These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth
By: Vain 10/16/2001-
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I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot—everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.
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This story has yoai, shounen-ai, and mature themes including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene.
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"Maybe I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor;
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch.
Love is not a victory march—
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah . . ."
"There was a time you'd let me know What's real and going on below,
But now you never show it to me do you?
Remember when I moved in you?
The holy dark was moving too,
And every breath we drew was hallelujah.
Hallelujah."
~ Rufus Wainwright
Hallelujah
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Chapter Thirteen:
Talking of Michelangelo------------------ & ------------------
He felt drunk. He felt ill. Lightheaded. He felt more tired than he had ever believed possible. And Ken-chan—his Ken-chan . . . Was gone. And maybe he wanted him back.
Yamato arrived some time around noon. Noon. He'd kicked Ken out at 9. It was still raining out there. Was Ken out there now? Alone? In the rain? Did he miss Taichi? Would he forgive him?
No.
"Did you get my message? Jesus Christ, Tai-kun . . . You look like shit. What happened to you?"
Thank you so much. Taichi stepped back away from the door and allowed Yama to enter.
The blond's nose wrinkled delicately as he walked past. "Have you been drinking, Taichi?"
For a moment the other teen simply stared at him, blinking stupidly as the words sunk in. ". . . Just a—a . . ." He trailed off with a slur, unable to remember quite what he was going to say. It was cold outside. He wanted to see Ken.
"Tai?"
A pale hand suddenly arose and cupped his face. When had Yama moved so close? "Tai, are you alright? You don't look too good."
Tai stared down into blue eyes for a moment, unable to quite get his bearings. "I . . . haven't had too much to drink . . ." And he really hadn't, had he? He had only had a couple more shots since Ken had left. Right?
Ken. . . . It looked so cold outside.
And suddenly he couldn't quite seem to stand anymore.
"Tai?"
Strong arms around him, holding him up. The room was spinning.
"Taichi?! Taichi, can you hear me?!"
Ken hated being cold. And he was so small . . .
"Taichi?! Hold on; I'm going to lay you down, okay? Tai?"
"Yama . . ." His voice was soft and heavily slurred. Concerned blue eyes suddenly appeared before him. Where was Ken? His Ken. "Yama . . . I think I've done something terrible . . ." And then he slid away into blissful oblivion.
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Tanuki set the bowls on the bar that divided the kitchen from the dining room and sat down across from Ken. A large puddle of water was rapidly forming on the tiles below the other boy's stool as the rainwater dripped off of him, but Ken did not appear to notice. Tanuki frowned and slid a spoon across the counter. At least the other boy had stopped that horrid shaking.
Ken looked up and his wide blue eyes blinked several times before focusing on the white-haired boy in front of him.
Tanuki leaned over and took a ginger spoonful of his own soup. "Wonton," he said over the edge of his spoon. "Be careful. It's hot."
Ken stared down at his soup blankly. His hands trembled slightly as he clumsily gripped the spoon and slowly stirred his soup. He had declined a pair of dry clothes from the Coon as they didn't fit him quite right and his pants were beginning to dry, clinging to his thighs and making him feel stiff and dusty.
He took a sip of his broth and dropped his spoon back into the bowl. He folded his hands on the counter and stared down at his red knuckles. "You never answered my question that day."
Tanuki looked up sharply and scowled. "What? What question?"
Ken smiled whimsically. "That day on the steps. The butterfly?"
"What about it?" the American demanded uncomfortably.
"Mmmm . . ." Ken laid his head down on his hands and his eyes fluttered shut. "So what do you think it's all for? If there's no point I mean . . ."
Tanuki shrugged and settled back on his stool. "Maybe that is the point then."
"Don't be so existential," the indigo-haired boy muttered.
"It's an existential question," the Coon retorted. He ran a hand back through his short white hair. "What I mean is that maybe we have to make our own points, find our own reason to live."
"Your optimism is heart-warming, Rat, but is doesn't change the inevitable outcome." Ken opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. "It's all a game then, so what's the point?"
A delicate white eyebrow arched slightly. "Would you rather there be no point at all? If so, then nothing and no one matters. Love, hate, the past, the present, the future . . . all of them are meaningless. Everything is hopeless."
"No. Not meaningless." Ken smiled that strange distant smile again. "Just . . . what it is."
Tanuki leaned forward. "Are you okay, Ken-kun?"
Ken ignored his question. "So what meaning do you ascribe to this whole mess?"
"Hmmm . . ." Tanuki stabbed a wonton. "Success. The desire to defeat one's opponent. Distinguishing oneself above the masses. To succeed where others fail." He smiled and his eyes glittered coldly. "The look of shock and despair on the face of the vanquished . . .? Exquisite."
"So the game itself is the point then?"
"Yes. I suppose so."
Ken's eyes softened to liquid aqua and his mouth twisted slightly. He leaned forward and gripped Tanuki's wrist pleadingly. The spoon clattered to the bowl with a splash. "But what happens if you lose?"
"What?" Tanuki tried to pull back, but Ken's grip was like steel. "What do you mean?"
"If you lose . . ." His grasp tightened. "If you lose, what do you do? How do you get back into the game?"
The boy blinked in surprise and tugged halfheartedly at his wrist. "Lose?" His brow furrowed as though he had suddenly been faced with something new and inconceivable. "Lose? You don't . . . lose . . ."
Ken's grip tightened and his voice was a whisper. "But what if you do?"
Tanuki jerked his wrist back looked away. For a moment there was a thick uncomfortable silence and Ken settled back in his stool and began to study the floor.
His voice was rough and uneven. "Minokichi . . ."
The Coon's head snapped up at the sound of his given name. No one ever called him that. Not even Ken—especially not his Ken.
