by Katsue




WARNING - NCS ahead. To be precise, four paragraphs of total SQUICK dealing with Hisoka’s memories of being raped. If this is likely to really disturb, offend or emotionally scar you, please don’t read it. I’d indicate which paragraph this starts at so that people could avoid this part, but that would probably only result in everyone else hitting the “find” button and ignoring the rest of the chapter. ^^;; The flashback is pretty much my interpretation of the events depicted in book 3 of the manga, and yes, Muraki’s “gruesome brilliance” line is a direct quote, taken from Theria’s translation of the manga.




4.  HISOKA'S DILEMMA
“He WHAT???” Wakaba’s eyes were as round as saucers, and she looked ready to pounce on Terazuma and physically wring the rest of the news out of him if need be.

“He’s leaving. Handed in his notice.” Terazuma took a long drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke trail lazily to the ceiling.

“But WHY?”

“Don’t ask me, ask him. I just overheard what Kacho said.”

Wakaba sighed, absently twirling a lock of hair round one finger: “I sensed that *something* was wrong when he asked if I would open the gate to GenSouKai. He *said* that he should spend a little time getting to know Kurikara better so that they could work well together when needed, which was fine, but.... I asked him if Tsuzuki-san was OK about him going alone, and he didn’t answer, he said he’d come back later.”

“It’s nothing to do with us.” Terazuma turned the page of the newspaper and put his feet up on the desk.

“HAJIME-CHAN!!!!”

“So, Kurosaki-kun’s had another argument with his lazy slob of a partner... big deal. They’ll sort it out.”

The words were harsh, but Wakaba detected a slight softening of her partner’s tone, a note of attempted reassurance. She smiled a little: “I hope you’re right.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Hisoka scrolled through the report he was working on, grateful for the loan of Watari’s laptop. It felt a bit strange to be working from home, but there was absolutely no way he could face being in the office. Here, he could pretend that the rest of the world was something distant and unreal, like the background noise of the radio – a vague awareness of other people existing, but lacking the power to assault his empathy and connect with his emotions.

He couldn’t quantify the feeling slowly creeping over him – a kind of numb, deadening emptiness, a void that he was desperately trying to fill with case details and vague plans for the future. Quite what that future might hold, he had no idea, but he focussed on a sensation of bright, hollow meaninglessness, of an image of himself quietly getting on with paperwork, communicating with faceless identikit people around him only as much as was needed to get the work done efficiently. No friends, no enemies, no-one he knew, no-one he would get to know on anything other than a superficial level, no emotions, no needs, no pain. Konoe had briefly outlined some of the options Hisoka had for the future, most of which involved working within Meifu, although he suggested that Hisoka would be well suited to working with onmyouji in Chijou. No – that wasn’t what he wanted. Hisoka wanted something, *anything* that was mundane, routine, emotionless and would keep his mind fully occupied.

Beyond the need to understand why he had been killed, perhaps this is what he had intended things to be like when he became a shinigami – keeping everybody and everything at a distance. He certainly hadn’t succeeded. If only he hadn’t been partnered up with.... no, he wasn’t going to think of that man, he wasn’t.... Damnit, he *was*. He was thinking about Tsuzuki again. He clenched his fists and tried to quell the ache that started up inside of him.

He had to think about something else, *anything* else, and found his mind drifting back to that morning.....

~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t expected Konoe-kacho to understand. Konoe *couldn’t* understand, because he had no idea why Hisoka had decided to leave – all he’d told him was that he felt he had been a shinigami for long enough and that it was time to move on. Konoe had looked shocked and informed Hisoka that whilst the decision was his to make, he would be sorely missed both by his partner and as a shinigami. Of course, Konoe had tried to find out what was wrong, what was behind this sudden decision to leave, but telling him was absolutely out of the question.

Towards the end of their conversation, Tatsumi appeared. Hisoka had hoped that he would be able to get this over and done with and get out of there before he had to deal with anyone else, but on reflection, this wish was naďve and unrealistic.

Whatever Tatsumi might have felt about Hisoka’s planned departure, he hid behind psychological shields, a guarded expression and his customary gesture of pushing his spectacles back up his nose. “Kurosaki-kun, don’t you think you’re being a little hasty?” he asked, his tone bland but slightly strained.

“You of all people ought to understand!” thought Hisoka, glaring at him, but took a deep breath and replied: “No. I’ve thought this through carefully, and it’s what I want.”

There wasn’t really any comeback to that. “Very well,” said Tatsumi, looking out of the window.

