watari took a blood sample from me after that case," Tsuzuki said slowly.
"I know. I asked him to. You came back negative, don't worry. Watari also said…something about how…he introduced the virus to your blood sample and for some reason, it didn't do anything. Your blood sample carried it, but it wasn't killing off the T-cells. He didn't know why…but congratulations on being able to fend off the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Tsuzuki."
Human Immunodeficiency.
Human.
Tsuzuki felt the sudden need to laugh and cry at the same time. He fought back both urges. "What about that swordfight you had with…Oriya, I think his name was? Watari told me about that…"
"I didn't bleed on him. I made sure of that."
Tsuzuki sat down next to Hisoka. He clenched his hand and shot a glance at Hisoka before looking down.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Hisoka snorted. "Did you ever wonder why those other people who've died from it didn't talk about it? Remember how I told you the doctor gave up?"
Tsuzuki nodded, a knot of dread forming in his stomach.
"They all knew exactly what was wrong with me. They gave up trying to help. They gave me the Videx because they had to, and that was it. Didn't even ask how I'd gotten infected or why I was already underweight or why my parents only showed up once a month."
"But...why?"
"Because they didn't care!" Hisoka yelled, control slipping. "Once you've got HIV, you're screwed, Tsuzuki. You're lucky if you find a dog that'll deign to shit on your shoe."
"I wouldn't treat you like that."
"By the time I figured that out, I was already—"
"What?"
"And you were…"
"What?" Tsuzuki turned his body as Hisoka turned his face away. "Hey." Tsuzuki touched Hisoka's shoulder and shook him. "What was it?"
"If you had an unpredictable condition that needed to be controlled so meticulously that doing something wrong could essentially kill you…and the person closest to you was a self-loathing wreck with enough of his own problems to fill up a psychology text…would you say anything?"
"Yes," Tsuzuki said in a low voice, closing his eyes against coming tears. "Because he would want to know…he wouldn't want you to suffer by yourself."
"I don't want you to suffer by yourself," Oriya told Kazutaka when he returned, still in his bloodstained clothes. The horror of a murder was somewhat mitigated by the fact that it was essentially assisted suicide, and Kazutaka neglected to mention raping the young boy.
"I'm not suffering, Oriya," Kazutaka said, shrugging himself out of his bloody outfit. "Though you should look after Ukyo if you truly want me to be happy."
"Why wouldn't you be there to look after her? It's been years since that…incident…and she went to the funeral with you. I know her…she'll be moving back to Tokyo to be with you as soon as humanly possible."
Kazutaka smiled indulgently. After he left Kokakuro Oriya found a doll sitting primly on his bed, staring at him with almost real eyes. It reminded him of Kazutaka. He thought that probably was the point.
"What time is it now?" Hisoka asked.
"Almost eleven." Neither had moved from their positions on the couch. "Why?"
"I have to take Videx at midnight."
"That late?"
"One pill, alternating, every four hours."
"How have I never seen you doing this before?"
"You never noticed that I take coffee breaks at exactly eight and four? And that I disappear for a few minutes at lunch every day?"
"It just felt like…routine," Tsuzuki said. "It was just what you did."
"Well, that's what I wanted it to feel like, so…"
"What about during missions?"
"I sneak them when I can. I can miss an exact time frame by a couple hours as long as I get back on schedule immediately."
"Oh…I see," Tsuzuki said, and the initial instinct of regret resurfaced in Hisoka.
"You can…go now," Hisoka offered.
"No way."
"I can survive on my own, Tsuzuki."
"I know. I'm still not leaving."
"Damn it, Tsuzuki, I lied to you!" Hisoka yelled, standing up abruptly. He managed to ignore the rush of blood to his head. "For two years, I've been lying to you. Why aren't you furious at me?"
"Do you really want me to be mad at you?"
"Yes! I want you to stop forgiving me and tell me I've been a stupid, selfish, reckless, asshole, and that you're tired of my bullshit and you hate me."
Tsuzuki stood. "Why would you want me to tell you that, when you're already telling yourself the same thing?" he asked in a low, strangled voice.
"Damn it, Tsuzuki…" Hisoka mumbled through clenched teeth, but he didn't resist Tsuzuki pulling him forward and gently pushing him back onto the couch and pressuring him to lie down.
"How long until you're able to eat?" he asked, kneeling by the couch.
Hisoka shrugged, with difficulty, wanting more than anything to curl up under a rock and not face his partner ever again. "Not until the lesions go away."
"And that's when…you stop having nightmares, right?"
Hisoka nodded, barely.
"Can you feel emotions when you're sleeping?"
"Yes," Hisoka said in a small voice. "Just…not as overwhelmingly. I let go of them quicker when I'm sleeping."
"You got an alarm clock?"
"Every clock in this house goes off when I have to get up."
Tsuzuki made an acknowledging noise in his throat before half-rising and slipping his hands underneath Hisoka's body.
"Tsuzuki?" Hisoka questioned, slightly afraid, as Tsuzuki pushed Hisoka up and slid his knee onto the cushion, followed by his other one. Hisoka found himself lying vertically across Tsuzuki as he straightened himself out on the couch and wrapped his arms tightly around Hisoka, like a child cuddling a stuffed toy. "What…what are you doing?"
"I'll stay up, then," Tsuzuki said, reaching one hand up to gently stroke Hisoka's cheek.
"You're going to…"
"I'm going to stay up and keep the nightmares away, and in the morning I'm going to make something for you to eat."
"Your cooking's awful," Hisoka blurted out, still slightly bewildered.
"I can make a few things without poisoning people," Tsuzuki said flatly, but good-humoredly. Hisoka felt a balmy warmth begin to settle inside himself.
"Tsuzuki…"
"We still need to talk," Tsuzuki interrupted gently. "But you need to sleep more than that."
Hisoka shut his eyes to halt tears, unsuccessfully. Tsuzuki's hand paused, and his thumb brushed the small drop of salty water away.
"I'm sorry," Hisoka croaked.
"It's okay," Tsuzuki replied, keeping tight control over his voice. "I'm not mad."
Hisoka stopped a sob mid-way. Tsuzuki tightened his grip and pressed his face against Hisoka's hair.
Oriya gave the doll to Ukyo, knowing that she would want some reminder of Kazutaka. She kept it in her bedroom.
Betimes Kazutaka visited her at night after she'd ostensibly fallen asleep, and would lay down next to her with his arms about her. She would feel it but dare not acknowledge that she felt it, lest it turn out to be an illusion.
He'd be gone in the morning. She'd glance around the empty room and take the doll in her arms, as if she were holding the real thing.
The last time they'd spoken she'd canceled their plans; she was too ill to leave the house. Then there was the fire at Shion, and then…nothing.
Ukyo clutched the doll to herself and pressed her face against its hair, and waited.