The Doll

Watari often wondered if he was insane.

Usually he didn't really worry about how his actions were perceived by the rest of the division, in fact most of the time he embraced his eccentric reputation. It helped him perform his job and also kept his perspective about that job clear most of the time. There was nothing easy about being a shinigami and sometimes the job could be even more 'difficult' than usual.

Taking the current situation as a prime example of when the job became next to impossible, Watari let his practical mind roll through the facts of the case. He and Tatsumi had been dispatched to investigate Rui Kurosaki, Hisoka's mother. They had entered the Kurosaki compound over three months ago and it seemed like they had stepped into a different world. A world designed to test them both to the utmost of their skills.

The case, so simple on paper, had become wickedly complex and confusing. Go and investigate a supernatural pregnancy. Any pregnancy that lasted for going on two years could not be deemed normal by any stretch of the imagination. It had seemed such a straightforward investigation, except at each turn they learned more and more distressing facts, not only about the supernatural elements at play but also the mortal elements.

The family history of infanticide, the threat from Iwao-sama, the elder brother, filled with so much hatred for his brother Nagare. The way the villagers themselves used the Kurosaki family as a sacrifice to protect the village from the supernatural threat of the demon Yatonogami.

And then there was Yatonogami himself. Though vanquished so long ago by Ren Kurosaki, the devil still lurked within the very blood of the Kurosaki clan, a curse placed upon the family for their audacity at attempting to kill a god. A curse that was slowly killing Nagare and would have moved to Hisoka had the boy continued to live.

Watari was hard pressed to decide which was more twisted. But as time wore on, what had come to distress him the most was not the bloody family history of the Kurosaki, nor the demonic presence of Yatonogami. What had become of greatest concern to Yutaka Watari was the emotional attachment he watched his partner, Seiichirou Tatsumi beginning to form with the mortals they were investigating.

Though Tatsumi guarded his heart closely from view, Watari was well aware that when the Kagetsukai took someone, or someones, into his affections he would guard and protect that individual to the limits of his ability.

To the limits and beyond.

Watari had spent nearly three decades watching the man ruthlessly flagellate himself beneath the whip of responsibility. The young shinigami wasn't certain he could stand by and observe Tatsumi take on yet another burden that would only end up crushing the already over-weighted soul of the elder guardian. Despite Tatsumi's assertion to the contrary, he could not shoulder responsibility for the world and Watari wasn't going to stand by and watch him destroy himself in the attempt.

So, he was taking action, drastic, radical action. Action that was perhaps the most foolish he had ever contemplated. Watari had spent over a week weighing his options, trying to see clearly through the maze they had been thrust within and he'd been able to follow only one clear thread of logic.

Yatonogami had to be destroyed.

But, how do you destroy the devil? That question had no easy answer. At least, it had no easy answer at first. Watari's ruthlessly practical mind had worked on a number of theories but the only sound answer to the question was a bloody one and one that Watari was certain his partner would never be able to accept. Even if Tatsumi did follow Watari's suggestion, doing so... agreeing to such actions would destroy something in Tatsumi's already fragile sense of self and Watari simply could not risk his dear friend.

So, there had to be another way, another answer. A day's thought a day's deep contemplation had slowly begun to supply the answer, an answer that was almost more terrible than the question but an answer all the same.

Pit the devil you know against the devil you don't.

Kuzataka Muraki.

It seemed such a remarkably simple solution. So simply it made Watari feel an ache of unease deep within his chest. His mind had bounced away from this particular answer, time and again. Unwilling to face the implications of what he was considering, Watari had refused to entertain the idea of inviting the psychopath into the case, hell of inviting the psychopath into the house of the very young man he'd murdered. Figuring the idea over and done with, Watari had tried to come up with another solution. But as the days rolled past, he'd watched Tatsumi's shoulders begin to bow beneath the weight of stumbling block after stumbling block. As he'd watched his proud partner's head hang more and more often in an attitude of defeat, when Tatsumi thought he wasn't being watched, Watari had come back to the impossible fix to the impossible situation they were faced with.

However, putting Muraki back on the chessboard of their lives was a risky proposition and Watari had to wonder about his decision. Had to wonder about his own sanity that he could come up with such a solution and entertain its implimentation.

"Well... too late to go back now." The blond scientist spoke to himself as he stood outside the small chapel. The same chapel he and Tatsumi had fled atop in order to escape the mob sent to kill them. It was late, well after midnight and Tatsumi was asleep. Watari had left 003 watching his partner, figuring that if Tatsumi woke up and noticed him missing but saw 003 he'd just figure Watari was doing some late night reading.

"Reading of my mental instability maybe," Watari muttered humorlessly, lowering his head and moving towards the chapel's steps. Loosened, his long honey blonde hair swept across his features, obscuring them from view. Dressed in a black turtleneck, tucked into black wool slacks, his coat flipped about his ankles as he mounted the steps.

Decision made, he'd used his connection to Mother to pinpoint Muraki's location. With that information it had been... dangerously easy to get a message to the doctor, requesting the meeting.

Dangerously easy.

"I must be out of my mind."

The chapel was dark. The exception being a lone candle burnt down so low as to be near guttering on the altar. The large room appeared otherwise to be empty, though it was actual impossible to tell given the depth and predominance of the shadows.

Reading spiritual energy was not one of Watari's strong points. He had to concentrate on it, unlike Tatsumi or Tsuzuki who could call it up as natural as breathing. Standing in the doorway, hands still tucked into the pockets of his coat, he tilted his head and began a thorough investigation of the shadows. Careful, for the time being, to keep the exit to his back.

Amber eyes narrowing slightly the Guardian took a deep breath before calling out in a calm, composed voice.

"Muraki-Sensei?"

A low, rich chuckle answer him and a ghostly white figure stepped out of the shadows behind the altar, white trench coat flaring around him like a living thing as he stepped around that structure to take center stage. "And how shall I address you, shinigami? And do you plan to stay in the doorway where you can bolt and run if I say... Boo!"

One gold eyebrow quirked upwards at the doctor's tone of address but Watari was careful not to let any expression beyond polite civility show on his face. Though he had never met Muraki face to face, Watari had heard and read plenty about the doctor. He knew that Muraki was a master at manipulating emotions. Muraki could wind Tsuzuki up faster than the elder Shinigami's worst guilt and Watari tried not to think about what Muraki did to Tatsumi's blood pressure. Watari figured the first key to dealing with Muraki was going to be to keep his composure.

Which translated into no smart-ass retorts. At least, for the moment.

Striding calmly on into the chapel walking midway down the center aisle towards the altar, Watari stopped and gave Muraki a polite bow equal to equal.

"While I have been out of the world for a few years I believe Watari-Sensei would not be amiss."

In truth it had been years... decades, since Watari used the PhD doctorate in front of his surname but he was not about to give Muraki any advantage, if he could help it.

"Very pretty," Muraki said wryly. "But you'll forgive me if I distrust an accord of respect from a dead bureaucrat. Let's leave it at names and dispel the fiction of cordiality, shall we? I'm only here out of curiosity. The most obvious likelihood is that this is a ruse to allow you to attempt to entrap and kill me. Only its obviousness gives any indication of doubt. I'd advise you not to trifle with me. Tell me what you want."

Coming out of his bow, Watari's amber eyes flashed a dangerous gold for a split second from beneath the cover of his lashes. So, the game begins. Very well, Doctor.

Straightening to his full height, aware that Muraki still had a couple of inches on him, Watari shook his hands free of his pockets and began a slow, deliberate stalk on towards the altar. As soon as he cleared the confines of the pews he broke to the left and began to work around towards Muraki's flank.

"Tsk, Sensei. All I have heard about you led me to believe you were a man of impeccable breeding and good manners. Yet, here you are acting quite defensive when I have given you no reason to feel so. However, I am in a generous mood and as such shall overlook your bad humor. It is late after all."

Moving with lithe grace, Watari broke from Muraki's left and began to re-pace the half circle towards Muraki's right. As he walked he let his eyes rake across the doctor's pale form, taking in the trench coat, the powerful body, the soft, platinum blonde hair. Yes, the good doctor still looked much like the picture he'd last seen of the man, yet Watari continued his inspection, the way one might size up an item one was thinking of purchasing.

"Hmm... oh! I'm sorry, do forgive me, Sensei, I have left your question hanging." Watari tapped his temple with his fingers. "Mind goes after the first couple of decades. I am here to offer you a chance to possibly get something you want."

Muraki watched Watari's choreography with a barely lifted eyebrow. The chiding comment rolled off him like water off a snake. If the other man thought he had the kind of pride that could be pricked with words, it was his loss. He never forgot that the shinigami wanted him dead. Self-preservation was something at which he excelled.

"You should have drawn your circle before you summoned me," he said, a shark-like smile curving his attractive lips. "You're wasting my time. A 'chance of possibly' getting something I want? Such chances exist without your help or intervention. Please dispense with the coyness. Tell me what *you* want," his voice didn't rise at all but somehow it seemed to gain power with the last five words. "I'll decide if I feel like bargaining and I will name the price."

Amusement flared in Watari's eyes, an amusement that wasn't all together...kind. There was a part of Watari's mind, a part of his nature that was always close to the surface, though usually very well guarded. Something about Muraki brought that personality quirk a little closer to the fore and Watari felt slightly intoxicated as he sipped cautiously from it.

Turning away from the front of the chapel, the scientist roamed to the first row of pews. Giving his coat a twitch to get it out of the way he threw himself down onto the bench adopting a negligent lean against the pew back. One arm along the scarred wood, lean fingers drumming thoughtfully, he smiled... with open amusement this time.

"You. I want you."

"I see," the doctor's wry tone was a match for Watari's dark amusement. "In that case, take off your coat and come here," the smile seemed to sharpen, even as a stray wind seemed to move through the chapel, stirring Watari's hair and clothes.

Watari couldn't deny that there was a part of him, which felt a serious compulsion to do just what Muraki ordered. Yes, there was a part of him that was very curious to follow the doctor's orders, however he squished that little voice ruthlessly and instead threw his head back and laughed.

Clearing his throat, Watari gave his head a slight shake and crossed one long leg over the opposite knee, a certain fire bright in his gold eyes. It was an interesting contrast to Muraki's icy calm.

"Sensei, I rarely listen to the orders from my superiors. If I start following orders at this late date, it will ruin my reputation."

"But you don't really consider me superior to you, isn't that right? In fact, I think I detect a distinct aura of... slumming." Muraki shrugged. "I'm getting bored."

Watari narrowed his eyes slightly, a thoughtful expression, then he sat forward uncrossing his legs and laying his arms along his thighs tilting his head to study the taller man.

"I... your assistance with a case I am working on would be beneficial to both myself and the case. Your unique talents, let us just say I have a use for them. And, perhaps you might find this case titillating because I have reason to believe that the demon I am up against, manipulated you... quite a few years ago."

"Better," Muraki said, his tone one of a master according a difficult pupil a brief approval. "I suppose you think that this thing I want which will induce me to give you my assistance is the opportunity to best an old enemy?"

Inwardly, Watari twitched a brow at the tone, bridling a bit. Outwardly, he didn't allow it to effect his expression. Instead, a curious little smile made his lips twitch. Standing, full of his usual restless energy, he began to pace back and forth in front of the aisle.

"Oh, now, Sensei. I would not insult you by offering such a paltry reward for your time. No, the opportunity to best an old enemy is only... shall we say a guiding motivation."

Pausing, the shinigami turned. One hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, pushing his coat back away from his slender hips.

"No. The... chip I hold out, in exchange for you assistance, your focused assistance... is something I believe you've desired for most of your adult life. The chance to animate and kill your brother."

Muraki stilled to the mobility of a statue. For all of ten seconds. "Not enough," he said, and then smiled. "Give my regards to Tsuzuki. And to that annoying boy."

Watari's lips twitched. A part of him had thought to anticipate this game, though he honestly had not expected it to become an issue. However, it would appear it had. Remaining still, he gave only his head motion in a slight nod.

"Very well, I'll be curious. What would you deem proper payment?"

The comment about Tsuzuki and Hisoka was firmly set out of Watari's mind. He would not allow Muraki to get under his skin by using his friends.

Muraki paused, in the act of turning away. He looked at Watari. His eyes, one obscured by his platinum hair, roamed with cataloging precision from the sunny crown of Watari's hair to the tips of his boots.

"You, I think," the doctor said. "Make your tasteless joke of earlier a reality. That would be enough, possibly, to hold my attention for a little while. Perhaps long enough to accomplish what you desire."

Despite being well aware of Muraki's penchant for engaging in sexual harassment, Watari had not honestly expected such a request and perhaps the surprise showed on his fine features for a split second before he exerted control over himself.

Stupid Yutaka. You forgot that Muraki wields sex like a power play. Bad, bad thing to forget! Watari mentally chastised himself, even as he considered his position.

Locking his eyes on Muraki's form, returning the head to toe regard, Watari's quick mind raced along his options. He could, of course, let Muraki walk out and find another way to approach the problem. He could let Muraki walk and go to Tatsumi and see if he could bring his partner's focus back to the case.

It will kill something in Seiichirou if he tries to distance himself now. The Kurosaki family is in his heart...I can't let him be hurt. I promised myself I'd protect him... my best bet is the devil I summoned. You did this, Yutaka... you can't back out now.

Lifting his chin, Watari smiled darkly. He recognized that his position at least, was a little more unique than Tsuzuki or Hisoka. He was not as emotionally fragile as Tsuzuki, nor as vulnerable as the young mortal Hisoka had been.

"Hmm... you propose an interesting experiment indeed, Sensei." Watari tilted his head to stare up at the ancient beams of the chapel. "An interesting experiment indeed."

Lifting one slender finger to his chin to tap at his lips thoughtfully, the gesture covering the butterflies Watari suddenly felt in his gut, the scientist seemed to ponder his answer for a few minutes before turning too look Muraki directly in the eyes.

"I accept."

Muraki's eyes glittered in what could be described as nothing less than predatory pleasure. "You have a deal." The doctor's hand lifted, and he summoned Watari to him with a finger.

Disobedience flashed across Watari's face even as he forced his legs to carry him forward. You did this to yourself. Gah! Yes, but that doesn't mean I have to make it easy.

Though the scientist moved to stand within arms reach of Muraki the tilt of his head, the expression in his eyes and on his face his entire body language was challenging. He might have obeyed the order but there was nothing submissive in the rest of his manner. Watari carefully began to distance his mind from his emotions preparing to engage Muraki in a game where he would be foolish not to recognize the doctor's superior skill.

The small distance, the symbol of his defiance, swirled with another small gust of wind, tugging at his clothes and lifting his hair like caressing fingers.

Muraki didn't take a step to close the distance. Rather, Watari felt the wind at his back, almost solidly tangible, push him forward, rocking him off balance. A pair of strong arms caught him against a broad chest before he could fall, and the candle behind them guttered and went out, leaving the chapel in darkness.

"I've always wondered at the presumption of a god or devil who unerringly chooses pretty shinigami," the doctor's low voice purred in Watari's ear. Lips ghosted along in the wake of the words and then strong teeth closed on his earlobe, followed by the warm wet touch of tongue.

The wind against his back was a solid reminder that Muraki was not without his own supernatural abilities. Watari stumbled forward, half expecting to be left to fall on his face, startled when instead he was caught and fetched up against the warm, powerful body.

Taking an automatic step forward to get his own balance back he froze, eyes closed as sensations alternating from revulsion, to pain, to pleasure raced through his body. As he had little hope of quelling the sensual shiver that raced through his slender muscles, he let the small display of reaction pass on to Muraki. In fact, he took another step forward getting his feet solidly under him and also pressing his body full length against the doctor.

His head now level with Muraki's shoulder, Watari turned his face letting his lips brush past the soft, platinum blonde hair. Pressing close enough that his warm, moist breath could tickle the taller man's pale ear the blond shinigami laced his tone with a mixture of amusement, curiosity and perhaps even excitement.

"Funny, I've wondered a few things myself. Tell me, Sensei, what was it like... that first meeting with the half brother your father sired on a patient mere hours after your own conception?"

"It was painful," Muraki answered, reaching up to thread his fingers through Watari's golden locks. "Does that please you? I felt shock, then terror, then, for a few brief seconds the breathless possibility that I might have a... a friend, a companion of my own age who could understand my feelings. Then I looked into his eyes and saw something I was hardly equipped to understand. A malevolent evil, a desire to take and a hate that was beyond my comprehension." A soft, amused laugh tickled the skin of Watari's neck. "It was pretty much downhill from there. Curiosity satisfied?"

Amazing. How was it, Watari wondered, that he found himself echoing the small, pained chuckle when Muraki said, it was pretty much downhill from there? How was it that he could feel the way the realization of the reality of the situation with Saki could have hurt the child Muraki had been?

Get a grip, Taka. You're feeling *emotions* for a devil. Keep your focus on the game. Still, though he ruthlessly shuffled the information and the emotions away from the surface of his mind, they didn't disappear entirely. Rather they began to mesh and meld with the rest of what he knew about the doctor.

Shifting, in a side to side motion that allowed him to brush back and forth against Muraki's body, Watari answered the doctor's question.

"Mm... for the moment."

"Good. I don't mind sharing these little things with you since they don't matter," Muraki murmured, licking Watari's neck. "And since we are going to be spending some time together." His fingers closed, fisting around Watari's hair, pulling his head back slowly, almost gently. His tongue feathered around to the other side of the shinigami's neck. "What is your given name?"

Watari's lips twitched upwards at Muraki's first words.

Don't they Sensei? Don't they matter? It would appear to me that they matter quite a bit, but perhaps now is not the time to debate such... mmmm no. Now is not the time at all. Watari thought to himself as his head was drawn back.

A part of the blond shinigami waited for the strike, for the pain. He knew that the very waiting itself was a form of torture and forced himself to release his expectation. Relaxing the muscles of his neck and upper back, allowing his head and body to follow Muraki's guidance for the moment. With his balance shifted by the hold the doctor had on his hair, Watari finally moved his hands reaching up to close the fingers of one hand around Muraki's hip to steady himself the other curling around the wrist close to where Muraki held his hair.

Though he wished his had a little more control over his response to the feather like touches of the older man's tongue against his throat, Watari couldn't dispel another shudder of pleasure. Trying to bring his mind back to the game at hand, Watari made himself concentrate on the implications of giving Muraki his name. It was to give Muraki knowledge, which was dangerous. Knowledge was the only advantage that Watari possibly had at the moment. A name... a name... such a simple thing... such a powerful thing... Watari laughed deep in his chest as he felt his fatalistic nature dance along the edges of his conscious mind.

"Yutaka."

Pressed against the doctor as he was, Watari could feel the man's chest move with a pleased chuckle. "Yutaka-kun," he murmured. "It suits you. And you seem to have no shyness about accepting an embrace from someone of the same gender. Were you a homosexual in life?" The question might have been idle, if anything Muraki did could be that. He licked along Watari's jawline to the opposite ear and nibbled that earlobe. The hand not holding Watari's hair slid under the shinigami's coat and pressed against the small of his back, slowly sliding down to cup the curves of his ass.

The scientist's lips twitched at the Yutaka-kun. It had been nearly half a century since he'd last been addressed in such a fashion. A part of him knew he should protest against the -kun, especially from Muraki, but to react to the doctor's words in protest was to show the doctor a weakness, and Watari was trying to keep from giving away no more than he had to.

Words could be countered with words. Watari didn't feel the need to engage Muraki in a direct confrontation over his name. Instead, he concentrated on the latter words, ignoring how good Muraki's hand felt against the small of his back.

Yutaka... you need to get out of the lab more. You're responding to a man who you know to be dangerous... what the hell is wrong with you?

He did, at least, maintain enough of his wits to recognize the skillful way Muraki wove both inflammatory remarks in with remarks designed to get Watari to betray more about himself. Chuckling, softly, he shook his head from side to side within the hold of Muraki's hand.

"From your file, it somewhat surprises me to find your own interest in your own gender. Now, Tsuzuki... that I suppose I can understand. You desired Tsuzuki's body for a number of reasons and we won't discuss his mind. But you were engaged, Sensei. What did happen to that woman who would have been your wife?"

"I've forgotten," Muraki replied, not bothering to make it sound truthful. "The answer is simple. Most women are too easy to terrorize."

His hand squeezed the fullness of Watari's curves. With their bodies pressed together, Watari could feel something firm and hard pressing into him below the waist. "It's not gender that interests me. It's sex. Because sex is about wanting and taking."

Watari could hear the lie in Muraki's words and it caused Watari's eyebrows to arch a little over heavy lidded eyes. He considered calling Muraki on the lie but let it go. While the honest answer could have been enlightening, the fact that Muraki refused to answer was information of its own.

Watari felt his own lashes brush against the sensitive skin below his eyes as he closed them and took a moment to catalogue everything he felt. Muraki's, warm skin and strong wrist, the soft wool that encased the man's angular hip, the feel of the taller man's hardness against his own hip. The last surprised Watari a little as he couldn't be entirely sure what it was about him that might be turning Muraki on.

What a strange unknown to the game? How odd. Watari thought to himself. Despite his sudden trepidation, the scientist firmly reminded himself. The game. I need to play the game. This is important. This case is important, to Tatsumi, to Hisoka and to Tsuzuki.

Releasing his hold on Muraki's wrist, Watari began to lightly trail his fingers up along the other man's arms, staying to the skin for as long as he could before moving his hand along the fabric of the white trench coat the doctor was wearing.

"You know, I'd always believed that sex was about wanting and sharing." Sliding one leg in between Muraki's thighs, Watari emphasized his point by locking the warm hollow of his hip across the taller man's erection, trapping it between the warmth of their bodies. Then he rocked his lower body in a deft movement designed and executed to exert deliciously pleasurable friction against the clothed manhood.

Muraki lifted his head from the oral exploration of Watari's neck and face. He was smiling. "Perhaps you'll change your mind," he said, openly enjoying the subtle dance Watari was doing against him. Then he bent and kissed Watari on the lips. Unhurriedly, taking time to taste the surface before coaxing his mouth open to explore the interior. The hand in Watari's hair shifted to cradle the back of his head, supporting it and also holding it in place.

I am playing with fire. Was the only thought that Watari could focus on for a moment. Of course he'd had a response on his lips for Muraki's words. Something to the effect that it might all come down to who played the game to win, but his words were cut off when Muraki's lips caressed his own.

They're warm. Was the first coherent thought Watari had after Muraki began to kiss him. Huh. He parted his lips, granting Muraki's tongue entrance into his mouth. Waiting until the taller man began his exploration before darting his own tongue deep into Muraki's mouth using the tip to tickle along the roof of the doctor's mouth before moving on to tease along sensitive spots in the man's mouth.

The hand he had on Muraki's hip finally moved. Sliding around to the doctor's back, Watari splayed his fingers so that the tips of his index and middle finger played along the curve and crack of Muraki's ass, encased in the white trousers, his thumb kneading against the small of the taller man's back.

Muraki accepted Watari's tongue, rocked a little in answer to the touch of his hand. And the kiss deepened... deepened... the heat rose and rose. It was as if Muraki could sense not just Watari's conscious reactions, the responses he chose to give, but also the ones that went deeper, the ones that surprised even Watari; could sense them, and had begun making them his allies. It wasn't like being hit by a sudden storm. It was like being slowly sucked into quicksand.

And just as unhurriedly, Muraki lifted his head, licked his lips, and smiled as he released the shinigami from his embrace. "Your accountant partner needs you," he said, his voice low and amused. "I'll come tomorrow night. Be ready with everything you know about the case."

He should not have been caught off guard by the tactic. It was a classic one but it still took Watari a beat to get his mind wrapped around what Muraki was doing. It was a beat that he recovered, quickly even if his body was still humming with needs he hadn't explored in many, many years.

Stepping back from the embrace, Watari's lips twitched in silent acknowledgment of what Muraki had just done. It would do no good to try to deny it. The scientist knew his amber eyes had darkened down to a deep burnished gold color, keen indicators of his response to the doctor.

Tilting his head towards one of the small windows in the chapel, Watari tried to get an idea of what time it was... he'd lost track. Not that he was ever that good at keeping track of time! He looked back at Muraki, curious as to why the man would say Tatsumi needed him but letting it go for the moment.

"Back here then. Tomorrow evening. I will bring the information we know so far." Ah, not bad. His voice was only a little velvety.

"No," Muraki said. "Not back here. I will come to you. You have a room, the door closes. If you want my help, I will need to be there. I'm surprised you haven't said you want to keep my participation from the other shinigami," he commented, an odd glimmer coming from the eye half shielded by his hair.

Taking a step away from Muraki, Watari slid his hand into the back pocket of his slacks, shrugging lightly. "EnMaDaiOh's eyes are far seeing. There is nothing I can do without his knowledge. As he's not struck me down, or drawn me back to Meifu for even entertaining the thoughts I do about using you, something must hold his interest. As for the other Shinigami..." Watari's lips twitched. "This will not be the first time my actions have, displeasured them. However, I'm surprised you would want to risk running afoul of Tatsumi by coming to me. As I remember, his shadows put a hurting on you the last time you two tangled, and he... is as unsparing as ever I think you will find."

Muraki's smile could only be guessed in the darkness. "The King of Hell cares far less about his subordinates' actions, or their safety, than you seem to believe. As for the shadow-wielder, I'd welcome the opportunity to study his magic a second time. There was a bargaining chip you overlooked, but I'm satisfied with the deal. Wanting and taking... your wanting and my taking..." the chuckle trailed off into silence. Watari could not detect any other sign of the doctor's presence it appeared he had been left alone in the empty chapel.

Watari exhaled a deep breath and let a frown crease his features. Reaching up, he nudged his glasses up along his nose with a finger against the brim.

"I must be out of my mind." He repeated the words for what felt like the hundredth time since he'd first thought about Muraki. "Now... how in the name of Hades am I going to get Tatsumi out of the room."

Turning, rubbing his temple to soothe the sudden ache that had taken up residence behind his right eye, Watari headed towards the door of the chapel. He supposed he should be concerned about the way Muraki had just, vanished or the other bargaining chip... yes... that was curious indeed but at the moment he couldn't decide who worried him more.

Muraki, or Tatsumi.

Dawn was bathing the rural landscape in a soft gray light as Watari made his way back towards the Kurosaki compound. The thought that he could just teleport himself back to the room he shared with Tatsumi crossed his mind but he dismissed it. He felt the need to walk. To work off some of the restless energy that was coursing through his veins as a result of his encounter with the doctor.

As researchers often do he muttered to himself as he walked attempting to work his brain around the events at the chapel.

"How in the name of Meifu, did it not occur to you what that man might pull, and once he pulled it, what the hell were you thinking going along with it?" Watari flung his arms out to the side in a wild gesture as he berated himself.

"Okay... okay... let's think here. I might have misjudged just have badly he wants revenge on his brother... though... I mean... he's been pickling that head on a jar for well over two decades... this is not the act of some one who doesn't feel strongly about the subject."

Here Watari paused and stared at a small thrush hopping along the ground chasing a morning worm.

"Of course... this is not the act of someone in full control of his faculties... though... I must admit I do have to wonder how he's managed to sustain the head and brain function all this time. There must have been some degradation in the brain activity, right?"

The thrush ignored the ranting man and continued to chase his worm.

"I mean, without the benefit of day to day stimuli, eventually the brain would have to weaken in some areas... like a muscles atrophying from lack of use. I wonder if Muraki found a way to compensate for that lack..." Watari paused, blinked and them smacked his palm over his face, jamming his glasses painfully against the bridge of his nose.

"I can't believe I'm standing here pondering this."

Giving his head a shake, the young shinigami continued his brisk walk. He already had a long stride and keeping up with the slightly taller Tatsumi had only encouraged Watari's naturally quick pace.

"Well, no matter. How I came to be in this situation is not as bothersome as what I'm going to do with myself now that I'm here. I can't let myself get caught with my pants down again." Watari emphasized his point to himself by jabbing a finger in the air. He then paused in mid step and blinked.

"Okay... that was an unfortunate choice of wording." The scientist could feel a slight blush stain his cheeks.

Still once more, Watari turned his face up towards the lightening morning sky and exhaled a deep breath.

"By Enma... I responded to him. I was responding to his touch... his warmth...his kiss... what the hell is wrong with me? This man is a sociopath. He plays mind games for fun. He tortured the Kid... he tortured Tsuzuki. He uses people as if they were objects on a giant playground for him to toy with..."

Watari paused and then winced slightly.

"Mmm... I suppose I've been accused of the same behavior from time to time. But regardless... he has hurt people I care about and here I am agreeing to bed with him... or whatever we agreed to... in order to... help people I care about."

Watari let his words drift away on the morning breeze, tasting them in his mouth and in his mind and wincing.

"And also because I'm just arrogant enough to think I can come out on the winning side of this encounter. It's just my body I've bargained not my mind. I can live with bargaining my body it's not the first time. If it will help Seiichirou... if it will help Kurosaki-kun's family... I can do this... I can. Just...how did this game get so deep so fast?"

Reaching up the scientist pushed his slender hand through his thick gold hair, letting the soft threads run through his fingers. He shivered as he remembered the feel of Muraki fisting his hair, pulling his head back, kissing his throat.

"Damn it... damn me!"

Watari growled, yanking his hand out of his hair and moving forward once again. Firmly pushing his thoughts to the side for the time being, Watari shifted to spirit form as he came close to the compound, moving along the grounds and into the house in a stealthy manner designed not to upset the morning chores being performed by the household staff.

The young shinigami honestly believed that Muraki had just been playing with his head when he'd said that Tatsumi needed him. Using the convenient words to add an extra dig to the insult of pushing Watari away from the heated embrace. Watari had forced himself to ignore the words the same way he forced himself to take careful note of what Muraki had just done so as not to be caught flat-footed by the action again. So it was a bit of a shock for Watari when he shifted back to human form only to come nose to nose with his highly agitated partner.

"Where, have you been?" Tatsumi's voice was calm, firm and direct but his sapphire blue eyes were tense and his powerful body was thrumming with barely contain energy.

Watari blinked and took a step back. Then he plastered a bright smile on his face, "Oh, just out enjoying the morning air."

Now it was Tatsumi's turn to blink. "Morning air... Watari-san you hate mornings let alone morning air." Tatsumi turned and walked a few paces away. "You didn't go to sleep last night did you? I hope you weren't up burning our host's electricity."

Watari had long ago realized that much of Tatsumi's apparent penny-pinching ways was actually a response to emotional strain. The more chaotic his emotional life became the more intense Tatsumi would become, about things he could control. It was a defense mechanism, and rather then being upset by the scold, Watari focused on the emotional stress it indicated.

"No, Tatsumi I was not burning up Nagare-san's electrical bill. I had some things to sort out in my mind about the case so I took a walk."

It wasn't an out and out lie. He had been out on a walk, it had been about the case and he had been sorting something out. It just wasn't the whole truth.

Tatsumi was already up and dressed for the day. He was back to wearing his three-piece suits, and today he looked quite dapper in a suit of dark charcoal gray. A bright blue tie was matched with the sober color, setting off the older guardian's eyes and Watari felt a little flip somewhere in the corner of his mind where he'd locked away his more intense feelings for his partner.

Whoopsie, Watari thought to himself, firmly squashing the little tickle of enhanced awareness.

Tatsumi gave the knot of his tie one last adjustment and then moved to tidy up his bed pallet.

"I hope you have not left yourself too sleep sodden to be of use today Watari-san. I want you to stay with Nagare-san while I go down to the village and talk to the police. I know they keep insisting the doctor's death was an accident but I'm hoping that maybe someone will start talking if we keep pressing."

Leaning against the doorframe, Watari crossed his arms over his chest and watched his partner with an expression of fondness.

You are stressed over Nagare-san aren't you my friend? Look at you, Seiichirou... you're fluffing the pillows and I think that sheet has less wrinkles then when it came out from under the iron.

The brush of feathers and the shifting of air alerted Watari to 003's presence as the little owl alighted on his shoulder with a welcoming chirp. Reaching up to brush the owl's breast feathers with an absent finger, Watari wasn't quite prepared for the ear-splitting shriek she issued a second later.

"What the!?!" Tatsumi exclaimed, whipping his head around and bringing his hands up in a position to direct a shadow attack.

003 launched off Watari's shoulder, now hooting and chirping in a frantic, agitated manner. The scientist made a lunge for his owl, but the little bird easily dodged his outstretched hands and flew across the room to Tatsumi. Landing on Tatsumi's shoulder she crawled up towards the back of his neck and huddled against his soft, dark chestnut hair, shivering violently and chirping in a worried manner.

Watari froze. He knew that Tatsumi couldn't understand the little owl but he also knew that 003 was reacting to the scent of Muraki. He hadn't thought about it when he left the chapel but they had been so close. Watari's eyes flicked from 003 to Tatsumi's face and back, wondering how far Tatsumi would pursue the owl's curious behavior.

"Watari-san... what is wrong with your owl?" Tatsumi asked in measured tones, frozen in place by the strange sensation of the warm little bird tucked up against his neck.

"Er...I guess she's miffed at me about something." Again, Watari was desperate not to lie to his partner but he also wasn't quite ready to hit Tatsumi with the whole truth.

For a second, Tatsumi's blue eyes softened and his face looked sweetly boyish as he grinned. "Yes, I rather think she might be. Perhaps you should take her and see if you two can kiss and make up?"

Watari rolled his eyes at Tatsumi and approached, once again reaching for his owl. Just before his fingers could close around the little bird, she shrieked once again and scampered to the other side of Tatsumi's broad shoulders. The scientist quickly stepped back his amber eyes concerned, as he looked at his agitated little feathered friend.

Tatsumi frowned as well. Though intensely focused on the plight of the people living within the Kurosaki compound, he was not completely oblivious. Both Watari and now 003 were acting extremely strangely.

"Watari," Tatsumi's blue eyes searched his partner's face, "Yutaka?"

Watari was able to meet Tatsumi's eyes for only a count of two seconds, than he had to turn away, exploding into motion as he moved towards a closet where he kept his clothes.

"If it's all right with you, Tatsumi and I'm sure it is..." a bright smile was beamed over the scientist's shoulder, "I'll just grab myself a quick wash. It will help clear the cobwebs out of my head. If she's bothering you, just put her down by the computer. She'll be fine."

And then, in a whirlwind of cloth, blond hair and a sort of desperate energy... Watari disappeared into the small bathing area that sat just off their rooms.

Tatsumi stood there, confused and concerned. He reached up a large hand and gently rubbed his fingers across 003's soft wings, trying to sooth the trembling little creature now hiding against his neck. Something was definitely up with Watari. He was certain of it now.

The question was... what?

How time flies when you're having fun, Watari thought wryly to himself as he sat by Nagare's bedside.

Keeping his promise to Tatsumi in an attempt to give his partner whatever peace the older man would allow himself, Watari had stayed close to Nagare for much of the day. It chaffed him a little because it kept him from his computer and much needed research but he'd filled his time with trying to write out his thoughts. Of course, he did so much with the computer these days that long hand seemed positively alien and the scientist had eventually given up.

After a bath, in which he scrubbed himself from tip to toe, 003 had seemed to forgive him. The little owl had flown gingerly around him four or five times before finally alighting on his shoulder. As soon as his hair, richly scented with cedar wood and sage, brushed across her feathers she'd relaxed, though he knew she watched him with hints of reproach.

Just what I need, my owl and my partner pissed at me.

At the thought of his partner, Watari cast a quick glance towards the clock in the room. Tatsumi had been gone investigating most of the day. Watari knew Tatsumi had his own methods and liked to investigate on his own. Part of him wanted to be hurt by his partner's lack of trust in him but Watari recognized that it was just Tatsumi's way.

Besides, once he learns what I've gone and done, he'll never let me off my leash again... once he stops killing me for the umpteenth time.

Pushing to his feet the young shinigami walked towards a window. It was dusk out. The colorful sunset gone behind the mountains, leaving the landscape covered in gray light and shadows. His back to the doorway, Watari jumped a little when he heard the door slide open. Spinning around, the young shinigami exhaled a tense breath when he recognized the dark shadow of his partner in the entranceway.

"Oh, good evening Tatsumi. You gave me a start."

"Obviously, Watari-san. I would expect you to be a little more aware of your surroundings," Tatsumi scolded, frowning as he moved into the dark room towards the bed where Nagare lay.

Kneeling down by the pallet, the shadow-master ran his eyes over the resting form of the master of the house.

"How has he been?"

Leaning against the window frame, Watari watched the back of his partner's head. Lips quirked in a wry expression he smiled gently.

"Quiet. He got up for a few hours, in the middle of the day and we walked for a little bit. Walked down to Hiso... err... we walked down to the graves. He stayed with them for a little while, then wanted to come back. He's been resting ever sin..."

Watari was cut off by the sound of commotion running through the house. Nothing overly startling but definitely the sounds of the servants answering the door. Tensing, thinking immediately that it might be Iwao-sama, Watari moved away from the window towards the door. Unconsciously putting himself between his partner and the bundle of aggression that was Nagare's brother. It wasn't until his hand was on the doorframe that Watari remembered...

Oh, Hades in a handbasket... Muraki.

There was a light tap on the door a few minutes later as Meiya looked inside, her eyes flickering from the two 'doctors' to Nagare. "Master?"

Though his eyes had been closed, the sick man sounded quite awake when he said, "Yes?"

"Master, there is a visitor who is asking to see you. We've explained that you are unwell but he is very insistent and he..." he look flickered again to Tatsumi and Watari, "He says he is also a doctor... He gave me his card."

Nagare opened his eyes and sat up, extending his hand. Meiya crossed to him and placed the card on his palm.

Nagare looked at the card on his hand and his eyebrows rose. He frowned, and an odd spasm, an expression almost of cruel enjoyment seemed to pass over his features before they melted into quite a different expression one of a weariness or sadness.

"Show him in, Meiya," he said.

Still kneeling by the pallet, Tatsumi watched Nagare with an expression of calm concern. It did not immediately occur to him to question the presence of another doctor. After all, Watari was not a medical doctor and if ever a house needed a medical doctor it was the Kurosaki house. The shadow-master frowned a little as he watched the emotions dance across Nagare's face. The house was so full of questions... so full of secrets... sometimes even Tatsumi despaired that he'd be able to work through all the shadows.

