You Will Not Be Alone Tonight

Chapter 5 - Where You Have to Imagine the Rest

At lunch break, Watari, Tsuzuki, and Hisoka met under the same cherry trees that had witnessed the development of their conspiracy to discuss that conspiracy's success, or potential lack thereof. For a while, none of them spoke: Watari busied himself feeding 003 until she refused to eat even one more grain of birdseed, Hisoka escaped into the book he had managed to sneak out with him, and Tsuzuki reclined on the stone bench, his head resting casually on Hisoka's lap as he spun a cherry blossom between his fingers. The silence, which would have been deafening to any outside observer, provided a much-needed opportunity for each of the Shinigami to collect their thoughts, to sort through some of their own feelings.

Finally, Tsuzuki said, "He's not acting any different." The cherry blossom fluttered from his hand, and landed in Watari's lap, contrasting softly with the black pants that the scientist favoured.

"No, he's not," Watari agreed, and the silence returned, heavier this time.

"What were we expecting?" asked Hisoka after a while, setting his book aside. "What did we want to do? What was our goal, through all this?"

"To help Tatsumi," Tsuzuki said without thinking.

"And how was that help supposed to manifest itself?" Hisoka looked up from his partner's eyes and into Watari's. "What were we supposed to see if this therapy succeeded?"

Watari smiled even as his shoulders sketched out the motions of a shrug. "No idea," he said. "The potion was experimental, remember?"

Hisoka sighed, folded his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. "What a waste of time."

Watari looked away: even 003 seemed disappointed. Only Tsuzuki still held a neutral expression, and when he spoke again, his words mirrored the hope in his eyes. "I don't think it was a waste of time," he said. "I don't think it needs to be something we can see. We never have to know if it worked or not, because it was all for Tatsumi. As long as he feels better, we did what we were hoping to do."

"That's rather disappointing," Watari said, and 003 hooted her agreement.

"It doesn't have to be," Tsuzuki said, lifting himself into a sitting position. "Because, in some ways, it was for us, too, right? We wanted to understand Tatsumi better." He looked at Hisoka. "At least, I did. And... I think I do. To a certain extent. The point is, I'm not walking away with nothing, even if I never know how much we've helped Tatsumi."

"Kindness leaves the donor as changed as the recipient," Hisoka said, and Watari was reminded of a similar epigram that had also come from the same unlikely source. "Is that what you're getting at, Tsuzuki?"

"Yep, exactly." Tsuzuki smiled.

"And just because we can't see it right away, doesn't mean the change isn't there." Watari's cautious smile eventually mirrored Tsuzuki's grin. "It could be a gradual process."

"A journey," Hisoka said, the word heavy with a memory that neither of his companions shared.

"So, let's call this a success, then." Tsuzuki's grin intensified, and even the corners of Hisoka's mouth perked up slightly.

"Agreed, if only because we managed not to hurt Tatsumi in the process."

"And, hey, my potion worked!" Watari said, though everyone knew that the potion had been designed for the mission, and not the other way around. "With no side effects... no immediate ones, anyway."

He seemed to enjoy the apprehensive looks that spread across Tsuzuki and Hisoka's faces.

 

----

"Watari."

Tatsumi's voice, familiar yet unexpected, nearly startled Watari into dropping the test tube of acid that he had been attempting to divide evenly, and he quickly set it back in the appropriate rack before turning around. "Yes, Tatsumi?" he said, and wiped his hands on the skirt of his lab coat.

"I apologize for interrupting your work." Tatsumi nodded in the direction of the test tube rack.

"Don't worry about it," Watari said, and smiled. "It's not any of the work you've given me."

"In that case, I withdraw my apology." Was Watari imagining the playful spark in Tatsumi's eyes, or was it a trick of the light, a strange reflection in the lenses of his glasses? "I have a favour to ask of you."

He probably needs some of that work I'm supposed to be doing done tomorrow. Watari suppressed a groan at the thought of working yet more unpaid overtime. "What is it?" he asked as politely as he could.

Tatsumi cleared his throat. "It seems that the Count gave Chief Konoe the use of his private box at the theatre for tonight's performance of George Bernard Shaw's 'Saint Joan': apparently, he can't stand the play. However, the Chief has conveniently thrown his back out, much as he did before the archery contest, and so the tickets have fallen to me." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew the tickets in question. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in going with me."