This all seemed to be going very smoothly, almost *too* smoothly. Hisoka would have liked to leave the office, there and then, before things had chance to become difficult, as he knew they eventually would. However, there was the not-so-small problem that he could not possibly face seeing Tsuzuki at the moment. Out of earshot of Konoe, Hisoka asked Tatsumi if it would be possible for him to borrow a laptop and work from home, just for today, making the excuse that he had a bad headache and that being amongst other people would make it worse. This was bullshit and they both knew it, but to his surprise, Tatsumi rather reluctantly agreed. Maybe Tatsumi would secretly be rather glad to see him go, reflected Hisoka, thinking that since Tatsumi and Tsuzuki had got together in a physical sense, maybe things could be sorted out, could work themselves out between the two of them. The dark, pained feelings now leaking out from behind Tatsumi’s shields, however, suggested that things were not that straightforward.

“Obviously, I would rather that you didn’t leave. You’re one of our best shinigami, and Tsuzuki-san *needs* you,” Tatsumi commented, turning to look as Hisoka, who turned away slightly, so he would not have to look Tatsumi in the eyes.

“Wouldn’t it make sense for the two of you to work as partners again?” Hisoka tried to keep his voice steady and gazed vaguely into the middle distance, just over Tatsumi’s shoulder.

“As I’ve said before, you’re the one that Tsuzuki-san needs the most, you are far better suited to being that person’s partner than I am.” Tatsumi’s voice was still level, but the repressed intensity of his emotions told a different story altogether, a story that Hisoka could not quite understand.

“Please, talk things through with him,” Tatsumi continued, his voice now tinged, barely perceptibly, with plea, “And... He’s not the only one who would miss you if you left. We all would. You have become like family to us.”

With that, Tatsumi turned and walked away, leaving Hisoka to gape in astonishment after him. Needed. Wanted. He never really believed those things, but still the words brought a lump to his throat. He tried to blot out the emotion, because he didn’t want to feel anything, and went through to see Watari and ask if he could borrow his laptop for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hisoka forcibly dragged his mind back to the present. What was he going to do now? What the hell was he going to do?? He had convinced himself that if he never thought about Tsuzuki again, never saw him again, he could cope, he’d somehow be alright, even if it was a very tenuous sort of alright. He had needed to do something pretty drastic, to get away completely, because as things stood, Tsuzuki was the centre of his universe. He didn’t understand just how he’d let himself get *so* attached to his partner, so dependant on him, but it had happened. Staring at the screen of the laptop but seeing nothing, he wondered how long he had been in denial of his feelings for, and couldn’t find an answer. Maybe it had taken something like last night to wake him up to what he was really feeling, what he really needed from Tsuzuki. Now he understood *why* he’d been so deep in denial – he didn’t *want* to be woken up to these sorts of feelings, and certainly not this awful lonely, ache of absolute *need*.

He felt almost betrayed, but he realised that this was a stupid thought. What *wrong* had Tsuzuki actually done him, other than unintentionally and unwittingly? Tsuzuki had never promised to love him in that way – sure, he’d flirted plenty of times, and was very warm and physical in his affection, but he’d never actually led him on. Hisoka felt that his absolute trust in Tsuzuki had been shattered, but it wasn’t Tsuzuki’s fault. He’d grown so close to Tsuzuki that he’d almost *expected* that if either of them was to become involved, it would be with each other.