Watari could not be quite as calm and composed as his partner was. Restless by nature and spurred to pacing by the explosion he anticipated was coming, the blond shinigami paced away from the door towards the window. Reaching the window he turned almost immediately around, like a man whom had absent-mindedly forgotten his keys, and moved back towards the center of the room. Watari angled his slight body in a way that once again put him between Tatsumi and what was about to come through that door.

Watari didn't doubt that Muraki would play the role of guest civility to the max, however, Tatsumi was wound so tight the scientist feared that his partner might snap if given the proper target.

And if it was one thing all of Meifu knew, it was that Muraki was one of Tatsumi's prime targets.

The girl left the room momentarily and then returned, escorting a tall man who was a striking vision of white. In the spiritual miasma that seemed to linger over the room, he seemed to shine almost with an inner glow. Ignoring any other occupants of the room, he came to the side of the sick man and bowed with deep reverence.

"Nagare-san," his deep voice was melodious and warm. "It pains me to see you in such a state."

Tatsumi immediately powered to his feet, his sapphire blue eyes darkening immediately with intense anger and disgust. His hands curled into fists at his sides and he twitched as if to reach and grab Muraki away from Nagare, but something in the way the sick man returned the doctor's greetings held the Kagetsukai frozen in place.

Tense enough to have stopped breathing, Watari watched both Tatsumi and Muraki closely. For him, Nagare had almost ceased to exist. His entire focus was on the two men now standing by the sick man's bedside.

"You have been away for such a long time, Sensei," Nagare said calmly, as to an old acquaintance. "I thought you had decided our little backwater no longer held any interest for a man of your skills."

Muraki knelt by the pallet and bowed again. "It was my shame in being unable to prevent the death of your child that kept me away, Nagare-san," Muraki said, his tone of voice flawlessly sincere. "But to find you ill now grieves me more than I can say."

"I know you tried your best, Muraki-sensei," Nagare said. Another little spasm seem to pass over his face and his slitted eyes opened a little wider for a moment, as a sound that resembled a laugh quickly turned into a cough. "Forgive my bluntness but I've learned to use time expediently. What brings you here now?"

"Concern for you, Nagare-san," Muraki answered, observing the man with eyes that missed nothing. "And the hope that where I failed the son, I might succeed with the father. In short, I would serve you, if you will give me permission to do so."

Nagare's lids lifted once again and his serpentine eyes regarded Muraki in a glitter of malice before they lowered. Nagare seemed to pause as if considering. "I doubt there is anything you can do for me that you have not already done," he said. Then after another brief pause, "But I'm honored that a man of such learning would take the time to come here. I won't forbid you. Examine me and make your diagnosis."

Watari didn't need telepathy or any other type of mental power to feel the anger and helpless fury pouring off Tatsumi at the moment. Though the elder guardian stepped back politely when Muraki approached Nagare, Tatsumi's whole body was tense with a predatory need to attack. Watari knew that Tatsumi would never forgive or forget the pain and suffering Muraki had visited on Tsuzuki and for Tatsumi there was no worse crime in this world or the next than harming Tsuzuki. The only thing that seemed to be keeping Tatsumi from action was the man's iron-like will and determined control. Watari knew Tatsumi would never allow himself to indulge in a vulgar display of temper in front of the *Master of the House*, but what would happen when they left Nagare's room, that was another story.

Muraki continued to ignore the other two men as if they did not exist. He took Nagare's wrist in his hand and felt for his pulse, not once but several times in different places, in the fashion of the Chinese physician. He noted the papery, almost scaly feeling of the man's skin. Lastly, he held a hand up to Nagare's face, shielding him from the light in the room with a curved palm while lifting one eyelid, and then the other, with the most delicate of touches. He leaned back, his expression grave.

"Possession is a difficult illness, Nagare-san," he said calmly. "But one I have cured in the past. This is the most intensive case I have ever seen. But there is a chance I can defeat it if you will allow me to work with you."

While Watari was caught, not only by some of the subtle reactions Nagare was having to Muraki but Muraki's pronouncement as well, Tatsumi hit critical mass.

Straightening to his full height and clearing his throat, the shadow-master took a step forward his voice polite, almost conversational but for the tightness in his tone and the clipped way he spoke his words.

"Sensei, perhaps a consultation with Watari-sensei before we settle upon such a dire diagnosis." In other words, let's talk... NOW!

A shadow flickered along the bedspread as Tatsumi spoke, perhaps not entirely under its master's control but definitely reacting to its master's state of mind.

Muraki looked up, as if noticing someone else in the room for the first time. His gaze passed dismissively over Tatsumi, for all his imposing stature, and flickered toward the other indicated individual, 'Watari-sensei'. "My apologies. Of course you have your own doctors to care for you, Nagare-san. However, I doubt any of them have my experience with the pernicious malady that is sapping your very life from your body. However if it is your will that I consult with them, I will of course do so," he said, placing the matter in the headman's lap.

Nagare's thin lips curved slightly. "In truth, I believe you when you state your superior experience, Muraki-sensei," he said. "But it would be rude to overrule Watari-sensei and his assistant so summarily. Consult with each other, if you wish. Tomorrow you can tell me what plan you have devised, if any plan can confront such a fate as mine." Nagare sank back and rested one thin hand over his eyes. "Leave me until then," he said, his voice fading.

Muraki rose gracefully and bowed again, before turning with a cordial but almost dismissive lift of his silver eyebrow at the other men, leading the way to the door.

Tatsumi hesitated, looking down at Nagare with open concern. He had no wish to leave the man but he couldn't disobey a command from the head of the house. Bowing towards Nagare with a grace and form that was enviable he turned and stalked past Watari his eyes fixed on Muraki's broad shoulders.

Watari's bow was just as respectful, though not as gracefully executed as Tatsumi's. The blond appeared to scurry a little as he spun on his heels, labcoat and hair flaring out behind him as he ducked towards the door.

Tatsumi had a long, purposeful stride but Watari was getting used to keeping up with the older man and in two quick jumps was right beside him.

"Don't kill him, Tatsumi," Watari muttered, sotto voiced.

"Why. Not?" Tatsumi snarled through his teeth.

"Erm... cause between the two of you you'd really damage the house."

"This house was irrevocably damaged when that man murdered its son."

There was a small pause before Watari said in a pensive voice, "Well... you have to admit, that's kinda open to debate."

A comment which caused Tatsumi to pause in his stalking of Muraki and spin on his partner. The rage in the shadow-master's blue eyes caused Watari to take a quick hop step back.

Muraki chuckled, audibly, without turning around. He simply continued walking through the house as if he knew it well, turning into an empty room that was used to receive guests in happier days of the family. Going inside, he made himself comfortable on a western-style chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest, waiting for the two shinigami to follow him.

"It would be a pity to destroy the house before the old man expires," he said aloud to the room.

Tatsumi firmly ignored Muraki, choosing instead to growl at his partner, "What is not open for debate is the fact that *that* man's presence in this house is an abomination. His words to Nagare-san are a sickness and he will not defile this domicile a moment longer."

Backed up against the wall, Watari held up his hands in a placating manner. Though Tatsumi made no moves that would be considered violent or rash, the burning hatred the shadow-master felt for Muraki seemed an almost tangible force.

"Really, Tatsumi that's not our call, I mean it's Nagare-san's house." Watari firmly tried to forget that he himself had issued the devil the invitation, at least for the moment.

"Nagare-san is ill, he needs our protection, especially from... a creature such as Muraki."

Somehow saying the doctor's name reminded Watari of the man's presence, albeit in the other room and he cleared his throat.

"Ah, speaking of which... don't you think that maybe it would be best if you and I didn't bicker in front of the nice sociopath? It makes them feel superior."

For a moment, Watari thought Tatsumi was going to go against his better judgment and flatten him into the wall but at the last moment the agitated Kagetsukai turned away from his partner with a dismissive snap of his hand, stalking into the room where Muraki reclined.

Still out in the corridor, Watari indulged in a deep breath. Taking a moment to lift his hand, pushing his glasses out of the way so he could rub his eyes with his thumb and his index finger, muttering softly to himself, "I am out of my mind."

In the room, Tatsumi stopped a few paces between the door and the chair Muraki was seated in and simply said, "Get out. You have no right to be in this house."

"No," Muraki said, just as directly, and smiled. "I'm not leaving. I don't care about rights, but if I did, permission from poor, doomed Nagare-san is sufficient. And of the abominations currently residing in this house," he added, showing that he had somehow overheard them, "I imagine I am, if not the least, certainly not the greatest."

Tatsumi throttled back on his urge to lash a hand in the man's direction, sending the shadows from where they lurked in the corners of the neglected room, hurtling in Muraki's direction. His hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically and his eyes narrowed.

"Why are you even here?" Perhaps the question should have come to him earlier but shock and anger had overridden sense for quite a few moments back in Nagare's room.

Watari, who was just now slipping around the edge of the doorframe, leaned back against the wall watching Muraki from behind Tatsumi's back. Though internally the young shinigami felt his gut clench with anticipation of the explosion that would occur if Muraki gave their deal away, outwardly he looked only curious and perhaps even slightly amused.

Muraki smiled a lovely, beautiful lizard smile.

"They say we always return to the scene of the crime, don't they? And who am I to disappoint *them*?" he said sweetly. Then his expression shifted to something so adult and serious that it damn near made Tatsumi in a rage appear frivolous. "I don't really care whether you believe this or not, but I *am* a doctor, and I *do* know a lot about what is happening here. There are things I can learn here. It's inconvenient to find you two errand boys for hell hanging around. Can't you wait until he dies to take his soul, must you hang around like vultures, waiting for it?"

For a brief moment, Tatsumi saw red and he almost let his emotions get the better of his sense. It was Muraki's own shift in tone and expression that triggered the shadow-master's inherent pride and reserved control. Drawing himself up, forcing his hands to relax out of their clenched fists, Tatsumi ground his back molars together but refused to rise to the bait.

"*Learn here*? Do you honestly believe that my partner or I will allow you to conduct your twisted experiments on these people?" Tatsumi was furious but not so far gone as to address the 'errand boy' comment, nor did he correct Muraki's assumption for why or for whom he and Watari had been dispatched.

Shoulders braced against the wall, Watari crossed his ankles and his arms, listening quietly to the conversation. Inside, his mind was in turmoil, though outside he seemed perfectly calm. Muraki's comments about vultures and errand boys even eliciting a small snort of unamused laughter out of him. For all the doctor's many faults, Watari did have to give the man credit for knowing what buttons to push.

Yes, and I'd best keep that in mind and make certain to safeguard my own buttons. Watari winced as the thought brushed across his conscious mind. Grabbing it, he forced it down into the shadowy recesses of his thoughts and focusing on Muraki and Tatsumi instead.

Muraki regarded Tatsumi in silence for a moment or two, his expression calculating. When he spoke, it was to both of them, almost pointedly to both of them, as if emphasizing the way Tatsumi had simply blanked out Watari's presence altogether.

"I can stop Yatonogami," he said, his tone even and matter of fact. "Can you?"

And in that instance, emotion crashed into logic and left Tatsumi standing perfectly still. Sapphire blue eyes intent upon Muraki, he seemed to study the doctor's pale, handsome features almost as if he were peeling back layers of skin and bone to pick at the very brain beneath.

Seiichirou Tatsumi was many things, but he was neither a fool, nor a dolt. Turning his upper body, taking his eyes off Muraki for the first time since the doctor had arrived, it seemed, his gaze raked across his partner, lounging in the doorway. Without taking his eyes off Watari, Tatsumi spoke in a voice that was positively cordial, when compared to his earlier snarls.

"Would you, please excuse my partner and myself for a moment, Sensei." Perhaps not quite a question.

Another lizard smile. "Of course. However I won't promise to stay put while you have your private tete a tete, shinigami."

Tatsumi's jaw worked as he abused his teeth once again.

Watari straightened slightly from his lean and pulled his eyes off Tatsumi, looking towards Muraki.

"Perhaps you might refrain from killing anyone on your first night guesting in the house, Sensei?"

"A promise I am not prepared to make," Muraki said with a pleasantness that bordered on humor.

Watari didn't say anything but his amber eyes reflected his thoughts rather clearly. *Behave, or our deal, all of our deal is null and void and not only do I stop actively trying to keep Tatsumi from going after you, I'll help him.* Strangely enough, there was none of his partner's aggressive threatening posture in the glance. In fact, it was almost amused and civil, like... a statement on the weather... or a teacher gently chastising a student... oh wait... hadn't they done that once already... ah well, Watari had no problems repeating that which was amusing to him.

The glance met and bounced off fathomless grey eyes that glinted amber like a pool of water you couldn't begin to guess the depth of from looking at the surface.

Tatsumi watched the glances, which only seemed to confirm the suspicion that was taking hold of his mind. A suspicion he felt gnawing at the lining of his stomach.

"Watari-san..." He spoke in a low tone a tone Watari had heard before.

Watari reached up and pushed at his glasses, his eyes closing for a moment.

"Let me speak to the Sensei, please. Then I'll present myself for our conversation."

Tatsumi, as if mirroring his partner's motions, reached up and nudged the bottom rims of his glasses with his index finger and thumb. It was an action that denoted extreme agitation and was not lost on Watari. Turning his attention back towards Muraki, Tatsumi didn't bother to keep the loathing out of his gaze as he looked upon the doctor.

Tatsumi wanted answers. He could already taste his own conclusions like bile on his tongue but the thought of turning Muraki loose in the house... the thought of turning his back on the sociopath made Tatsumi's chest hurt. He turned a glare of intense disapproval on his partner.

"I will not condone this man harming anyone in this house while we are here. Hear me on this Watari-san." There was no mistaking the highborn command in Tatsumi's tone. Walking on towards the door, Tatsumi paused long enough to continue with, "I am going to go check on Nagare-san. When I am finished, we will talk and if he," a nod in Muraki's direction, "does not have a suitable leash, we will talk with an audience."

Giving Watari no time to respond, Tatsumi strode on through the door and back down the hall.

After a beat, Watari exhaled the breath it felt like he had been holding for the past half-hour and pushed off from the wall, walking across the room to one of the windows that looked out over the garden.

"That went well." It was hard to tell if he was being serious or sarcastic.

"I wonder what he would consider a suitable leash," Muraki said thoughtfully, his voice just behind Watari's ear as if he'd teleported from the chair. "Perhaps you could braid me one out of your lovely hair..." His arms moved around Watari almost before he could blink. "I can't say I mind your urgent desire to be alone with me, but really, pet, if you'd played it a little cooler, your partner need not have been suspicious of you at all. I'm rather afraid you've blown it. You should have trusted me."

Watari just managed to keep from jumping out of his skin when Muraki's voice came from right behind him, the man's arms following a split second later. What surprised him was the tickle of need he felt to lean back into that embrace... just for a moment... before he remembered where he was and who he was with. Standing, still for a moment, when he moved it was lightening fast. Bringing his foot up and back, Watari aimed the heel of his boot hurtling towards Muraki's instep.

Muraki shifted away the instant before the blow struck home. Leaning against the wall about two feet away, he shook his head. "We'll never get anywhere like that."

Damn! Watari thought to himself as he wiggled the ball of his foot on the floor to shake away the sting from the impact with the ground. He considered another strike but figured that would be only too predictable. Muraki knew what that kick was for, time to move on.

"Do you honestly consider yourself capable of tackling this problem? Or are you just being your usual arrogant self?" Watari forced himself to flick the other comments aside, despite the varied stings to his pride.

"The two are not mutually exclusive," Muraki said with a slight smile. "Have you changed your mind?"

For a moment the young shinigami was silent, but then he began to chuckle. A wry, rueful but humorous sound all the same. "Would, that I could. Though, I suppose I could. After all, you appear to be an almost certain death for the innocents in this house, while Yatonogami is an unknown."

"What makes you think there *are* any innocents in this house?" Muraki said. "You are correct about one thing. I bring death. I'm not sure why a shinigami should be squeamish about such things, I've always wondered that. Will it please you if I tell you the deaths will be limited? How about a number? Two. It will take two deaths to defeat Yatonogami. Just two. I'm not interested in any others."

'It will take two deaths to defeat Yatonogami.' It was those words that stuck and held in Watari's mind. Leaning, tilting his head so he could peer over his shoulder at Muraki, the young scientist's amber eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Two deaths?"

Muraki smiled. "You expect me to give it all to you now? I don't think so. Be satisfied with that for the moment. You need me, you were correct about that. Your second thoughts are foolish. You should have more faith in your own logic, it's quite remarkable. I haven't been idle since last night. I have everything I need. It can end. But if you renege on your bargain with me, the number two will grow in ways you will not be able to forget no matter how long you exist."

The shinigami pushed aside the flattery in which Muraki coated his words and looked only at what the man was bargaining with. He weighed in what he knew of Muraki, Muraki's wants and needs, against the promise of two... to the promise of many. It was folly perhaps but it was folly in motion and though the experiment could blow up in his face, he recognized that he was in too deep to just stop now. Not with the threat of Yatonogami looming so close to the surface.

"I will not step back from my bargain, unless you take the body count beyond the two you say will be needed to satisfy this conundrum." Watari exhaled a slow breath and raised a hand to push at his glasses. "Break your side of this bargain..." the scientist lowered his hand slightly meeting those fathomless silver eyes directly, all traces of warmth, of humanity erased from the amber gold of his own eyes. "And you shall live to suffer the results."

"Dispense with the threats, they suit your partner better than you," Muraki said. "Keep your bargain and you'll have no need of them. But if it is to be kept, it must be kept at all times, not just when you feel like it. Another rebuff such as you just enacted will be considered your faithlessness. You will be solely responsible for the outcome."

Watari let the 'threat' comment go. He had no desire to get into a 'pissing' contest with Muraki. He did have a specific retaliation in mind but there was no need to tip that part of his hand. Instead, the amber eyes lit back up and the corners of the young engineer's mouth twitched upwards.

"But, Sensei... I would not wish you to find me boring and predictable. I was under the impression you enjoyed the thrill of the domination."

"The domination is in the mind, Yutaka-kun," Muraki said, his voice honey sweet. "Scuffles are a poor counterfeit. I've stated my terms, toy with them at your own discretion but please don't chide me with the outcome. I've nothing to prove. You promised and I intend to collect. My time is limited and so is yours, since I fully expect the deal to be abandoned when you've gotten what you want."

One gold, gracefully winged eyebrow arched upwards. Something flitted in Watari's eyes, gone too fast to read perhaps. "I know better than to sit here and throw words against your expectations, Sensei. You will believe what you desire to believe until you are proven differently. However," Watari paused and stroked his tongue across his bottom lip in a pensive gesture as if screwing up his courage, or perhaps just tamping down on his own pride. "I apologize for my unseemly display of temper." Perhaps surprisingly there was no hint of sarcasm in the young shinigami's tone and a polite, civil bow of the head accompanied the apology.

Hell, the little display of temper hadn't worked anyway. Muraki was too quick for such tricks. A silly reaction to being labeled. Watari hated labels.

The doctor smiled and it was the kind of smile that could send a shiver up the back of even the worldly shinigami. "Make it up to me," he said, and crooked his finger in a summons. "And you better make it quick before your partner looses his patience."

Watari entertained the idea of wishing for Enma to go ahead and strike him down, right here right now. He bridled against following Muraki's orders but even as he cringed inwardly, something the doctor said came back to him.

'The domination is in the mind.'

Very true. I promised him my body. I never said anything about my mind. Wiping his face of any expression beyond polite curiosity, Watari shook motion into his limbs taking first one step, then the second step towards Muraki. As he closed the distance between himself and the doctor, the blond cast his mind back to one of the first textbooks he'd ever read, back as a six-year old. A body in motion...

Muraki watched him approach with a smile but did not do anything. He didn't put his arms around Watari or lean close to him. He simply waited.

Like a computer running multiple programs, a part of Watari's mind smirked wryly at Muraki's patience. Another part of his mind was working on breaking down the compounds found in coal and reforming them into diamonds and another part of his mind recited the textbook. Stopping once he was within an inch of Muraki, Watari looked up into gray eyes smiling, perfectly submissive.

"And what would be a proper apology?" It was a game. A game as cerebral as the formulas he now ran and toyed with in his head.

Muraki smiled, not fooled in the slightest by Watari's newly submissive stance. "Kiss me."

It's just my body, just a game. Play it well.

Watari repeated the words in his head until he believed them himself. Stroking his tongue one more time, lightly across his lips, he had to rock up slightly to the balls of his feet to reach the taller man. A slender hand rose, sensitive fingers closing with feather light gentleness at the base of Muraki's neck for balance. Like the kiss they shared in the chapel the touch of the shinigami's lips was unhurried, gossamer light at first. A mere tasting followed by a second quick teasing caress, warm breath tickling damp skin. Then again, a little harder, a more thorough investigation of the doctor's mouth, until finally Watari closed his lips over Muraki's tickling at the other man's closed mouth with the tip of an impish tongue.

Muraki responded perfectly to each stage of the progression, not pushing forward neither stiff nor unresponsive. His lips were warm and soft and there was a faint scent that seemed to invade Watari's nostrils at this proximity, an almost sweet, almost spicy aura like candied ginger. When Watari's tongue tickled at his lips they opened and invited him inside.

Unlike the quick exploration of the chapel, Watari took his time investigating Muraki's mouth. Making a thorough and skillful circuit of the doctor's teeth, sensitive gums and the roof of his mouth. He toyed with the depth and angle of the kiss using his tongue in a lazy thrusting motion before drawing back with one final touch of his lips to the very corner of Muraki's mouth. Rocking back down so his feet set flatly on the floor, Watari drew his hand off of Muraki's neck, slowly tickling his fingers along the warm skin of the other man's neck and throat, down across his collarbone and the top of his chest before withdrawing completely.

At least, that was the plan.

What actually happened, as Watari realized almost belatedly, so focused was he on his intentions, was that when his tongue began to thrust into Muraki's mouth, the doctor's tongue curled around it, twining and sliding along, hindering nothing but caressing his and then gently sucking it deeper. The suction increased so slowly, subtly, that Watari was hardly aware that he was thrusting deeper, and increasing his pace, until he woke up to find himself enclosed by strong arms, kissing Muraki as deeply as he could, his thrusts becoming rapid and almost desperate-seeming. His skin felt hot.

And then he felt something else. It wasn't Muraki's hands, they were simply placed, a weight at the small of his back and another loosely cupping his shoulder. This new sensation was so light he missed it at first. A cool, silky touch at his ankle. It brushed his skin and slipped under his trouser cuff, sliding upwards along his lower leg, flat and smooth, cool and silky, like a piece of silk ribbon. It circled his thigh, climbing higher under his clothes, slipped under the edge of his boxers and then slithered into the warm area of his crotch. Once there it slid under his balls, around them and finally between his sac and his shaft, circling its base. Cool and silky... circling until it was wound around the base of his cock and still around his balls, tightening just a little, slithering, settling, then still.

Muraki lifted his head and licked his lips, looking down into Watari's face with a little smile.

It took every last ounce of Watari's not inconsiderable will and cerebral logic to keep from thrusting himself away from Muraki and tearing at his own clothes. Fury perhaps brightened his amber eyes, but it was fury at himself for being unable to completely dispel the fine trembling that shook his entire body. With a deep breath, Watari reminded himself that while unpleasant, he could endure excruciating pain and survive. A deep breath and Watari reminded himself that he was an amusement for Muraki, a temporary stopgap. A deep breath and Watari reminded himself that Muraki was unlikely to use everything at his disposal on him. A deep breath, and the scientist reminded himself that he had an obligation to protect his partner, his friends and freaking out over something that ultimately could only kill him would not suit that purpose.

Slowly even the trembling abated until Watari was left standing there, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss, watching Muraki with a curious little tilt to his eyebrows.

"What's next?" He spoke in a soft tone. He had given his promise. There was only one direction to go from here.

Forward.

"That would be telling," Muraki said, but it was clear to Watari that the doctor was pleased.

"Actually I think next would be... the Hades accountant?" He released Watari from his embrace with only the barest brush of a fingertip against the man's crotch.

Something silky stirred and settled as if in answer. The encirclement was just a tiny bit tight. Not enough to even be uncomfortable, just enough to be impossible to ignore completely.

At the mention of Tatsumi, Watari felt something simultaneously kick in his chest and sink in the pit of his stomach. He quickly lidded his eyes to hide his expression and deflected his own concerns on the subject of Tatsumi with his best defense.

Macabre humor.

"You realize there is a good possibility that all your ... ah... work is going to be wasted when Tatsumi-san neuters me?" Watari looked back up, a thoughtful expression replacing the worried look that had been in his eyes. "Would that mean I reneged on our bargain? Maybe not. It will just mean I'm missing a bit of the tackle."

Muraki chuckled. "I'll make do," he said, and then added, "And I would truly like to see his face in the event that he did decide to neuter you and opens up your pants."

It was almost surreal the way the mind could work. Watari's thoughts skewed away from the dire implications of the silky touch to his genitals as well as the upcoming meeting with his partner. Grabbing his pants he began to work the clasp himself.

"So help me, if I can't drink tea and perform the act of relieving myself of the tea, let alone my morning coffee... then I'm going to be grumpy, Muraki." Calling the doctor by name for the first time since meeting him in the chapel.

Just as Watari got his zipper down but before he could peek into his boxers, the door to the room started to open.

"Ah sod it!" Watari spun from the door and just as quickly as he'd taken the zipper down began to work it back up! Though there was a part of him that found the situation humorous...

No, really Seii, I've been having this burning sensation when I urinate and Muraki was going to check on it for me... yeah, I know I'm dead and don't get infections but you just don't want to risk these things.

"I am loosing my mind." The blond shinigami muttered.

Tatsumi tapped preemptively on the door even as he opened it. He'd had time to cool down to the more calculating side of his persona, time to analyze the information against his suspicions. In fact, he found himself taking refuge in analytical thinking. It was the only way to counter the way his foundations had rocked at the split second - surely it couldn't have been more than that? - moment when he suddenly believed that Watari had somehow been gotten to by Muraki, that Watari was no longer the man he knew and never would be again.

In the end, it all boiled down to the look. That one look Watari had shot at Muraki, the look of complicity.

It was a very subjective thing to base his judgment on. His mind told him that. But the same logical mind also reminded him that one of any shinigami's most important tools had to be his intuition. It was a stalemate argument.

Pushing the door open, he saw Watari's back, the end of an odd movement, and standing beyond him maybe a foot away, but that was close, too damn close, Muraki. The doctor's expression was one of amusement and that alone sent every warning bell in Tatsumi's mind off like a company of claxons.

Tatsumi stopped just inside the doorway. "Watari." His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Cold. Utterly devoid of emotion. It was odd because emotions were roiling through him, fraying his concentration.

For all his mental joking, Watari knew a moment of tension when his zipper stuck, only to have it free up and slip into place, fumbling fingers getting the rest of his pants fastened in time to make it, maybe look like he'd been after a wrinkle in his slacks.

The coldness of his partner's voice sliced through him like a shard of ice, leaving his soul shivering. Or that's your own disgust getting the better of you? A nasty little voice whispered but Watari smashed down on the emotion ruthlessly. Remembering at the last moment to catch his lower lip between his teeth he spun towards Tatsumi an explosion of motion, all hair and bright cheerful gold eyes.

"There you are! I was about to come looking for you, Tatsumi-san but as usual you beat me to the punch."

Tatsumi's eyes caught Watari's like a cool vise glanced at or actually towards Muraki and back, the question clear. Could he be left?

The silent question was itself a test of sorts.

The breath caught and lodged in Watari's throat threatening to choke him. He could feel the testing, the weighing in those deep, sapphire eyes and for a brief moment in time it was a question Watari didn't know the proper answer to. So he turned it back on Tatsumi.

Casting his hands up in the air, Watari shrugged. They had two choices. Talk in front of the doctor, or leave the doctor to his own devices and talk in private. The choice was Tatsumi's.

Tatsumi met the return question and it never occurred to him to avoid the decision. Muraki was watching them and his expression made Tatsumi's cold rage boil under its careful containment.

"Meiya is ready to show you to your room," Tatsumi said in the direction of the doctor. "Watari, I think we need a few minutes to consult before the next move."

It was a capitulation. Backing down from his original and still desired stance of 'Get out!' The edges of the floor seemed to ripple a little where shadows gathered to escape from the pale electric lamps.

Tatsumi turned and left, not bothering to wait for a reaction from Muraki and fully expecting Watari to be on his heels. He'd intended to head for their room but he changed his mind after four steps and instead went outside, walking along the path beside the house until he could get out of sight of the windows, more specifically one window - the window of the room they'd just left. Once there, he turned around.

Watari stood, motionless, watching Tatsumi closely as the older shinigami came to the decision. When Tatsumi turned and exited the room, Watari was already moving towards the door. He paused, half turning towards Muraki as if to impart some last smart ass comment but whatever he was going to say died on his lips. Instead he just watched Muraki over his shoulder for a moment, his expression hard to read.

"Good evening, Sensei," was all he could think to say, a hand lifting to run nervously through his long hair as he slipped through the doorway.

For a moment, Watari panicked when he didn't immediately see Tatsumi in the hallway, heading to their room. A brush of the chilly fall air alerted the younger shinigami to the presence of a door, leading out to the garden, just clicking shut. Knowing Tatsumi was already tense and having a bad feeling things were just going to get more tense, Watari hurried along jogging for a couple of steps so that by the time Tatsumi was turning around, Watari was right there, only a few feet away.

Tatsumi locked eyes with his partner, giving the young man a penetrating once-over, picking up every detail he could detect. What he saw was both subtly disturbing and reassuring at the same time.

Leaning his back against a large, old tree, he crossed his arms.

"Tell me."

It was strange, but Watari felt himself bridle beneath Tatsumi's searching gaze. He'd endured much more invasive studies from Muraki in the past twenty-four hours but somehow, they hurt less. Shaking away that thought quickly, Watari paced a little further down the path, passing Tatsumi where he was leaning on the tree. Watari hated the cold and he reached up to tug the edges of his labcoat more tightly around his body.

"Couldn't you have at least warned me we were going to be doing this outside? I would have grabbed my jacket. I'm going to turn into a popsicle... which would actually be an interesting experiment... I wonder if I can still freeze to death..." His tone took on a musing quality as he tilted his head and looked up at the night sky, his words, part stalling tactic and half the strange way his thoughts could run sometimes.

"Yutaka," Tatsumi's voice was clear but not loud. His use of Watari's first name was unusual and guaranteed to get attention. "Don't make me ask again."

Yes, yes indeed the sound of his first name coming from the formal Tatsumi always did, certain things to Watari, pleasant, bittersweet things. This time was no different, even though the question in his name linked back to a distasteful answer.

Watari sighed softly and walked a few more steps away. He paused and chuckled a little as he realized what he was doing.

A little pointless to try to hide in shadows when you're hiding from a man who masters them.

But he did it anyway, weighing his options. If he left Tatsumi with only his suspicions it was altogether possible that his partner would become an unknown factor to the game, a risk to himself and to the whole operation. At the same time, telling Tatsumi also carried a certain set of risks. Watari reached up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Turning back around, he walked back towards the old tree, coming close enough to be able to see his partner's blue eyes clearly. He carefully wiped away his usual façade of cheerful silliness an attempt to show Tatsumi that he was being as serious as the grave.

"If... if I asked you to give me a little leeway and a little trust in this matter, do you think you could?" There was no challenge in his tone, no defensiveness that the words might normally carry. He knew, oh but he knew how important control and self-sufficiency was to Tatsumi, the question was genuine.

Tatsumi gave the question a full moment of consideration before answering. "About anything else in this world or the next, yes. About Muraki," he didn't bother to hide a hint of regret in his voice along with a carefully controlled anger that was not directed at Watari but at the man who had caused all of this by simply appearing. "About Muraki... no. No, I can't. You knew that before you asked, didn't you?" Tatsumi broke the direct eye to eye contact for a moment and looked away to the left at the last rose flares of sunset. "I said tell me so you could do it your own way. Since you won't, I suppose I'll have to ask the questions."

When Tatsumi turned away, Watari allowed his eyes to close, shutting out the world, shutting out the image of his stalwart partner and trying to shut out the words that he could only hear as reproach coming from his friend's lips. In an instance the desire to open his mouth and let it all out was nearly overwhelming. For an instance, Watari wanted to walk up next to Tatsumi lean on his shoulder, as he'd seen Tsuzuki do in times past, and tell Tatsumi the whole of it. Explain his actions. Explain Muraki's bargain. Ask for help in a situation that he suddenly felt woefully inadequate to handle.

Yes, the urge to reach to Tatsumi, to help dispel the crushing loneliness he felt was strong but he swallowed the impulses. He couldn't set this at Tatsumi's door and ask Tatsumi to fix it. Not because he didn't believe Tatsumi wouldn't try, because Tatsumi would try but because the Shadow-Master couldn't be asked to fix everything for everybody.

Even though Tatsumi demanded such an unattainable level of perfection from himself.

"Tatsumi..." Watari began in a gently warning tone. Hoping, hoping beyond hope that Tatsumi would, let it go. A fool's wish. Yet more folly. Crossing his arms over his chest, Watari took a step away from his partner and turned towards the rising blanket of the night sky. "If you must."

Tatsumi did not look away from the sunset because he had a suspicion that if he did, he'd be unable to do what he had to do. If he once looked at the so-familiar face framed by sunrise curls, he'd be frozen, unable to act, unable to decide, and unable to protect anyone, even his partner.

"Yes or no will be sufficient," he said. "You brought him here."

His back still to Tatsumi, Watari squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the early night stars. Yes, or no. Well at least it saved him the possible humiliation of babbling out inane excuses hoping for approval for his action. At least this would be quick, clean and probably painful.

Swallowing around a sudden dryness in his throat, he whispered his answer the first time around gave his head a hard shake and forced himself to speak more clearly, firmly and honestly.

"Yes."

Tatsumi stilled completely. After a frozen moment, he reached up, still looking away, and removed his glasses, pressing his fingertips against the middle of his brow as if trying to keep something from bursting through his forehead. As the sun sank below the horizon, the chill in the air increased, along with the darkness.

There was a long moment of silence. Finally Tatsumi raised his glasses to put them back on, and turned his eyes towards Watari.

"Yes or no will be sufficient," he repeated. "You had a... a reason to think this was the... the right," the word did not want to pass over something lodged in his throat, but he made it, "...thing to do."

Watari had opened his eyes, but he had not turned back towards his partner. The drop in temperature seemed to want to cut through him, though Watari realized he was already trembling and it had nothing to do with the cold air playing with the hem of his labcoat. He exhaled a long slow breath as he listened to Tatsumi fight to get the next question out. Answering it after barely a pause.

"Yes."

And though he had given up the right to explain his actions he tacked the explanation on in his thoughts. Because Muraki's right... the end of this will result in deaths, and I don't believe your soul can carry the blood of Hisoka's kin... not when your heart has taken them in. It took an act of will Watari wasn't certain he had in himself not to turn and say the words, but he couldn't lay the burden for his decision back on Tatsumi.

Tatsumi seemed to look at him for a long time, as the world got darker around them. The last question hung in the air unspoken. /What did you do to get him here/*keep* him here?/

And remained unspoken. Tatsumi couldn't explain either, but this was the only way he could even come close to doing what Watari had asked him - giving him leeway. He left the question unasked.

The next thing Tatsumi said was a different question but from his tone - frosty, but not out of the level of what any stressful situation might not call forth - Watari could tell that the interrogation was over.

"Do you have a plan for this situation or are you making it up as you go?"

Something in Watari wanted Tatsumi to ask that silent question. He wanted Tatsumi to ask it so he could answer it and then ask, beg, plead for Tatsumi's help. The ghostly sensation of silk made him want to be ill as he fought to ignore its invasive touch. Though he would fight with everything he had not to give Muraki the satisfaction a part of Watari felt very scared and very alone. But Tatsumi unwittingly did them both a favor by leaving the question unspoken.

Watari scrapped together his wits and he felt his lips twitch. In the beginning, he'd had a perfectly laid out plan. In the past twenty-four hours he could no longer fool himself into believing that the plan was still the same one he'd started with. Muraki was just too unpredictable an element. But, when all was said and done, Watari could still hold on to the core of the plan.

Protecting Tatsumi.

So... he didn't lie when he said, "I ... yes, I... there is a plan."

"I need more than that," Tatsumi said, his voice almost normal. Stressed, but almost back to the way it had been before. "You've gambled on setting one demon against another. I don't know why you did it but you must have had a..." Once again, the word did not want to come out and he forced it. "...good reason. But if anything, anything goes wrong, I won't stop and ask for your approval or even your cooperation," Tatsumi said. "I. Will. Take. Him. Out."

He paused and then said, "Unless you have a better one, *that* is the plan from this point on."

Watari's shoulder gave a small shake with silent, mirthless laughter, though it could have just been a shiver. No Seiichirou, I'm sorry. The plan is still the original.

Out loud, after a moment's thought, Watari opened his mouth thinking to explain when he realized that Tatsumi hadn't asked a question. Tatsumi seemed to have the bit back between his logical teeth and was running with it. To stop him now might result in more questions. Might result in revisiting the question of just what Watari had bargained with. So the scientist nodded instead speaking softly, "I understand."

Tatsumi nodded. Then he stood up, unleaning from the tree. He walked over to Watari and before the other man knew what was happening, had removed his suit jacket and thrown it across Watari's shoulders, as if he'd seen the slight movement and interpreted it as a reaction to the chilling night air. "When this is all over you better have a *hell* of an explanation," he murmured, almost to himself. A stray beam of moonlight glanced off the wire rims of his glasses. "I'm giving you the lead," he made a brief sound that implied a soft snort without actually being one. "Since you've taken in on yourself. Don't screw up."

Surprised, almost to the point of jaw dropping, Watari reached around and pulled the jacket, still warm from Tatsumi's body heat, up around his shoulders, allowing himself to soak up the residual warmth as well as a hint of comfort. Head ducked, his long hair curtained his face for the most part but a small, genuine little grin quirked up the corners of his lips. Internally he thought to himself, Yes, I'm going to be working on that explanation for quite some time I think... to make it an acceptable one. To the rest he actually gave a little chuckle, humor coming to the fore in a tentative, gentle manner. "Oh, ah I think I filled my quota of screw ups before we left Meifu... erm... when I blew... errr... when I had that minor miscalculation with... you know... the thing."