Watari looked from Tatsumi to the tickets and back again. "Why are you inviting me?" he asked as soon as he realized that Tatsumi was waiting for him to say something, and instantly wanted to slap himself. Could I have been any more discouraging?

Tatsumi glanced over his shoulder before replying. "Hisoka or Wakaba may also be interested, but if I asked Hisoka, Tsuzuki would feel left out, and Wakaba would have to deal with Terazuma's jealousy." He smiled subtly, but unmistakably, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I've come to realize that I know very few people outside of work. None, actually."

"Well, it's understandable. It's hard for a Shinigami to relate to anyone but another Shinigami, isn't it? Death is such a perspective-altering experience, doubly so when it leads to quasi-immortality." Watari leaned back against the counter behind him. "That's how it is." I don't believe this. Are we actually talking? The experience was so surreal that Watari almost expected to wake up from a particularly vivid daydream; however, the counter was real enough, as was Tatsumi's presence.

"Perhaps it's better that way." Tatsumi's smile flickered across his lips again, and Watari blinked repeatedly to clear his already-accurate vision. "In any case, about the play...?"

"Oh, right." Might as well play along and enjoy the dream while it lasts. "Sure, I'll come. What time does it start?"

"Seven-thirty." Tatsumi set one of the tickets down on the counter to his right. "Try to be on time; they only let latecomers in after intermission."

Watari sniffed as he walked over to collect the ticket, and slid it into the pocket of his lab coat. "Are you insinuating that I might be in danger of that?" It must be the potion, he realized. This must be the change we've been looking for. It actually worked!

"The employee hours register provides a compelling precedent." Tatsumi smiled again, the gesture nearly obscured by a simultaneous nod. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Watari said, and was barely able to wait until Tatsumi had left the office before punching the air victoriously.

"Total success!" he said, startling 003 from her perch on one of the highest shelves.

 

----
 

Tsuzuki intercepted Tatsumi as he was leaving Watari's lab. Tatsumi smiled and nodded a greeting, as though this were any other chance meeting, and though Tsuzuki was sorely tempted to let things go at that, he forced himself not to.

"Tatsumi, can we talk for a minute?"

Tatsumi's eyes scanned Tsuzuki's expression before he replied, "Of course. My office?"

Tsuzuki nodded, and followed Tatsumi into the secretary's office, closing the door behind them. The moment he turned to face Tatsumi, however, he forgot how he had meant to begin. Damn it... How do I tell him this? How do I forgive him for something I'm not even supposed to know about?

"What's the matter, Tsuzuki?" Tatsumi eventually said, and the words began to trickle back onto Tsuzuki's tongue.

"Tatsumi... It's about Kyoto."

A shadow seemed to cross Tatsumi's eyes, but his tone remained conversational. "Yes?"

Don't think. Just talk, like you always do. "Tatsumi, when you saved Hisoka and I from Touda, I... I know you were conflicted. I know you weren't really sure if you should save me or not." Tatsumi started to interrupt, but Tsuzuki held up his hands to stop him. "No, please, let me say this." Tatsumi fell silent, and he went on. "I just... I want you to know that, even if you had decided to let me die, even if you hadn't saved my life, I wouldn't have held it against you. I know you would have done it for me, because you thought it was for the best." He paused, and inhaled slowly. "I'd have known you were letting me die because you loved me."

The silence that followed Tsuzuki's last words became as heavy as the words themselves before Tatsumi asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

Tsuzuki shrugged with practiced casualty. "I just wanted you to know, in case you were still feeling guilty. I know how guilt stays with you, and I didn't want you to feel bad about that if you had no reason to, because that would have been totally unfair... that is, if you were even feeling bad in the first place..." Tsuzuki paused to run a hand through his hair. "I'm not making sense, am I?"

"Regardless, I believe I understand." Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "Thank you, Tsuzuki."

"No problem. Like I said, I thought you should know." Tsuzuki tried to keep his exhalation silent. It's done. I did it. And he doesn't suspect anything.

"And I value that." Tatsumi cleared his throat, effectively closing the matter. "Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

Tsuzuki shook his head. "No, that's okay. I'll let you get back to work."

"Do you think you'll ever become adventurous enough to give that a try?" Tatsumi asked as Tsuzuki's hand closed over the doorknob.