Involved.... Who was he to think of being “involved” with anybody?? His longing for Tsuzuki was totally at odds with his fear of any kind of intimacy. He knew nothing of what love was like except for vicariously, via his empathy, and from the turmoil of his own feelings, but that was enough for him to realise that it would pull down the safety barriers of detachment, autonomy and control, leaving him very vulnerable, lost and dependent. As for doing anything remotely sexual – he couldn’t quite reconcile his desire for Tsuzuki with the fear and loathing Muraki had inspired in him....

~~~~~~~~~~

He had never been fully honest with Tsuzuki about *that night* with Muraki. It had been difficult enough to tell him what little he had. He had admitted to being raped (the fact that it was on his medical records meant that it was pointless pretending otherwise, ditto Muraki’s sick delight in revealing what had happened that night) but the sordid details were something he didn’t even want to remember, much less talk about. He had no choice *but* to remember, though – the myriad of other hateful sensations that still shuddered through the memories of paralysing terror and excruciating agony, through the frightened childlike confusion of “why??”. His own helplessness against Muraki both then and even now left him squirming in enraged, impotent frustration – it wasn’t even as though Muraki had physically restrained him. Yes, he was too terrified to move, and yes, there was no way he could have pushed away or fought against someone so much bigger and stronger than him – trying to get away would have been equally pointless – he would have been so easy to capture again. Muraki hadn’t *needed* to restrain him. But there were other things that had held him captive – the chilling darkness of Muraki’s mind that seeped through him, a mind so damaged, so warped and so loathesome that it was almost demonic. And perhaps worst of all was that somehow, through all of this and the searing pain that shot along all his nerve endings as Muraki forced his engorged organ into the boy’s anal passage, Hisoka’s young body *responded*. Even as his muscles clamped down involuntarily, trying to expel the intrusive hardness, sending him into spasms of agony as Muraki repeatedly thrust inside of him, Hisoka found himself responding to the wet warmth of the mouth kissing his neck, to the friction and weight of Muraki’s body rubbing against his penis. He was scared out of his mind and felt like his muscles were going to tear from the violent invasion, but still, he felt himself harden, sickeningly inappropriate slivers of arousal gradually building, gaining force, his own body betraying him, surrendering all control to his tormentor.

When Muraki finally withdrew from him, leaving a mixture of blood and semen slowly trickling out of him and staining his yukata, Hisoka had hoped it was all over, with what little strength he had left to wish for anything. He wasn’t even sure he could move, desperate though he was to get away. Opening his eyes fearfully, he looked up and saw Muraki, who was still crouched between his legs, licking his lips and leaning forward. Before Hisoka had chance to realise what was about to happen, fingers brushed against and then curled around his shaft, coaxing the semi-flaccid flesh back to hardness.

“No!” muttered Hisoka, his voice hoarse and his throat raw from screaming. He tried to pull back from the hand that cruelly teased his throbbing erection, shuddering with nausea and revulsion at being touched *there* by this sadistic, merciless creature. “You like that, don’t you, my pretty little doll?” purred Muraki, fluttering one finger over the tip, and drawing forth an enraged wail from Hisoka. Then he bent his head forward, and began to lick the head of the young boy’s penis, taking obvious pleasure in the reactions he was provoking. Hisoka whimpered and snarled, clenching his small fists tightly in the fabric of the yukata below him. He squeezed his eyes shut, inwardly howling in frustration and humiliation at the tickly-sweet sensation caused by the tongue lapping at his tip, at the sick shivers of pleasure pulsing through him with every pump of the hand on his shaft. He was acutely aware of how completely bare and exposed he was, of his own weakness and helplessness, of being stripped of every last shred of dignity. His hellish existence of loneliness, rejection, imprisonment and feeling like he was some kind of monster, a blight on his family, had accustomed him to dealing with pain, but nothing had prepared him for feeling so utterly violated, crushed, dirty and degraded as he did at this moment. Finally, the increasingly unbearable stimulation from Muraki’s licking sent him over the edge, and his whole body convulsed, his orgasm splattering them both with the milky fluid.

“Well... look at this,” Muraki observed, dipping his fingers into a puddle of come on Hisoka’s stomach, and then raising his hand, watching the ribbons of sticky fluid slowly drip from his fingers: “The gruesome brilliance of a dying soul departing.” He smirked unpleasantly, inordinately pleased with his work. Hisoka shuddered in fear at his words, and closed his eyes again, overcome with weariness, shock, horror and shame. Now that the overwhelming sexual feelings had died down, he could feel pain again – pain, fear, hatred, disgust and churning queasiness which made him want to vomit and vomit until he had expelled the entire contents of his body. Please god, let this horrible nightmare end, please make it go away, someone, please make him go away.....

But that was not to be the end of his ordeal – merely the start of the torture he was forced to endure....

~~~~~~~~~~

Damn it all to hell, his curse marks had flared up, burning his skin with a searing, scalding pain. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, digging his fingernails into his arms. Despite the unpleasant physical sensation, the marks themselves could never hurt anywhere near as much as the memories they brought back – and knowing he could never be free from this.

He wanted Tsuzuki – and right now, that seemed such a desperate and pointless emotion. Some childlike part of him not only wanted but somehow *expected* Tsuzuki to save him, to be the one person he could safely give all of himself to, the one who would help him to give as well as take... But inside, Tsuzuki was every bit as broken as him, probably far more so. And where was the sense in wanting someone who he had taken a deliberate decision to walk out on? He had abandoned Tsuzuki....

Abandoned... the realization caused a sudden swell of grief and anguish within him, a flood of love, tenderness and compassion for his beautiful, warm, funny and caring yet oh-so-vulnerable partner. Hisoka didn’t like himself enough to think that he ought to matter to Tsuzuki, but somehow that seemed irrelevant to the soft ache inside of him, to the visions of a sad, abandoned and hurting Tsuzuki. To think that *he* might be the one responsible for this broke his heart. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t......

The phone was ringing. He didn’t make any move to answer it – there was no way he could face talking to anyone in this state. The ringing persisted. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer it, even if he had felt capable of talking in coherent sentences, because there was the likelihood that the conversation with whoever was going to be very awkward. He needed to compose himself, at least a little before facing up to things that he knew he couldn’t and mustn’t avoid. The phone continued to ring – whoever it was wasn’t giving up. Maybe it was Tsuzuki?? That thought was enough to make Hisoka pick up the phone.

“Kurosaki-kun? I’m sorry to disturb you, but....”

Hisoka held the phone numbly, answering Tatsumi in monosyllables. He had half-expected this, but that didn’t make him feel any better....



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