In truth he wasn't trying to brush off, or make light of Tatsumi's words of warning, he was just responding to them in the only way that was safe.

"We'd better get back inside and count the house maids," Tatsumi said, dead flat serious and oblivious to the element of humor that could have been attributed to the remark.

Tatsumi's tone was the only thing that kept Watari from following up with his own inappropriate remarks.

Well, it almost stopped him.

"Ah, did you... take inventory before we left?" To his ever-lasting credit, Watari asked the question with a straight face.

After the day he'd had all Watari wanted was another nice warm bath, this time with a brillo pad! After the evening meal the scientist left Tatsumi speaking to Meiya. His partner was probably trying to warn the girl about Muraki, though personally Watari felt this was a lost cause. Meiya and the others already appeared charmed by the handsome doctor.

But Watari decided to leave Tatsumi to it and head for the bath. 003, confused by the conflicting scents of Muraki and Tatsumi really wasn't talking to him at the moment so he left the little owl behind. In truth he felt as if he were betraying even her company. Sleep robes, shampoo soap and towel in hand the scientist headed for the bathing chamber.

This was one thing he really enjoyed about the Kurosaki compound. The luxury of their bathing chambers. Tatsumi, Watari knew felt guilty about taking advantage of the hot water and the rest of the amenities but Watari couldn't quite bring himself to feel the same reluctance. Maybe it had something to do with the difference between having short and long hair. His head still full of thoughts from the events of the day, Watari was running on automatic pilot as he set down his items and began to disrobe.

He'd left his labcoat back in the room so he wiggled out of his two turtlenecks first, then reached for the fastenings on his trousers. His mind full of just how he was going to explain his actions to Konoe, let alone Enma, he'd forgotten about his silky passenger.

As he unzipped his pants, however, he was reminded. Something down there, something circling both his cock and his balls, tightened a tiny bit then relaxed, giving him a little squeeze.

Enma might command a lot of attention but there were still some things that could distract a man from the Lord of Hades. Having one's cock and balls squeezed by an unseen something was right at the top of the list.

"Sonofa..." Watari muttered to himself, remembering the touch, the kiss and now the silky something that had been with him for the past few hours. Forgotten, first in the confrontation with Tatsumi, then through dinner and right on up until this point.

Yanking his trousers open, Watari wiggled out of them and kicked them to the corner before reaching for, and divesting himself of, his boxers. Time to find out what the doctor had stuck up his pants.

"There is just no way this can be good."

Looking down, what he saw was so innocuous it left his jaw hanging. Curled around his genitals, threaded through and between them and circling where it couldn't easily be pulled away, was what appeared to be a length of red silk ribbon. It was satiny in texture and the ends had in fact arranged themselves in a small, but rather pert little...

Bow. At the top of the base of his cock.

For a long, long minute Watari just stood there staring at the bow. Really, he stared at the whole length of ribbon but in particular he stared at that bow. It was the bow that did it. It pushed him right over the edge.

First, a chuckle. Then another chuckle, then he was laughing. Genuinely laughing at first because he had to give the devil his due. A bow? But gradually the genuine, amused laughter gave way to the strain of the day and the laughter became slightly hysterical and before he knew it, Watari was seated on the ground blinded by tears that were part laughter, part reaction but which hampered his attempt to remove the bow.

Behind him, the door of the bathing room opened silently and someone entered, feet in thong slippers making almost no sound on the polished wood floor.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Muraki's deep voice purred behind him, the tinge of amusement in it unhidden.

He was sitting, naked on the floor fighting with a bow, which was wrapped around his cock. Watari knew he should be reacting with startled indignation but he simply could not work up the energy to expend on something so trivial. Besides, he'd grown up in a time when being body conscious was considered obsolete.

"Why... not?" He asked plainly, though he did stop trying to pluck at the ends of the ribbon.

Muraki moved around Watari, stepping out of his sandals, clad in a silk robe of a dark green that made his pale skin even more striking. He carried his own towels and soap. "Because you might hurt yourself," he answered the question.

As he did, the ribbon rustled and slithered a little, circling Watari's genitals without coming loose. The sensation was... intensely sensual. It also felt like a live thing snuggling his family jewels.

The creepy factor helped to balance out the sensual factor though Watari watched the ribbon with a curiously raised eyebrow. As the ribbon moved, his fingers reached for it, remembering at the last second not to touch.

Exhaling a deep breath, Watari reached up and pulled his glasses off his face, effectively blinding himself. "Well, at least it's not cotton. Hopefully it won't shrink."

Really, what else could he say? He could demand Muraki remove it, and be laughed at. He could continue to try to remove it and at least risk breaking the bargain. It was just creepy enough to keep him on his toes, so maybe it might help him get his reactions to the pale doctor under control. Grabbing up his shampoo, the scientist crawled/slid to the edge of one of the hot tubs, paused for a moment to peer blearily at the ribbon, muttering, "don't shrink... don't shrink," and then sliding into the warm, soothing embrace of the water.

It didn't shrink.

It did however seem to like the water. It continued to slither around him, giving him an intimate massage until it finally settled a little, the ends floating in the water.

The tub was large enough for more than one occupant, and Muraki's presence would not have raised a single eyebrow among the household, it wasn't unusual for people of the same gender to share a Japanese bath. Whether Watari was expecting Muraki to shed his robe and join him that is exactly what happened.

The doctor's body was perfectly proportioned on his large frame, and his skin was smooth, though there were some odd white marks that seemed to swirl over his torso and one shoulder. And there was one distinct, white scar across his abdomen under the chest.

Stepping into the water, he sat facing Watari, to all appearances relaxing in the warm water.

Watari's body was at war with his mind. His body was all for responding to that intimate, somewhat playful caress of the ribbon while his mind was still busily screaming, creepy! Eyes firmly closed, he really couldn't see all that well anyway, he stretched down into the bath, laying his head back against the edge.

The scientist would have been a fool to imagine that Muraki would not join him in the bath and it was quite large enough for more than one or even two occupants. It was be missish and silly to throw a fit over the fact that Muraki was in the bath with him, so Watari contented himself with trying to pretend the doctor just, wasn't there.

There was no doctor in the bath with him. Just a large water bug making waves. Well it worked well in theory. In honesty, he couldn't completely dismiss the fact that Muraki was naked, in the bath where Watari was also floating naked. Though he kept his eyes closed, Watari felt more of the slightly manic laughter build in his chest, its soft sound echoing in the bath chamber.

"Yutaka-kun," Muraki's voice was low and soothing. "Relax. Just relax." As if obeying his words, the ribbon settled comfortable, snuggly. The sensation was something he could almost get used to.

Eyes closed, Watari didn't see, but felt large hands settle on his shoulders and turn him, tilting him back to let his hair down into the water, immersing it.

The blond shinigami could not deny the hypnotic quality of Muraki's voice. It was low, soft, soothing. It felt like warm velvet brushing gently across raw nerves and Watari could not explain away the fact that something in him wanted to sink into that velvet embrace and never come up. When Muraki's hands touched his shoulders he shivered and it was not entirely from disgust. He knew his muscles were tight, tense and strained but the warm water, Muraki's voice, the touch of the ribbon, the steam, all of it seemed to want to make him light-headed and compliant as his neck relaxed into the tilt directed by Muraki's hands. Long, honey blonde hair fanned out like a living creature on the water, darkening to a deep, gold that came alive with fiery highlights as it was soaked by the water.

Large, deft hands stroked though his hair, wetting it thoroughly. The he caught the scent of his own shampoo and the next thing he felt was the doctor lathering his scalp, gently, rhythmically, washing his hair without pulling it, tending him as gently as if he were a child.

With his eyes closed, being touched in a way he hadn't been touched in almost half a century, Watari could feel him loosing a part of himself. He snatched out a mental hand to grab at it but it slipped away from him before he could reach it. Trembling now... aware of the danger he was in, Watari turned his mind inwards, grabbing onto the one thought that still seemed crystal clear.

Tatsumi.

"You have eternity to seduce your unimaginative partner," Muraki purred softly. "And only a short time to keep your promise to me. Let it go. I said I wanted you, and you agreed. You didn't say anything about your *body only*..."

Strong hands rinsed the soap out of Watari's hair with the same slow movements.

Now completely off balance, Watari grabbed hold of the first thing he could think of his voice a hoarse whisper, "What are you doing in my thoughts?" His body felt heavy, limp despite the tension making the muscles of his back and shoulders rock hard. Yet his head bobbed and moved in perfect accordance to the direction of those strong, deft hands.

Watari ignored the second part of Muraki's sentence. He didn't quite know how to address it at that moment. Yet again, his mind called out to his partner.

Tatsumi!

Muraki chuckled. "I wasn't reading your thoughts. Just your nature. Human nature is very easy to read and you shinigami are, after all, only human in essence. Most of you, anyway." Lifting Watari's body a little to get his rinsed hair out of the water, he began massaging the bunched muscles in his neck and shoulders with incredible skill. Leaning over the young scientist, his mouth covered Watari's at the exact same moment as Watari's mind called Tatsumi's name.

A thought that didn't quite feel like his own echoed his mental call. If you call him, he'll come. If he comes, he'll see...

And it didn't take much for Watari's tired stressed mind to fill in the next part of the thought. If he sees, he'll know...and I will have failed to protect him. Perhaps in the dampness of the water dripping down from his wet hair, the small tear that escaped his closed eyes would go unnoticed. Cut off from that last anchor of hope, Watari felt himself drift, even as his mouth was responding to Muraki's kiss. The other man's hands were molding tense muscles into a warm relaxed state, despite Watari's best efforts to remain on his guard. Physically and emotionally he wasn't up for it. But mentally, mentally he hung on. Like a desperate man grabbing at a thread he broke the kiss enough to ask, his lips moving against Muraki's, "Why... why did you let your touch turn from healing, to killing?"

Muraki lifted his mouth, looking down into Watari's face and this close, with Muraki leaning over him, Watari could see under the silver hair, see the eye that was slightly off, the one that wasn't a real, human eye. It gazed at him with a dispassion that seemed to bleed all the color from the world until there was no black, no white, only silver grey.

"I didn't," Muraki said softly. "I still heal. I also kill. It's not a turning from one to the other. They are the same touch. The very... same. Perhaps when we are done you will see... probably not, but perhaps. Every healer kills. It's killing to excise a cancer. A cancer is life, a living thing. Illness can come from parasites, which are also living things. The question isn't whether to kill or heal... the question is, when you kill, what are you healing?"

Bending down again, Muraki began to lick Watari's exposed skin, his neck and collarbones, but not before licking the last of that stray tear from the side of his face.

Watari bit down hard on the inside of his mouth to keep any of that stray tear's brethren from escaping and making their way down his cheek. It frightening him, more so even than Muraki's physical hold on his body, that he understood and could follow the sociopath's logic.

That is what he wants you to do, Yutaka... he wants you to follow him down into the twisted maze of his own mind. That is the very definition of sociopaths, someone who can rationalize their own anti-social behavior. Remember the pain this man has caused, needless pain... Tsuzuki... Hisoka... Tat... A hard shudder ran through Watari, partly in response to his own thoughts and partly in response to the touch of Muraki's tongue on his sensitive exposed neck.

"Somewhere... somewhere the line blurred, Sensei... like the very cancer you spoke of. In its own way, it starts out with the best of intentions, to help the body it inhabits... but then, something happens and it runs amok, destroying the very vessel it was born to defend."

"I'm glad you understand that," Muraki murmured approvingly and he nuzzled the other side of Watari's neck. "It will make what we have to do so much easier."

And his hands eased from Watari's neck and shoulders, one hand supporting him in the water and the other of the doctor's large, skillful hands drifting down in the water to graze Watari's stomach and then his thigh, sliding along its inner surface.

Watari cursed inwardly when he didn't quite manage to keep from jumping a little at the intimate touch of Muraki's hand to his thigh. It had been a long, a very long time since anyone had touched him like that and he was torn between relaxing and just enjoying the touch and reminding himself of the multiple reasons he should be anything but relaxed.

The young shinigami could feel his wits trying to desert him beneath the dual stimuli of the physical sensation and his own upended emotions. Loosing track of who he was with and the nature of the game now would not be a wise thing and Watari fought to keep his attention on the conversation he was having with the doctor as well as the basic rules of their game.

Reaching one hand up, in a blind gesture, slender fingers well equipped for the often delicate work he performed both as an engineer and as the Meifu medical guru, touched lightly against the naked skin of Muraki's chest. They bounced back, as if burned, but then tentatively made their way back, until Watari had his palm resting very lightly against the doctor's left pectoral muscles, fingers beginning a delicate exploration of skin and muscle.

Talk, Yutaka keep talking. The scientist reminded himself sternly. "You mean the two deaths you spoke of?" Watari's voice was soft, slightly breathless but there was little he could do to rectify the situation.

"Perhaps," Muraki murmured his answer slightly muffled as he continued to occupy himself with licking and nuzzling Watari's neck and shoulders. His hand stroked down along the length of the shinigami's inner thigh, then slowly back up. Down... then up. Down... up... On the high point, the doctor's fingertips barely brushed Watari's scrotum, so lightly it was like the water moving against him. Then the next time, they brushed a little more, distinctly fingertips, infringing little by little like waves on the shore. And with each repetition, Watari's circulatory system began redirecting its volume. He felt the heat flooding into his lap as his cock stirred and began to fill.

Shifting his attention from Watari's neck and shoulder to wander across his chest, Muraki's lips brushed over one nipple, then brushed back... the tip of a warm, wet tongue probed at it, withdrew... then returned, circling. Lips closed over the now erect bud, teeth teased it and suction began.

The scientist felt his emotions fluctuate between pleasure and revulsion as Muraki's skillful touch, both from his hands and from his mouth, coaxed a response from Watari's body. As he felt his cock begin to swell as a result of those teasing brushes of the doctor's fingertips, revulsion won out.

Revulsion at himself.

Grasping the pain, the fear, the sense of isolation, the self-doubt... grasping all the emotions that were rioting about in his head and thrusting them ruthlessly to the side, Watari forced himself to put his focus on the game. The game he needed to, if not win, at least play better than he was at the moment. The game he needed to stop being so squeamish about. He'd made a promise. He'd struck a deal with the devil and now he was letting the devil guide the game.

If I'm going to disgust myself, I might as well do something right in the process, Watari thought furiously at himself.

And then he was moving using the buoyancy of the water to help off set the physical advantage Muraki had over him. Using surprisingly strong and well defined abdominal muscles, the scientist plunged up from the water grasping Muraki's shoulders with both hands and spinning himself around until he could pin both of the doctor's knees in between his own slender thighs, now partially astride the devil himself.

If I'm going to ride this tempest, I might as well be an active participant. Watari thought to himself. The dark, angry humor made his eyes brighten as he focused his gaze on Muraki's face.

The doctor gazed back, the beginnings of another slow smile on his attractive face. He'd shed his own glasses before getting into the bath. Watari's movement caused the water to splash a little, waves to form and a few drops fell across and ran slowly down the doctor's face. "Yes...?"

The young shinigami arched his elegant brows before sitting back a little, using the grip he had on the doctor's knees and the water for balance. This allowed him to move his hands off Muraki's shoulder. His touch was feather light, though it had lost a lot of its tentativeness. Watari used neatly trimmed nails to raise small lines on Muraki's pale skin watching the path his hands took as he continued to map the doctor's powerful chest.

"I made a bargain with you. Somehow, I don't think my just lying there would be considered holding up my end of the deal. Besides, if we're going to do this... why should I let you have all the fun?" Watari firmly tamped down on the small voice that whispered in the corner of his mind, why not enjoy yourself on your downward spiral?

Muraki's smile widened. "As long as you understand that I *was* having fun. And you were hardly just laying there... or were you unaware of your expression... the small sounds you were making... the thumping of your heart was about to deafen me," he said, such obvious pleasure in the description that he ended by licking his lips.

Watari felt a sensation that he imagined must be akin to the split second of awareness one might feel before their heart imploded in their chest, disintegrating to nothing. His hands stilled on Muraki's chest and ever muscle in his body tensed as nerve endings sang with the desire to thrust away from the monster he straddled. Thrust away and run for safety, for sanity... for Tatsumi.

The scientist clenched his back molars together so tightly he thought it possible that he might crack them. A twitch ran through Watari's body, like an electrical shock, as he forcefully told those flight instincts to stand down. Instead of running, as wisdom dictated, he leaned forward very carefully, turning his head to the side so that his wet hair cascaded along one shoulder, away from Muraki's face. Instead of answering the doctor's tormenting words, the young shinigami placed his lips, very softly against the side of the other man's jaw. Watari's nimble tongue darted out to lap at the moisture trailing along the well defined bone, following the water's path back up along Muraki's face until, Watari was nibbling teasingly at the corner of the man's mouth.

Muraki lifted his chin just slightly, not turning towards Watari's tantalizing touch, not moving away from it. He seemed to sense that Watari wanted to control the situation. He didn't make any overt moves to take control back rather he literally leaned back, giving the blond free rein. But his eyes never closed. They watched Watari, and it seemed as if he were observing to derive pleasure from the view one minute, and the next, observing to catalog every action, every response in some infinite data bank to be used later.

I should stop. I should go back to ... to just ... being a passive participant. That would be... explainable right? I could victimize myself then. Watari's shoulders jerked a little as he chuffed with a hint of laughter at himself. You tossed that luxury out the window, Yutaka. Best embrace what you have left and focus on what you're doing...

What am I doing?

Watari growled inwardly at himself and forced his body to move carefully, gently even as he released his hold on Muraki's knees and floated his own weight back. Shifting forward, till he rested very lightly, chest to chest with the doctor, the shinigami began to lay light kisses along the mortal man's neck. Hands now braced on either side of Muraki's shoulders, fingers clenching the edge of the bath Watari angled his gentle touches around till he was at the base of Muraki's throat. Once there, he closed his teeth very carefully, yet firmly around the doctor's Adam's apple, the tip of his tongue lashing against the masculine bump.

The bump vibrated a little as Muraki chuckled softly. It would be so easy for Watari to close his teeth in a sudden bite, crushing the larynx, drowning Muraki in his own blood, and the doctor was aware of it. "What interesting games you play, Yutaka-kun," he murmured, arching his neck back to offer even more of the vulnerable area.

His hands floated in the water, drifting together until they closed on either side of Watari's torso and then the fingers began slowly stroking, exploring along each flank. There was nothing about the man that was in a hurry - absolutely nothing.

The scientist was aware of Muraki's infinite patience and while it annoyed him, he was forced to the same, unhurried pace. He was also aware of the apparently vulnerable position he had Muraki in. His jaw ached to clamp down and part of Watari's mind wondered if he physically was capable of tearing out Muraki's throat but he let go of both urges. Even if he were to somehow succeed, there was little to be gained at this juncture in making the attempt and still way too much to lose.

Drawing his teeth slowly back and forth across the exposed skin, Watari let Muraki know that the thought had crossed his mind. Then he withdrew his hold on the doctor's throat, pressing an almost tender kiss against the vulnerable larynx. Watari moved downwards, exploring the hollow at the base of Muraki's throat, lapping at the moisture gathered there, teasing pale skin with his tongue even as he tease his own body by moving within the hold of those large, deft hands. As he sank deeper into the water, his hair began to spread out adding its own soft, tickling caress as it wound around Muraki's upper torso.

The soft stroking of Muraki's hands lulled Watari as he kissed the doctor's skin, which was very smooth, very fine-grained, hinting at aristocratic blood. The odd swirls of white across it were more evident up close, direction in the way they marked his skin almost invisibly, and the faintest of textures to them that Watari could feel under his lips and tongue only because the skin they covered was itself so smooth.

Lulled and relaxing, at least in some part, Watari didn't realize when Muraki's hands went from stroking to slowly sliding along his skin as the doctor wound his strong arms around Watari's torso. When the hold was secure, Muraki moved under Watari, not suddenly but inexorably, holding the shinigami against him and turning them both until Watari found himself on his back in the water, supported by those incredibly strong arms, with Muraki bending over him.

"Don't worry, I'll give you your playtime again," he murmured. "If you really want it," that had an undercurrent of wry, cool humor. "But little by little... damnation shouldn't come so quickly, should it? The bath water is cooling. Unless we warm it, it will become unhealthful."

Without waiting for a comment or protest, Muraki covered Watari's mouth with his own, opening his lips for the deepest, most powerful kiss thus far. Where before he'd sucked Watari's tongue into his mouth, this time the invasion was Muraki's, penetrating deeply as he fucked Watari's mouth with his tongue so skillfully that it sent the blood racing through the shinigami's body like a sudden torrent.

He had been nibbling along a collarbone when it had sunk in what Muraki's arms were doing. As the mortal man had lifted him, the natural thing had been to tangle his legs in around Muraki's trying to maintain some semblance of his own balance, though he realized he would be in jeopardy of an undignified dunk were the doctor to release him.

Muraki's words should not have surprised him. They pinched a little, but were effective reminders of just what this game meant to his opponent. Forcing himself to relax in Muraki's hold, he had been about to comment when the doctor's mouth closed over his and the deep, intimate kiss began.

It was a breath-stealing caress and Watari felt an intense wave of self-loathing race through his body along with the heated response of his blood. He brought his hands up as if to grab at Muraki's shoulders and push him away, that was what he wanted to do, but logic cold, hard, scientific logic overruled his panic. Instead, he waited till he had the rhythm of Muraki's thrusts and then began to return the kiss, with a deftness that perhaps surprised the doctor, or perhaps not.

Muraki allowed, in fact cooperated with Watari's return for a little while, then he lifted his head, looking down into golden eyes. "You can't simply relax, can you?" he murmured. "Your self-loathing drives you to flagellate yourself with participation. Guilt is the leash Enma Daioh selects his shinigamis for...." He gazed down, watching Watari with an almost compassionate expression. His eyes however were cool and distant.

The water that dripped from both the natural and the artificial grey eyes was also cool, ignored as if it didn't exist.

Watari made himself focus on those distant eyes. He knew Muraki was skillful enough to manipulate his face into any expression he desired, the way an actor could put on any mask of his choice depending upon the scene. He held the doctor's eyes for a long beat, then skipped his own gaze off to a point just past the mortal man's shoulders then back.

"Was there a question in there? Or were you content with your own conclusion?" Watari's voice was still soft though perhaps slightly roughened. His accent a tad more pronounced as a result of the arousal the doctor had coaxed out of him.

Muraki's mouth slowly curved, even as a last few cool drops spattered Watari's face gently. "It's not a conclusion, rather an intuition," he said. "Very well, if you prefer to enjoy this as little as possible... and of course you do... spread you legs apart for me."

Amber eyes, burnished gold with emotion locked on the doctor's face and Watari did something a little strange. He released the grip one of his hands had on Muraki's arm and brought his fingers up towards the pale, attractive features hovering over him. Tracing the fine, high born bone structure with a tender touch, Watari's lips curled upwards slightly in an enigmatic grin.

"First you chastise me for my participation, then you ask for it. Which is it to be, Sensei?"

"Spread your legs apart for me."

Watari's instinctive response to the situation was to try to bluff his way with another question back at the doctor. It was just one of his ingrained responses to such situations, but something, something this time stopped the words in his throat. Perhaps it was the look in Muraki's eyes or the tone of his voice or the phrasing of his command, but something in the exchange cracked its way through Watari's shell and drove a bolt of fear into his heart.

He lay on his back half supported by the water, caught in what could only be termed an intimate embrace and, for what he feared would not be the last time, he felt terror. He'd been one breath, one passage of air across his vocal cords away from being smart back to a man who held more than his life in his hands. Watari could survive death, he was already dead but there were plenty of other innocents who could suffer the fallout from the game. Watari was confused, a mental state he abhorred and usually tried to fake his way around. Muraki was confusing him but somehow bluffing the doctor did not seem the wise move to make. And that brought a fresh wave of fear, because Watari had to acknowledge those three words that any scientist hates,

 'I.Don't.Know.'

But, you've been told, that insidious little voice whispered, causing a shiver to run through the young shinigami as he swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. It was still another breath before he could unfreeze his muscles and, trembling slightly, do as Muraki requested. Opening his legs for the doctor.

Muraki watched him, grey eyes seeming to miss nothing, nothing from the shift of expression in Watari's beautiful gold eyes to the tremble of tension in the shinigami's limbs. As if rewarding him for figuring out the right path out of the maze, he kissed Watari's lips gently. "Thank you," he said, with flawless courtesy. Shifting his body in the water, he slid into the open area between Watari's legs. But if Watari expected him to proceed to intercourse, he was mistaken. Rather the doctor bent down, sliding his arms under the water and his hands under Watari's hips, lifting them until his body floated at the surface. As he bent lower, Watari felt warm breath, and then the doctor's mouth slowly sliding around his cock.

The scientist had expected to be taken and he blinked when instead he felt Muraki shift his hold and pick him up further in the water. A blink that shifted to a full shutting of his eyes as he felt the doctor's warm lips close around the sensitive skin of his cock. There was little chance of Watari being able to hold back the sharp intake of breath and quiet moan as a pleasure he could not deny his body raced along his nerves. Thrown completely off guard by Muraki's action the young shinigami could only reach and grip at the doctor's powerful biceps. A small, confused whimper escaped his lips on the heels of the moan.

Muraki continued to swallow Watari until the blond's erection was fully sheathed in a warm wet mouth and throat. The doctor's tongue shielded his sensitive organ from sharp teeth but he could feel their smooth sides like pearls. Holding him effortlessly, Muraki slowly moved his head back, his active tongue swirling around the swollen shaft as he sucked on it. With the head just enclosed by his lips, he increased the suction, and probed the slit at the top with his tongue, then slid it under the edge of the shinigami's unshorn head. And then he began to move back down.

It seemed to take longer than it actually did, because each sensation was so intense and heightened, and the terror Watari had felt seemed to add an edge to the carnal sensations that pushed them even further, beyond anything he had ever experienced.

Even if his intent had been passiveness, Watari could not have kept to that path. The intensity of the sensations, the intensity of emotions, was too great. He battled against the instinctive urge to thrust towards that warm, skillful mouth and deliciously devious tongue, whimpering without hearing himself in protest as he forced himself not to plunge towards Muraki. Strong, sleek legs tightened around the doctor's rib cage, angled up high but holding on to the other man's powerful torso as if clinging to Muraki was the only thing keeping Watari from flying into little pieces. The erection that Muraki worked seemed to swell even further beneath his ministrations, bobbing eagerly up towards the attention of tongue and lips.

The doctor held him securely, and for each tremor, each moan that escaped Watari's lips, each tiny, aborted thrust upwards, the blond was rewarded by a little increase in tempo, a bit stronger suction, an extra swirl of tongue. Muraki's hands under his hips began squeezing rhythmically with the rest of the act. The more control slipped from Watari, the more pleasure he was given. The doctor drove him until his hips were flexing of their own accord, until he could not help but thrust into the willing, skillful mouth, until he felt something building inside him that seemed to come from the base of his soul rather than the root of his organ. As his balls tightened against his body, one of Muraki's thumbs rubbed along the underside of the sac.

Then, as the sensation seemed about to explode, something silky slithered around the base of his cock, tightening, tightening around his balls, closing the minute canals that would allow him release.

Muraki lifted his head and looked down at his handiwork.

The way Muraki seemed to be drawing a response from his very soul added to the terror Watari felt. The physical, the physical he could understand. The physical he thought he could handle but this was going beyond that and Watari tossed his head from side to side, moaning in a combination of protest and exquisite pleasure. His hands released Muraki's upper arms in order to reach out and catch at the back of the tub, giving himself leverage as his hips began to work independent of his brain's commands. Watari's slight upper body arched out of the water as he sort of twisted, not in an attempt to escape, well not entirely but in response to what Muraki was doing to him.

Release. Release felt so close. The touch of the doctor's thumb running along oh so sensitive skin spurring him onwards and despite the fear, or perhaps because of it, Watari looked to embrace his climax, to embrace the pleasure of release. He didn't even consider the ribbon until the pressure began to build as it tightened around him. He still didn't fully connect to what it was doing until the relief he sought was suddenly clamped off leaving him strung out between the bath wall and Muraki trembling with need. Caught, in the trap of his own body.

"Sens..." Watari began to call out to Muraki but he closed his teeth around the word, his guttural cry of combined pleasure and frustration becoming a wordless noise.

Muraki smiled.

Bending, he licked a trembling bead of precum from the tip of Watari's straining organ. Shifting his grip slightly, the thumb that had grazed Watari's balls now pressed its tip against the tightly closed opening at the base of his buttocks. Muraki licked the head of Watari's cock, and felt the answering tremble in the tight ring of muscle below. He enclosed the head and sucked, and felt the next spasm. He sucked the entire length into his mouth, and felt the ring of muscle spasm again and this time his thumb slipped inside before it could close tightly again. The silken bonds around Watari's cock and balls began to loosen as if to reward him for opening, and admitting an intruder. As they relaxed, Muraki sucked and licked, and the wave broke, pushing Watari through the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced, in life or after death, and the doctor's thumb grazed something else, a spongy little hummock within, sending additional shocks of pleasure through the crest.

Even back before his self-imposed celibacy, Watari had not often bottomed in his same sex encounters so the ring of muscle was quite tense and reluctant to relax at first. But after the initial press, which elicited a sharp inhale of breath from the shinigami, the muscles gradually loosened still gripping the doctor's thumb but now working with its intrusion. As the ribbon loosened, however, Watari's focus turned from what Muraki was doing at his entrance to the incredible pleasure that exploded from the base of his cock ripping its way through his entire body as it seemed to engulf him completely. He was already throwing his head back and crying out when that skillful digit brushed across the bundle of nerves sheltered in his body. Watari felt his world blast outwards while simultaneously narrowing down until it was just himself and Muraki. Even the game was forgotten in that instant of pure ecstasy.

Large hands cradled Watari, and a silver head lifted, licking its lips, having taken every milky drop. Slowly Muraki eased his thumb out of the tight opening and he gently lowered Watari into the water. Spasms still ran through the blond's muscles, causing his limbs to twitch. Muraki slid his arms around the shinigami and held him safely until his body eased finally into relaxation.

The water was cool, in moments it would be unpleasantly so, but the same strong arms lifted the blond out of the tub, and gently toweled him dry. Slid his robe around his shoulders. Placed him on a towel-covered bench, continuing to hold him until he could feel the world around him. Then as Watari was beginning to find his way back, a large hand caressed his wet hair gently away from his face, Muraki bent and kissed his forehead softly and then the pale man stepped away, slipping on his own robe and belting it, sliding his feet into sandals.

"Promise kept," he said, his voice husky. "And beautifully." Then he smiled. "For now."

Watari sat there on the bench, his arms leaning on his thighs, eyes staring fuzzily at the floor. His muscles felt deliciously limp. Almost liquefied. His thoughts were fuzzy and they didn't seem to want to connect in any meaningful way. For a moment, it just felt good to relax and let Muraki take care of him and so Watari went with that impulse.

As Muraki spoke, Watari tilted his head and looked up at the doctor, his expression a mixture of confusion, and fear. Confusion because Muraki was not acting in a way that Watari had expected, anticipated or guarded himself against. Fear, fear because the young shinigami could feel himself starting to, wanting to, desperate to respond to the other man's care.

It's a game, Yutaka... it's a game. Watari could hear his logical mind calling the words over and over from a distance far removed from his current, content state.

He knew he should think of something witty to say but despite his muddled mind's best effort at the end all he could manage was a puzzled little grin and a quietly accented,

"Thank you."

At the soft words, Muraki's hand paused on the door latch. Paused for a few seconds. Then a few more. "My pleasure, Yutaka-san." Then Muraki opened the door and left, closing it behind him.

As Muraki left, Watari let his head drop down between his shoulders once more. Grabbing a towel that had been placed beside him, he flipped it up over his hair retreating into the self-soothing act of further drying his hair. His mind was slowly starting to come back on-line, processing the new information that the night had brought.

By Enma... did I underestimate... how did I not take my own needs into account? Watari heard himself groan and he gave his hair a sharp tug snapping the towel away from the now tangled mass.

Flipping the towel around his neck the scientist took a couple of deep breaths, gingerly testing the ability of his legs to hold him. His whole body still felt deliciously heavy sated, relaxed and he chuffed softly as he muttered out loud.

"The man certainly knows what he's doing."

Prying himself off the bench, Watari was just beginning to think he'd be able to make it down the hall to the room he shared with Tatsumi, when something skittered its way across his consciousness and set him back down on the bench with a rather graceless thump.

"Yutaka-san... not -kun." The scientist felt his brows pinch together, the way they often did when he was puzzling over a chemical formula. "What in the name of Hades is going on..." Watari placed his hand over his face, confused and concerned by the unknown elements being introduced into the game.

Tatsumi lay half dressed, on top of his bed, the covers not yet folded down. He'd removed his shoes and jacket, his tie and belt, but he still wore his shirt, although the collar was open and the sleeves unfastened and folded up once or twice, and his suit pants. His glasses were on the table beside him but he hadn't gone any further towards getting ready for bed. He couldn't. His eyes were closed but he was waiting for... something. For a cry of alarm somewhere in the house. For Muraki to enter the room and attack.

Waiting for Watari to return from another of his interminable baths.

Really, the man shouldn't have an owl as a mascot. He should have a duck.

The mental grumble was superficial and didn't really succeed in covering his worry.

The owl in question was perched on the computer monitor with her head tucked under her wing, looking asleep. A sound in the hallway, however, brought her head up, which might have seemed strange when the sounds of the staff settling the house for the night hadn't disturbed her to this point.

No sooner did her head come up then Watari came tripping through the door. His feet moving on autopilot he forgot about the slight rise from the hallway into their room and he took a couple quick steps to catch his balance. Standing still for at least two counts longer then he was ever still at any given moment, Watari blinked and looked up and around, as if just now noticing where he was.

"Oh," he murmured. His attention focused off the walls and to 003 as the little owl flew over to him.

His hair was mostly dry now. It was at the stage where it felt like cool, rich silk and 003 loved to nest on his shoulder and burrow through his hair when it was that luxurious texture. But tonight she landed on his shoulder and instead of playfully nestling into his hair she scooted up against his chin, chirping worriedly at him.

Watari lifted his hand and began to stroke her feathers automatically, his lips quirking a little as he listened to her.

"It's okay," he said quietly and it was hard to tell if he was talking to the owl or himself. If he was aware of Tatsumi's presence on the bed he gave no open indication of it. Instead, Watari moved towards his own bed, one hand grasping his toiletry bag the other petting the snuggling owl.

Tatsumi's eyes opened the moment the door opened. He watched Watari enter, relaxing at first when it wasn't a house member with a tale of terror, or the pale doctor with some arcane treachery.

However, as he watched Watari stumble into the room, mumbling to 003 and appearing to be almost... drugged the tension began to rise again. He reached out and put on his glasses almost immediately and then sat up, watching Watari shuffle towards his bed.

When it seemed that Watari was not going to speak, he cleared his throat.

Setting his bag on the nightstand by his bed, Watari jumped when Tatsumi cleared his throat. Spinning around so quickly he ended up sort of sitting himself down on his bed, which was slightly more graceful than actually falling on his ass Watari blinked over at Tatsumi.

"You're awake." Gottah love those keen shinigami powers of observation. "Err, I mean... well... you're awake... isn't it, late?"

He knew how strict his partner was about being awake and alert first thing in the morning, which usually translated to a much more reasonable bedtime than Watari himself. So it was, that instead of a screaming house servant or a rampaging pale doctor, Tatsumi found himself being regarded with two sets of large dark, owlish eyes.

"Yes it is," Tatsumi managed to sound repressive, as well as frustrated and pointed at the same time. "It's late," he repeated. "Did you fall asleep in the bath?"

Watari broke eye contact with his partner under the guise of getting himself settled on the bed, folding one long leg up under himself, the robe pulled across his thighs creating a soft hammock of fabric. Reaching up to his shoulder he pulled 003 down to his lap and turned her over on her back and giving her one of her favorite treats, a belly rub.

"Oh, no." Watari chuckled softly as he watched his owl's eyes close to blissful slits and she seemed to turn into a little bundle of limp feathers in his hand. "The water was... warm... and I ... I lost track of time. Maybe the water was a little too warm."

Not an out and out fib, just a reshuffling of the facts.

Tatsumi frowned. Leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, he propped his chin on one hand. He could see the state of agitation, he was just at a loss to understand it. He couldn't remember ever seeing Watari in a similar state. Not when half the Meifu library had blown up.

Never.

Leaning back and rubbing his forehead with one hand, he said softly, "More... leeway?"

Watari looked up quickly and this time his eyes caught and held his partner's handsome features. Now that he looked at his partner, he was caught by how cute Tatsumi looked in his semi-relaxed state but any smile he might have given to the man was subdued by the shadow-master's words. He should have known better than to even try to set Tatsumi off the trail. The Secretary was too damn good at his job.

Nodding slightly, he said instead, "Please." Keeping it short and to the point because if he talked too much or too long he knew he was going to end up sharing the details of the bargain, as well as his current fear, with the older man.

However, after what felt like a full rotation of the minute hand of the clock on the wall, Watari found his traitorous mouth speaking, "Are you angry with me, Tatsumi?"

Tatsumi found himself almost wishing he could say yes. It would be so much easier to deal with than the truth.

"No," he said. His voice low and inflectionless. "I suppose I should be, shouldn't I?"

Giving 003 one last vigorous rub, Watari looked back up and over at his partner. His amber eyes were still slightly dazed but they seemed more focused and the smile that broke out on his face was genuine, even a touch boyish.

"Oh, probably. No. Make that, most definitely." There was ruefulness in Watari's tone, but a hint of something else as well. Something that seemed to go along with the way his eyes traced Tatsumi's face.

"What is happening, Yutaka?" Tatsumi said, his voice soft, almost inaudible. If he waited for an answer, he might have gotten more than he expected, but the words continued after a bare pause. "What are we doing here? Are we trying to prevent deaths? Are we trying to save the world from a greater evil? Are we merely observing for the record? Are we waiting to take an infant's soul... a mother's... or an old man?"

Taking off his glasses, Tatsumi bowed his head, covering his face with his hands.