"Someday," Tsuzuki promised, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he stepped out of Tatsumi's office.

He had said all the words Tatsumi needed to hear: in time, he hoped, he would come to mean them.

 

----
 

"Working late again, Kurosaki?"

Hisoka glanced up from his paperwork just long enough to nod at Tatsumi; his pen barely even slowed. "Someone has to do all of this," he said, gesturing to the neatly-arranged piles before him.

Tatsumi frowned. "I agree, but Tsuzuki should at the very least be helping you." He folded his arms over his chest. "You let him take advantage of you too easily."

"I don't mind: it balances out." Hisoka set the sheet he had been working on aside and immediately began to fill out the one beneath it. "On missions, Tsuzuki does more than his share of the investigating as well as all of the fighting. Doing the paperwork is my way of contributing something to the partnership: it makes me feel less useless."

"You give yourself too little credit, Kurosaki." Tatsumi let his arms fall back to his sides, and his expression softened. "I'm sure that you contribute much more to your partnership than you realize."

Hisoka's pen stopped completely. "I wasn't aware that you were in the habit of offering empty condolences."

"I'm not." Tatsumi paused. "I want to thank you, Kurosaki."

Hisoka looked up. "Why?"

"For not standing in the way of my relationship with Tsuzuki, I suppose. I am grateful for that trust, and the opportunity it's given me to remain a part of his life, if only as a friend." Tatsumi paused. "For protecting him in Kyoto, when I neither could nor would. For saving his life."

"You don't need to thank me for that. All of it... I did it for him, not for you." Why is he telling me this now? Something's different about him. Exhaustion fogged Hisoka's mind, and kept him from the simplest answer to his question.

"And yet, because I benefited as well, I thank you." Tatsumi smiled, and the flash of gratitude that brushed across Hisoka's senses brought with it the reason behind his altered perception of Tatsumi. My empathy... it's working on him. It never did before.

Disbelievingly, Hisoka probed deeper, and was met with a contentment only faintly laced with bitterness and guilt. I don't believe it. The potion must have worked.

"Is something the matter, Kurosaki?" Tatsumi asked, and his voice snapped Hisoka back to external reality.

"No. It's nothing." Hisoka made a show of rubbing his eyes before stretching his arms over his head languidly. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"I understand." Tatsumi nodded to the piles of still-untouched paperwork. "Leave it. It's not going anywhere, after all."

Hisoka blinked. "Huh?" he said, uncharacteristically inarticulate.

"Go home, Kurosaki. You've earned your rest: I'll see you tomorrow." Tatsumi's eyes flashed with amusement. "Besides, I have somewhere to be tonight, and I can't very well close up the office with you in it."

Hisoka nodded his understanding even as he rose to his feet. "Thank you, Tatsumi," he said, and retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair. "Good night." With a final nod, he left the office, closing the door behind him before Tatsumi could change his mind.

I'm going to have to congratulate Watari tomorrow, he thought as he stepped out into the fading sunlight. It was almost refreshing to have his pessimism proven wrong, especially in the service of such a good cause, and Hisoka was torn between laughing aloud at the sheer unreality of the situation or pinching himself in a vague, clichéd attempt to retain some sense of immediacy.

In the end, he simply put on his jacket and began walking toward Tsuzuki's apartment.

 

----
 

In the solitude of the office, Tatsumi smiled after Hisoka, and his expression was unhindered by the fear of discovery. "It was the least I could have done, Kurosaki," he said, and though his everyday neutrality returned to his face as the smile wilted, its mask no longer closed so completely over his true face. He was unable to explain the change he felt in himself, the impulse that had not only driven him to reach out to both Watari and Hisoka, but blunted the guilt that always tainted his time with Tsuzuki. He was, however, determined not to fear it. Vulnerability does not always constitute weakness, he reminded himself, and the words were a talisman against the shadows that had smothered him longer than he cared to remember.

He looked around the office, and saw it differently than he had the day before; it seemed worlds apart from what it had been a week ago. The change was not instantaneous, but it was happening: Tatsumi could almost imagine its migration through the cells of his body.
If he could see it though to its end, he might finally be able to forget what he had turned himself into for the first time since he had become a Shinigami.

With a resolute nod, he adjusted his glasses and went to meet Watari
 

Return to Alone Tonight