The dark haired boy closed his eyes slowly bit his lip until a tiny drop of ruby appeared at the ivory tip of one sharp tooth. "I . . ."
"You went over my head!" the American snarled, suddenly enraged.
Ken looked up, eyes round in surprise.
"What was I supposed to do?" Tanuki continued. "To say? You chose him over me! You went to him and all you ever had to was tell me to, Ken! Goddamnit, you just went right over my head! It doesn't work like that. You can't let another person just walk in like . . . like . . ." He trailed off abruptly, as though realizing what he had just said.
"I know." Ken's eyes softened and stood. "I had to."
Tanuki's bowl went flying across the room and shattered against the far wall with a crack. Wonton soup went everywhere, sliding down the peach paint and staining the plush carpeting. The slender teen's voice was a roar over the thunder that crashed outside. "Like fuck you did!"
He slid off the stool and leapt over the counter to stand before his friend. Despite the fact that they were only separated by an inch and a half in height, Tanuki seemed to loom over Ken imposingly and a dark sneering scowl disfigured his face. He gripped the other boy's chin in his hand painfully and tilted his bruised face upwards so that they were staring in one another's eyes.
"Bastard!" He hissed decisively. Ken's hands curled into fists, but remained hanging limply at his sides as Tanuki continued. "Bastard! You didn't have to! Things were fine! I was there—was always there. I showed you, didn't I? I was there for you, not him! And you let him do this to you?! To me?! What the fuck were you thinking? He's nowhere near us and you allowed this—this—treachery?!"
The shorter teen gripped Tanuki's wrist and twisted it painfully, forcing the other boy to his knees with a strangled cry of pain. His eyes remained a soft shimmering cross between blue, gray, and hitherto unknown green. Tanuki glared up at him from his feet.
"What would you have done for me, Minokichi-kun?" Ken murmured as he stared down at him sadly.
"Whatever I had to! You know that, goddamnit! You've always known that!"
Ken twisted Tanuki's arm a bit more, earning a groan of pain. "Would you have lived for me?"
"Yes!"
"Would you have bled for me?"
"Yes!"
"Would you have died for me?"
"Yes!"
"And would you have loved me, Minokichi-kun? Me?" Ken's eyes gleamed in the soft 70-watt light. "For always?"
They stared at one another in silence for a moment until Tanuki dropped his head in defeat. Ken released him with a sigh and turned away.
Tanuki rubbed his bruised wrist and blinked back the tears he refused to acknowledge building in his eyes. "Bastard . . ."
He climbed to his feet and went to clean up the mess he had made when he threw his bowl across the room as Ken calmly finished his lukewarm soup in silence. Dishes clattered in the ominous quiet as the boy finished clearing up the spill and returned to his friend. Ken pushed his bowl away and slid off the stool as Tanuki came to stand beside him.
"Could you have?" He watched Tanuki intently with boy a very odd look for a moment and then smiled a smile that could have moved the Earth. "Tanuki-kun . . .?"
Coon glared at him. "Ken-kun . . . You're not yourself right now. You don't know what you're saying. Go lay down and get some more sleep."
Ken laughed then, not his usual sneer, but genuine laughter that boiled up out of his chest and spilled out from between his lips. He put his hands on Tanuki' shoulders and leaned forward to gently press his lips against the other boy's in a chaste kiss. After a moment, he pulled away again and smiled at the brilliant flush that painted the Coon's face. "You can't always save me, Tanuki-kun."
The American stared. "Ken—"
The smile on the bruised boy's face stretched painfully. "It's okay, Tanuki-kun. Really."
Because in the end, it really wasn't okay. And that was just fine.
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A fairly small, benevolent virus lay on a sunny rock in the Digital World. Ken had not come by yesterday. Nor the day before. But surely he would come today. He never went more than three or four days without visiting Wormmon. This week would be no exception. So Wormmon waited.
Ever since the day the Hanamura woman had come and Ken had returned him to the Digital World, Wormmon had pretty much lived near this rock. Too many digimon remembered the ravages of the Kaiser and all of them seemed to recognize the little green insect type that had been the human's constant companion. Wormmon was no longer welcome in the Digital World and he knew it. Ken had asked him if he had made any friends and Wormmon had lied and said that he hadn't seen any digimon yet.
He had seen plenty of digimon thus far. And every single one of them had attacked him. But Ken had enough to worry about now—he didn't need Wormmon's silly fears to handle too. And Ken always came back to him. Always. So he really didn't have anything to worry about. His human meant worlds to him—literally. He refused to burden the boy more than necessary.
But Wormmon was more than a little bit afraid, and not just for Ken. He didn't dare leave the rock because of the other digimon. They were reluctant to come so near to the place were the former Kaiser was so frequently spotted, but Wormmon was quickly running out of food. Ken always brought something with him when he came, but it had been a while since the last visit . . . And the odds of some passing digimon taking pity on him and bringing food were slim to none. Plus, what would happen if Ken came and Wormmon wasn't here? From everything the little virus had seen, the Digital World was gradually but surely sliding into chaos. If the former Kaiser appeared and went tramping off in search of his partner, he'd certainly be attacked. What would he do without Wormmon there to defend him . . .?
No. It was best to wait here. The hunger was nothing—a thin, passing thing. He had suffered worse for his Ken-chan. He would suffer anything for Ken-chan. Anything.
Ken would come back for him. Ken always came back for him.
And so Wormmon heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the very earth itself and he waited.
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Chapter Fourteen:
The Wings of a Butterfly
Taichi pursues. Ken escapes.
"Believe the eternal power can make a difference. Absolutely, absolutely, the difference seems . . ."
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