Under normal circumstances, Watari would not have followed a similar course of action as he did in that moment. But it was easily arguable that the circumstances were far from normal. Setting 003 off to the side on his pillow he unfolded his leg and stood up.

Crossing the room to Tatsumi, Watari reached as if to lay a hand on the bent head but he paused that motion. Choosing instead to tuck at his robe he hunkered down on his heels in front of Tatsumi, close but not quite touching.

"Tatsumi, Yatonogami... can not be allowed to re-enter this world at his full strength. He brings, death by the thousands... miserable death by starvation and plague. Death that would overwhelm our division in an half a day. Yatonogami. Can. Not. Be. Allowed. Resurrection. That is what we are doing here."

His voice was lowered, quiet but his accent still lingered from earlier. He couldn't bring himself to answer Tatsumi's direct questions. He couldn't bring himself to tell his kind-hearted partner that, yes maybe they were waiting to take the soul of an infant, a mother or an old man. He didn't really want to face that eventuality himself. If he could just focus on the outcome of the experiment, maybe he could push aside the unfortunate decisions that had to be made to reach that outcome.

Tatsumi dropped his hands slowly away from his face without lifting his head, and looked at Watari's face so close to his own. His eyes, without the spectacles in front of them, looked oddly vulnerable, a little unfocused, but they searched Watari's face, settling on his wide eyes, seeking something... something...

Finally he sighed. "I'm very much afraid you are right," he said, the weariness in his voice heavy. "So you're sending Muraki against Yatonogami. Hoping one evil can destroy another. It's a decision a scientist would make, I suppose. It's been said I have nerves of steel, or ice... but I couldn't have done it. Wouldn't have done it. " His gaze dropped to his hands. "But maybe that is why you are here, but I didn't know that, Yutaka. I swear if I had known, I would never have let you come."

The vulnerability in those blue eyes pulled at Watari's heart and his hands twitched, fingers aching to reach up and soothe the worry lines, which creased the corners of Tatsumi's eyes. Instead, Watari gripped the fingers of his left hand hard with the fingers of his right. That vulnerability, while painful to witness, was a keen reminder of why he'd pursued the decisions he'd made.

Watari watched those bared eyes as the shadow-master spoke and his lips gave a slight twitch in response to some of the words, but he waited till Tatsumi was finished before responding.

"Seiichirou, it is one of your finer traits that you can care as fiercely as you do about those who touch your heart. This is a complex situation and please if you believe nothing else, believe how much I wish I were not right. As for my decisions, whether they turn out to be the right ones, we will have to wait until we can look back on this in time to make that judgment." He fell silent looking intensely thoughtful about something but then he leaned forward and bumped his knees against Tatsumi's shin very lightly, "and just what, might I ask, makes you think I would have let you leave me behind?"

Tatsumi's eyes flashed but instead of giving a clipped retort, his hand reached out, moving faster than Watari was prepared for, and lightly but firmly grasped Watari's chin. The blond's face was lifted, and Tatsumi examined his face closely noting slightly swollen lips, and some other odd marks on his neck that could have been anything, could have been nothing... given Watari's usual costume he couldn't even be sure they hadn't been there before. But something teased at his senses. Something couldn't place, perhaps because a part of him didn't want to.

Letting his hand fall away, he said simply, "You look tired. You should go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be... well long is probably the least of it."

Tatsumi's hand on his chin, the thorough exploration by those searching sapphire eyes that so often saw more than Watari thought possible, left him momentarily motionless even after the older shinigami withdrew his hand. Watari rocked a little on his heels assaulted once again by the nearly overwhelming need to throw himself forward, hide his face against his partner's knees and talk to Tatsumi. But as before Tatsumi, acting perhaps on some known or unknown intuitive level gave Watari the out he needed.

Rocking back the scientist stood up carefully nodding his head slightly. "Yes, yes I suppose I am a little tired tonight. Can't seem to burn the candle at both ends like I used to be able to. You should try to get some rest as well."

The last sentence was spoken with a hint of soft concern, as well as a subtly encouraging tone. He wanted to tell Tatsumi that he could rest, relax his guard. That a promise had been made, a promise had been kept and Watari expected it to be honored. At least for now. But he couldn't say any of that without pulling the top off the box both he and Tatsumi seemed to be dancing around.

"I will get some rest," Tatsumi promise. It wasn't strictly speaking a lie, he hadn't said he would sleep. "Good... night, Yutaka."

The subtle distinction was not lost on his partner but Watari didn't push. Giving Tatsumi a small quick smile and a bow of his head along with a quiet, "Good night, Seiichirou," Watari crossed back over to his bed.

Crawling in between the covers the young shinigami tugged the blanket up to his chin, trying to chase away the chilly, fall night air. 003 hopped up to settle on the edge of his pillow just above his head and he soon felt her beak in his hair as she tried to preen him. Her attempt to comfort her human. It always brought a smile to his face.

A smile that was quickly wiped away as he felt the ghostly echoing touch of soft, warm lips and large deft hands on his flanks and cock. Despite the blanket now tucked up around his shoulder, Watari shivered and turned so his back was to Tatsumi.

Tatsumi got up and checked the door, then turned out the lights and returned to his bed, glancing at the blanket-wrapped figure on the other side of the room. He settled on his bed, on top of the covers, only pulling a single blanket across his legs and chest. Finding a comfortable position, he took off his glasses but did not close his eyes. He could see the edge of the mood through the window. It would keep him company along with Watari's soft breathing and the occasional murmur from 003. And Tatsumi would watch over them both until dawn.

/Thank you./

Closing the door of the bathing room, Muraki Kazutaka walked silently down the corridors of the large house to the guestroom he'd been given. It was actually a little larger, and a little more well-appointed than the single room shared by the two shinigami, which would probably have angered them, infuriated the senior of the two certainly. It was a small thing among many small things that amused the mad doctor. Closing the door behind him, he slid the robe off and tossed it on a chair, revealing a well-developed and well-cared for body, still slightly damp from the bath. The rock hard erection he'd had in the bathing room had subsided to some degree on the walk back to the room but it was not fully flaccid.

Instead of putting on pajamas, or even going to bed without them, Muraki opened a small suitcase and began getting dressed. The white suit hung in the wardrobe, along with the shirt he'd worn that day and a fresh one for tomorrow. Leaving them, he pulled out a pair of jeans, soft from laundering and well fitted. Putting them on, he slipped his feet into a pair of athletic shoes and then pulled a dark gray sweater out of his bag and pulled it on over his head.

Glancing superficially around his room, he checked the wards he'd left guarding it when he went to bathe, and then slipped out the door.

The walk across the countryside to the old chapel was pleasant. He liked walking under the night sky, whether it was stars or clouds. The chapel was empty and dark as he expected it to be. Going inside, he placed himself before the altar, knelt and murmured a short prayer in Latin that invoked the name of the Virgin, and crossed himself. It was all done without the slightest hint either of reverence or of disrespect, more like a Noh dance where movement symbolized emotion in such a stylized fashion that it could barely even be recognized.

As he prayed with his lips, Muraki's mind was on other things. Preparations for the next day, assembling the magic arsenal he would need to face a demon whom had once been a god and expected to be again. Yes, Yatonogami had recognized him. At another time, the demon probably wouldn't have even considered him a minor threat, but even Muraki could sense how close the demon was to his release, and it made him both vulnerable and fanatically cautious. He'd hoped to confuse it with his words to Nagare. /I am here to serve you./ Perhaps the demon would assume that Muraki had come to enlist. The thought caused the corner of the doctor's mouth to curve.

Rising to his feet, he placed his hands together and then began to draw a circle in the air, and the tips of his fingers were trailed by a faint glow. The circle expanded to fill the room and he continued to draw symbols, fleshing out the circle with a five-pointed star and drawing cabalistic symbols at the points of the star. His voice chanted softly, about the same volume as his earlier prayer.

It took some time to complete the ritual, but when it was done, the chapel was sealed and neither the visitors from the Meifu nor Yatonogami could have detected his presence within.

Safe at last, Muraki dropped his arms, and his shoulders eased from their normal posture to a slight slump. Reaching behind the altar, he pulled out a blanket that he'd stashed there earlier. Throwing it over one of the pews, he chuckled to himself. The large bed in the nicer room was going to be left untouched tonight. He couldn't risk sleeping in it, not under the same roof with the demon, or the two shinigami.

Reclining on the hard wooden pew with only the thin blanket for padding, he lay back, looking up into the darkness. Reaching down, he unfastened his jeans and slid the zipper down, and then reached inside to pull out his cock, shielding it from the zipper's teeth with his fist.

Against the darkness, he projected the images he desired to recall.

The blond shinigami in the bath. With precision, Muraki replayed every moment from the time he entered the room. A smile touched his lips at the memory of Watari on the floor of the bath, laughing half-hysterically and tugging at the red silk ribbon.

As he replayed the memory, somewhere under a blanket the silk ribbon, which wasn't really silk nor actually a ribbon, shifted with his thoughts, caressing Watari in his sleep. The caress brought a soft murmur of protest, mostly muffled, from his sleeping lips and causing Tatsumi to blink and look over at his partner.

Absently, the doctor sent a thought to quiet the reactive device, and returned his concentration to his mental imagery. As he recalled each verbal exchange, each touch, each visual picture of the blond, his hand slowly stroked his reawakened erection. As the sequence progressed to the moment when the shinigami had so reluctantly spread his legs apart, and Muraki had lifted his lap and bent to consume, his hand moved faster, tugging at the swollen flesh, squeezing it, sending waves of pleasure through his body as he built the friction. As he recalled the moaning, the helpless thrashing as Watari responded and was pushed over the edge, the straining as his release was suspended, and the sweet violence of his climax when he was released and penetrated, Muraki brought himself off, his hips flexing on the hard wooden pew, thick white semen erupting and spilling over his fingers.

The smile on his lips as he lifted his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean was blurred, a bit unfocused, both predatory and at the same time oddly lacking in malice. Tucking himself back in, but leaving the jeans zipper down, he shifted a little on the bench, turned and crooked one arm to pillow his head.

With the old blanket half on and half under him, Muraki closed his eyes like a man with a clean conscience and slept.

Tatsumi had woken him, already dressed about to head out for the day. Watari was almost getting used to the Kagetsukai's early hours, though for some reason Tatsumi had actually let him sleep in a little today. If 7:30am instead of 7:00am could be called sleeping in. But Watari knew the Shadow-Master well enough to know that the half-hour had been a gift of sorts.

Puttering about, Watari had gotten dressed, choosing his habitual turtleneck but draping it instead with a warm sweater to help ward off the morning chill. A mug of coffee and some fresh breakfast, thoughtfully delivered by Meiya, had been set beside the computer as Watari focused his concentration on some e-mails from the Gushoshin, responses to requests for information.

He had been in the middle of a very interesting tidbit about rural deities and their ties to the land when his computer had suddenly sputtered and blipped out. Frowning, he'd immediately begun a routine diagnostic investigation leading himself through all the steps and was to the point of checking all the cords and wiring he'd set up when 003 suddenly leapt from her perch and begun to flutter around the ceiling chirping in a peculiar manner.

Blinking at the little owl, Watari's eyebrows had snapped together, then bounced towards his hairline. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me?" He seemed to ask the owl who hooted a response that sounded like a definite *no, I'm not.* Shaking his head and grabbing his loose hair up in one hand, Watari shoved it down the back of his sweater and began to crawl along the floor, following a set of cords that ran along the wall almost to the far side of the room.

Sure enough, halfway along his investigation he came across... a mouse, snacking on the cord insulation.

"Hey!" He yelled, startling the mouse, which, in true mouse style, took off along the baseboard, shinigami in hot pursuit. "Get back here, you!"

Disobediently, the tiny rodent scampered for all he or she was worth along the edge of the wall, evidently seeking a hole or cranny, but the little guy had turned the wrong way, disoriented perhaps by the shouting man and the fluttering owl. In this unfriendly stretch of wall there was no refuge for a long stretch, the only hope, the door, under which the creature could more than likely skitter.

It was a mere two feet from freedom with Watari hot behind it on hands and knees when the door opened, startling mouse, man and owl into immobility for a split second.

"Curious," Muraki said, looking down.

The mouse recovered first and made a break to escape between the tall man's legs.

The tall man folded faster that the eye could follow and then straightened.

Lifting his hand, he looked into the terrified little liquid eyes of the mouse, caught tightly in his hand. Then he murmured, "Not your day," and prepared to break the rodent's neck with his thumb.

When the mouse made a break for the door, Watari lunged after it, his long form crossing half the distance of the room before the sudden appearance of Muraki froze him in surprise. When he saw Muraki move so quickly and catch the little creature he'd breathed a sigh of relief, a sigh that quickly turned into a small squeak of distress as he saw the doctor's strong thumb come over the mouse's head to break its neck.

"No, nononono..." Watari's voice was the soft wheedle he often used to get Tatsumi to do something the shadow-master disapproved of and without thinking, he just did what seemed perfectly natural.

Long legs having a hard time getting together he sort of jumped the remaining distance looking almost like Tsuzuki begging for a sweet on his knees as he reached up towards the mouse. Really, he wasn't being consciously supplicant, he would have done the same thing had it been Tatsumi who held the mouse's life in his hands. In fact, Watari was responding in a totally natural manner, setting aside, or more like forgetting that he was supposed to be tense around the doctor.

"I have an idea, but we need to keep Mr. Mouse alive." Or Miss Mouse, Watari hadn't had a chance to check in his chasing. His amber eyes were bright and full of his very habitual mischief.

Yes, yes indeed he had an idddeeeeaaaa!

Muraki looked down, inwardly smiling at the picture Watari made on his knees, hair wildly tumbled around his head. Begging for a mouse.

Muraki took one of Watari's outstretched hands and placed the creature in it. "If you were a cat," he told it, "This would make more sense."

Watari could feel the creature's heart beating like a tiny trip hammer.

"Are you going to feed it to your companion?" he asked, with mild curiosity. "I suppose they prefer their prey live..."

Watari carefully took the mouse and cradled the frightened creature in his palm against his chest, stroking the velvet-like brown fur. It was just a simple little field mouse nothing particularly special. Taking a quick peek to confirm it was a male mouse he rocked back on his heels and got to his feet, belatedly looking over at Muraki with a blink.

"Feed? Oh! Oh no. 003 is scared of mice." He said turning to walk back towards the center of the room. Holding the little creature up so he could look in its face, watching its whiskers wiggle at the tip of its little nose, Watari grinned with evilness that was tempered by impishness.

"No, I have a much better idea for relocating this little fellow."

Lowering his hand back down he began to look for something, though it was hard to tell what he was looking for. Darting back and forth around the room he paused and blinked at Muraki again.

"I'm sorry... did you need something, Sensei?"

The doctor was now leaning in the door, but now that Watari had the wherewithal to notice, he realized he had never seen the man like this before. Dressed casually in well-fitted jeans, a sweater and athletic shoes, he looked... oddly younger. He never appeared older than thirty at most but in this clothing he more resembled a college student.

Muraki had intended to get back inside the house just before dawn and change into his customary attire, but an intuition had stopped him as he crossed the fields, and he managed to avoid being seen by the other shinigami as Tatsumi escorted Nagare out to the family's gravesite. Distracted with watching them for a few minutes, he'd realized that Watari would be alone and taken the opportunity to visit their shared room for a private conference.

"That depends on your priorities I suppose," he said. "I'm perfectly comfortable making this a relaxing vacation. I had thought there was some urgency to dealing with a certain situation, but please, don't let me distract you from your... new friend."

Watari had been focused on the mouse and with a scientist's intensity, at first he hadn't really noticed the change in attire. It wasn't until Muraki spoke, stopping Watari's racing mind and making him focus on the doctor that he noticed how the man was dressed.

The doctor's relaxed attire brought a curious look to the shinigami's face. All the pictures he'd ever seen of Muraki had always had the doctor dressed in his formal suits or medical scrubs. Watari couldn't help thinking to himself how much he'd come to associate the white suit with the doctor's less, socially acceptable pursuits. Dressed as he was now, he seemed a different man... more the man Watari had met in the baths the night before.

Giving his head a quick shake, firmly shoving that thought along with the undeniable he looks good to a back corner of his mind, Watari addressed the doctor's words.

"This won't take long. I just need to go for a little walk. Join me, if you wish... in fact." The blond shinigami paused with his eyes back on Muraki's face with a thoughtful expression on his own fine boned features. "I wouldn't mind your opinion on something, that might reference to this case. Will you walk with me?"

"Of course," Muraki said, stepping out into the hall to unblock the door.

Giving Muraki an absent nod, Watari scampered around the room a couple more times, muttering to himself. A few hoots and chirps could be heard from 003 along with Watari's soft, "Oh, right... that's where I left it. Thank you 003. Are you coming? No? Are you sure, it's a nic... oh... yes... of course, I should be back before Tatsumi-san, but if he comes here, don't... pester him."

The last said in an affectionately scolding tone, the way an older sibling might address a younger sibling and then Watari was coming to the door and into the hall. One hand still carefully clutching the mouse, the scientist was weaseling his way into the herringbone longcoat he'd worn the night he met Muraki at the chapel.

"Okay... umm... hmmm... door, which door was it again. Ah, right this way."

You almost had to wonder just how much of his absent minded professor act was an act sometimes!

Muraki didn't comment on the act. He'd observed the shinigami, most of them, at various times, and on some occasions when they hadn't been aware of his presence. It was interesting to note the consistency of the blond's behavior but it didn't merit any note.

Leading them halfway through the house, Watari exited the main compound through a door that would lead out to the north exit. The sun was already arching into the sky and to most the bright spring day would not seem overly cold yet he shivered all the same and pulled the ends of his coat close together, snuggling the mouse against his chest.

Trotting down the steps, Watari headed towards the small gate that set in the wall obviously preparing to leave the compound.

"Have you had a chance to observe the village that this family oversees?" He asked the doctor turning towards Muraki, even as he reached to work the gate's catch.

Muraki smiled. "Yes."

Pushing the door open, Watari spun through it then held it for Muraki.

"What do you think of their behavior towards the Kurosaki household?"

"If you have a theory, please feel free to share it, sensei," the doctor replied.

The path was at once well worn and yet neglected, as if it was used often but with reluctance.

"Well, I was actually interested in hearing your opinion." Watari watched his feet as he negotiated his way around a few loose rocks, skidding a bit. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, looking pensive about his next words, trepidatious even. "I... it appears that this is not the first time you have been here... though I apologize if I am mistaken in my assumption?"

"I'm surprised you'd forget," Muraki said with a lazy smile. "I thought you were familiar with the history of your youngest recruit."

The mention of Hisoka was like an ice-cold blast of water to the face and it caused Watari to stop in mid stride. He shouldn't have been caught off guard by it and he instantly chided himself for his lapse. Casting a quick glance over at Muraki, Watari ducked his head in a shamed manner.

Somehow it was easier to do what he had to do with Muraki if he didn't think about Hisoka and what the doctor had put the youth through.

"I ah..." The blond shinigami began, stopping and lifting his mousefree hand up to his forehead for a moment. "Kurosaki-kun... Mmm... He is a private young man..." Watari stopped himself and took a deep breath, mentally kicking himself in the ass.

Clearing his throat he started to walk again. "I didn't ... haven't dug into the details of his personal file."

"That would appear to be an oversight, since it happens you are here," Muraki said calmly. "When we met the other night, you seemed to hint that you had some theory about my having encountered the demon before. Are you in the mood to share it today?"

Though Muraki asked this question in the most polite of ways, Watari felt a shiver of fear work its way along his spine and into his chest. Now in the light of day, in the light of a lot of things, the shinigami recognized that a lot of his theory was based on circumstance and speculation.

Stopping, once again, he turned and rested his shoulders against a gnarled old tree unconsciously adopting the same posture Tatsumi had taken the other night. Stroking one long index finger along the mouse's back, in a gesture that could have been to soothe the mouse or himself it was hard to tell, Watari frowned thoughtfully.

"It, is only a theory mind you. I was reading up on Yatonogami, reading his history with the Kurosaki family and his history even before that. There were records of his encounters with humans, his mannerisms." Watari paused, his eyes getting a slightly dazed look as he turned his mind's eye inward, pulling up the transcripts from his memory and reading over them. "He likes to call people his dolls. He does it a lot. And... and if he was considering making an attempt to break his exile ... Hisoka's power as an empath in the mortal world marked him as supernaturally touched from birth, I can't imagine Yatonogami desired tangling with one already strengthened in such a way, but he couldn't kill Hisoka himself, he doesn't have a body except Nagare-san's and he couldn't even override Nagare-san's paternal instincts to force the death of the girl child... he would have needed another," Watari looked up at Muraki as he spoke the last word. "He would have needed another set of hands. Here, his eyes narrowed a little in a pensive way. "Willing, or not."

Muraki's lips curved into a smile. He turned slightly away from Watari and the smile became a soft chuckle. The chuckle became a full-throated laugh that echoed over the fields for a few minutes.

After the laughter fell back to silence, Muraki turned back. "Forgive me, Yutaka-san," he said, a little of the bizarre humor still coloring his voice. He cocked his head slightly to one side, watching Watari. "It's an interesting... theory. Truly. A bit off the mark, however."

At first, Watari's pride stung and he bridled a little as Muraki's went from chuckling to laughing. But as he stood there, waiting for the doctor to expend his mirth, he began to realize that he really had been foolish to put such faith in circumstances, instead of sticking to cold hard facts.

Forgot the first rule of researching, Yutaka. Facts... base theory on facts, then speculate.

So, by the time Muraki was once again speaking, Watari's lips were twitching with rueful humor as well. "A bit eh?"

"There is a ritual you are apparently unaware of," Muraki said, his grey eyes glinting with intelligence, however twisted. "This ritual would have allowed Yatonogami to take possession of his host upon the host's seventeenth birthday. It had been tried before but the recipients had all been unsuitable. He was waiting for a more receptive vessel. A vessel whose mind was already open to him - to him and to everyone around the child, unfortunately for that child. Yatonogami's strength in such a vessel would have eliminated the negative of the ESP abilities and harnessed the aggressive positives. You think he wanted that boy dead?" Muraki tilted his head back and laughed again. "He had only to live a few more months. What you see now is the desperation of a demon denied his best plan and making shift with another. His impatience is growing."

Scatter-brained though the scientist could be, he was still pretty quick off the mark and no sooner had the echo of Muraki's words fallen from the morning air then Watari was testing what the doctor was saying. Testing the believability of the statement and from there... testing the logic of what it implied.

Resting his head back against the tree behind him, Watari tossed his own way of thinking up into the air and attempted to look at the same set of facts from the new position raised by Muraki. As the picture snapped into focus, he felt an overwhelming weariness settle on him and he closed his eyes.

His voice, when it came, was subdued. Quiet, without hint of judgment but holding a need to know... to understand, or at least try to understand, "Why the pain?"

He expected Muraki to know what he was asking. He knew Muraki's keen intelligence would pick up on the heart of the question, the unknown question was, would Muraki deign to answer it?

"Why not?" the doctor answered. He watched Watari's face, seeing the reaction to that. Then he turned away.

"Without knowing what you know... you indicated you were too delicate to probe into the details, I believe you said, of that tiresome boy's life, or was it his death? Are you asking me to tell you that I did it for his own good?" This brought forth a soft chuckle. He shook his head. "Very well. The pain, the lingering illness because I was reluctant to give up on severing his connection to the family curse. I failed to do so. My efforts caused the pain... some of it. The rest I suppose you could say he brought on himself. I ran out of time, and he ran out... into the wrong night, under the wrong moon. Isn't that the way the story reads?"

Watari opened his eyes and looked at the doctor's face. A few remaining leaves on the trees caused the sun to dapple its way through the canopy, playing its light across Muraki's features along with the shadows thrown by the limbs. He felt genuine anger and remorse on Hisoka's behalf and his anger showed in his eyes but he chose his words carefully.

"That is the way the story reads, what I have seen of it. Though I believe I, not five minutes ago, got burned on using assumptions to reach conclusions so perhaps you will tell me, is that the be all and end all of the story?"

The young shinigami's voice was soft. Reluctant to ask the question, reluctant to be burdened with the answer, he wanted to release his anger and charge at Muraki in a Tatsumi-ish manner and demand why Muraki had to hurt the innocent child Hisoka had been. Why, if he was trying to help Hisoka, he had joined the ranks of adults who had betrayed the boy instead but Watari forced himself to choke back on the urges of his heart and focus on the questions that might yield useful answers instead of more pain.

The amusement seemed to leave Muraki like a sudden cold wind. "You want me to verify or rebuke his memories?" Muraki's lips curved but the expression held no amusement and certainly no warmth. "You have odd notions of cruelty and kindness. Let him have his nemesis. It gives him purpose. He has little enough else."

Muraki's eyes sharpened. "You are wasting time, Watari-sensei. The only things you need to know are those that are relevant to here and now. I wouldn't have mentioned it in any other context. You thought the demon engineered the child's death. I've offered another theory - he would have profited more had the boy lived. All that matters now is that in his impatience, or perhaps he is truly desperate, he is attempting another strategy, and it will succeed unless actions are taken. You brought me here to perform them. Are you prepared to follow it through?"

The young shinigami looked back down at his little passenger. The mouse seemed almost asleep in his hand, though its heart still raced against his palm. After a beat he pushed his shoulders away from the tree and stood up.

"Actually, my interest was in your memories, but you're correct. Time is passing quickly." It took an effort but Watari bundled up all the questions and needs he felt setting it all aside for future investigation when he had more time, or at least better timing.

Taking a step down the path, he remembered that Muraki had asked another question. 'Are you prepared to follow it through?' Watari stopped and turned his face up towards the dubious warmth of the sun's caress as he thought really thought, about his answer to that question. His shoulders gave a small twitch as he chuckled humorlessly.

"As you say, I brought you here to perform those necessary actions. Whether I am prepared or not is not the issue. I will have to be prepared, won't I?"

He turned his head, not quite looking over his shoulder at the doctor but casting his gaze back towards the taller man.

"Then do you want to know anything about those actions, or am I to do this all on my own?" The doctor's tone was that of mild curiosity.

That was not what he expected. Turning around, once again facing Muraki, Watari's expression was a little befuddled, but curious at the same time.

"Er... yes, I..." Watari paused and something quickly danced across his features, ruthlessly shunted aside before it could trip him up. "Yes, I would." He said in a firm voice, as if convincing himself or perhaps drowning out the little voice in his head screaming that it didn't want to know didn't want to be responsible for knowing.

Coward!

"The best chance of success would require the help of one, perhaps two others. You and the other shinigami. And it should be done as soon as can be managed," Muraki's voice was that of a scientist describing an experiment, or a surgeon advising a colleague. "Tonight would be ideal."

"And what would we be doing?" Watari asked inquisitively and perhaps more than just a little warily but obviously wanting to hear Muraki's idea in its entirety.

The cool smile returned. "Inducing a heart attack," he said. "And labor."

That got a blink out of the shinigami.

"Well, labor is obvious... heart attack... Nagare-san?"

Muraki nodded. "Timing is everything," he said, aware that it was a cliché and amused by it. "The demon can not kill his host. He is not able to do so. The closest he can come is to stress Nagare and hope his system fails. However, I don't have that problem. An injection will induce the heart to stop. If we induce labor at the same time, the demon will have no choice... he will have to take the only vessel available and he will not have time to be careful about it, or to arrange all the safeguards he would like to have. Once he leaves Nagare," Muraki shrugged. "It might be possible to revive the man. But not until the birth is complete, and the child is dead."

He couldn't help it. Even though he knew the words were coming, Watari still flinched when Muraki said the last. His eyes going down to the mouse he held, index finger once again stroking the warm little body.

"There must be... some way," Like Muraki, Watari knew he sounded cliché but he had to murmur the words, just so he could hear them in his own ears.

Lifting his hand up to fuss with his glasses, the scientist began a small pace back and forth along the path. "Your logic, your plan is sound... though Tatsumi will fight the idea of inducing Nagare to a heart attack... but there must be some way to intercept Yatonogami before he enters the child. Something. Think, Yutaka, think."

The last three words were whisper soft, he'd almost forgotten he had an audience as he spoke out loud and paced restlessly, trying to find an answer to his own question.

Muraki watched the blond scientist struggle with his inner voices. He crossed his arms and waited.

When it seemed Watari had reached a deadlock, Muraki spoke. "Has an ultrasound been done on the child?"

The sound of Muraki's voice pulled Watari out of his own thoughts and he looked over at the doctor. Then he looked around at the extremely rural landscape and shook his head.

"Not out this far in the country. They don't have access to that level of equipment and Rui-san... is not moved out of that room."

Muraki snorted softly. "And if they did, the pregnancy would have been terminated long ago," he said. He watched Watari with keen consideration. "If you are there to see it, I would be willing to wager that you'd hand me the scalpel."

Fingers rubbing on either temple, squeezing as if attempting to push a headache out through his ears, Watari suddenly remembered something Nagare himself had said when they'd first arrived.

The child is not mine.

A two-year pregnancy was not normal, by any stretch of the imagination. Still...

Lowering his hand to cover his mouth, as if to keep from being physically ill, Watari stared hard at one lone green leaf still clinging to life on the end of a branch. Swallowing, convulsively, a couple of times he spoke in a tense low tone, "I will be there. Tatsumi... If I can get Tatsumi to go along with this plan... he stays with Nagare."

It would do Tatsumi better to be able to focus on the attempt to save a life, then be stuck in the situation where life had to be taken, no matter what form it came in.

Muraki inclined his head. Exactly as he planned it. "You have to make certain," he said, his voice devoid of emphasis, "That Nagare is not revived until the child is dead. Do you understand?"

Watari gave a humorless chuff of laughter. "Oh, that won't be the hard part. The hard part is going to be getting Tatsumi to even go along with this idea. First, it's yours. Second, it involves death. Third, it's yours."

The scientist did not delude himself into thinking that bringing Tatsumi around to this idea would be easy. In fact, he was beginning to doubt he'd be able to do it.

"That may be the hardest," Muraki said. "But don't forget. Because that single thing, if not the hardest, is the most important."

He uncrossed his arms. "I need a shower, and to change. I'll leave you to handle your end of it. Let me know by two o'clock if you decide to cancel this. I have preparations that must be made."

Watari's mind already starting to focus on how he was going to bring this whole subject up to Tatsumi, how he was going to persuade the Kagetsukai to go along with the idea, accept the need for these actions, he nodded absently to Muraki.

"Yes... 2:00. I'll speak with Tatsumi as soon as I get back to the house."

He expected Tatsumi to be back by then. He knew that though Nagare would spend hours at the graves of his children if he could, the older man no longer had the strength to be up for long stretches of time.

With a last look at the shinigami, Muraki turned and walked back towards the house.

The doctor's movement caught Watari's eye and he turned his head slightly to watch the mortal man as Muraki walked back up the path. Watching until the man was out of sight, Watari rubbed his temple one more time and hefted his little passenger.

"I believe I promised you a new home. How does Iwao-san's grain cellar strike you? Teach the man to try to kill me."

Though he spoke lightly to the mouse, which just wiggled his whiskers in response, Watari's mind was heavy as he continued along the path to the elder brother's household.

Watari took his time with *Operation Mouse Insertion*, making certain his little friend was comfortable before he ghosted off Iwoa-san's property, literally. Trotting back up the path, his mind once again focused on how he was going to bring up Muraki's plan to Tatsumi, Watari headed back towards the room he shared with the shadow-master almost on automatic pilot.

Which is how he came to nearly run over poor Meiya as the young woman darted back and forth just in front of the room.

"Ah, sorry!" Watari apologized as he caught the small woman under the elbows, surprised when she grasped his upper arms in an almost desperate grip, staring up at him with wide worried eyes.

"There you are Watari-sensei! Oh thank the ancestors, you must come quickly!"

Fear stabbed through Watari's heart. The first thing that popped into his mind was the bargain. Had Muraki started on the two deaths? Or perhaps their conversation had annoyed the psychopathic doctor and Muraki had chosen to take his ire out on a member of the household. Reeling his rioting thoughts in with an effort, Watari gave his head a shake and forced his attention onto Meiya's sweet, worried face.

"Whoa, slow down. What's wrong, Meiya?"

"Oh, please come quickly. It is Danna-sama. Your assistant is with him."

Given the condition of Nagare's health, Watari understood the servant's distress and with a nod he moved around her, heading down the hall and towards Nagare's rooms. Meiya fell into step behind him, relief in her voice as she added.

"You're assistant asked that you come immediately."

Shit! Watari cursed inward and his long strides quickly became a running gate as he raced through the compound to the Master's suite.

Tatsumi was kneeling by Nagare's side. The old man's skin looked pale and sallow, even more than usual, and his breathing sounded harsh and labored. His eyes were closed and he did not seem to be conscious.

Tatsumi looked up only because he was waiting for Watari.

"Where have you been," he asked, keeping his voice low but not hiding his agitation. "We were at the gravesites when he collapsed."

Catching his breath as quietly as he could, while at the same time approaching the bed, Watari gave his head a slight shake.

"I was out." He'd leave it at that for now. Tatsumi would be learning the truth soon enough. Crouching down beside Nagare's bedside, the younger shinigami reached and laid his fingers on the side of the mortal man's neck, checking his pulse and wincing.

"What exactly happened, Tatsumi? How did he collapse?"

Watari kept his voice lowered, though it didn't appear as if Nagare was aware of the two guardians' presence.

"I don't know how!" Tatsumi was far beyond upset. "It just happened. He started muttering in a strange tone and then he began to convulse."

As Tatsumi spoke, Watari continued his examination, checking on Nagare's eyes, breathing the whole nine yards but still only what someone comfortable with EMT level training would perform. He could hear the stress and strain in Tatsumi's voice which was why he didn't feel irked by his partner's tone. He looked over at Tatsumi and his eyes were concerned.

Concerned for two reasons. Nagare, first and foremost and secondly because they appeared to be running out of time an it appeared as if he wouldn't have time to break the idea of Muraki's plan to Tatsumi as carefully as he'd hoped.

"Tatsumi... I think we're running out of time. I think Muraki needs to see Nagare, right now."

Tatsumi glared at Watari. "Absolutely not!"

It was rare for Watari to ever be directly confrontational or disobedient. His preferred MO was to bend the rules until he could wiggle around within them to his heart's content. He didn't like to fight, and though he enjoyed needling the hell out of Tatsumi, he didn't like the idea of out right disobeying him. Tatsumi was, technically, his superior after all. However, bending the rules took time and they were out of time.

Powering up to his feet, Watari moved towards the door.

"This is not a debate, Tatsumi. I'm getting Muraki."

Tatsumi's eyes widened but he didn't do or say anything else. He turned his attention back to Nagare. The edges of the room seemed to flicker as his thoughts and emotions roiled and tangled together. He knew Muraki was more of a doctor than Watari, but he was also a psychopathic madman. What hold did Watari think he had that he was willing to trust Hisoka's father to the monster?

Somehow, the lack of fight from Tatsumi was worse than any words or actions the older shinigami might have taken. Closing his fingers against the impulse to touch his partner's broad shoulder as he past him, Watari slipped out the door and paused for a moment, suddenly realizing he didn't know where Muraki might be. Seeing Meiya hovering at the side of the hall, waiting in case they needed her, he gave her a quick smile and asked,

"Meiya, where can I find Muraki-Sensei?"

The girl blinked then scrambled to her feet. "Here, I can take you to his room."

Watari nodded and waited as the girl scooted past him, then followed her as she lead him through the compound. She stopped in front of one of the large guest suites and bowed to him, a furtive glance cast back the way they had come.

"Thank you, Meiya. Please, go back to Danna-sama's room and wait in case my assistant needs you." He could tell that was where she wanted to be, as close to Nagare as possible.

It puzzled Watari a little. This was the man who had allowed his own child to be locked up and treated like a freak for so many years, yet... the household adored him... adored him in a way that was genuine, not forced or coerced.

Damn it, not now Yutaka! Watari chided himself turning back to the door of the room.

Lifting his hand he knocked briskly on the doorframe, calling out, "Sensei, Sensei are you there?!"

The door opened and Muraki looked out, back in his white suit, returned to an image of ice and a counterfeit of purity. He read Watari's face easily. "Just a minute," he said, and went back into his room and picked up a black leather bag, returning to the hall and closing his door behind him. "Where is Meiya?"

Watari danced in placed and sprang into step beside Muraki as the doctor exited his room, bag in hand. "I sent her back to Nagare-san's room. Tatsumi is in there with him, he collapsed at the gravesite. Tatsumi said he was muttering in a strange voice and began to convulse. His heart-rate is dangerously rapid, eyes slitted and.. well, you'll see. My guess is Yatonogami is pushing but Nagare seems to be having difficulty this time around. It's nothing *I* can help with."

The young scientist rattled off his own findings in a clinical manner, an EMT giving the patient's stats to the primary care physician.

Muraki acknowledged the information with a brief nod as they returned to the master's room. Muraki opened the door and went inside. When he saw Meiya, he summoned her to him and gave her some instructions in a low voice. She nodded and left the room.

Muraki went to the other side of the pallet, setting his bag down and kneeling next to the harshly breathing Nagare. He ignored Tatsumi's threatening glare as he had the first time he'd entered the house. He examined the man quickly and then opened the bag and took out a small drug bottle and a syringe.

Glancing for the first time, and only briefly at Tatsumi, he said, "This will ease the convulsions and help him breathe." He filled the syringe and then tossed the bottle to Watari, so the blond could read the label and confirm what he said.

Walking into the room, standing a couple of paces behind Tatsumi, Watari caught the bottle deftly in one hand. He read the label and took a step forward laying his hand on Tatsumi's shoulder as the older shinigami made to reach across the distressed mortal.

Tatsumi's head spun towards his partner, sapphire eyes bright with turmoil, distrust, stress and anger at the *unknown*.

"It's all right, this drug should help Nagare-san."

"Help him?" Tatsumi's rich voice was a low, tight growl. "How do you know that what is actually in that bottle is what is on that label?" Tatsumi's mind refused to ask the question that was preying upon it. How could Watari trust this murderer? How could his partner be placing so much faith in Muraki, how and why?

Watari's eyes flicked over towards Muraki, remember what the man said earlier... remembering the plan. He realized that he had a split second in which to decide whether he truly did trust Muraki or not. If Muraki was on the level, then the drug in the bottle was the drug on the label. Muraki would not be ready to risk Nagare's life at this point, the time wasn't right for defeating Yatonogami. However, if Muraki was in league with Yatonogami... then he could be about to inject Nagare with a substance which would kill the frail man, releasing the demon before he or Tatsumi could stop him and all hell would break loose.

Feeling woefully inadequate to the task laid in front of him, Watari squeezed Tatsumi's shoulder. "It will help."

Muraki allowed a slight pause for the two shinigami to confer, then he took Nagare's arm deftly and injected the drug into the man's veins.

The first reaction was another small convulsion and Nagare's breathing became more labored, but in a few moments, he relaxed, his breathing seemed to ease, and a little color crept back into his face.

Muraki checked his pulse again and then put the syringe and bottle up and closed his bag.

"This is temporary. And it can't be used over and over. He'll rest for three or four hours. In my professional opinion, he is in a crisis state from which there is no going back. If you transport him to a modern hospital, the best they could do is keep him alive on a respirator, but brain death would still occur."

The doctor got to his feet. "I will wait outside. I suggest a consultation is necessary."

Then he turned for the door.

A little knot in Watari's chest, one of many, unwound as he watched Nagare's breathing becoming easier. For the first time he began to believe that maybe he had made, well at least maybe he hadn't made the completely wrong decision. Nodding to Muraki as the doctor stood and moved towards the door, Watari turned his attention back to Tatsumi.

Now, if I can just... convince myself enough to convince you, my friend.

Tatsumi watched Muraki warily, his attention split between the doctor, waiting for the shoe to drop, and Nagare, watching as the man he'd come to feel kinship for began to relax and rest easier. Though he should have felt relieved, Tatsumi found himself feeling a greater sense of tension. He did not like it when things in his life were out of his control. He'd grown up learning that being out of control meant pain and hurt. He turned his head and looked up at his partner.

The doctor was right about one thing. They did need to consult.

Looking up at Watari as the door closed behind Muraki, he said softly, "Why... is he helping?"

As soon as the door closed behind the doctor, Watari released Tatsumi's shoulder and stepped back. Walking to a low stool that sat just under one of the room's windows, he flipped his coat out of the way and perched himself down on the seat, arranging his long legs so he could lean against his thighs and watch Tatsumi.

"He recognizes what a threat Yatonogami could pose if he's released upon the world, once again. Tatsumi, you saw what I saw when he first arrived here. This is not the first time Muraki has dealt with the Kurosaki clan."

Tatsumi clenched his teeth. Then he stood up. "We... should leave before we disturb him," he said. "Someone should sit with him." He stood up, and moved to the door, gesturing for Watari to come with him. "If not Meiya then someone else, one of the trusted who have been here the longest."

Before Watari could even think of another name to suggest, as Tatsumi opened the door, an older woman, one they had met on the first day, was standing there her large dark eyes wide and worried looking.

Watari, had pushed to his feet with an inward sigh. He figured that Tatsumi didn't want to risk disturbing Nagare when the shadow-master tried to kill Watari. One step behind Tatsumi's shoulder, he gave the older woman a smile.

"Hello, Huan. My assistant and I need to step out for a few minutes, could you please sit with Danna-sama until one of us returns?"

The old woman looked almost relieved at the request, "Of course, Sensei."

Watari stepped back to make room for her in the doorway.

"He's resting, but if you notice any change, no matter how small, come and get me or Tatsumi-san immediately."

"Yes, Sensei."

Exhaling a soft breath as she moved on into the room, the scientist turned towards his partner, waiting for Tatsumi to lead the way.

Tatsumi left the room, his face shuttered. As the situation became more dire, he realized he had gone so far from the impartial stance a shinigami was supposed to have that he finally admitted to himself he was going to have to do something about it. He'd wanted so much to call up the shadows against Muraki... almost wanted the man to do something to provoke it. And this realization affected him like a drenching in icy cold water.

With a nod, he indicated to Watari the room where Muraki had waited for them the previous occasion.

Watari stayed in close step with Tatsumi, trying to organize his thoughts and what he was going to say to his partner. He could sense Tatsumi's emotional turmoil in the way the man held himself. Every muscle of Tatsumi's body language seemed to scream the man's mental state and Watari was growing concerned that he would have no idea how to help his partner.

Stepping on into the room Tatsumi indicated, the younger shinigami crossed towards the window. He chuckled a little at himself as he recognized that he was rapidly developing a window fetish.

Maybe I'm thinking I can crawl through one of them back to a time when all this made sense.

Tatsumi closed the door behind him. He found a chair and sat down, bowing his head and closing his eyes. If Watari expected him to speak, he was to be disappointed. Tatsumi was concentrating on trying to find his way back to his customary dispassion.

Was that path even available anymore?

When his partner's stern voice didn't immediately break the silence, Watari turned away from the window searching the room for Tatsumi. His eyes, adjusted from staring out at the bright sunlight, fell on his partner's bowed head and Watari felt his heart ache.

There was just something so weary, so vulnerable about that position, so unlike Tatsumi that Watari couldn't help responding to it. Crossing the room on silent feet, only the whisper of his coat as it brushed against his legs announcing his presence, the scientist made his way to his partner's side. Though he knew that Tatsumi usually rejected such displays, Watari could no more stop himself from reaching out and laying his hand gently against the back of Tatsumi's neck, feeling the soft chestnut hair tickling his fingers.

Tatsumi tensed for a moment, but did not lift his head. He stayed still. The light touch seeped through his perceptions and for once, he simply allowed it to give him the comfort that was being offered.

After several minutes, he straightened.

"Go ahead," he said quietly. He ran a hand through his hair and little by little, began to resume the persona of the Secretary.

Only when Tatsumi began to straighten did Watari draw his hand back and away from his partner. Still standing beside the chair, facing the opposite direction from Tatsumi, unconsciously mirroring the pose from the night before, Watari didn't make Tatsumi go through the rigamoroll of twenty questions this time around.

There wasn't time.

"You were right, last night when you said I am pitting one devil against another," Watari began in a quiet tone. "Yes, I did call... summon, Muraki to this place for that purpose." The scientist paused, hating what he had to say but knowing it had to be said. Still, that didn't make it easy. "Yatonogami, can not, must not be allowed to return to this plane of existence. If he succeeds in his plan, thousands will die." Aware that he was repeating himself, Watari paced away from Tatsumi's chair, distancing himself from his partner.

"As time has passed, as you and I have fought with this house and this curse for these past months, I began to realize that there was no easy answer to this situation. No, scratch that... I began to realize that the answer was all too easy but by no means was it... acceptable by our standards."

Reaching up and raking his hand through his long hair, yanking hard on the knots his fingers encountered the young shinigami winced and turned to face his partner directly.

"Muraki has a plan. It's simple, direct and should work. If Nagare *dies*, Yatonogami will leave the dying vessel and seek the next suitable host. That suitable host has been a parasite to Rui-san for 15 months. If Yatonogami moves to the new host, but that host is..." Watari fought for the correct wording, "if that host is rendered unviable, Yatonogami is at a point of vulnerability where he will be banished without any tie to this world."

Tatsumi watched Watari's face and listened. In almost an echo of another time and place, he said, after a long moment, "What will it cost?"

Then he shook his head and said, "I meant to say, explain. I don't... deny that Nagare might be... better off. But tell me... tell me that is not what you really meant?"

Drawn, as if by a string, back towards the window, the scientist leaned his slender shoulders against the sill and looked out across the landscape.

"There is a strong possibility that Nagare-san... can survive this. If he is still strong enough to fight back. He has fought for so long that I honestly believe it is not in him to give up now. But we are running out of time, Tatsumi."

Tatsumi listened carefully. When Watari finished, he turned his eyes to a spot on the floor. He seemed to sink down inside himself for a while.

Looking up at last, he said, "Have you run any of this by the Goshoushin?"

Exhaling a slow breath, Watari waggled his head from side to side, "I have been in close contact with them, researching our options as the case has progressed, getting what understanding I could of Yatonogami's demonology, his history, what weaknesses demons of his type are vulnerable to. If you mean have I run any of my current...plans past them... no."

The answer might have seem abrupt, but what could he say. Explanations would only take up time and were merely self serving. Watari trusted Tatsumi to still be able to look upon the facts as presented, to look upon the course of action as set in motion and to see it with a clarity of mind and logic, even if he had become dangerously emotionally involved with the mortals affected.

Tatsumi rubbed his forehead. Then he got up. "I need time to think. I know it's urgent to make a decision but I need to talk a walk. I'll be back in twenty minutes. I'll tell you then."

An icy fist gripped Watari's throat, threatening to choke him. Taking a deep breath, pushing the air carefully around the phantom fist, he nodded.

"Of course. Though, please understand. This plan has a better chance of success, both in defeating Yatonogami and keeping Nagare-san alive, if all three of us work together."

Honestly, Watari didn't know what he would do if Tatsumi came back and refused the plan. He didn't want to think about that, not unless he had to, he didn't want the burden of his own decision weighing on his soul for the rest of eternity.

Tatsumi looked at Watari and simply nodded. "I understand." Then he walked out of the room.

As Tatsumi walked out of the room, Watari felt his knees wanting to buckle out from beneath him. Locking them in a determined manner, he managed to remain standing, though all he wanted to do was slide down along the wall and hang his head. Grabbing the edges of his coat, he pulled them together tightly, trying to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the outside air.

"Oh, Enma... what am I doing?" He whispered to the empty room, closing his eyes and wishing himself far far away.

I hurt. It was the first time Watari actually let his mind vocalize the state of his emotions and even the state of his body. Staring out the window, he felt slightly paralyzed by the enormity of what was going on around himself and couldn't seem to pull his thoughts together enough to figure out what his next move was. In truth, the next move was Tatsumi's and if Tatsumi choose the wrong direction...

No, no I'm not thinking about that. If I can trust a psychopath with a man's life... hell with an entire village's existence, I can trust my partner to be fair and honest.

Giving his head a shake, Watari lifted his hand and pushed his glasses up along his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. A noise from outside in the hall drew his attention and he let his glasses drop back down on his nose, turning to stare thoughtfully at the door. Wondering if it might be Tatsumi returning early, Watari held his breath but as it became apparent that he was hearing the feet of many, not just one man...and really you never did hear the Kagetsukai coming, Watari frowned.

Pushing away from the wall by the window, he crossed silently to the door, opening it a crack to peek out into the hall. Looking first left and then right he almost missed the tail end of a long white sheet as it disappeared into a room down the hall, next to Nagare's room.

For a moment, Watari's scientific brain took over and his curious nature got the better of him, pushing him out the door and down along the hallways towards the room. Keeping close to the corridor wall, he crept up to the edge of the door and peered around the frame, blinking a couple of times to help bring the room into focus.

Inside, two men and Meiya were conversing very softly and moving large items hidden under drop cloths around in the room. The men wore non-descript white jackets and they went about their business quietly and with great care, handling the large items as if they were fragile newborns.

As he watched, a wheel on one of the items got caught in the drop cloth and the white cloth was pulled off the piece of equipment, exposing a modern, state of the art defibrillating machine. The man wheeling the machine quickly caught the cloth and re-draped it across the device but that one quick look was enough to tell Watari that Muraki had already started to put the plan into motion.

Pulling his head back out of the doorway, before someone saw him, the young shinigami took a few steps down the hall, stopping halfway between the room behind him and Nagare's room. Lifting his hand to push his glasses away from his face so he could once again cover his eyes, Watari shook his head.

It's too late to go back.

Tatsumi...

Muraki was busy elsewhere in the house. He'd already spent some time the day before learning the names and duties of all the staff and anyone connected with the house. After leaving Nagare, he made his way to the room where Rui was kept, locked away from the rest of the house. He spent some time first with the person who had spent the most time taking care of her mundane needs. He took the old woman aside in a room and closed the door, and they were out of sight for almost an hour. Then afterwards, he requested to see Rui-san.

She'd been very active all day, violent, vocal, but when Muraki entered her room, he waved away any assistance. She saw him and shrank into a corner immediately.

Ten minutes later, he came out, and she was quiet from that moment on.

Returning to the main area of the house, he found the delivery men unloading the last of his equipment. He checked it over and directed some things to be taken to a room next to Rui-san's, where her old maid, Kikiyo, had prepared a place for it.

Standing there, pondering on what he'd just seen, it dawned on Watari that if Muraki had already set into motion equipment for Nagare, that he might have also done the same for Rui. Biting his lower lip, looking up and down the hall to reorient himself to where he was in the house, Watari quickly set off in the direction he thought Rui's rooms were located.

He got turned around once but eventually got himself going the right direction, coming down the hall just as the delivery men were leaving the room. Sucking on a tooth, he kept close to the wall, out of sight, waiting until they had passed and gone on their way before tiptoeing on towards the room.

"It's fortunate you are not a cat, Yutaka-san," Muraki's voice said behind him.

Really, he only jumped about three feet into the air, not a full six and that was only because he was so focused on his snooping that he'd lost track of his surroundings. Wheeling about to face the doctor, Watari laid his hand against his throat, trying to calm his suddenly jumping heart.

"I'd put a bell on you if I thought it would do any good." A couple of panted breaths later he blinked at Muraki. "That I'm not a cat?"

Muraki smiled. "If you were curious, you had only to ask. Would you like an inventory sheet?"

Watari stood there, looking at Muraki stupidly for a few long beats, then he shook his head.

"No, no I'm sorry. I was just, waiting for Tatsumi and I heard the movers by Nagare's room and..." He stopped and shrugged. "I understand the defib...what did you have brought for Rui-san?"

"Whole blood and a transfusion kit among other things. Sterilizing equipment. Surgical tools. Doing a ceasarean outside of a hospital isn't unheard of but the less left the chance the better, don't you think?" the pale man watched Watari with a mildly amused expression. One thing was clear, in his field, he was more than a mere journeyman.

Yes, Watari had to give the devil his due, particularly as it was something about Muraki which confused Watari. How such a skilled healer could also be such a ruthless murderer. It was as if Muraki was his own yin and yang. Rubbing his fingers against his eyes, his brows pinched together thoughtfully as he asked,

"Ceasarean? I thought the plan was to induce labor. Why the change?" The young shinigami kept his voice low as he spoke so as not to risk disturbing the occupant of the room.

"I take it you haven't examined the woman," Muraki said dryly. "And I did say I'd try to keep it to two. I realize that you have emotional ties to the man, and that few people care about the woman but she will be in my care. I checked her over about ten minutes ago. What she's carrying is too large for the birth canal. Labor would split her open like a ripe peach."

Glasses perched haphazardly on his nose, Muraki could see the way Watari bridled at the doctor's suggestion that the woman was a secondary concern to the proceedings but he kept any comments he might have made in response to himself. Reaching up to set his glasses safely back on his nose, Watari crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head back against the wall.

"I am no expert in the field, though when I last saw her... what you say rings true. A natural birth..." Watari chuffed at the words. "Very well, a ceasarean." He seemed to be on the verge of saying something further but instead the scientist's teeth snapped together with an audible click. "What assistance do you need with setting the equipment up?"

He'd just try to keep focused on what he knew, what he understood. Machines, he understood... machines he was a genius with.

"It's being taken care of," Muraki said. The delivery men were also medical technicians. They would stay until the equipment was functioning.

"I do have one matter of concern to me," he said. "When can I expect the balance of my fee?"

The subtle reminder of their bargain blew any facade of focus Watari had veiled his mind with and caused the young scientist to blink in an owlish nature at Muraki. He expected to feel shock, to feel anger at being reminded of the deal, but instead he felt confusion, looking as if the thought hadn't occured to him.

"Ah... well. I suppose my argument would be after we have completed this plan. Time seems to be slipping away from us, and I don't know how... err... fast you want your payment. Still, I would not have you believe that I am going to try to reneg on our agreement and possibly place this whole project in jeaprody, so I shall ask you. When do you want the balance of your fee?"

It all sounded so civil, really as if he were making arrangments to pay at the receptionists desk, or to be billed. Perhaps it was a little like that, only they weren't bartering in currancy... they were bartering his body... and Watari was starting to fear a little for his mind as well.

Muraki watched the blond, not answering right away. Then he said, "In three days from tonight."

A blond eyebrow quirked upwards. "To clarify, do you mean within, three days... or on the third night from tonight?"

Was he actually setting a date for this? It seemed almost too surreal to contemplate.

"The third night from tonight," Muraki said. And he smiled.

Somehow, having an actual date for it was even more disturbing than when Muraki surprised him but he nodded his head and held out his hand.

"Very well."

Muraki took Watari's hand, turned it over and stroked the inside of his wrist with one thumb. "Good," he said. Then he turned and nodded to the sky outside a nearby window. "It was a beautiful day, but it seems a storm is in the making."

Watari wondered, briefly, if the fact that he enjoyed the touch of Muraki's thumb, such a simple little gesture, meant that he had lost all sense. Probably it did. Giving his head a small shake he turned to peer out the window, crouching down a little to get a better look at the sky. What he saw caused him to bite his lower lip.

"You're right." Straightening he looked over at Muraki. "I wonder if the compound has a generator."

As Muraki left to continue overseeing the equipment set-up, Watari stood by the window watching the storm come rolling in. The dark clouds fascinated him, as did the way the sky became the most amazingly eerie color scheme. Not quite the usual rosy hues of sunset but deeper oranges and violets. It sent a shiver along the normally practical shinigami's spine.

Watching a cloud roll from one shape to another, something about the dark billowing form brought the shadow-master to mind and Watari cursed vocally.

"Shit!"

Wheeling away from the window, the younger shinigami took off at a run through the house trying to get a sense of just how long he'd been standing there staring at the changing landscape. Mentally chastising himself for his wandering attention, he tried not to knock over any of the household staff as he darted along the corridors. Mind swirling with a mixture of emotions and concerns, he almost overshot the room and had to grab hold of the door frame, sort of throwing himself through the portal in a flurry of coattails and hair, panting to catch his breath as his eyes darted around the room, searching the shadowy space for sign that Tatsumi had returned.

The room was empty but only a few minutes after he got there, another door opened and Tatsumi entered. His hair was a little mussed by the winds outside, but he seemed to have recovered a great deal of his composure on the walk. His stresses were back under a shell of logic.

"I saw a van outside," he said when he saw Watari. "What's going on?"

In those few minutes, Watari had caught his breath, walking to the window when he hadn't immediately seen Tatsumi, he was standing there, watching the storm once more, turning away only when he heard his partner's entrance.

His lips twitched as he smothered a fond smile. Tatsumi always looked so cute when he was just a little rumpled. Perhaps because the shadow-master so rarely appeared rumpled. However, despite the physical appearance, Watari could sense that logic was once again starting to rule Tatsumi and he exhaled a long breath, turning all the way from the window to face Tatsumi as he explained.

"Equipment, for Nagare-san and Rui-san. Muraki ordered it. It's being set up as we speak."

Tatsumi leaned on the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I see." He watched Watari for a moment. "There is one problem I can't see any way around. It's very simple. We need permission. From Nagare-san for Rui-san, and for himself."

Unconsciously mirroring his partner's pose, Watari leaned back against the window sill, feeling the coolness of the glass against his neck. Arms akimbo, he crossed his ankle, staring down at the tip of his shoes.

"Nagare-san is in the possession of the very demon we seek to destroy. Do you honestly believe it wise to tip our hands to Yatonogami by talking to Nagare-san?"

"No," Tatsumi said. "I don't believe it is wise. But we can not risk Nagare's life, Rui-san's life, without permission."

Watari's amber eyes flicked upwards, though his face remained downcast.

"This will put their lives at greater risk. It risks giving Yatonogami time to prepare himself, time to fight, we do this and we loose the element of surprise."

"Not if I can speak with Nagare alone. Without Yatonogami listening in," Tatsumi said. "There is a technique... I've never used it for anything like this. It might work. I don't have any choice but to try. No matter how certain you are that this is the right thing, Nagare must have a chance to make his decision," Tatsumi said. "Will you come with me?"

In that moment, Watari could not remember a time when he had been so furious with Tatsumi as he was right then. Naturally easy going and affable, it was rare for Watari to feel a white hot rage. A cold burn, like what he felt towards Iwoa-san, that was more his style.

Jaw working as he clenched his teeth, his head came up and his eyes fixed on his partner's face. Watari knew his anger was in his eyes, in his expression, he couldn't help that but he did set his teeth against the words that wanted to explode. He wanted to rail at Tatsumi for continuing to jeopardize the case with his emotional attachment to Nagare and the Kurosaki family. He wanted to point out to Tatsumi that technically speaking they didn't *have* to do anything. They were shinigami, guardians of death, they could proceed with this plan without risking alerting Yatonogami to their intentions.

He listened closely to what Tatsumi was preparing and while he had great faith in the shadow-master's skill, it still seemed foolhardy to trust such a delicate situation to an untried procedure. Particularly when the stakes were so high.

And the price so personal.

But in the end, he kept his anger to himself exhaling a breath and forcing his mind to release the tempest of emotions. Watari recognized that he had asked a lot of Tatsumi, he had asked Tatsumi to follow him only on the basis of faith. He needed to extend the same consideration to his partner.

Relaxing his jaw, the younger shinigami bowed his head. "Very well."

Tatsumi straightened and walked to the door, heading for Nagare's chamber.

The two shinigami reached the door just as it opened and Muraki emerged.

Tatsumi's eyes narrowed and he made as if to move around the doctor to reach the door. Muraki held up his hand.

"Just a moment," he said. "I'd prefer if you didn't go in just now."

"I'd prefer if you'd stand in my way so I can remove you," Tatsumi said with chill, brittle precision.

Muraki smiled. "Another time, nothing would please me more than to see your skills again. However I must insist. Open that door before it is time, and everything you hope to accomplish here will be undone."

Meiya appeared behind the two shinigami. "Doctor, I have the..." she trailed off as she saw the confrontation.

The shadows in the room had begun to shift, subtly distorting in shape, leaning towards the white-suited figure. Meiya noticed this and backed up, her hand coming to her mouth.

Her gasp caught Tatsumi's attention and the shadows snapped back into their places instantly.

Muraki's appearance had surprised Watari, though the scientist realized it really shouldn't have, he knew the doctor was making preparations. Already tense, his fingers had disappeared into the folds of his lab coat touching a fuda he had tucked in there as he watched Muraki and Tatsumi.

What did you think you were going to do anyway, Yutaka? Who were you going to stop?

The question annoyed the younger shinigami who turned and moved a few paces away from the confrontation, keeping an eye on his partner and the pale doctor.

"Could we not just speak to Nagare-san for a brief time, two minutes?" Watari asked in a low voice. Though he didn't entirely approve of Tatsumi's decision, he would support his partner.

"He is not able to speak," Muraki said. Tatsumi's eyes flashed. "However, I am glad you are here. I ask that you witness, Meiya, that I am giving these gentlemen Nagare's permission for the measures that will be necessary tonight." The doctor took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Tatsumi.

Still shaky, Meiya bobbed a nod almost automatically.

Watching Tatsumi and Muraki facing off against each other, Watari felt the same semi-hysterical bubble of emotion rising as he'd felt when he'd been in the bath fighting with the bow wrapped around his cock. Meiya's hesitation only added to the inappropriate feeling of mirth and Watari was a little ashamed to hear a small chuff of laughter escape him.

Quickly pressing his hand over his mouth, he looked at Tatsumi when his partner turned giving his head a quick shake.

"If you two can..." Watari made a sharp gesture with his hand. "I need some air. Don't kill each other... this carpet is an antique, blood would never come out of it."

As another little chuff escaped him, Watari turned, not bothering to wait for a comment from either man. A little lost and a little fractious, he hit a couple of wrong turns before finally finding a small door that led out to one of the gardens.

The cold air hit his hot face like a blessed caress. Though Watari usually tried to avoid cold weather, now he embraced the soothing bite of the winter-kissed air. The storm was gathering strength now and the winds howled through the empty branches of the trees. Unconcerned, Watari walked right out into the middle of the garden, flinging his arms wide in order to let the air brush across his overheated body.

Suiting action to words, he stood there taking in deep lung-fulls of the crisp air. Head tilted back, he grinned as his own hair smacked across his face, a strand tickling its way up his nose and into his mouth. Muffled beneath the cover of the incoming storm, Watari finally indulged in the hysteria that had been building. His laughter was an ugly sound but to some part of him it felt good to release it out into the open.

Bunching one hand into a fist, Watari threw a punch into the air that had it connected would have cold-cocked the receiver. Spinning himself completely around with the momentum of his swing, he turned and gazed up at the stormy sky.

"This...*This* is your punishment isn't it Lord of Hades?!?" Watari laughed. "And people accuse me of having underhanded methods!"

Collapsing forward, bracing his hands on his knees, the young shinigami continued to take deep breaths of the windswept air.

The wind's intensity picked up, as he stood there bowed over, eyes closed. Once again the emotions rose, like the waves of the ocean, cresting and then crashing in a chaotic tumble. Watari clenched his teeth tightly together, unwilling to give the Fates the satisfaction of hearing him yell and curse them. Instead of straightening, he sank gracefully to his knees, his long overcoat fanning out behind him, like a priest's robes.

Pressing his fist to his mouth, Watari slowly tilted his head back, opening his burning amber eyes and staring up at the turbulent sky swirling over head. Lowering his fist as first a small chuckle escaped him, then in short order the hysterical laughter had returned.

This should have been easy. Everything I knew about the man told me to expect pain. I know how to deal with pain. I can accept pain, but this... this twisted kindness makes no sense. It makes no seense and what's worse... it's tearing at my soul, touching me in ways the pain never would have.

Though it was late in the season, a soft rumble of thunder rolled across the early evening sky, a hint of heat lightning brightening the roiling dark clouds.

Muraki is playing on your weakness, Yutaka. Somehow he found a chink in your armor that even you were not aware of and he is coaxing, demanding, inflicting a response upon you. This is a game and he is playing it as such, using what is at his disposal against you. Watari's logical mind lashed at him furiously.

But... it feels so... good. The internal dialogue contintinued.

That doesn't make it right, you damn fool! It is a falsity, used by Muraki to gain his own ends. You know it's not *real*. You can feel reality when Tatsumi touches you. That is reality!

Watari felt his head swing from side to side as if he was trying to disagree with himself.

Is it? I mean... it is... it is, but is it possible that Muraki is reality as well? There are times... there are times whhen Enma help me, his logic makes *sense*.

Wrapping his arms tightly around his torso, Watari pulled the sides of his coat tightly together and folded at his narrow waist.

What does that say about *you*, Yutaka? What does it say about your sanity that you are listening to a madman and finding logic in his words? Have you not been present when Muraki has inflicted some of his greatest feats of pain and suffering? Not only upon innocents but also upon your friends, Tsuzuki, Tatsumi... upon Hisoka? How can you be finding comffort in the touch of this monster?

Long, wind tangled blond hair fell forward to curtain Watari's face.

Because, it was held out to me and I was more starved for it than I knew. How did I misjudge my own weakness so badly? Where did I gain such arrogance as to believe myself immune to Muraki's cunning? The man is a trained healer, skilled at the observation needed to diagnose illness, why did I not see that he would diagnose my flaws and use them against me?

Sitting up slowly, wearily, Watari crossed his ankles and sat back on his heels laying his hands along his thighs and concentrating on his breathing.

I built this flaw into myself. When I tried to push aside my feelings for Tatsumi. Funny, I fell into the same trap that I am forever chiding my partner about. As Tsuzuki is Tatsumi's weakness, so is Tatsumi mine. I grew arrogant in thinking that I could walk the same path that Tatsumi walks, only I thought myself immune to its lonely destruction. I turned my back on loneliness and opened the door through which I invited a cunning psychopath to step.

Taking a deep breath, Watari closed his eyes and a humorless smile curled the corners of his lips upwards.

The darkness just got infinitely more dangerous and now I'm as lost as my partner.

Tatsumi, help me!

Muraki watched the blond retreat, his grey eyes dancing with something very like a cool amusement.

Tatsumi looked around, startled. He didn't know what to make of Watari's sudden exit, or the emotions that seemed to be escaping confinement. He felt a stab of guilt at not realizing something was so wrong with his partner, but instead of following him, he was left facing the person he least desired to see in his life.

Opening the paper, he saw that it was a form, with standard wording, obtaining Nagare's permission for medical procedures described in such vague terms one could hardly tell what they said. Another paragraph for Rui. And a third, containing the standard clause excusing the physician and his attendants from any indemnity.

Tatsumi read the form through twice, his slender brows furrowing as he seemed to search the document. A light in the hallway glinted off his spectacles as he looked over top of the rims at Muraki.

"This document gives no details about what it is you intended to do to this man and his family. Reading this, I do not believe Nagare-san understands the danger you intend to put him in."

Tatsumi's newly re-found logic helped him refrain from adding a needless pot shot to the effect that he didn't believe Nagare-san understood what sort of monster he was placing in control of his life.

"He understands," Muraki said. He made a gesture to poor Meiya, dismissing her and she nodded and fled. "He understands perfectly. He has been aware that he could die any day for most of his adult life. If you think he would not rather be free from what torments him than live on in its clutches, you are a bigger fool than the rest of your little 'department'. He understands the choice and has been willing to make it for a long, long time."

Tatsumi knew that what Muraki was saying was true. Nagare had lived with the torment of one of hells own for most of his adult life. The man was at the end of his endurance, death probably seemed a relief. Still, Muraki could tell Tatsumi that the sun rose in the east, set in the west and the sky was blue and Tatsumi would still want verification before he took the madman at his word. It galled him to have to trust Muraki, for anything and with anything.

"I would rather hear his consent from his own lips. I'm sure you will forgive me, Doctor but anything from your hands or your lips is suspect."

The shadow-master's tone was formal, almost polite, definitely at odds with the way his sapphire eyes flashed behind his lenses, pure loathing in his expression.

"If you go in there before I am ready for you to, I will have to forfeit my arrangement with your partner," Muraki said, his voice mildly interested. "And I can guarantee Yatonogami's reappearance on the earth within the hour."

The Kagetsukai had spent much of his walk getting his thoughts back into logical order, trying to distance himself from his emotional entanglement in the case, trying to see the *right* answer, demanding the *proper* response of himself. The mention of an arrangement with Watari caused much of that hard work to rattle on its uneasy foundation.

Tatsumi had been forcefully pushing the urge to speculate on just what Watari might have promised to get Muraki to the Kurosaki compound firmly to a small corner of his mind, but he hadn't stopped thinking about it all together and Muraki's words brought it to the fore. Eyes turned down to the paper in his hand, Tatsumi began to carefully refold the form, speaking in a calm, detached voice.

"I find very little reassurance in the idea of this *arrangement* you appear to have with my partner. It might make him foolish enough to trust you, but I am intimately aware of your ruthlessness and the pain you seem to find pleasure inflicting upon people. Most simply put, Doctor. I do not believe you."

"Your partner isn't as foolish as you seem to think," Muraki said calmly. "The question isn't whether you believe me. The question is, can you afford to walk through the door."

Muraki stepped aside, clearing the way. "Please. Go right ahead. I know shinigami are not supposed to be able to die, but a little confrontation between yourself and the god should be very interesting to watch. I suspect he would eat your body and shrivel your tight-fisted, dry little soul. I won't stay for the intermission. With luck the mortals in the house and the valley will keep him busy enough for me to escape."

Tapping the folded up paper against his fingertips, Tatsumi stared at the closed door. Inwardly he snorted at the terms, 'tight-fisted' and 'dry little' ignoring the doctor's small jibs. What he could not ignore was what he had read with his own eyes. He had also read up on Yatonogami, studying the demon with the same intensity as Watari, just at more reasonable hours of the day.

Tatsumi felt caught between a rock and a hard place. He did not trust Muraki and yet he could not discount his own research, his own conclusions as to the danger Yatonogami posed.

Smacking the little piece of paper down against his fingers, he held it out towards Muraki, but when the doctor reached for it, Tatsumi held on to his side, looking into those heartless gray eyes.

"Why should I care if your arrangement with Watari is forfeit?" It was as close as Tatsumi could make himself come to asking what the elusive arrangement might be.

"Obviously there is no reason," Muraki answered, and smiled. The smile insinuated things. Things that could not be put into words. The closest Tatsumi could get to characterizing it was... possessive glee.

The doctor's voice seemed secondary to the predatory look in those gray eyes. Tatsumi reasoned that all the members of the Shokan division were his men, to be protected accordingly. If an emotion that threatened to be something beyond that kicked in his chest, Tatsumi's iron-like will clamped down on it.

"What," Tatsumi began, stalled, then continued. "What is this arrangement that my partner has ill-consideredly entered into with you?"

"You will have to find out from him," Muraki said with a smile. It wasn't that he had any honor about it. He relished the idea of telling Tatsumi. But not now. Later would be better. Later would... hurt more.

Something cold settled in the pit of Tatsumi's stomach and though he knew it was fruitless, he took a step towards the pale doctor, blue eyes snapping.

"I will not allow you to hurt, Watari-san." Tatsumi's voice was the same urbane tones he had used when he'd stood between Muraki and Tsuzuki, only the fire in his eyes betrayed the depth of his emotions.

"Of course, that's a right you reserve for yourself," Muraki said with a smile of pure malice. "You denigrate his intelligence and you drive him to the breaking point of hysteria," he said, glancing towards the door Watari had fled out of. "I understand. I believe the saying goes, you only hurt the ones you love..."

Tatsumi's broad shoulders twitched as he almost turned to follow Muraki's gaze towards the door Watari had retreated through but he pushed away the impulse. For a brief moment the doctor's words struck home but Tatsumi quickly reminded himself that he was dangerously close to listening to the opinion of a madman. Releasing the form, he took a step back from the doctor.

"I have no use for your opinion, Muraki and this conversation is not about me. It is about you and I will not let you use one of our employees to further your twisted gain. Very well, I won't enter this room. Yatonogami is the primary threat at this time but I will never forget that you are a threat at all times."

Muraki bowed. "Please, my modesty." He smiled but waited until Tatsumi left the room.

The shadow-master was sorely reminded of why he itched to level the full fury of his skill at the smug doctor. Muraki irritated him on every level and Tatsumi felt a soul deep urge to blot the madman out of existence, in the mortal life as well as the next. He chafed beneath needing the psychopath's assistance to defeat the greater evil that Yatonogami posed, though at times Tatsumi had to wonder if Muraki still wasn't the more insidiously dangerous of the two devils.

"Watari-san gave me a brief outline of your plan. I would appreciate greater detail." Was it a request, or a command?

"Perhaps if you locate your partner, I can give you both your instructions at the same time," Muraki certainly had a surgeon's arrogance.

And that arrogance crashed hard against Tatsumi's own aristocratic blood. He ached, burned with the desire to throw the doctor's words back in his face but logic was one of Tatsumi's ruling passions and with a deep breath he retreated to its cool comfort.

"We will return shortly."

Spinning on one heel, Tatsumi stalked towards the door he'd seen Watari disappear through.

Muraki chuckled. The moment Tatsumi was out of sight, he turned and put a binding on the door to keep it closed until he released it.

Tatsumi left the house, searching for the splash of blond hair against the gray sky and the swirling leaves.

His restless energy spent on shadow boxing and useless taunts to an unanswering sky, Watari had sunk down on his knees in an almost classically meditative position. His ankles crossed under his ass, shoulders straight, hands resting loosely in his lap, his coat fanned out on the ground around him, the wind blowing his hair loosely around his features, partially obscuring their pale serenity. His eyes were closed, but rather than looking completely peaceful, it was easier to see the way the eye sockets had a bruised appearance, distinctive enough to be noticeable even behind the shield of his lenses.

Tatsumi approached the seated shinigami silently. Crouching on his heels in front of him, he studied Watari for a long moment or two. Then he cleared his throat.

Though he didn't open his eyes, Watari's lips twitched in a tiny smile. The wind seemed to want to steal his words but he spoke clearly, calmly, "I didn't hear any explosions, or screams. I am going to make the deduction that you two didn't kill each other."

"You forget, he can't kill me," Tatsumi said softly. "And I don't think he believes anything can kill him. I'm going along with it." The words weren't easy to say. "I'm going along with it. I think when this is over..." Tatsumi looked at the ground between his feet. "I think I am going to request a... a vacation."

The younger shinigami's lips twitched again, this time forming into a genuinely fond smile. His amber eyes opened, the haunted look was not completely gone from their depths but the anger of earlier had subsided, leaving behind only the cheerful affection with which he usually watched his partner.

"A vacation? You? What would that entail exactly, Tatsumi, a full course audit of the divisions expense records for the past five decades?" Watari's voice was gentle in its teasing, very different from the way Muraki had delivered his 'tight-fisted' comment earlier.

After a beat in which the scientist's eyes traced the angular planes of his partner's handsome face, much of the amusement retreated from his eyes and he said in a serious tone. "Yatonogami could destroy all three of us. Even *us*, Seiichirou."

"I know," Tatsumi said, and tried to put more into it than just those two words. He tried to make it say, 'I know you are trying to find the way out.' "I am going to send a message back. To Tsuzuki. He is the only one who has a chance if this gets out of hand."

Watari gave a little nod, acknowledgement that he heard what Tatsumi was trying to say. Heard and understood the older man. He hung his head a little but nodded, "Yes, you're right of course." Despite all the reasoning he could give himself for his actions, he still felt a small sting at betraying his best friend by getting into bed with Muraki, both literally and figuratively.

Tatsumi hesitated, then reached out and brushed a few strands of blond hair away from Watari's eyes. "I don't know what this is costing you, Yutaka," he said very softly, "But if the cost is... too high," he stopped, trying to think of something to say that wasn't banal. "...talk to me before you... take out a loan, all right?"

The touch seemed like such a small thing but Watari felt its gentle warmth through his very soul and he smiled gently, reaching up as if to return a touch to Tatsumi, but he stopped the motion before actually connecting with his partner. Eyes once again making that slow study of the older shinigami's face, Watari gave a little nod, Tatsumi would probably interpret it as agreement, but in truth it was reaffirmation that the cost was not to high a price to pay to protect the Kagetsukai.

"Here, help me up, I think my knees have frozen in place, meditation suits disciplined people like you, or the Kid, us wiggle worms have problems with it."

Tatsumi pulled Watari to his feet. There was more he wanted to say, suddenly. A great deal more. Vacation... might be bearable, if it weren't alone...

"He's waiting to give us our instructions," Tatsumi said, trying to keep his voice under control. "Shall we... get on with it?"

Watari leaned against his partner's strength for as long as he could without raising suspicion. In those few moments, it felt so good that he almost threw everything away, just so he could turn his head and press his face into Tatsumi's powerful shoulder, feel the soft brushed wool of Tatsumi's suit jacket against his cheek and greedily gather up more of that warm feeling his partner's touch had brought him.

But he would be throwing away... too much for that comfort so he straightened and fell into step beside the older man.

"Give us our instructions eh? How many times did you have to mentally itemize the expense report backwards and forwards to keep from trying to bash him over the head?" He teased gently as they walked to the house.

"254," Tatsumi said with a straight face. "Point seven."

They had time to go over Muraki's instructions a number of times, his instructions to Watari, at any rate, and the doctor appeared to be making every single possible effort to give the patriarch a chance to live once the demon left his body. If there was anything left out, the two shinigami could not detect it. The equipment Muraki had arranged for in what seemed an inordinately short amount of time was nothing short of amazing. A lot of money had been spent, a small fortune, and it might be wondered how many doctors in the whole of Japan had enough pull to get some of it on such short notice and have it delivered to a backwater village.

Once the instruction session ended, the doctor simply found a chair outside of Nagare's room and sat down, ignoring the two shinigami. His eyes were closed as if he were meditating, or concentrating on the thing they were about to undertake. At fifteen minutes until nine o-clock, he got up and left the room, coming back in ten minutes wearing surgical garb under his white coat. Closing the coat and belting it so that Nagare did not see anything but his outerwear, he opened his bag and filled a syringe, then touched the bedroom door, leaving a momentary trail of light where the ward he had locked it with dissipated. Going in, he knelt by Nagare, whose breathing had become labored again. The headman opened his eyes briefly and looked up at the doctor, the effort clearly an immense one.

"I don't think there will be time for your new treatment to be proven," he said, the words barely audible.

"I'm not ready to give up," Muraki said, taking Nagare's pulse. "Nagare-san!" His voice suddenly shifted from the reassuring tone to a sharp one. "Your son endured much greater suffering, and fought for every breath, every heartbeat. Will you dishonor his short life by giving up now?"

Then man's eyes snapped open as grief and rage struggled with weakness and infirmity. "No!" he hissed, then his face twisted as something inside him struggled to take control of his muscles, his features. A twisted laugh poured out of the man's lips and a few hissing sounds that resolved into words. "You will fail...... doctor....."

"How pathetic, that Hisoka must look over from the other side and see his father succumb to the will of an aging snake," Muraki said, his voice cutting across the hiss.

Nagare's body spasmed, and he all but rose from the bed with a convulsion that wracked him from head to toe. Then his eyes opened and he whispered, "...my son....I won't.... give up.... my... son...."

Muraki nodded and then slid the needle into the old man's arm.

The effect was rapid. His muscles relaxed and he lay back, breathing shallowly.

Muraki watched him like a hawk. His fingertips rested lightly on Nagare's wrist as he counted the pulse beats, feeling them slow. Suddenly Nagare's eyes opened and another hiss escaped his lips. It was unintelligible but it sounded like, "..freeeeee.....dom....."

A last spasm seemed to shudder through him, this one much weaker. Muraki waited another ten seconds, his lips moving without sound. Then he stood up and his tall form was galvanized with energy. "He's gone," he said. "We must hurry, *now*. Sensei, begin your procedure."

With that he left the room, moving faster than a sudden autumn wind. His coat was flung aside as soon as he reached the outer room and he took off running for Rui's room, not waiting for Tatsumi to keep up.

Though tense, with part of his mind still fighting the necessity of the actions they were about to take, Tatsumi had stood relatively quietly and calmly while Muraki gave his instructions. He had spoken only when Muraki had first introduced the idea of Watari assisting him with the birth. Tatsumi knew the outcome their actions would dictate in that corner and he refused to make his partner take on that responsibility. His refusal had been soft spoken but firm, his logic sound as he held up that Watari would have a better chance of reviving Nagare, having more experience in the medical field than Tatsumi himself.

Luckily, Muraki had chosen not to be his usual cussed self and agreed to the change in plans.

It had not been until Tatsumi and Watari stood in the doorway, watching Muraki with Nagare that Tatsumi's control had threatened to slip. Hearing Muraki speak of Hisoka had been like pouring gasoline on a smoldering ember and Tatsumi had snarled silently, moving forward. His advance was intercepted by his partner, who had smoothly inserted himself in between the shadow-master and the doctor.

Watari himself could not have held Tatsumi back as Muraki continued to lash Nagare with the whip that was Hisoka but the sound of Yatonogami's hiss, coming from the ravaged, frail body had been like a douse of cold water on the flames. Taking a step back, Tatsumi's jaw had worked but his attention was quickly pulled from the doctor and his patient by the rather queer actions of his partner.

Back to the room, apparently unfazed by the hissing exchange, Watari's slender fingers were up under Tatsumi's throat, busily working the pristine knot of his tie loose. Before Tatsumi could think to ask, Watari had pulled the tie apart and pulled it off his partner's neck. Turning to look over his left shoulder at the patient, Watari caught his hair back with one hand and set about using Tatsumi's necktie to bind the heavy honey blond locks back out of his face.

Thus, he was ready when Muraki suddenly bolted into motion.

Tatsumi, with one last quick glance towards his partner's face, followed close on the doctor's heels, following the rapidly moving man like a dark shadow.

As soon as the two men were out of his way, Watari exploded into motion. His accented tones snapping sharply as he entered the other room.

"Meiya, grab that cart, yes that one, help me move it into the other room. Huan, I need you to get that blanket, no the other one! Yes, perfect, bring it along as well."

Grabbing one end of the cart the shinigami, with the assistance of the young house servant, began to carefully wrestle the delicate equipment into the master's room. When Meiya and Huan saw how deathly still Nagare lay, they both gasped and Huan made a little whimpering noise in her throat. Watari's gold eyes snapped up from where he was positioning the cart and his voice cut through the air like a whip crack.

"Put the blanket down and go! I have no time for simpering."

Both ladies blinked and Huan placed the blanket down on a chair, taking Watari at his word as she scampered out of the room. Meiya's chin quivered but the young woman visibly pulled herself together, her voice wavered a little but was clear when she spoke,

"Sensei, I would help you. Please?"

Crash cart in position, Watari was moving towards the blanket. Picking it up and shaking it out, he looked at Meiya from across the fabric, reading her face and her eyes.

"Very well, plug in the equipment and turn it on."

Given a task, the house servant started to work immediately. Watari walked over to the bed and spread the blanket out across Nagare's sill form. Setting the blanket to cold, he made an automatic check of the frail man's vitals, clenching his teeth as he confirmed for himself that Nagare was in fact, clinically dead.

Teeth still locked together, Watari whispered to himself, "Hurry..."

Tatsumi could hear the commotion coming from Rui's room before they even got through the door. Several of the household, unaware that their master lay in another room in a dire state, were hanging around the open door in alarm as Rui's screams poured through it.

"LEAVE THE ROOM LEAVE THE DAMN HOUSE!" Muraki thundered, and the power of his voice drove the onlookers away like leaves before wind.

Inside the room, Rui was lying on her bed, her arms and legs bound in the 'humane' restraints that had long ago been installed on the sturdy piece of furniture. Beside her, her oldest maid, now nurse, tried to calm the madwoman, while an unfamiliar figure, a male nurse dressed in scrubs and a face mask, tried to get around her to get to the screaming Rui. He looked up, relieved, as Muraki came through the door.

"Contractions started about two minutes ago," he said breathlessly.

Muraki went around the bed and placed his hands on the old maid's shoulders. He bent next to her ear and spoke rapidly, though Tatsumi could not hear what he told her until the last few words, which were, "...so get in the corner and pray to any god who might listen to you, and make it count."

The old woman, instead of reacting negatively to this strange instruction, nodded and backed into a corner of the room, her hands digging at her bosom for a charm hung around her neck under her clothes. Her low voice, chanting a prayer to it could not be determined what power, became the background for the events to come.

Relieved yet again, the nurse came forward and tried to begin to prepare Rui but her shrieking and flailing defeated him. Muraki snapped his fingers at Tatsumi and pointed to a portable anesthetic unit complete with oxygen and mask. "Get that on her face and get the oxygen going, then turn the other canister knob until the gauge reads 15."

As they entered the room, Tatsumi thought Rui's screams were going to tear right through him. Despite what he knew about this woman and how she had treated her son, he couldn't help remembering the fact that she was still Kurosaki-kun's mother and he felt her distress keenly.

When Muraki approached the old woman, Tatsumi's muscles had tensed, ready to spring at the doctor if the man tried to be... expedient in dispatching the lady, but when she was allowed to retreat without harm, he'd frowned, confused by Muraki's actions.

But as quickly as the confusion came, it went when the doctor snapped his imperious fingers and issued his order. Tatsumi moved immediately to carry out Muraki's instructions, his hands closing around the unit and he manipulated it to the head of the bed with powerful ease. Inwardly, he balked at the doctor's manners muttering in icily polite tones as he freed the mask, "Careful, Sensei."

Though talking to Muraki, the shadow-master's concentration and timing were focused and when he was ready he caught and held Rui's thrashing head while simultaneously bringing the mask down across her face and nose. He'd primed the canisters before making his move so the mixture of oxygen and anesthetic were pouring over Rui's airways the moment the mask closed over her pale, agonized countenance.

It only took a few minutes for the gas to begin to calm the woman, time Muraki used giving further instructions to the nurse, who pulled other equipment close by - a stand and units of blood in a cooler were there as well as an IV unit already prepped with saline. As soon as Rui quieted enough for him to do so, the nurse started working on inserting her IV.

"The mask has elastic, put it on her, I'm going to need your hands," the doctor said to Tatsumi without looking up. His focus was on the pregnant woman, his hands pushing her clothing back to spread across her obscenely swollen belly. The contractions, even though she quieted, were violent enough to be seen, rippling through her torso.

It was this grotesque vision as much as Muraki's words that galvanized Tatsumi into obedient action. Tenderly fitting the elastic around Rui's head, making certain the seal of the mask was secure, Tatsumi moved away from the head of the bed and came around until he was standing up beside Muraki's shoulder.

Tatsumi watched the stricken mortal woman with open sorrow, whispering quietly. "We play such cruel games with their fate."

But those were the only words he uttered before pulling his attention away from Rui to Muraki, waiting... albeit reluctantly, for the doctor's next order.

The doctor took Rui's ankles, bending her knees and propping her legs up by rewrapping the restraints to fit the new position. Then he took a couple of pillows that had been knocked onto the floor. "Lift her back," he said, preparing to slide the pillows under her hips to raise her body. He paid no more attention to Tatsumi than if he had been a operating room assistant. Once her body was lifted and her legs spread, knees bent, Muraki allowed himself a moment to step back, reaching down to strip off his white silk gloves. Beneath them he had surgical gloves on. He watched the woman's body heave at intervals. A grim smile curved his attractive lips. "I suppose you have to admire the god's determination," he said aloud. "He plans on tearing his way out of her no matter what."

Following Muraki's orders, Tatsumi helped lift Rui up surprised at how frail her swollen body felt in his arms. Still on one knee, his hand closed in a reassuring touch around her wrist the Kagetsukai's blue eyes snapped away from the distressed woman's face to Muraki.

"Get on with it, Sensei!" he snapped, completely uninterested in what one devil thought of another devil's *determination*.

Muraki answered Tatsumi's order with a chuckle. "I will 'get on with it'. I hope you don't faint easily. Performing a caesarean under these conditions is ridiculous. There will be blood. Lots of blood. Too bad about your suit."

Gesturing to the nurse, who had succeeded in getting the IV set and was preparing the blood for transfusion, he jerked his head towards another portable EKG. "Get those on her, chest, wrists, throat, skin contact. Monitor the readout. It will be erratic but if indicates heart attack, there's a syringe prepared on the cart, put it in her IV." The nurse nodded and began following the instructions. Tilting his head Muraki watched Rui's belly for another moment, then gestured to another cart that held what was obviously an incubator. "Get that over here, Guardian, I'll need somewhere to put It."

In all honesty, Tatsumi despised blood almost as strongly as Tsuzuki but he refused to let any sort of reaction show on his face. He refused to give Muraki the satisfaction. Running his hand in a soothing gesture along Rui's arm one last time, Tatsumi stood, shrugging out of his suit coat. He took a brief moment to place the coat over the shoulders of the praying woman before moving swiftly to the cart, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he moved.

The shadow-master forced himself to ignore the way Muraki referred to the baby. Somewhere, deep inside of him, something was shivering with revulsion at the act he was assisting. Though his logical mind knew that *It* was the proper term for what lay within Rui-san, threatening to tear the mortal woman apart, he couldn't completely detach his mind from his heart.

Angry with himself, angry with his own weakness, Tatsumi yanked the cart with more force than was necessary and was forced to make a preternaturally swift adjustment to keep the incubator from tipping over. Forcing a calming breath through his clenched teeth, the Secretary of Hades positioned the cart close to the bed, within easy reach of the psychopathic doctor.

Running sensitive fingertips across Rui's heaving belly, Muraki spoke, his voice low, low enough that the nurse a few feet wouldn't hear him but Tatsumi would. His tone also seemed to shift a little, the amusement gone, the precision remaining, and something oddly human, and very controlled coming in. A young man's voice. A young doctor's voice. Calm, reassuring, but urgent.

"I hope your skills haven't rusted any, in fact I hope they are greater than what you showed me in Kyoto," Muraki said, low and conversational as he lifted a scalpel and began to make the incision. "You will have to hold Him. By yourself, at least for a while, as I attend to her. If I don't stitch her back up she will die. Don't answer, it doesn't matter, yes or no. If you can't do it, we will very probably all die."

What followed was blood. He'd been correct. Lots of blood.

And at some point thereafter, Muraki lifted *something* out of Rui's ravaged body, slippery with crimson and slimy with the remains of the placenta. It was not a human child but it had been once. It was alive and incredibly robust. As Muraki lifted it, its blood smeared eyes opened. The pupils were too clouded for the thing to be able to see. But not too clouded for Tatsumi to see that those pupils were slits in what would be incredibly gold eyes that showed no white at all.

The adjustment in Muraki's voice threw Tatsumi for a breath but he quickly recovered himself and frowned at the doctor's warning. A moment later that frown deepened and the Kagetsukai's blue eyes widened, then narrowed as he beheld the *infant* Muraki pulled from Rui-san.

Hands automatically outstretched to take the newborn creature, Tatsumi didn't have to be in actual contact with the blood coated entity for his spirit sense to confirm that if this creature had ever had a human soul, that soul had been forced out and destroyed, well before they go to this point.

As the newborn creature changed hands, everyone in the room, in fact in the house, was deafened by a clap of thunder that was loud enough to split the roof from sheer volume. The lights flickered and went out completely. There should have been screaming, from the women, but the thunder had temporarily deafened all the house's occupants and it could not he heard.

In the dark, the thing in Tatsumi's hands writhed as if trying to free itself from his grasp.

Muraki's voice lifted, words muffled as Tatsumi's hearing began to return, quicker than the mortals. The words were unfamiliar until he realized the man was chanting a spell. A circle appeared in the room, glowing, casting the only illumination and surrounding the bed and everyone close to it.

Tatsumi gave his head a quick shake to help dispel the ringing in his ears. He spared a brief thought back towards his partner and Nagare but then the wriggling creature in his hands drew his full attention.

Using the light that Muraki had cast, Tatsumi drew the shadows thrown by its glow and began to rapidly weave them into a cylinder shape around himself and the infant. He didn't bother with the incubator, he wasn't about to let the thing in his hands escape. His shadows were a distinctly unique form of magic, unique enough that even the most power of Tsuzuki's shikigami could not penetrate their binding force.

In another part of the house, the other shinigami was also using his unique magic. A part of Watari's ever multi-tasking brain had been at work on this scenario since he himself had brought it up. Grabbing a chart, flipping the paper on the clipboard over he was moving out of the room and drawing all at the same time.

"Stay with him." He ordered Meiya as he moved through the hallways with unerring accuracy. Reaching the area of the house where most of the staff lived, Watari's keen eyesight picked out the huddled forms of the compound's gardener and his son.

"You two. Take this and hook it up to the power supply for the house."

"Sen... Sensei?" The older man asked in trembling bewilderment, his voice a little loud due to the ringing still echoing in his ears.

Shoving his pen behind his ear, Watari drove his hand down into the paper. He rapidly pulled something out barely catching it before setting it down with a hard thud. Another, smaller thud followed and then finally the paper rustled one last time before a light clicked on and a flashlight was hurtling towards the huddled family.

"Hook this generator up immediately. There is no time to waste. Danna-sama depends on you... MOVE!"

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Watari turned and bolted back down the hallway, running pell mell back to his post by Nagare.

Back in the birthing room, Tatsumi was forced to pull the wet, squirming bundle close to his chest. The wrongness of the spirit he could feel made his skin crawl as he performed a twisted parody of the classic cuddling action for a baby.

"You're not going to escape." The shadow-master's deep voice was a nearly inhuman snarl. Now... finally... he had a viable target for the rage that had been boiling within him for the past forty-eight hours... hell, for the past months.

The creature hissed and began trying to claw at him, tiny hands fully equipped with sharp talons in place of human nails. Far more damaging, an energy like a rain of hot acid began running off the blood and tissue covered body as it fought for freedom. Outside the cylinder, lightning hit the roof, finally splitting it for real. The lightning aimed for the dark cylinder.

Muraki yelled something, blotted out by the thunder, and a smaller sphere of white energy enclosed the doctor and his patient, blocking out the storm that was attacking Tatsumi. Rapidly, the doctor did what could be done to repair Rui's ruined body, without the help of the nurse who had been stunned by the lightning strike and lay unconscious on the floor. The old woman emerged slowly from the corner, as if oblivious to the chaos and crept closer to the white sphere of light. Suddenly the doctor's hand emerged and pulled her inside.

Second later, Muraki himself emerged from the white sphere, leaving it intact. Approaching the dark cylinder that enclosed Tatsumi and the newborn god, his arms and torso painted with gore like some old low-budget horror movie mad scientist, he lifted his hands and began to draw another circle around the cylinder.

Inside, words formed an impression in the churning air around the shadow-master.

/I don't know if you can hear me but it's time to finish this. Give the thing to me and I will end it./

Within the chaos of the cylinder, Tatsumi fought a being way beyond his scope. Shinigami were powerful denizens of Meifu but they were not in the same class as some of the gods, good and bad that roamed between the realms. The only things making it even a remotely level playing field were the combination of Yatonogami's weakness and Tatsumi's driving rage.

Tatsumi held strong against the burning agony of the acid like touch to his skin where the creature's blood boiled against his flesh. The sharp, tearing pain of the talons as they sliced across his chest, throat and face were ignored as minor incontinences as he concentrated only on holding the furious deity in his arms, and containing them both within the cylinder.

Muraki's mental touch seemed to come from far away, down a long narrow tunnel and Tatsumi automatically answered along that tiny pipeline of thought.

/You'll never be able to hold him. You must come to us./

Muraki cocked his head to one side. How, exactly, was he to do that? And how delightful... once the shadow-master got him inside such a confinement, how would he escape? It could be extremely convenient for Tatsumi to have him in such a position.

With a smile, Muraki approached the cylinder, raising his hands to test its walls. While his fingers felt a sluggish resistance, like medium-thick mud, they didn't meet anything unstoppable. Stepping forward, Muraki pressed through the shadow barrier until he disappeared from view.

Tatsumi's concentration was mainly on keeping himself and the demon in the shadows, not so much with keeping anything out, because who in their right mind would step into the dark chaos of the cylinder? The first thought that might have passed through Muraki's mind was it was a good thing Tatsumi was immortal because had a mortal body taken the sort of damaged inflicted upon the Kagetsukai's powerful form, it would be dead.

Blood poured from the wounds opened up by those sharp, desperate talons and the acid further exacerbated the open wounds, leaving Tatsumi almost as blood spattered as Muraki himself, only Tatsumi was bathing in his own blood. The shadow-master's eyes were closed, his concentration fierce as he held up the barriers and also fought to ignore the agony being inflicted upon him by Yatonogami. Teeth clenched, he shouted to Muraki,

"Hurry, I can't hold him much longer."

It might have occurred to someone, at some point, though it apparently hadn't, to wonder how the mortal doctor was going to kill a god when the shadow-master could barely contain him. Muraki however didn't hesitate for a single moment. His slender fingers simply slid around the newborn's throat from behind and began to strangle it. The creature squealed but as powerful as it was, it was still bound to a mortal body that it had not had time to protect, nor to enhance with magic or anything else. Muraki's fingers sank into the infant's flesh like steel, cutting off oxygen and throttling its airway, as well as cutting off the blood in the jugular from reaching the brain. In seconds the attack on Tatsumi was abandoned as the thing fought for its life. Pulling it away from Tatsumi's exhausted and damaged hands, Muraki continued strangling the thing, an expression on his handsome features that Tatsumi would never forget as long as he existed. It wasn't wild, or maniacal; the doctor's face was serene, calm, intently focused, feeling the pulse under his fingers beat, flutter, and begin to fail.

Outside them, the storm also failed. And suddenly the generator kicked in.

Giving the small body in his hands a last little shake, Muraki looked up at Tatsumi. "Drop your barrier. Nagare..."

In this instance it was only Tatsumi's extremely disciplined mind that kept him from standing and gawking at the expression on Muraki's face as the doctor throttled the creature. As soon as his hands were free, he stepped back and pulled something from his trouser pocket. The small fuda paper fluttered in the dying breeze of the storm and Tatsumi gave his head a shake.

"I still need to banish, him. I can't risk dropping the barrier until he is tried back to the horn from whence he came. Hold him... and trust me."

Something... not completely sane flashed in Tatsumi's eyes and across his lean lips as he said those last two words. He couldn't quite give up the sting of having had to trust Muraki this far, now it was the doctor's turn to trust him. Without waiting for agreement from the psychopath, Tatsumi brought his ravaged hands up, working the fuda intricately through the weave of his fingers as he began to speak in a low tone, weaving the spell that would banish Yatonogami and rebind him to the dark pit which had spawned him in the first place.

Without a choice, the doctor waited as the shinigami performed his task. It wasn't wasted time. Every pass was observed and committed to the doctor's memory.

Though Muraki might have felt a brush of power along his hands and arms, surprisingly Tatsumi's spell encompassed only the limp form the doctor held. Perhaps, Muraki might have sensed the feeling of... otherness for a brief moment, as if something with a little more juice than just the Kagetsukai himself had entered into the cylinder with them but as quick as it was there, it was gone taking with it the evil presence of the devil they had just defeated.

As soon as Tatsumi was confident that Yatonogami was truly banished, his intense blue eyes opened and his hands slowly lowered to his side. For a moment, he faced Muraki as silence began to descend around them He seemed to be fighting with himself but before the pale doctor could draw a breath to comment, the cylinder collapsed as the shadow magic fell away.

Outside, natural light, generator-driven, had returned to the room and the storm had passed its peak. The white sphere around Rui was gone but the old woman was beside her, brushing her hair back. The nurse was trying to get up from the floor. Muraki pulled him to his feet and said, "See to her, and call an ambulance to get her to a decent hospital."

He picked up the remains of the infant and tossed it in the empty incubator. Then he picked up a bottle of disinfectant from a cart and handed it to Tatsumi. "Clean those," he said, indicating the shinigami's wounds. Five seconds later he was running out the door to the master's room.

Tatsumi, still reeling from the battle with Yatonogami as well as his own thoughts and concerns in that split second before he lowered the cylinder, began to clean his hands almost automatically. Forgetting that his immortal body would heal itself given a little bit of time. As Muraki headed out the door, Tatsumi was once again right on the psychopath's heels. Now that Yatonogami was taken care of, the shadow-master was quickly remembering that there was still an inhuman monster loose in the Kurosaki house and he wasn't about to let Muraki out of his sight.

Within the master's room, Watari was nearly frantic. Each second passing had seemed like a lifetime. He had tried to busy himself by checking, double checking and triple checking the equipment to make certain the generator he'd drawn was putting out enough juice but he was still caught pacing restlessly back and forth, waiting for the signal.

The young shinigami took the sudden dissipation of the storm as a good sign, and he'd almost moved right to the bed to get started, pausing only when he felt Tatsumi's magic surge along the spirit threads that bound the partners... now he was pacing again, desperate to see his partner and anxious to get permission to begin reviving Nagare...

Anxious to learn if his desperate gamble had succeeded.

Muraki came through the door at a run, not bothering to slow down before barking, "Go!"

He then stepped around to a place where he could watch and let Watari work. As he did so, he slowly stripped off the surgical gloves, they were hardly the only part of him covered with blood and slime but they were a part he could remove and he did, dropping them on the floor as he watched Watari work.

Nagare was hooked up to the EKG machine, though Watari had had to turn off the sound because the flatline warning was driving him nuts. Despite the fact that the blond was already in motion when Muraki and Tatsumi came barreling through the door, he still seemed to explode into yet another gear of activity as he immediately set to work on Nagare.

First and foremost, the blanket was immediately switched back towards warming, re-heating the body as Watari placed the oxygen mask over Nagare's face and quickly went through the rest of the preparations.

Flipping the EKG's sound back on, Watari and Tatsumi both flinched at its death knell buzz. The younger shinigami spun and grabbed the crash cart and the paddles. Meiya was there to smear gel on the metal spheres and Nagare's chest was already bared. Watari set the wattage himself, saying only,

"Clear!" Before he lay the paddles on the dead man's chest.

Nagare's body jumped under the electrical shock...

Watari's attention was riveted on the EKG monitor. Tatsumi, Muraki even poor Meiya might as well have been elsewhere for all the attention or concern the blond shinigami gave them.

The little pale green line remained tauntingly flat as it traveled across the screen.

Biting back a curse, Watari spun and upped the charge on the paddles. More gel was smeared onto the paddles and the scientist turned back to Nagare.

"Clear!" His voice rang through the room a split second before he lay the defib equipment against Nagare's pale skin.

Meiya gasped as she watched her master's poor body arch in a painful bow, only to crash back down onto his bed.

Watari stared intently at the little line making its way across the display of the EKG, as if willing it to bounce, to show some sign of animation. He could feel adrenaline pushing through his own blood stream, making his immortal heart pound in his chest as he waited.

"Come on... come on..." The young shinigami wasn't even truly aware that he spoke out loud, trying to encourage Nagare even though the mortal could not hear him.

Still, nothing.

Though Muraki stood not three feet away, Watari didn't waste time in looking to the doctor for his help. Setting the paddles aside, carefully despite his haste, the guardian of death pushed the oxygen mark aside and began giving Nagare CPR. Breathe, count, breathe, count, listen.... Breath, count, breath, count, listen...

Desperately, his eyes flew to the syringe of atropene on the crash cart, then flickered unwillingly to Muraki's face. The doctor's eyes were cool and distant, watching, waiting...

Adrenaline lent Watari's muscles multiplied energy but the strain was telling on him. He could almost feel himself start to accept that it was too late, he was going to fail...

"Hell, no!" he cried, allthough what he meant he could never afterwards remember. Grabbing the paddles up once again, he reset the defib and more out of habit than necessity called.

"Clear!"

Again, the paddles connected to Nagare's skin and again the man's body jerked and twisted with bruising force as the electrical shock ran through his system.

Except this time, as he fell back onto the bed, there was a hopefully little beep from the EKG. A little beep, tied to a little arch in the green line.

Hasitly pulling the oxygen mask back over Nagare's face, Watari held his own breath, attention split between the monitor and the search for a sign of clouding on the clear mask that would signal a breath, willing... willing...

And there it was another little beep and another little arch... and another... and another.

Behind him, Meiya sobbed.

Watari moved forward, laying his fingers against the side of Nagare's neck, feeling the pulse of blood. He watched as the man's chest rose... rose... fell... and rose again with a spontaneous respiration.
on.

Stepping back, reaching up a hand to pull at his ponytail in a nervous gesture, Watari looked over at Muraki and Tatsumi. After a beat a bright, warm smile full of excitement and accomplishment broke out over Watari's face.

"Got him." He breathed softly.

Tatsumi exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and moved towards the bed. As the shadow-master stepped closer into the light, Watari blinked in open shock at the man's state.

"Tatsumi!" He said sharply, moving towards his partner with a concerned expression on his fine-boned features.

Stopping himself before he actually reached for the older shinigami, Watari winced and began to shoo Tatsumi back.

"Err... don't bleed on the back from the dead man."

Tatsumi grimaced slightly and shook his head. He folded his arms over his chest - the shirt was already soaked and torn to ribbons anyway. For a moment there he'd half expected Watari to throw his arms around him, but he realized that had been a pretty wild fantasy.

"You did a very, very good job," he said, concentrating on commending Watari for his efforts to save Nagare. "I think there is an ambulance coming for Rui-san. It might be wise to have one for Nagare as well. He may be alive but we have no idea what kind of damage he's sustained. Can you take care of it while I go clean up?"

Watari had been reaching to put his hands on his partner, wanting to check the man out but he'd stopped himself out of concern for how Tatsumi would react to such an invasion of his personal space, especially with Muraki standing just off to the side. For the time being, the scientist contented himself with the fact that Tatsumi was obviously moving and lucid, looking strong enough despite what appeared to be substantial blood loss.

Blinking owlishly up at the older man, the scientist didn't seem to know how to react to the compliment from Tatsumi. Instead, his mind caught hold of the later part of Tatsumi's statement.

"Coming for Rui-san... then she's alive?" His eyes darted from Tatsumi to Muraki and back and then his grin wider.

"She's alive!"

Clenching a fist he made a small gesture of *yes* before spinning back to the bed. "They're both alive, yes! Ah... ambulance... right... I'll go make a call for a second one."

His attention focused on the apparent success of their plan, Watari's normal explosive energy seemed to return to him and he buzzed around the room like 003 on a coffee high before careening for the door, talking to himself a mile a minute as he moved to exit.

Tatsumi took a deep breath, his spirits rising in spite of himself. He quickly dampened them down, reminding himself that he could not be certain exactly what had happened, and how many of the night's victories they'd be able to claim in the morning. Turning, he saw Meiya gently settling Nagare into a more comfortable position, wiping his face and smoothing a cover over him. He didn't need to tell her to stay with the patriarch. He wanted to clean up and change, before he gave any of the other household members a stroke, but he didn't want to leave Nagare alone with Muraki....

Suddenly Tatsumi looked around the room, frowning, and then a bit more wildly.

The doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Watari was riding a natural high... and almost manic high. All he could concentrate on was, it.had.worked! His logical mind was trying to keep him grounded with thoughts very close to his partner's, that what looked like victory tonight could quickly turn to tragedy in the morning... but his emotions wouldn't let him hang on to those dire thoughts for long.

Careening through the halls, Watari frightened some of the household staff as he pounced on a couple of the more hapless ones and hugged them, babbling 'it worked, it worked, it worked'. He got turned around a couple of times, finally making his way into the kitchen where he knew one of the house phones was kept.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, the scientist picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number. He managed to keep his voice level, so the dispatcher on the other end could understand him as he relayed out the pertinent information, but he bounced back and forth in a small semi-circle at the far end of the cord. Hanging up with the dispatcher, the young shinigami indulged in more bouncing and silent cheering, totally illogical.

After about the eighth bounce, Watari stopped and stood still, taking in deep breaths. Once stationary, his logical mind beat him about the head and shoulders with the idea that he needed to tone it down just a bit, but he still made a gleeful little noise as he twirled around and darted out of the kitchen.

Unerringly making his way back towards Nagare's room, he just sent beaming grins at the people he moved passed, instead of jumping on them... much to the household's relief! There was a small skip in his step as he rounded the corner and ducked through the doorway to Nagare's room, bright eyes searching the room for signs of his partner or Muraki.

Smiling reassuringly to Meiya when she turned and looked at him, Watari retreated from the room when neither of the men he sought turned out to be there.

Tatsumi probably went to get cleaned up... Muraki probably did the same. Ut oh...

Frowning for the first time since Nagare's heart had started to beat once more, Watari spun a full 360 before darting off in the direction of the guest quarters and the luxurious baths.

Concerned that Tatsumi and Muraki might be in the baths at the same time, he headed there first, zipping through the doorway like a whirlwind.

"Tatsumi? Muraki?"

He all but collided with one of the two he sought. There was a soft grunt as Watari impacted a slightly damp and very naked chest. Tatsumi grabbed the corners of the towel slung around his waist quickly to keep it from falling off his hips.

The wounds were cleaned and obviously healing, but the fact that they weren't completely closed nor invisible was a tribute to how deep the acid had eaten at his flesh.

The grimace on Tatsumi's face was leaning into a full scowl, hearing his name being called in tandem with the doctor's.

"What, did you think we were frolicking in the water together?" he snapped before he could stop himself.

Watari's slender body bounced off Tatsumi a step and it took him a moment to fully comprehend what he was looking at.

Tatsumi's ... naked... chest.

A droplet of water fell from the ends of the shadow-master's slightly damp chestnut hair and Watari was caught by its naughty path down across Tatsumi's shoulder, collarbone and along one well defined pectoral muscle, remembering to pull his eyes back up to his partner's face a split second before he following the trail the water made across Tatsumi's dusky nipple.

He probably would have been left standing there blushing furiously, had Tatsumi's words not driven the blood out of his face as he remembered that just the other night he had been frolicking in the water with Muraki. Swallowing convulsively a couple of times, Watari gave his head a shake and took another two steps back, his eyes going down to stare at Tatsumi's feet.

"I... ah... no...I... just." Lifting his hand to his hair, he went to drive his fingers through the thick honey gold locks when he ran into the tie he'd borrowed from his partner to keep his hair back. Pulling it loose with an apologetic expression, he held it out to Tatsumi. "Here, I ... how are you healing?"

Watari couldn't bring himself to look at the scars on Tatsumi's broad chest, so instead he studied his partner's hands, trying not to imagine if they would touch him with the same gentle strength as Muraki's hands had.

Tatsumi regretted the flash of temper even as the words came out. It wasn't Watari he was angry with. It was himself. Taking his reaction out on the blond was the last thing he wanted to do. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the corners of the towel more securely and then walked over to the bench where he'd left his clean clothes. Since Watari was looking away, he put his arms into the white shirt and then dropped the towel so he could finish with boxers and his slacks. Once he had himself moderately covered he sat down on the bench, picking up his glasses and wiping the steam off of them.

"He's gone," he said without a prelude. An apology might have been in order but it would only draw attention to what neither of them wanted to drag out, he decided. "I haven't searched the house but he seems to have vanished."

Okay, maybe Watari peeked a little when he saw the towel shift... but the end of the dress shirt kept Tatsumi modest. Eyes back down on the tiles, brow furrowed, the blond's head snapped up when Tatsumi spoke, his expression surprised.

"But then how am I..." Watari began, only to choke off the words as he turned his head and looked out into the hall as if expecting to see Muraki suddenly appear.

It didn't occur to him to question what Tatsumi was saying. The shadow-master's spirit sense was much stronger than his own, plus Tatsumi seemed to have a Muraki radar of sorts. Unnerved by this event, Watari turned back to his partner and was unnerved further by the sexy way Tatsumi was rumpled.

"Ah... I should go wait for the ambulances." Before I walk over there and start buttoning you up. Watari mentally smacked himself for the thought, wondering how and why nearly three decades of control were starting to slip.

Tatsumi didn't reply right away, and he didn't move to finish dressing either. Instead he leaned over and rested his forehead on one palm, elbow propped on his knee.

As Watari turned for the door, deciding there wasn't going to be an answer, Tatsumi said softly, "I had a chance to get him. I didn't take it." His tone was threaded with confusion and self-judgment as well as regret.

What was it about that posture that Watari simply could not resist? Standing in the doorway, knowing that the wise thing would be to step on through, especially at that moment... feeling what he felt... a shiver ran through the blond but he turned back into the room. He couldn't ignore Tatsumi, of course... had he ever been able to truly ignore his partner?

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, where they couldn't do something stupid like reach out and stroke the exposed skin of Tatsumi's torso, Watari crossed to the bench. Instead of hunkering down in front of Tatsumi, he turned around and sat down on the bench beside his partner, looking at the water in the bath, where it had been set rippling by a drop from the hot water faucet.

"Of course you didn't," The younger shinigami said in a subdued tone. "You are many things, Seiichirou but above all you are a fair man. To strike Muraki down now... even though you have historical events to support your decision to do so, would still have been an act of judgment. You would have set yourself up as judge, jury and executioner, without giving Muraki the soul trial he must ultimately face before the Generals." Exhaling a breath, Watari quietly wondered if he believed his own words. It would have been so much easier had Tatsumi taken Muraki out when he'd had the chance... easier for him... Watari wasn't convinced that even with the level of hatred Tatsumi felt for Muraki it would have been the best thing for his partner's spirit.

Turning to face Tatsumi, he gave the older man a quick, rueful smile. "His way is not our way Tatsumi. When it starts to be, then we have to wonder about ourselves, don't we?"

Tatsumi turned to look at his partner. He didn't answer right away, instead, after a moment, he put his glasses on and started buttoning his shirt. Getting up to tuck in his shirt and put on his belt, he paused for a moment and reached out one hand, clean but still marked with fading wounds that had closed but might leave marks on the surface for some time, and tilted up Watari's chin to look into his face.

"Yes, but if I had, I'd at least be sure this was finally over for you."

His hand dropped away and then he turned and picked up the tie Watari had given him back, looping it around his neck but not tying, not just then.

"Come on. You check on the ambulances and I want to check the house, just once. Then, I think it will be time for us to go as well."

The need to turn and press his cheek against Tatsumi's hand was nearly overwhelming and Watari breathed an inward sigh of relief as the older man stepped back. Relief that was bittersweet, because he couldn't help wondering how good it might have felt to follow that urge.

Tatsumi's words softened Watari's eyes and a little smile quirked the blond's lips.

It will be over soon, my friend. Watari thought to himself, a shadow playing its way across his heart as he couldn't silence the following whisper of, I hope.

Giving himself a mental shake, Watari clapped his hands against his knees and stood up with a nod.

"Yes... yes it is." Two long strides brought him up even with Tatsumi and despite the turmoil in his soul, he turned and smiled proudly at Tatsumi. "They're alive."

They *were* alive, Nagare-san and his wife. The house was in shambles, the roof cloven in two over Rui's room, the rest in disarray from the storm and the darkness. But the servants began working hard to put things to rights. The ambulances arrived. The EMTs reported that both patients' vital signs were reasonably stable, though whether Rui-san would wake to sanity or even manage a return to physical health was a question no one would be prepared to answer yet. It would take time to determine if Nagare-san had survived with no brain damage from the long time in clinical death. But the shinigami were not required for those determinations.

Muraki was gone, and never seen again in the house as far as anyone could say afterwards. The nurse was gone, along with some of the equipment, and no one ever remembered the man's name or knew where he had come from or returned to.

The last disquieting fact was one Tatsumi kept to himself. He saw no need to share it with Watari and the scientist did not ask, and Tatsumi wasn't sure if that surprised him or not.

The remains of the infant were gone from the house and never seen again.

Watari found a white envelope on his bed as he was packing to leave. It looked as if it had been slipped under his pillow and fallen loose.

It had nothing written on the outside, but inside was a single sheet of paper with an address in Tokyo.

It probably should have occurred to Watari to ask about the infant but for some reason it didn't. Perhaps it was a mixture of trust in Tatsumi's thoroughness with a hint of just not wanting to know. He knew his partner would have completed the task of dispatching Yatonogami or died in the attempt and since Tatsumi was still alive, albeit carrying quite a few scars from the encounter, Watari simply took it as fact that Yatonogami was taken care of.

He had seen to the collection of Rui and Nagare, speaking with the EMTs and giving them detailed accounts of what had happened, what had been done and who to contact. Once the ambulances were on their way, he'd walked past Tatsumi, who stood talking with the highest ranked of the household staff, giving them instructions to get them through the next few days.

Leaving Tatsumi to organizing the household, Watari had headed back to the room to start breaking down his equipment. 003 was tucked up on the monitor of the computer, looking half asleep and Watari couldn't help grinning at the little owl.

"You really can sleep through anything can't you baby?"

He scritched her between her ear tufts and then set about taking apart the computer. It wasn't until he was done with this task that he turned to start packing up his other belongings. It was then that he found the envelope.

And his heart kicked in his chest.

If the young scientist were honest with himself, seeing the letter was almost a relief. He'd known a whisper of fear along his spine that Muraki was going to change up the bargain on him, he didn't like not knowing when it came to the psychopathic doctor. Opening the envelope, he pulled out the paper and shook it loose. Not knowing what to expect, his face was neutral as he read the address.

When Watari stood there, unmoving for over a minute, 003 flew across to perch on his shoulder. Her worried little chirp and gentle nip to his ear shook the young shinigami out of his pensive stupor and he quickly folded up the sheet of paper. Shoving it back into its envelope, he folded it and stuffed it into one of the pockets of his lab coat.

"Come on, girl. Let's get packed."

The days past in a blur. Between getting all their equipment and themselves back to Meifu, writing up the reports, answering questions and then the inevitable backlog of *work* that had built up while they were gone, Watari barely had time to turn around, let alone think about what was coming up. In fact, he managed to put it out of his mind, until the last few hours before he needed to leave for Tokyo.

In those last hours, he became... quiet... an almost serene type of quiet, not his usual 'I'm thinking up mischief' quiet. He also began to actively avoid Tatsumi, knowing that if he ran into the man now, he'd give in to the overwhelming urge to 'talk to him, before taking out the loan.'

Watari managed to clamp down on the need to explain to his partner what he'd done only by holding on to the thought that if he weakened and spoke to Tatsumi, he'd undo everything he'd tried to do and lay a burden of guilt on his partner. So, he ducked into doorways, hid under Wakaba's desk and spent most of the day locked in his lab, setting off minor explosions that were guaranteed to keep people at a distance.

As time grew short, he'd retreated to the small apartment just off his lab and gotten ready. A shower, hair washing, the whole nine yards... the scientist firmly ignored the ribbon with its obscene little bow. Dressing in nice black wool slacks, topped by a loose dark green pirate style shirt, the laces loose at his throat, Watari had carefully brushed his hair out to a fine sheen. He wasn't consciously trying to preen, but rather to sooth himself with the repetitive stroking of the brush.

Soon enough, it was time to go. Grabbing his comfortable herringbone jacket, he moved towards the door to his lab, speaking to 003 who started to flutter after him.

"No, my friend. You can't go with me this time."

The address turned out to belong to a building in one of the more exclusive downtown apartment blocks. Going into the lobby of the building, past a uniformed guard at his desk, Watari looked for the elevator that would take him to the right floor, and could not find one.

Finally he was forced to ask the guard. When the man saw the paper with the address written, his eyebrows lifted. "You've never been here before," he stated. "That's the penthouse, there's a special elevator. It has to be unlocked with a key, let me check my evening's instructions." He pulled up a display on an ultramodern computer screen that looked like a laptop built into the guard desk. He read something, then turned and looked at Watari - looked him up and down in fact - and nodded. "Right this way, Smith-san," he said, gesturing to Watari to come with him.

Past the other elevators, the private on was set discretely into an alcove and half screened by a seven foot potted tree. Then the guard took out his keycard and swiped it through a gold-plated reader. The elevator doors opened.

"You don't need to push any button, it will take you right up, sir," he said. "Have a nice evening."

Though impressed by the building, Watari found that he was not surprised that Muraki lived high class. It just fit the man. Really, he should have *known* or at least suspected about the penthouse, but he was more jittery then he wanted to admit, even to himself... though 'Smith-san' did cause the young shinigami to forcefully smoother a chuckle.

He just wasn't even going to speculate what the doorman thought he was there for... though he was tempted to say something outrageous like, 'Thank you, I fully expect to enjoy being sexually tortured till I beg, scream and cry like a...' Giving his head a shake Watari tossed those thoughts out and instead smiled politely to the man, bowing his head.

"Thank you."

Then the door was closing and the elevator was moving and the scientist closed his eyes, concentrating on re-centering himself into a place of calm.

This is the deal you made. It's just sex... wanting and taking... payment for services rendered. Just remember it's business, just business.

Exhaling a calm breath, Watari opened his eyes a second before the elevator drew to a halt and the doors opened.

There was a small hallway that ended in a floor to ceiling window that showed the twinkling lights of the world's largest city below. In the short hallway, one door. No number, no name, just a gold-plated doorknob and a small button set into the wall.

Watari couldn't help himself. He was drawn to that window, stopping when he could see all the way down into the night lit city. His hands, driven into the pockets of his coat, flexed and relaxed as his reflection in the mirror smiled, a thoughtful little expression. It had been years... over a decade in fact since he'd last been to Tokyo.

I forgot how beautiful it was at night.

Soaking up the glittering jewel before him for another minute, Watari sighed softly and turned away from the window, walking to the door.

When he turned around, the single door, which had been closed, was open. Muraki leaned in it, back against the side of the doorframe, as he observed Watari looking out at the lights below.

He was casually dressed, far moreso that Watari. Bare feet, well-fitted jeans, and a white shirt with the sleeves carelessly rolled up a few times. He had a fountain pen tucked behind one ear as if he'd been working and forgotten it there.

"Konbanwa," he said, his low melodious voice pleasant, warm.

Watari had thought long and hard on how he was going to approach this night. He had several options open to him, he could be... stubborn, he could be needling, he could be challenging, he could be aggressive...or he could just...*be*.

He'd chosen this last one, if for no other reason than that the doctor had upheld his part of the deal.

"Good evening," Watari returned in his lighter tenor, bowing his head slightly as he moved away from the window, towards the door. "Spectacular view, it's been almost twelve years since I was last here. It's changed... yet... is the same."

The young shinigami's eyes were bright, looking a little bemused by his own statement. Sometimes the passage of time and its meaningless crept up on the active scientist and caused him to pause and reflect a little. Tonight seemed a good night for reflection, as he walked towards Muraki.

Muraki smiled. "It's a good view for adjusting perspective," he said. "You took the time to dress attractively. I like it. I'm sure it wasn't for me, but that doesn't bother me, not when it gives me something to enjoy. You are a rather beautiful man, you are aware of this, are you not?"

Watari actually looked down at himself as Muraki spoke and the doctor's words brought a twinkle and a bit of an imp's grin to the young shinigami's face.

"Er, actually I didn't know what you might have in mind for tonight, so I figured I'd best at least be presentable for... whatever." The words were spoken in an almost chipper tone but they betrayed something... 'for whatever' - was it possible that the shinigami was walking into the evening with no preconceived notion of what might happen? Could he be that foolish?

The remainder of Muraki's statement was accepted with a grin and a duck of his head. "I work with three of the most beautiful men in Meifu as well as some of the most attractive ladies... I suppose you stop thinking about it after awhile."

Tilting his head to the side, he reached up as if to pull the pen from its perched but instead he just motioned towards it.

"Did I interrupt you?" Yes, Watari was very aware of how the doctor looked this evening.

Business, Yutaka... business.

"We had no time set, and it's not my nature to be idle for very long," Muraki answered. He reached up and pulled the pen from behind his ear. "Come in," he gestured to the open doorway.

The room beyond was almost ridiculously spacious, with multiple levels that included stairs going up as well as a sunken floor in one area. What furnishings there were, were all expensive, artistic pieces, tastefully arranged. One wall was glass, overlooking the city. Light within came from a few lamps.

Watari's lips twitched in a not unkind expression at Muraki's claim to having trouble with being idle. With another inwardly focused breath, he stepped past the doctor into the room beyond.

Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. Watari thought to himself chuffing silently.

His eyes made a quick, but thorough inspection of what he could see of the penthouse. Chuckling gently he moved respectfully through the room, towards the window.

"It fits."

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder towards Muraki, before turning to look back over the beautiful view of the city. It did fit. The casual, simple elegance of the place. A sociopath Muraki might be, but he was definitely a sociopath with style.

Watari's own upbringing, while not in a dirt shack, had been the most modest of the shinigami. The only child of academics, value had been placed on knowledge above monetary wealth. It hadn't been a deprived upbringing, but Watari recognized that he sometimes lacked the natural grace and polish of Tatsumi, or even young Hisoka.

Muraki let the remark pass without comment. Closing the door, he came in behind Watari and walked past him to a small bar at the side of the room. "Can I get you a drink?" he inquired politely. The bar appeared to be very well stocked.

Watari tracked Muraki's movements in the reflection of the window, his keen eyes tracking the red tail lights of cars as they moved around in the darkened streets below, like little red fireflies. Walking closer to the window he shook his head.

"No, thank you," he returned just as politely, staring for a couple beats of his own heart before turning away from the picturesque scene below, watching Muraki move around the apartment.

The young shinigami drew in a breath as if about to speak but then bit his lower lip. He was indulging in nervous chatter, which was probably unseemly.

"Have you heard how Nagare-san and Rui-san are faring?"

"My interest in that family is zero," Muraki said, his voice never loosing the warm, pleasant tone. "If I had to guess, I'd imagine she will be a somewhat happier imbecile for a few short years more. Her husband could outlive her and attempt to sire a child on some younger woman or one of the house maids perhaps. As long as his time on flatline did not deprive too many parts of his brain of oxygen for too long. If it did, I imagine he will be taking his meals through a straw and wearing a drool bib for the rest of his life."

The response surprised Watari a little. Not so much the idea that Muraki's interest in the Kurosaki family was slim to nil but that the doctor had then gone on to expand on an idea of what might have happened and in a somewhat... well... in a tone.

Moving away from the window, down towards the sunken floor and a couch he'd seen he remarked with the same easy going reporting manner he used for Konoe, "Well, actually Nagare-san seems to have bounced back rather strongly. There is some evidence of a compromise to the function of finer motor skills but nothing that some occupational therapy shouldn't be able to straighten out in time. Rui-san... well... the mind is an amazing thing is it not, Sensei? It has ways of protecting itself from the unthinkable, and while those of us left on the other side of the mental twilight might feel a certain sense of loss... it is not unheard of that she might find her way back to her husband, now that her mind is no longer tormented by Yatonogami."

He paused by the end of the couch and leaned his hip lightly against the piece of furniture, arms crossing over his chest and his head cocked curiously to one side as he watched Muraki.

The doctor smiled and walked across the carpet, closing the distance between them. Instead of stopping in front of Watari, he moved behind him, then reached his arms around Watari's body and uncrossed the shinigami's arms. Then he slipped his fingers into the collar of the jacket and slid it down and off Watari's shoulders, dropping the garment on the back of the couch. Still from behind Watari, Muraki's arms moved around his torso and spread across his chest, pulling the blond back against Muraki's substantial form. His fingers moved over the silky material of the shirt until they found the regular shape of Watari's nipples and circled the nubs through the fabric, making them tighten and peak.

Watari couldn't quite stop the minute tension that ran through his arms when Muraki first came up behind him and made to pull his arms apart, but as he exhaled a breath, his shoulders relaxed and he lowered his hands out of their defensive tuck, allowing the doctor to pull the soft wool coat off his body. A shiver ran through Watari's body as the cool air of the penthouse brushed across the thin silk shirt and somehow an embrace that should have been repulsive was inviting as the young shinigami found himself leaning back against Muraki's chest, feeling the mortal man's warmth along his spine.

Watari's lips quirked ruefully at his traitorous body's instinctive reaction to the doctor's caress and he closed his eyes, speaking softly, "Not idle for a moment."

A low chuckle tickled his ear as Muraki bent his head beside Watari's neck. "As you see," he murmured. "I won't ask if you've looked forward to this night, I'm quite sure you've either been dreading it, or have put it out of your mind altogether. I, however, have been thinking of it. Every day, many times a day, and each night. At first I felt disappointed that the circumstances made it too difficult for me to do more than taste the banquet you agreed to spread for me. But over the three days, I've decided it worked out much better this way. Now I have all the time, and all the space I need to feast as deeply as I wish."

His fingers stopped circling Watari's nipples and pinched them lightly through the thin material, then a bit harder. Nuzzling, he brushed Watari's thick curls aside enough to reach the tender skin of his neck, brushing his lips across it, then nuzzling, then licking, letting his tongue trace the line of the jugular. Then white teeth began nipping the skin lightly, followed by a lick, then another nip...

Another shiver ran through Watari's body, this one caused by the doctor's touch and his low words. After a beat, the young shinigami lay his head back, tentatively, until it rested against Muraki's broad shoulder, effectively exposing his neck close to the same moment that the sociopath began to nuzzle aside the scientist's long hair.

The throat Muraki nipped worked in a convulsive swallow but then Watari brought his hand up, laying his fingers very lightly along the side of the doctor's face. Sensitive fingertips, so skillful with tiny bits of electrical equipment, showed remarkable deftness as he gently caressed Muraki's aristocratic cheekbones, down along his jaw.

"I... came to you tonight with my mind open," Watari's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Perhaps my willingness to fulfill our deal might help you ease your own expectations of my duplicity? It will make it easier on us both, for me to give you what you want."

Warm breath tickled Watari's skin as Muraki laughed. "What makes you think I had any expectations of duplicity? You are mistaken. I knew you would be here. I don't mind whatever method you use to rationalize this to yourself. I've known all along that you would give me what I wanted. The threats, those were simply to make it easier for you in the beginning, before you worked it out with yourself."

Muraki lifted his head, after giving Watari's neck one last nip, and the doctor turned Watari in his arms until they were face to face, Watari having to tilt his head up to meet the doctor's eyes. Bending his head, Muraki ran his tongue along Watari's lower lip, feeling it tremble.

This, this was the danger of trying to be more clever than the devil. You risked the devil letting you hang yourself with your own rope. The sound Watari made was a half chuckle, half sob and he shook his head slightly. His only hope now was to hold on to himself as best he could and hope he made it out the other side of the night in one piece.

Raising his hands, he rested one lightly against Muraki's hip, the other curling around the doctor's elbow. The trembling of his lower lip annoyed Watari and he moved to pull the sensitive skin out from under the teasing touch of Muraki's tongue. Parting his lips slightly, Watari's tongue darted out to deliver a light, challenging swat to Muraki's tongue and the thin line of his upper lip before the shinigami withdrew slightly, only to dart back in with another tempting touch of lips and tongue to the doctor's mouth.

Watari felt the breath of a silent laugh at his teasing. As naturally as death, Muraki's mouth covered his completely and the madman began to take. The taking began in the form of a kiss so skillful, so languid and yet so coaxing and urgent that Watari was immersed in it without a single moment of conscious thought. A warm tongue that had teased his skin, the same warm tongue that had helped bring him to a level of ecstasy that night in the bath, wound around his and thrust into his mouth and, it felt like, halfway down his throat. Twining, coiling, advancing and retreating to advance again, the doctor took his mouth, and before he knew what he was doing he was sucking on that devilish tongue, begging it to stay, to delve deeper. He was hardly aware of the hands that ran along his back, smoothing their way down to cup under his hips, pressing him forward.

Muraki was wrong about one thing. Watari had neither dreaded, nor put the night completely out of his mind. In the quiet of those nights between the struggle with Yatonogami and this night, the shinigami had been thinking, theorizing, taking what facts he had and putting together what he hoped was a viable approach to the situation. Fighting Muraki was out. It would do no good, Watari didn't have the offensive power to take the doctor out and just battling against the madman, while perhaps good if one wanted to claim victimhood, would only anger Muraki and who knew where the body count would end. Bluffing Muraki was equally as risky and in the end, Watari recognized that he was risking, not his own existence but the lives of innocents... perhaps even risking Tatsumi, depending upon how hard Muraki struck back.

No, fighting... resisting... giving himself the shallow comfort of saying 'I tried to resist' was a coward's path and one that could end up costing more than the original deal. No, his best choice... for what he wanted to ultimately accomplish, was to embrace the deal he'd made.

Embrace the devil.

His focus made fuzzy by the expert way Muraki's tongue worked his mouth, Watari's hands moved with a jerky instinctive motion. Sliding along the white shirt, the sound of skin on cloth a gentle rustle in the quiet room, he wrapped his arm around Muraki's chest, fingers splayed across the doctor's broad back, holding himself closer to the mortal man. He relaxed his hold on Muraki's hip and with an open palm, traced a gentle caress down along the sociopath's powerful thigh. Lips meeting the doctor's tongue tangling as he suckled gently on that tormenting tongue that brought him both shame and pleasure, Watari closed his eyelids tight against tears that burned.

Tats... He choked the thought off before his mind could finish it. Now was not the time.

Watari's pulse was beating much faster when Muraki finally lifted his head for a moment. Sliding one hand up along Watari's body, around his waist, under his arm, fingers curving around his neck so that Muraki could use his thumb to tip the blond's chin up a bit more, stretching his neck... the arch of an extended throat was such a beautiful thing. Tilting his head to the side, Muraki's tongue flickered out and swiped lightly along the corner of one closed eye, harvesting the tears that Watari tried to keep from escaping. The salt flavor brought a smile to Muraki's well-shaped lips. Pressing a light kiss to Watari's eyelids, he murmured, "Did you know we excrete every emotion our bodies can produce? The tiniest shift of mood affects the composition of pheromones, the balance of chemical in saliva, in tears. I can taste your excitement, and I can taste your shame. I can almost smell you thinking of that partner of yours."

Watari's teeth drew together for a moment and he shook his head from side to side. His voice was a little deeper, made like warm velvet by the excitement that Muraki could taste on his skin.

"I bargained myself, leave Tatsumi out of this."

It wasn't a beg, it wasn't a demand... perhaps it was best described as something in between. The young shinigami followed up his words by tilting his head on the pivot point of Muraki's thumb, once again seeking the doctor's mouth, even as one of his own slender hands speared up into the soft, platinum blond hair, curling around the back of Muraki's neck and trying to help guide the doctor's lips back to his own. Held tight against Muraki's body, Watari shifted his hips, threading one thigh in between the doctor's, further connecting their bodies together.

Obligingly, Muraki's mouth covered his and another soul-stealing kiss ensued. The doctor's large hands moved over Watari's body, shoulders, back, front, belly, hips, thighs. When he could feel Watari losing himself again, one hand slid up the shinigami's back and twined fingers in his hair, closing them and catching the strands in a lock. As before, a gentle but inexorable pull brought Watari's head back and at last Muraki lifted his mouth, licking his lips. He smiled down into those wide gold eyes. "Of course, pet. I will as long as you will." Bending again, he caught Watari's lower lip between his teeth before the young man could respond. The bite wasn't a hard one, just enough to sting and bruise the tender flesh to make it swell a little, becomingly. "I want to show you how much I appreciate your honest cooperation," he said, the laughter only an undertone in his voice.

Releasing his hold on Watari's golden curls, Muraki stepped away from him, leaving Watari swaying slightly without the support of the doctor's solid form.

"Come," he said, and beckoned. Turning, he crossed the large room to the foot of the curving stairway.

Though held tight by the fist in his hair, Watari's head still jumped slightly when Muraki's teeth closed against his tender lower lip. The sting raced through his body like an electrical shock, or perhaps a cold splash of water, though it did little to dampen the general excitement the doctor's kisses had raised in him. Amber eyes narrowed a little, and fire flashed in their burnished depths as the term 'pet' came up again, but Watari wisely held his tongue. Wisely, because a moment later, he felt a true touch of fear when Muraki spoke of showing him how much he appreciated Watari's cooperation. He could not get a good read on the doctor, and that worried the young shinigami.

The cold air moved against his body when Muraki stepped away, causing Watari to wrap his arms around himself in an attempt to hold in some semblance of warmth. A small part of his brain reminded him that there was a reason he wore turtlenecks to Earth, mainly because he never could seem to keep warm when in the mortal realm. Watching Muraki move towards the stairway, Watari was forced to admit that it wasn't just the physical cold he was feeling. It went deeper.

Swallowing, he dropped his head for a moment, then lifted his chin proudly. Lowering his arms from where they were wrapped around his chest, Watari moved forward with a gliding step, following where the madman led.

The stairway wound in a slight curve upwards, and the light at the top was less than the room below, though not full darkness. A hand under Watari's elbow kept his from stumbling on the thick carpet at the top of the stairs. Muraki guided him through a doorway and into a room. Like below, one wall was glass. The other three were draped in thick, dark material that confused the eye and would muffle sound.

The room was a carnal dungeon. There were wide cushions on the floor but there were also strange constructions made of dark wood in odd shapes. The frames were adorned with straps of leather and chains of steel coated in black vinyl. There were other racks that held a variety of paraphernalia all designed to torment the body, most specifically, to torment it sexually, or at least to convince the viewer that they could be employed so.

As Watari took in the room, Muraki moved behind him and without a wasted motion began the process of undressing the shinigami.

As Watari's feet hit the thick carpet and he was turned into the room, he paused for a moment in the doorway, an action that might have been mistaken for shock, or revulsion. It was the former, but not the latter. In fact, as the shinigami's eyes moved slowly through the room's equipment, from the racks, to the paraphernalia, to the thick coverings on the walls and back to the window, he tilted his head back and slowly began to chuckle.

The chuckle grew into a deep throated laugh. He held his arms out, loosely to the sides, helping Muraki in the process of undressing him. The scientist's skin was warm and silken soft, softer even than the shirt he wore, though the skin was drawn taut over sleek, lithe muscles.

Physical torment, be it sexual, or straight up physical torture... this he could handle. This he could wrap his brain around in connection with the Muraki he knew from the man's rather substantial file. It was so... wonderfully obscure the way the idea of torture seemed almost... freeing.

The laughter didn't seem to bother the doctor in the slightest. He discarded the shirt and unfastened the blond's pants, drawing them down his legs unhurriedly, unsurprised when Watari stepped out of them willingly. Once Watari was naked, Muraki allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the view, renewing his familiarity with Watari's lovely form. He took one of Watari's hands and lifted it to his lips, kissing it sweetly.

"I'm glad you approve. I gave a good deal of thought to what would make this easier for you, Yutaka-san. Let us see how well I have succeed."

There was no point in acting shy about his nudity so Watari stepped almost submissively when Muraki drew his trousers down and off his legs. Standing there under the doctor's regard, he returned Muraki's study with one of his own, letting his eyes dance along the psychopath's powerful body, encased in its relaxed outfit. The man really did look good in those jeans and Watari indulged himself in one last, light touch to the warm denim before his hand dropped away and his eyes trailed up along Muraki's torso to his eyes.

A pale, golden eyebrow arched in a curious expression in response to Muraki's statement and his lips, swollen slightly from the doctor's kisses, curled upwards in an enigmatic expression. He bowed his head slightly in response to the last spoken statement.

"Let us see how well you succeed."

Watari was a child of the seventies and not totally uninitiated to the game this room represented. Though not, perhaps what could be termed an expert, he did know that this would engage his mind as well as his body and he had to give Muraki credit for coming up with a way to demand his full participation... but if he was lucky, between his mind and his body, he could protect his emotions.

His expression was answered by an equally enigmatic smile from the doctor. The trappings were just that, trappings, and not to be confused with the game. Holding Watari's hand, Muraki led him to the middle of the room. There on a platform was a futon, covered in black silk. Around the edge of it was a rail that did not quite come even with the surface.

Still holding Watari's hand as if he were leading him to a dance, Muraki brought him up onto the futon, and coaxed him to sit, and then to lie down. He smoothed the wild blond hair back from Watari's face and then moved around the edge of the futon. Reaching down, he gently pulled Watari's left ankle out until his leg was fully stretched, then brought a leather cuff up from the railing and fastened it around. Unhurriedly, he walked around to the other side and did the same to his right ankle, spreading his legs wide apart. Again unhurriedly, he moved around again and took both Watari's wrists, stretching them directly above his head along the futon and then cuffing them together, and to the railing. Sitting down on the edge of the futon he studied the picture, fingers running lightly along the side of Watari's cheek in a tender caress.

It was against every instinct for the shinigami to follow the psychopath but Watari made his long limbs move as Muraki directed. He did cast a glance towards one of the racks in a thoughtful way, perhaps a little surprised when the doctor took him to the futon instead. It seemed almost funny that Muraki was still fully dressed, though Watari was naked but he didn't think to question it. Sitting, then laying back against the cool silk, he shuddered delicately, closing his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses as Muraki's large, deft hands moved across his face, pushing his hair back out of the way.

Ears straining to catch the subtle sounds as Muraki moved around the bed, Watari forced himself to relax when the doctor's hand closed around his ankle, drawing his leg out towards the corner of the bed. Then the other, exposing him... trapping him.

It's the game...Watari sighed to himself, a little smile on his features as Muraki moved back to the head of the bed and carefully bound his arms.

When those strong, skilled fingers touched his cheek, Watari stretched against the bonds holding him, testing their strength and their give. His head moving languidly, eyes still closed, he nipped at those stroking fingers, another shiver racing through his lean form as the bindings held him quite firmly in his vulnerable state.

Muraki smiled and allowed Watari to catch his finger in those strong teeth. "Bite me to the bone, if you like, love. It would be a scar I would cherish for the rest of my life." With his other hand, he gently lifted Watari's glasses away and slipped them in a drawer in the side of the frame.

The words were confusing and they caused Watari to pause in his teething on Muraki's skin. Teeth still pressed against the finger in his mouth, the shinigami moved his head from side the side. Damn it... the devil was still playing for keeps. With his glasses removed, the scientist was effectively blinded, it was a source of amusement for Watari that while his body was immortal, he was as myopic in death as he had been in life. But tonight, the amusement was tempered by confusion, and a riot of emotions that the shinigami was trying to keep under wraps.

While he did not break the doctor's skin, the blond guardian did express his distress against that trapped finger, biting down hard, pinching the skin tight against the bone, like a vise. While his teeth abused Muraki's knuckle, his tongue curled around the sensitive tip of the mortal man's finger, stroking it almost tenderly in direct contrast to the pain he inflicted just a half an inch further along the digit.

Muraki's head tilted back, his will keeping his hand from moving, from even the most instinctive of jerks at the pain. The sensation shot up his arm and he licked his lips, relishing it. It pleased him that the shinigami was hurting him, even in this small way. It pleased him because of the irony of it. Despite the implications of the room and the devices of torture displayed there, he would make certain that Watari felt not even a single moment of pain. The restraints were to ensure this. He would have his way.

Letting Watari bite or suck or whatever he wished until he tired of it, Muraki removed his own glasses and placed them in the same drawer. Then he gently stroked the blond curls back again. Pretty shinigami...

As time passed and Muraki seemed content to allow Watari to inflict the small pain of the bite on his finger, Watari began to wonder... and then worry... and then slowly realize that he had once again misjudged the situation. Pulling his teeth away from where they were leaving indentations in the doctor's skin, the young shinigami spent a few moments stroking the small wounds with the tip of his tongue, pushing the finger back out of his mouth in order to, kiss it with gossamer light caresses.

His chuckle, was very soft... and a little sad even and though Muraki was little more than a pale blur, he opened his eyes and looked towards the doctor's face.

"You're confusing the hell out of me." His voice was bedroom soft, the whisper of true night.

Muraki nodded, his expression, however much of it Watari could see without his optical aids, was peaceful. Almost serene.

"I know, Yutaka-san," he murmured. "I'm sorry. But I have to. Perhaps you'll reconsider later and give me that scar after all. Even Tsuzuki was kind enough to give me such a precious gift."

The mention of his friend's name caused Watari to close his eyes as pain, greater than any whip could inflict, arced through his chest. Though his relationship with Tsuzuki was complicated and that of two overgrown children much of the time, he still held his friend close to his heart and felt his betrayal of that friendship keenly. He'd barely been able to think about Tsuzuki over these past few days.

Turning his head away from Muraki, Watari tried to push away the tendrils of comfort the doctor's gentle touch to his hair brought to his touch starved soul.

Muraki watched the reaction, his face registering no satisfaction, no surprise... nothing. Leaning back, he began to undress, taking off his shirt first and then standing up to peel off the jeans. Had Watari not been looking away, the scar he'd spoken of was in evidence, a smooth white gash fully four inches long, just under his ribcage on the right side of his torso.

Sitting back on the futon, Muraki bent down and began kissing and licking his way from Watari's left knee up along his thigh.

Had he not been restrained, it was likely that he would have tried to escape... renege... stop Muraki, something. This was nothing like what he had expected when he'd agreed to Muraki's deal that night in the chapel and Watari's scientific brain was screaming at him that the experiment was a failure and in danger of blowing up in his face with a destructive force that made his usual explosions seem minor.

The muscle of the thigh Muraki's lips trailed along alternated between tensing and relaxing as the leg moved restlessly against the restraint. The doctor's soft, warm lips felt deliciously good, totally at odds with the pain Watari felt in his soul and even the scientist couldn't have said which sensation caused him to moan softly.

Shifting to move between Watari's spread legs, Muraki's oral caresses reached the cradle of his pelvic bone, licking along it. Then he turned and began kissing his way up from the knee of the other leg. His soft, silver hair very briefly brushed over Watari's exposed genitals as he moved up along the blond's long limbs. Avoiding a direct approach, the doctor leaned over Watari and continued his actions along the shinigami's flat belly and across his chest, from one side to the other, finally settling and suckling his nipples, one, then the next. He seemed to be in no hurry. He seemed, if it were not impossible, to be carefully worshiping Watari's touch-starved body in genuine reverence.

The shinigami moved with restless intensity within the confines of the restraints. Physically, his body was beginning to hum beneath the careful, sensual touches of the doctor's mouth. Despite the turmoil in his mind, his flesh remembered the intense pleasure he enjoyed in Muraki's arms the other night and his erection was already full, though not the rock hardness that had filled the psychopath's mouth. He could feel Muraki's warm skin, powerful muscles and large body moving across his own sensitive flesh and it made Watari squirm more. His mind cried... screamed its confusion as to the thoughts and feelings the madman was causing him to have. Watari realized he was dangerously close to genuinely enjoying... no genuinely craving Muraki's caress. Not just any caress, but Muraki's specifically. The doctor was ceasing to be nothing more than a monster to be destroyed and becoming instead a complex phenomena that Watari's ever curious mind wanted to know more about.

In his twisting, Watari felt something and his troubled mind pounced upon the sensation like a hawk upon a mouse. Though his body was half trapped beneath the doctor's naked strength, the young shinigami found enough leeway to move his arms so that when he bucked beneath the mortal man, he brought his bound wrists to the full extension of the restraints and slightly beyond, bearing his skin down into the cuffs, hissing softly as the leather held against his strength but bit into his skin, the physical pain something he could grab hold on... something that made *sense*.

Instantly Muraki moved, preternaturally fast, hands gripping Watari's wrists and relieving them of the stress. He smiled, looking down into the blond's face. Shaking his head, an odd expression in cool grey eyes, he unfastened the wrist cuffs from the frame.

Once again moving with uncanny swiftness, holding Watari's cuffed wrists with one large hand and working with the other, he unfastened the blond's ankles, and flipped him over onto his stomach. His hands were separated, then rebound behind his back. His legs were once again spread.

"If you dig your nails into your skin, I will enclose your hands in mittens. If you bite your lips, I will place a ball gag in your mouth. Don't be afraid... no matter what you think of I will stop the pain," he murmured softly, and kissed the back of Watari's neck.

Muraki's response, if anything, was even more confusing and after an initial attempt to resist the doctor's hold on his wrists, Watari's tense muscles relaxed and he was almost pliant as Muraki turned him over on the futon. Gasping softly as his erection brushed against the soft silk that covered the platform, the blond scientist hid for a moment behind the cedar wood scented curtain of his hair.

The rules changed...-were there ever any rules?-... it's not what I expected...-and what did you expect Yutaka?-...there should be pain...-why?-...because...-You are using second hand data to support your theory, and you know that is not sound, why should *you* expect pain from Muraki?-...I don't know...-Then find out.-

As the thoughts moved across Watari's mind his body slowly relaxed, breath by breath beneath the doctor's. Tense muscles loosened and it might have seemed as if the bound shinigami was going to sink right into the futon. Watari was almost certain that were the doctor to place his hand on his spine, he could feel the rapid beating of the immortal heart. Muraki's words swirled together with Watari's own mental dialogue, creating a cacophony of sound that rose and rose until it drowned itself out.

Leaving only the silence of the room.

Stroking his tongue across his lips, the young guardian turned his head so his cheek lay against the futon. Taking a slow, deep breath his voice was a quiet, curious tone, as if he were completely uncertain how his request would be received, yet he still asked,

"Kiss me."

He could not see the doctor's face so he never saw the smile. Only Muraki's fingertips brushing along his back, tracing his spine and ending at a little dip above the tailbone.

Then he could feel the doctor shifting on the futon's surface and his spread ankles were released, but the padded leather cuffs came with them. Lifting Watari once again as if he weighed an ounce, Muraki turned him over, wrists still bound behind his back, and pulled him into a sitting position, cradled against the pale man's chest.

He smoothed Watari's long hair out of his face and lifted his chin, bringing his face down to just barely brush Watari's lips with his own. Then his tongue-tip ran over the surface of Watari's upper lip, then bruised lower lip. Finally he covered Watari's mouth with his own and kissed him deeply.

The blond shinigami shuddered and wriggled a little as those strong fingertips traced along his spine. His mind tried to provide him with images of the terror those very same fingers had inflicted upon others but he firmly shoved the images aside. Those images, were not here... not now and he could only think in the here and in the now, or he'd drive himself mad.

Wiggling his toes a little when his ankles were freed, he wasn't certain what to expect but when Muraki picked up carefully and settled him against the doctor's broad chest, Watari exhaled a breath and like down in the living room, relaxed against Muraki's strength.

Foolish. The word tickled across his mind but he ignored it's implication. It belonged back to the old theory the one built on too little information.

Tilting his head back, he nipped at Muraki's teasing lips and was arching his head upwards close to the same moment that the doctor brought his mouth down for the deeper kiss. Meeting Muraki halfway, the scientist relaxed in the kiss for a breath then parted his lips further and actively engaged the psychopath's mouth and tongue, returning the deep caress.

Watari's response was accepted and encouraged. It became a dance of tongues, Muraki gently but firmly leading, sinking his own tongue deeply into Watari's mouth, then coaxing Watari's back into his where he sucked it and twined his own around it. His arm around Watari's shoulders held him securely, fingers gently stroking. His other hand slid around Watari's neck, molding to the curve. His large hand and slender fingers and thumb could enclose almost two-thirds the circumference. Under that weight, he could feel Watari's pulse strongly beating, counting his pulse with a corner of a trained mind that never stilled.

The kiss continued for a long time, and while Watari could breathe, the activity skimped a little on each breath, until he began to feel a dizzy sensation that made him lightheaded. Just then Muraki lifted his head, taking a large lungful of air for himself. Their faces were so close that even with his myopia, Watari could clearly see the doctor's expression. Calm. Serene. The only thing that kept it from looking like the face of an angel was the one artificial eye, distinguishable from the other by the fact that it had a vertical slit instead of a round pupil. An odd detail. The prosthetic presumably could have been made to look completely human.

Though wisdom dictated that it was foolishness to do so, Watari was calm in those dual holds, even the one that placed the doctor's strong, trained hands around his fragile neck. The kiss, as much as the ones they had shared earlier, seemed to draw his very soul to the surface and the scientist closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensual exchange.

He barely noticed the ringing in his own ears, though he knew what it meant and he probably would have continued to kiss Muraki up to the point of loosing consciousness but then the doctor was drawing back, going for a deep breath of air himself. Replenishing his own oxygen supply with quick, deep breaths, Watari slowly stroked his tongue back and forth across his own lips as his bright, amber eyes stroked across Muraki's features with an intensity that was almost a caress.

This close, he could see the artificial eye and his brows twitched slightly, natural curiosity noting the eye, the slit and his quick mind already asking the question, why? But though his expression probably carried his mental question, Watari merely leaned forward until he could place his lips very gently against Muraki's jaw. Nibbling, licking and kissing his way along the soft, pale flesh, as far as he could reach, he asked instead,

"Touch me."

Again, in that slightly inquisitive, uncertain of the response but tentatively eager tone.

Muraki's chin lifted, offering a little wider expanse of throat to Watari's lips and tongue. At the two-word request, he smiled.

His hand loosened, almost reluctantly, from its light grip around Watari's throat and lifted, fingertips smoothing across the shinigami's forehead, tracing the line of his cheekbones, thumb tracing his lower lip, two fingers dipping inside his mouth to collect a little moisture, then retreating before Watari could suck it away. With the moisture, Muraki traced the line of Watari's jaw from one side to the other. Then his fingertips traced the edge of one ear, fingers closing to pinch the earlobe lightly, pull it, then release.

Down along the line of his throat they trailed, following the line of the jugular lovingly. Then his fingers lightly drew along the line of Watari's collarbone from one side to the other, and back up across his shoulders. Spreading wide, Muraki's hand moved down, skimming over Watari's pectorals and returning to his nipples, circling one, then the other, then back to lightly pinch and pull, and back again.

Slowly his hand moved down, tracing the line of Watari's ribs, following the lower edge of his breastbone. Down again, feeling the ripple of abdominal muscles under silky skin, tracing each defined muscle. Lower still, circling his navel, testing the thin layer of fat across his belly by sinking into it just a little. Then Muraki's fingertips found the edge of a soft nest of blond curls and sifted through them, relishing the texture and feel against and between his fingers. Fully he explored the soft curls and then his fingers slid down, cupping under the sac and its ovals, letting them rest for a moment against his palm.

Watari had not known what to expect when he made his request. He had wondered if Muraki would touch him, or if the doctor would exhibit one of his lightening fast reversals of direction and refuse the appeal. He'd closed his eyes as he'd waited, lips pressed very lightly against the curve of Muraki's jawbone...but then the doctor had begun to touch him. At first, Watari had trembled beneath that touch, but the shudders had slowly given way to more sensual arches and squirms of genuine pleasure. Soon, the blond shinigami had been moving with Muraki's touch, bowing his back slightly so he could press his chest into the delicate caress.

His breath came quickly against the doctor's pale skin and Watari tested the bonds holding his hands behind his back, instinctively wanting to return the touches. Of course, the restraints didn't give, which coaxed a soft noise of frustration out of the blond, but the young shinigami was not thwarted for long. Turning his head, he nibbled eagerly down along Muraki's exposed throat, channeling his restless pleasure into the touch of his mouth and teeth, as he tasted the madman.

As that hand moved down across his trim belly, the muscles of his abdomen fluttered like a trapped bird and Watari's lower body shifted, shuddering delicately with anticipation as those fingers moved closer to aching flesh. The scientist moaned softly against Muraki's collarbone as that large hand cupped him and he turned his face, damp with a combination of perspiration and tears, into the hollowed curve of the doctor's shoulder, where it met the mortal man's neck. Parting his lips, panting a little, Watari pressed his teeth down against Muraki's flesh, bearing into the skin, not violently but firmly all the same.

Once again, the doctor seemed to have no reluctance to let Watari bruise or cut his flesh should he choose to do so. He rocked the two firm ovals gently in his palm, knowing how sensitive they were. Lightly he brushed his thumb over the top, feeling the tendons tighten, pulling the reproductive organs in tighter to Watari's body.

Gently releasing them, his fingers moved up and with his index finger he traced the line of the red ribbon that still coiled neatly and snugly around Watari's cock. As he touched it, the ribbon came to life again for the first time since the night of the bath. It shifted, circling, nestling and then settling again.

Muraki's fingers then curled around Watari's erect shaft, his thumb brushing against the lower edge of the ridge around the head. The tip was already smeared with clear precum and Muraki rubbed his thumb across it, collecting a little of the sticky stuff.

Bending away from Watari's mouth, the doctor leaned down and swiped the tip of his tongue across the tip of Watari's cock, catching a taste and then leaning back to watch Watari's reactions.

A part of Watari's mind was genuinely amused by the fact that his body seemed to be in business for itself and as its own entity, was reacting with a purity that could not be feigned, even by the most skilled courtesan. Lithe muscles of arms, torso and even his legs, tensed and rippled as pleasure built with slow, inexorable intensity. Watari kept his face hidden against Muraki's neck, his teeth releasing the doctor's skin but his lips remained pressed, parted slightly against the mortal man's throat. Every now and again, Muraki could feel the tip of Watari's tongue touch his skin with a warm little stroke as he gasped, or moistened his own lips.

When the doctor leaned back, a small noise perhaps of regret, perhaps of frustration, Muraki would have to decide what it meant, was pulled from Watari's throat and his long, sleek legs moved restlessly, trying to draw apart to give the madman further access to that straining flesh. The scientist did whimper,

"...-raki..." as Muraki's damp tongue swiped at the tip of swollen, straining flesh and Watari's hips moved in a purely instinctive thrust forward, even though Muraki's tongue was long gone.

The soft chuckle that answered Watari's reaction could have been sinister... or it could have been simply amused. It could have even held a slender note of affection if one chose to hear it so.

Straightening, Muraki pressed his mouth to Watari's, darting his tongue into the blond's mouth to give him a taste of his own fluid.

His long fingers took advantage of Watari's legs moving wider apart to slide down between them, into the crease that started under his balls and ended as the valley between his buttocks. They stroked along the valley, pausing at the tightly closed opening, circled it, then brushed back along the crease, then returned to circle the pucker with a fingertip, grazing and teasing, never yet trying to enter.

Watari turned into the kiss, nipping with a combination of playfulness and masculine aggression at Muraki's sensual lips. As the doctor's hand moved down between his legs, the young shinigami shifted in his slightly awkward position but managed to spread his thighs a little further apart. His hips jumped a little the first time the madman's fingers brushed across his entrance and his body tensed, quivering with a combination of want, need and fear.

Breaking away from Muraki's kiss, Watari rolled his head until he was able to duck his face down under Muraki's chin. For a moment he hid as his mind assaulted him with any number of reservations about what he was doing, how he was reacting, the pleasure he was letting himself find in the psychopath's arms. Shuddering beneath the mental lashing, he rode each cruel word out until they had said their peace and could be released back into the shadows of his mind.

Back in control, he turned his face and kissed, almost apologetically, against Muraki's jugular and spoke his next soft request against the doctor's damp skin.

"Let me, touch you."

The request seemed to nudge the doctor into a contemplative state for a moment. He stilled, hand sliding up from its exploration, settling for a moment around the base of Watari's cock, and his eyes seemed to unfocus, as something inside his mind worked.

The stillness lasted almost a full half-minute.

Then he seemed to come to life again. Shifting Watari's position, he laid the shinigami gently on his back on the futon, making sure his bound arms weren't twisted or crushed by tucking them under the small of Watari's back.

Then he moved down and took Watari's leather-cuffed ankles and bound them to each other with straps and rings already there for that purpose. Once Watari's ankles were bound together, Muraki lifted him with an arm under his shoulder and then unfastened the straps that joined his wrist cuffs together, freeing his hands. Once done, he let Watari sit and get his own balance. Then he moved back a few inches and waited.

The young shinigami really hadn't know what to expect to come from this request. He'd almost expected it to be refused but then Muraki was moving. Never rushed, the doctor never did seem to appear rushed, Watari found his ankles bound together but then, his arms were free.

Sitting forward, taking a half a minute to rub his leather clad wrists, he watched Muraki through the cascading curtain of his mussed blond hair. Setting one palm, flat on the bed, Watari readjusted his position, till he was balanced and turned slightly towards Muraki. Though the doctor was still a bit of a blur, there was no mistaking the powerful body that sat so close to him.

One hand still helping to brace himself Watari caught his lower lip gently between his teeth and lifted his other hand. Fingertips hovered for a moment as if unsure where to start, but then he was lightly laying his palm flat against Muraki's chest, right over the doctor's heart.

Feeling its heavy, mortal beat against the sensitive skin of his palm, Watari stroked the skin of Muraki's breastbone very lightly as he seemed to soak up the feel of that heart beat. Skin whispered against silk as the scientist shifted on the futon turning more towards Muraki and getting his bound legs under him a bit so he could free his other hand. With the hand already on the doctor's chest, Watari began a slow, exploration of the powerful torso. Though not a medical doctor, he had a deft touch, pressing firmly enough in some spots so as not to tickle, then gossamer light in other spots. Reaching up with his other hand, he curled his fingers around Muraki's shoulder, bracing himself as he bent down as if to study that chest more closely.

Fingertips ghosted across pale flesh coming to circle lazily around the sensitive skin of the psychopath's nipple and though Watari teased all around the bud until it seemed as if it couldn't tighten any further, he didn't touch the highly reactive flesh.

At least not with his hands.

As soon as he had the nipple peaked and begging for attention, his hand was on the move, sliding down across Muraki's strong abdomen. But the little bud was not totally abandoned as Watari's lips, then his teeth closed around the flesh, catching it in a sensual pinch, sucking it in against the tender lashing of his tongue.

Muraki leaned back as Watari began his tactile exploration, supporting his body by leaning back on his hands. His eyelids drooped but never quite closed as he continued to observe the shinigami intently. His chest rose and fell with increasingly deep breaths, and when Watari's mouth closed over his nipple, his head tilted back and a little smile of enjoyment pulled at the corners of his mouth. His back curved a little, pushing him ever so slightly up into the caress.

In his lap, his cock had been semi-erect, at times fully so, and now was rising again in response to the sensations of pleasure the blond was administering with his mouth and hands.

Watari was almost languid in his oral study of Muraki's nipple, his hand just as unhurried as it trailed down along and across the doctor's trim stomach. Drawing his head back, releasing the nipple with a small snap, he breathed, warm tickling breath across the damp flesh before turning his head and stroking the tip of his tongue up along Muraki's breastbone. He placed a kiss right over the madman's heart, enjoying the feel of the life sustaining muscle against his lips before moving on towards the other nipple.

His mouth arching towards the left side of Muraki's chest, his hand moving to the right side of Muraki's waist, Watari sprawled his slender torso lightly across the mortal man. He could feel the incredible heat of the doctor's cock against the side of his pinkie but he was careful not to directly touch the erection. Instead, he splayed his fingers, using the middle finger to trace a teasing caress down along the highly sensitive skin that spread across Muraki's hip. Neatly trimmed nails tickled the inside of the other man's thigh, intimately close to his sac and perineum but not quite touching those highly sensitive areas.

This time, Watari used his breath to tease Muraki's nipple to tautness, his lips darting in for light kisses before finally closing around the nubbin. Tongue teasing the little bit of flesh, Watari timed himself perfectly so that his hand turned and cupped up, tenderly cradling Muraki's balls while at the same time his teeth closed around the nipple in a firm grasp.

He could feel the reaction in the body beneath him, responding naturally to the sensations of pleasure and the intimate touches. He could also feel a tension in Muraki's muscles, the signal of a precise control. He was responding enough to let Watari know his touches were felt and enjoyed. But beyond that, whatever impulses might have been spurred by the enticement were being tightly restricted... for now.

The organs in Watari's light grip shed heat, as a little clear fluid formed on the slit at the tip of the doctor's cock, beading until the bead broke, sending the liquid over the head, making it glisten.

Watari could feel the tension radiating in Muraki's body and perhaps with another lover, he might have playfully tried to force the issue but with the doctor he moved carefully, exploring but always aware of the leashed power in the body beneath him. Finishing his assault on the nipple, Watari leaned his forehead against Muraki's shoulder and rocked so he could look down along the other man's torso towards his lap.

Long, silk-soft blond hair fell across the doctor's ribcage and upper arms, twining its way around his skin almost like a living creature. Down between Muraki's legs, Watari's hand moved with gentle firmness. Stroking his thumb very lightly across the twin residents of Muraki's sac, the scientist released the sensitive organs and trailed his fingertips very lightly up along the firm, substantial erection. Following the thick main vein that ran along the exposed underside of Muraki's cock Watari made a small noise as his fingers encountered the smooth cut head. Using his nails, very delicately, he teased along the rim that ran just beneath the rosy, velvet-like tip till he brought his index finger up along the slit, smearing some of the clear fluid over the tip of his finger until it coated all the way to his knuckle.

Then he was moving, sliding a little ways down along Muraki's body, releasing the mortal man's shoulder as he rolled a bit over on top of the doctor. When his chin was at the bottom of Muraki's breastbone, he rested it against the broad chest. Looking up along the valley made by the mortal man's pectoral muscles as he brought his other hand around and slipped the semen coated finger in between his lips, curling his tongue around his own finger and getting a taste of the madman off his own flesh.

Muraki watched Watari explore his body, enjoying the sensations of soft hair teasing his skin, deft fingers exciting his balls and cock. He watched Watari's facial expression even as his own faintly mirrored his increasing reactions and arousal. His body told him that Watari was far from inexperienced, however long it might have been - since he was mortal, perhaps? The mysteries and paradoxes of the shinigami fascinated him and that fascination tamed his restlessness for a while. But he had warned Watari that it wasn't his nature to be idle. Even when a beautiful young/immortal blond was teasing his body, exploring him and attempting to give him pleasure.

Tilting his head, he licked his lips and decided to pose a question of his own.

"Are you trying to give me pleasure?" he asked, his voice low, a little husky with controlled arousal, but perfectly modulated.

Perhaps to a *younger* man that question would have sounded insulting but it merely caused Watari to pause in his oral exploration of Muraki's abdomen. He'd slid down even further between the doctor's legs, his shoulders now wedged close to being between Muraki's thighs. He held his weight off the doctor's vulnerable lower body with his elbows braced on either side of Muraki's hips. Shifting, he set his chin down, almost in Muraki's navel, feeling the blunt, heated head of the doctor's cock butting up against the tender skin of his chin.

Using the index fingers of both hands, Watari traced lazy patterns on Muraki's hipbones as he contemplated the question and his own answer. Rather than over think and risk over analyzing, he answered in a tone that despite the obvious experience, sounded somewhat boyish, tentative,

"Yes." The word was still purred out in an aroused tone.

Muraki smiled, his eyes glittering beneath his lids. "How lovely," he commented. "You can continue to do so if you don't mind me also... doing things that give me pleasure...?"

The inquiry was carefully neutral.

A pale eyebrow arched upwards in an expression of wariness but after a beat of the heart, Watari shook his head.

"Do as you desire," his voice was a soft whisper and the next words were muffled as he turned to resume kissing and nibbling his way along Muraki's abdomen. "That was my promise to you."

Muraki smiled again, watching for a moment as the blond's head obscured his own view of his lap. The nearness of that clever mouth to his erect and now rock-hard cock was slowly approaching torture. He acknowledged that his guest had begun to learn, was now playing the game fully, and had begun to adapt it to his own choices.

Which was fascinating, intriguing, and possibly even surprising. A game worthy of his efforts? Perhaps.

Sitting up a little, taking his weight off his hands as Watari bent lower still, Muraki threw the shinigami his first curve by circling one of his wrists with strong fingers, and then the other. Twisting his arms deftly, without hurting him but certainly throwing him off the tentative balance, he pulled them behind Watari's back and bound them together again. This left Watari laying on his face, right in Muraki's lap. Adjusting Watari's position, he helped the blond get his knees under him so that he was then kneeling, leaning forward for balance, with his hands bound behind him and his ankles bound as well. Stable enough but not terribly flexible for moving around. He could bend forward without falling over, or he could surrender to gravity and roll to his side. He could lie on his stomach but getting up would be very difficult once her was in that position. He could lie on his back with his wrists under him but getting up would be pretty hard from that position as well.

"That... gives me pleasure," the doctor said, licking his lips briefly.

Not perhaps what Watari was expecting, but then he was coming to realize that the only thing he could expect were curveballs. Though his ankles were bound, he was able to shift his knees a little to help widen his foundation, which helped with the awkwardness of his position. Hands caught behind his back once again, Watari tested the bindings, finding them snug.

He recognized how he probably looked at that moment and he tilted his head up at a bad angle so he could look at Muraki's face, even if he couldn't clearly see the man's expression. Bent forward as he was, his long hair brushed across the doctor's groin, the heavy honey gold locks practically covering the other man's rock-hard erection.

Watari weighed his options. The easiest thing to do would be to lay down on his side but as he was still situated between Muraki's thighs, he curled down, leaning on one shoulder but pillowing his cheek on the doctor's powerful upper leg, turning his head so he could still watch Muraki's blurry features.

"Does it?" He sounded more curious than anything.

"Oh yes," Muraki said, his voice a low, warm purr. "But if you don't mind some advice, I'd recommend you not travel too far down the road of finding out what gives me pleasure. You'd probably consider some of it..." he laughed softly, amused to be able to use the word he heard so consistently from others, at least from those few who knew what he really was, "Monstrous."

Reaching down, he slid a hand along Watari's cheek, and lifted him back into the kneeling position. Inaudibly, the doctor murmured something, and the silky ribbon around Watari's cock gave him a bit of a squeeze and then came fully to life, slithering up along his body as if gravity had no power over it. Reaching Muraki's hand on the shinigami's cheek, it threaded through his fingers.

Reaching forward with his other hand, the doctor gathered up the mass of sunshine gold hair, pulling it together behind Watari's head. The ribbon slithered from his fingers and around the hair, binding it snugly and holding the heavy mass away from Watari's face.

"It's a pity, I liked the visual image of where it was before but," lifting one shoulder in an amused shrug, Muraki brushed his fingertips back along Watari's cheek, tracing his lips lingeringly.

Watari was a scientist and had a scientist's curiosity for all things, even that which frightened him, but something in Muraki's tone, something in his touch warned the shinigami to take the doctor's advice and to let it go for now. It had looked like he was going to make some sort of comment when the ribbon had gently squeezed him, drawing a pleasured gasp out of him instead of actual words. Head tilted back slightly, he almost felt... bereft when the little ribbon released him and slid along his body to Muraki's call.

Here, curiosity did brighten the shinigami's brilliant amber eyes and after the doctor had tied his hair back, Watari rocked his head from side to side, as if testing out the ponytail. His lips pressed and nipped lightly at Muraki's fingers, forming the word around the doctor's lingering touch.

"Why?" His head tilting so the ponytail swung over one shoulder, silently explaining that he was asking why Muraki had tied back his hair, not asking Muraki to explain 'Monstrous.'

"Because it's easier for you, Yutaka-san," Muraki answered stroking Watari's cheek. "Have you explored to your satisfaction yet?"

Watari's smile was a touch rueful but also serene and almost beatific. His voice was like crushed velvet rubbing along naked skin when he spoke, "You have a magnificent body, Sensei... I could explore it further, probably until we ran out of time...but to answer your question, yes." There was a pause before he continued in a softer tone. "That is the second time you've said that tonight, what will be easier for me?"

"Not having to breathe through that lovely curtain of gold silk," Muraki said, his mouth curving to one side. "You don't understand yet that I am going to take care of you in every way I can while you are with me?"

Muraki's words drew a puzzled blink from Watari. It had been... hell he'd forgotten when was the last time the idea of someone taking care of him had entered his mind. Even as a child, Watari had quickly learned how to work the appliances to keep from starving when eager parents got wrapped up in their lab experiments. Giving his head a small shake, genuinely unable to think of anything to say, he turned and pressed his lips against the inside of Muraki's wrist instead. Though a gregarious extrovert by nature, there were time when Watari recognized the subtle clarity of the unspoken exchange.

The next thing he felt were the doctor's lips, pressed just as gently against the side of his temple.

"I wasn't sure if you had in mind to take me in your mouth," Muraki said, his tone almost as curious as Watari's earlier.

Leaving Watari on his knees for a moment, Muraki leaned over and retrieved something from beside the futon. Pulling it up, he placed it on the approximate middle of the large area - a wide cylindrical shape, it could have been either a very fat pillow or a hassock when turned on its end. Placing it on its side, Muraki then picked Watari up, again making little of his weight, and placed him so he was bent over the cushion. It was firmer than a pillow but had enough give and padding to be comfortable. The position placed Watari's hips in the air, the highest point of his body, with bound wrists behind him, and the cushion was wide enough to keep his face a few inches above the surface of the futon.

Unfastening the straps that bound his ankles together, Muraki spread the blond's knees wider apart, so that his full weight was on the hassock. His fingers stroked and trailed along Watari's legs up from the ankles, along his backsides and across his back.

"Would you like another kiss?" he asked.

Despite how they had been playing to this point, being positioned on the hassock was still a sobering experience, which left Watari trembling with a combination of anticipation and nervousness. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated on the feel of Muraki's hands moving with such familiarity across his body. He should fear that familiarity and perhaps, when the cold light of day fell across his eyes he would but for this night he relaxed beneath its skillful stroking.

Lips quirking in an expression that was once again, slightly rueful and yet inviting, he nodded.

"Please."

By Enma... you actually like kissing him?? - Shut.Up-...

Muraki laughed softly. His hands stroked further down Watari's back and then across his buttocks, fingers spreading wide across each one. He gripped and massaged the strong, rounded domes of muscle covered by a softening layer of fat and skin, enjoying the feel of them in his hands. Of all the parts of a man's body, these were among the most beautiful. Using his fingers he spread the mounds apart, exposing the valley between and the puckered opening to his gaze.

Kneeling between Watari's legs, he bent close and licked along the valley. Once, then again, then a third time, ending with the tight pucker and circling it with his tongue as he had done with his finger a little while before. Leaning back, he breathed on the damp skin, watching it react. Then he bent down, and covered the opening with his mouth, probing with his tongue as his hands resumed the massage. It took some coaxing but in the end, Watari's anal ring relaxed enough to allow the doctor's strong tongue to squirm through.

He'd been expecting another kiss on his mouth and in the first moments of Muraki's touch, it didn't even occur to Watari what the doctor might be about. It wasn't until the mortal man's tongue had swept along the sensitive skin between his buttocks that the scientist began to get an inkling of what was coming. Even with that inkling he was still totally unprepared for the pleasure that shocked through his body when Muraki's tongue touched him so intimately.

His wrists yanked hard against their restraints and he jumped with a low cry of pleasure and delicious agony caused by what felt like over-stimulation. He choked on something that sounded like Muraki's name and it was a good thing the doctor had a firm hold on the shinigami's body, because Watari twisted and squirmed, his face buried into the futon, smothering cries that were part entreaties to stop, part whole hearted encouragement.

Muraki chose to heed the encouragement and ignore the entreaties. He continued to massage Watari's buttocks, and hold him apart so the oral invasion could continue. As Watari's body registered the pleasure, the ring relaxed further, allowing him to delve deeper, entering and retreating to enter again, exploring the warm inner flesh. It wasn't something to everyone's taste but the doctor could ignore what he chose and focus on what pleased him. He found a rhythm that seemed to drive Watari wild and pursued it relentlessly until the blond's cries began to escalate and the muscles under Muraki's strong hands began to quiver with tight little jerks. One of the doctor's hands released its hold and slipped down, circling Watari's balls and grasping them firmly but not tightly, pulling down just a little to forestall a premature orgasm.

Premature by whose standards was the question! Watari twisted his arms in their bindings, surprised at how much he missed the ability to reach forward and grab at ... anything to help stretch his focus out across his whole body. Muraki's sensual torture was driving the shinigami nearly out of his mind and once again his body was responding with genuine pleasure. The hand that manipulated his balls choked off his cries but then he turned and growled into the futon, shaking his head so violently he was in danger of dislodging the ribbon from its new perch. A fine sweat had broken out across his entire body and Watari wondered if he was going to be able to catch his breath any time soon.

Laying his cheek on the futon, he tried to look back over his shoulder, though he could only see the pale blur of Muraki's body behind him.

"Sensei," he said... the word loaded with meaning, loaded with need.

Muraki's tongue teased him a little more as his hand released the shinigami's testicles. Then he drew back, avidly enjoying the cries, the physical responses, fully. His eyes flickered with concern over Watari's bound arms, judging that a muscle cramp was a potential issue. Moving very swiftly, as before, he unfastened the cuffs from each other but if Watari expected freedom he was disappointed. Once again they were bound together over the blond's head and secured to the rail, the doctor this time making sure there was not enough slack for the young shinigami to hurt himself. Then he fastened the ankle cuffs to the railing, leaving Watari's knees bent, putting as little strain as possible on his body and letting the cushion take it all.

Bending over to plant a kiss on Watari's tailbone, Muraki murmured, "I think you like my kisses." Then he brushed his fingers along the side of Watari's cheek.

"My given name is Kazutaka, Yutaka-san."

Opening another drawer in the platform, he removed something but to Watari it was only a blur. Resuming his place between the blond's bent and spread legs, the doctor touched him again, his fingers forging into the cleft and into the opening that now relaxed with only a little hesitation. Watari felt something thick and slippery and the scent of an herbal compound reached his nostrils as the doctor began to lubricate his passage.

Watari exhaled a soft, relieved breath as Muraki unbound his hands and repositioned them over his head. He didn't so much mind not gaining his freedom, but the position was much more comfortable and it allowed him to wriggle in the ways that felt right.

He might have blushed a little when Muraki mentioned the kisses. While experienced and aware of the theory of what Muraki had just done to him, Watari had never experienced the queer sort of pleasure that could be found in such an act. Taking in quick, deep breaths of air, his lips twitched a little as the doctor shared his given name. Of course, Watari had seen the name on the man's file, however it seemed rude to just use it without being given leave.

"Kazutaka-san..." He breathed softly, mouthing the name with the same subtle sensuality he'd used on Muraki's nipples.

Then Muraki's hands were moving again, touching him, preparing him further and Watari turned his face into the futon, taking slow, calming breaths to prepare. Coaxing himself to remain relaxed and accessible, both physically, mentally and emotionally.

The doctor was careful, methodical, but not as leisurely as he had been at earlier points in the night. His fingers followed where his tongue had gone, coated with the slippery substance, one pushing inside first, then a second, then the next invasion pushed a glob of the lubricant inside where it would melt in the internal heat. Carefully Muraki stretched the opening, coaxing it, until two fingers could move inside without causing Watari discomfort, only a feeling of being stretched. Even before trying the third, Muraki explored the interior surfaces and his long, dexterous fingers quickly found the little mound they were seeking, brushing across it, then returning again and again, with a little more force each time.

With each touch of Muraki's fingers, Watari grew more restless, shifting beneath the careful preparation and eventually finding a rhythm that allowed him to flex back against Muraki's fingers. In their restraints his fingers clenched and released and when the doctor's skillful fingers first brushed across that internal bundle of nerves, Watari bit into the silk cloth covering the futon. To his credit, he rode through the intense pleasure of the next few strokes, but at Muraki's fingers grew more and more deliciously forceful, Watari's own control teetered on the edge and despite what he'd promised himself, he heard his low, aroused voice calling to Muraki,

"Kazutaka-san... please!"

A warm mouth kissed the soft skin beside his opening. Then the third finger was inserted, stretching Watari a bit more, this stretch the most uncomfortable of the three.

"I will," Muraki murmured.

His fingers emerged and the next thing Watari felt was something else nudging his opening. Something smooth lubricated circular and as hot as his own flesh. It pressed in slowly until the ring gave and then tightened around the base of the head of Muraki's cock.

Watari winced a little as the third finger stretched his tight muscle, his breath coming in quick pants. Muraki's voice sounded muffled by the blood Watari could hear racing through his own veins. Then he felt the doctor move, withdrawing the fingers and something tightening in Watari's gut as he waited for and then felt the blunt heat of the head of the madman's cock breeching his body.

Whimpering with pleasure, sighing with something that sounded akin to relief, Watari stretched his body beneath Muraki's, pressing his hips back, encouraging the mortal man's possession of him.

Muraki's hands settled on Watari's hips as he pressed forward, sliding into Watari's body smoothly. He pressed in until he was as far as he felt Watari could handle, and slid back, rubbing along the bundle of nerves going either way. The next stroke went deeper, as did the next, and then Muraki was fully seated. Then he paused, the heat around him beating against his tight control. Even more than that, the vision of the blond shinigami beneath him, impaled on his cock, tested him.

Squeezing Watari's hips, he began to move with deep, powerful thrusts.

Watari exhaled with each careful thrust, keeping himself relaxed as Muraki worked his way into his body. When the thick cock began to stroke against that bundle of nerves, the young shinigami twisted and bucked beneath the other man, moaning deep in his throat as pleasure and minor pain mixed, melded and threatened to burn him with their intensity.

It took him a couple of mis-starts but in time, the scientist picked up the rhythm of Muraki's thrusts and began to rock back in time to them. Once he was comfortable, he began to add a slightly rotation to his body. He timed himself so that when the doctor drew back, the muscles gripping Muraki's cock tightened like a hot grip, then relaxing when the madman went to thrust back into his body, riding that impaling cock with nearly wanton abandon.

Muraki's lips stretched into a smile and then the smile softened as the two bodies found their rhythm together. He watched the young man beneath him, bucking and rocking, his face half covered but what was visible was beautifully distorted by pleasure. It looked a little like the face of someone who was dying, while at the same time everything about him glowed brightly with life, vitality, and energy... How precious it would be to capture the moment and keep it forever.

Muraki's hands slid across Watari's back as he rocked into the blond, across his shoulder blades, along his shoulders, and then his fingers slid around Watari's long neck. Gently, gently... so difficult to control while thrusting himself deeply into the warm yielding body that met his so hungrily. Fingers curling around until they met something they could do easily without causing any pressure to the windpipe.

So easy... so easy and so perfect....

Then Muraki threw his head back and laughed. The man was already dead. Sliding his hands back, he settled his hand back on Watari's hips and began driving himself and his playmate over the edge.

Wild, with want and need, at first Muraki's controlled motions didn't register with the blond shinigami. His entire focus was on moving with the man above him, wringing every bit of pleasure out of their bodies as possible. It wasn't until he felt the doctor's powerful chest blanket his back in a parody of a protective gesture, while the man's strong hands slid so silkily around his throat.

For a breath, Watari waited to see if Muraki would do it. He waited to feel those fingers close, throttling him, crushing his windpipe, suffocating him in a most painful manner even as the madman's lower body continued to pleasure him.

When the doctor laughed and drew back, Watari was quiet as a mouse but then his head fell forward, his forehead pressed against the silk of the futon and his laughter slowly rose to meet and meld with Muraki's. Yes, he'd known what Muraki's hands around his throat had itched to do. In truth he had no idea what might have stopped the psychopath but he laughed with the man and rocked his body back with a powerful motion, moving wildly beneath the mortal man as they both tumbled towards the edge of orgasm.

And when the explosion came, it swept them both, impossible to say who had reached it first. An single cry, almost a soft one, was pulled from Muraki's throat as he spewed his seed deeply into Watari's tight, warm passage, feeling it spasm around him as the blond was swept in his own climax. Buried deeply, Muraki wrapped his arms around the blond, holding him as he shuddered, as they shuddered together.

As he felt the body in his arms sag and relax he placed a gentle kiss on the nape of Watari's neck, and slowly withdrew.

There was no sense in denying the intensity of the climax that Watari enjoyed beneath Muraki. It pulled a soft, guttural cry from his lips, muffled as he pressed his face into the futon, shuddering violently as his own seed was spent across the hassock. Muscles tense and shuddering it took a number of breaths before Watari felt the sated warmth invade his limbs. He relaxed within the hold of the restraints and Muraki's arms, collapsing down on the hassock and the futon, gasping softly for breath and shivering in a combination of aftershock and perhaps a slight chill as the air breezed across his damp skin. Muraki's lips against the back of his neck pulled a small smile from the blond's lips and his eyes closed... he couldn't see anything anyway.

The next thing Watari felt as he rested were Muraki's hands, gently wiping him with a damp cloth. Then those hands released the cuffs from around his ankles, and then from around his wrists. The hassock was pushed away and Watari was turned over and the warm damp cloth moved over his lap, cleaning his own seed from his belly. Gently he was placed on his side, and then something soft and warm covered him, protecting him from the chill.

The scientist's thought swirled lazily about his head. The harsher reality held at bay by the warm fuzziness of afterglow. If he had tried, he could have surfaced from that protective shield and perhaps been more proactive in his own tidying up but as it was, he remained pliant and relaxed, letting Muraki do what he wished. It was a self-defense mechanism that worked perhaps a little too well, because as Muraki covered him in what felt like a blanket, Watari felt no urge to move.

I should. I need to get up and leave. Not just for my own sake... but his. The deal is complete... it's time to go.

Eyes closed, he murmured softly, "I should go." Now, if he could just get a limb... any limb to move.

"Why?" Muraki's voice was calm, soft, not far away.

The blond's lips twitched slightly and in his half-drowsed state, it didn't dawn on him to obfuscate.

"Because, it's dangerous for me to be here. It's too confusing...too..." he chuffed but said it anyway, "safe."

A soft touch brushed his cheek. "Yes, it is."

Watari's smile widened a little as he acknowledged that Muraki could be agreeing to any one of his previous statements, or perhaps all three as well.

"For what it's worth... it would be very easy to fall asleep right now."

Which was perhaps a greater example of folly than entering into the deal in the first place. You never turned your back on the devil and you certainly didn't sleep under his care.

"Easier than you think," Muraki said, and Watari felt a soft brush of lips against his cheek. "The next time you summon me, try to arrange more time for payment, hmmm?" The lips brushed his mouth and then Watari was being kissed, unhurriedly. "Oh, and your need does not have to be so earth shattering. I can cure long empty nights, as well. Now, Yutaka-san, sleep."

The last word was said with a power that even the shinigami, exhausted and vulnerable as he was, could not resist.

The young shinigami had shifted his head a little so he could see Muraki's face in those few moments before the mortal man was kissing him. The doctor's words, brushing across his mind, scampering into the dark lonely shadows and reminding him that this was what he should have feared...

The idea that Muraki might just be able to help stave off the loneliness Watari hadn't realized his soul suffered from.

As he felt Muraki's power roll over his physically exhausted body and overwrought mind. He felt himself succumbing to the madman's suggestion and the only thing he could think to do was chuckling softly as he fell asleep.

When Watari awoke, he was alone and the apartment was empty. Investigation of its rooms proved unsettling. There were no clothes in the bedroom closet, no computer, no files, no food in the cupboards. No signs that anyone had lived there recently.

The only thing out of place was a box, a rather large box, sitting on a chair near the front door. The box had a simple piece of paper for a label and his name - his full name - written across it in a bold hand he was starting to recognize.

In a hurry to get back to Meifu, he grabbed the box and left, going down the elevator. When he came out, there was a different guard at the desk. Stopping, and going back out of curiosity, he asked the guard who lived in the penthouse. The guard looked at his computer screen, looked up at Watari and said, "Ah, Smith-san? I'm afraid I don't understand. No one lives there. You were... spending the night to try it out, weren't you?"

Watari blinked, feeling honest bewilderment for the first time in many years. Stepping back from the desk, he ducked his head and looked sheepish.

"This is a fine example of why one should never mix alcohol with Xanax." Waggling a finger at the confused looking guard, Watari beamed at him with a manic smile that usually scared people into wanting to forget he existed. "So... don't do that!"

Turning, he hitched the box up under his arm and headed on out the building's door. As Tokyo bustled about him, he looked with something akin to confusion at his surroundings, feeling all those little voices of reality clamoring for his attention but he forced them all back down, one more time he had to get back to Meifu.

Following instincts decades old, he wove his way through the large city to one of the small shrines. Once there, he waited until he was alone, then gated himself back to the land of the dead, back to his lab. As he popped into existence, 003 gave a loud hoot of welcome and fluttered quickly over to him, her wings caressing his cheeks with little owl touches. Worried, she didn't even seem to mind that he carried strange and perhaps unwelcome scents with him.

"Hi, baby... sorry I worried you... no I'm all right." His voice was soft, perhaps a little rough still from the cries of the night before. Walking to his desk, he set the box down atop it and looked at the paper with his name written across it. Then trembling fingers reached for the edge of the box, pulling up the lid.

Inside there were layers of tissue paper and a scent that rose from the contents. It smelled a little like old lavender and gardenia and something else. Pushing aside the tissue, Watari saw the strangest thing he could have ever imagined.

The box contained a beautiful antique china doll. It was obviously a masterpiece, and would have been incredibly expensive to a collector. The doll stared up at him with the most beautiful tawny gold eyes he had ever seen. Their expression was bright, the features even hinted at inquisitive. The doll's hair was long and swept into a multitude of burnished gold curls that swirled about its angelic face. One tended to think of dolls as girls but the beauty in the china face was androgynous, it could have been a beautiful child of either gender. Its clothes were finely made, detailed and beautiful. They were Japanese traditional robes, worn by both male and female children on special occasions.

As he gazed at it, he realized that no collector would have taken the doll. It was flawed. The fragile china face had been cracked at the hairline on the left side, not enough to disfigure the face but enough to destroy the doll's value. Looking even closer, he could see that a repair had been attempted, but it wasn't a very good job. The glue had run a little and then set, as if a child's hands had desperately tried to repair the damage. Small hands had missed a few fragmented chips of the fine china but it wasn't a haphazard attempt, merely an unskilled one. As if the doll were beloved.

He had not expected the doll. Watari's eyes, bright behind his glasses, gazed down at the beautiful features of the antique and for a long time, he didn't even see the flaw. When he finally did look more closely upon the doll's features, his fingers reached up to touch the desperate attempt to fix that, which had been broken. Watari was a good enough engineer that he could almost seem to feel the young hand, trembling with distress, trying to put the beloved little face back together. But that same childish hand lacked the dexterity at that time to perfect the job. If in fact, the hand of any mortal could have perfected such a repair.

Watari felt something in his heart twist. Some little until now unheard from corner, and he swayed as if in pain. Closing his eyes, reality... the doll... began to crash past the barriers he'd erected for the past twenty-four hours and without the safety of the very devil, the scientist felt the overwhelming burden of what he'd done, of what he'd learned, of what he now *felt* land on his shoulders.

He probably meant to sit in his desk chair. He must have meant to sit in his desk chair but it was out of reach, which was why instead of sitting in the chair, he crashed to the floor when his knees buckled. One hand closed on the lid of the box tearing away the paper and bringing it with him, though the doll remained safely on the desk as he fell back against the drawer of his old metal filing cabinet. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Watari hid his face against his legs, shuddering violently with reaction, the paper grasped tightly in his fist.

Oh, Enma...did I win, or did I lose so badly I'll never know myself?

On the desk, the doll stared at the ceiling with tawny gold eyes that held no explanations and no answers.

Tatsumi!