Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Pins and Needles ❯ Yamato ( Chapter 3 )

DISCLAIMER: Digimon Adventure 02 isn't mine. The digimon mentioned in this chapter aren't mine, either. They and Gokumon both come from the Digimon card game, though the ones in this chapter have also made some appearances in Tamers. Both shows belong to Toei Animation, and Saban -- a Korean comic book adaptation is being translated by TokyoPop. The semi-unique items and concepts (hey, I'm sure someone has thought of this all before) belong to me. No copyright infringement intended, all rights reserved.

A/N: Ooh. Evil!Ken.

Cold air on his face and on the back of his neck. Drowsily, Yamato wondered if he had left a window open before he went to bed. He rolled over slowly and tugged the blankets over his head to block out the early morning light. Usually, the blond boy considered himself a morning person, but he felt exhausted today, like he had only gotten a few hours of sleep.

Besides, he'd had an odd dream about running through the snow. It hadn't been a nightmare or anything, but it did make him happy to be in a warm bed and rather reluctant to so much as glance at his bedside clock. He must have slept through his 6:30AM alarm, but what was the use of accidentally sleeping through an alarm if you just got up and went to class anyway? So long as he didn't see the time, he wouldn't feel compelled to drag himself out of bed, but if he knew he still had even a slim chance of making that first bell...

"Yamato," someone's voice murmured in his ear. "It's time to get up."

Even half-asleep, he couldn't help noticing how little that had sounded like his dad. Yamato opened his eyes blearily, blinked once or twice, and then stared at the face scant centimeters from his own -- a face too close to be much more than a wispy blur with purplish eyes. He yanked his own head away, scrambling back on his bed instinctively before recognizing Ichijouji Ken and relaxing about a hair. Yamato had already formed the beginning of a mild reproach for scaring the shit out of him, but at that point he leaned back against the wall of his room and met with what felt distinctly like icy stone.

Slowly, nervously, Yamato looked around. They weren't in his room. They were in a small grey cell with no windows. The floor looked like poured concrete, and the walls were made of stone slabs as big as his torso stacked one on top of the other like bricks. What little light there was came from a single bare bulb mounted crudely in the ceiling. One door of reinforced dark wood -- and no furnishings except for the feather bed with its scratchy cotton sheets and a thick, soft fur pelt masquerading as a blanket. Even though he didn't much care for fur, Yamato gladly drew the pelt up to his chin and over his bare shoulders because waking up in a cell was bad enough without also being naked. Besides, the room was so cold.

What had happened to him? He remembered the meeting, Daisuke's suggestion about going into the Digital World just to look around, and agreeing to 'watch Taichi's back', as the other boy had so charmingly described their teamwork. But something had gone wrong...there'd been a terrible digimon...one who had taken out Omegamon with a single blow. He'd heard Taichi yell for him to scramble, but he thought he'd already started running. Which Yamato felt guilty for now. He had left them both behind...his best friend and his digimon partner...

Then there was only snow in his memory, but Yamato rather thought he could piece together the rest of the story. That digimon, the one who had attacked them, must have followed and caught up with him. He went to check his pockets for his digivice, because so long as he had that he knew the others would find him sooner or later...but of course, he had no pockets to check.

"Ken?"

The younger boy looked up, his expression one of mild curiosity. His eyes were more blue than purple in this light. Yamato chewed on his lower lip, feeling perversely glad that, if he had to be in a prison, at least he wasn't there alone. Where had Taichi ended up, if the two of them were here together? Had they all lost their digivices? Were their digimon somewhere else entirely...?

Too many questions, Yamato knew. He swallowed and decided to start with the basics. "Where are we? And...um, what the hell happened to my clothes?"

Ken shrugged his shoulders. "First things first: I believe that this building was at one time a reformatory for truly destructive Virus digimon. Supposedly, it's a relic left over from the time when Gennai-san was not the Digital World's sole overseer." He seemed to find the thought comical. "Secondly: As disturbing as you might find this, you were dying of exposure when Gokumon brought you here. You've been unconscious for the last two days, but if I hadn't gotten you out of those wet clothes, you would have died in your sleep."

"Thank you." Two days. He bit his lower lip, not feeling particularly hopeful. They would have found it by now. "And my digivice?"

"With your clothing, presumably. I wouldn't count on getting it back anytime soon. In the meantime...here."

So saying, the other boy thrust a tiger-striped white cloak into Yamato's hands. More fur, but this time lined in smooth black silk that felt wonderful against his naked skin. As Yamato slipped into it gratefully, thinking that cloaks still didn't really count as clothing but that this was definitely a step in the right direction, he glanced over and noticed that Ken was wearing one just like it. Generic issue, then, to keep the humans from an untimely demise.

There were clasps and ties down the inside of it, all of which Yamato did up hastily to keep out the chill but that Ken had left open. No small wonder, considering the outfit he had on underneath. The shirt looked like it had tried to flee someone's cat suit -- high-collared, long-sleeved, black leather with a zipper. The whole nine yards, so to speak. And split to the navel, exposing an awful lot of creamy flesh. His pants were more of the same. Huh, Yamato thought. He wouldn't have figured Ken for the black leather type.

Abruptly, he realized he had been trying to put a button through the wrong hole for the last few minutes and straightened out the line of his cloak in a hurry, hoping to god that the younger boy hadn't noticed. Then Yamato gave himself a fierce mental slap. Leather or no leather, he shouldn't even have been thinking things like that about one of his team mates -- especially not in a crisis situation. Those thoughts were reserved for friends, acquaintances, or even strangers. Anyone who wouldn't get killed if he distracted them for a few minutes with unwanted interest. The blond combed his fingers through his hair tiredly, glad that at least he hadn't blushed like some empty-headed schoolgirl. Point for him.

By the time Yamato had regained his composure enough to meet the other boy's eyes, Ken was watching him thoughtfully, gloved hand poised in front of his mouth and slowly rubbing his lower lip with his thumb, as though there were something mildly interesting on TV. Staring at those fur-lined black suede gloves, a thought occurred to Yamato that was nasty enough to drive off any lingering embarrassment.

"Ken," he whispered, very hesitant. The cloak was so nice, and the indigo-haired boy's gloves looked both warm and comfortable. Part of him already knew the answer to his next question, and didn't want to hear it out loud. But he was a Chosen Child, retired or not. He couldn't just not ask. "Where is this guy getting all of his fur?"

A faint smile touched Ken's lips, just at the edges. He ducked his head. "Very good, Yamato-san. Most of the Cadets don't even think to ask. And I'm afraid that you're right. The cloaks were most definitely once Baihumon. I'm less certain of the gloves; Makuramon, perhaps?"

Yamato swallowed his bile. He couldn't seem to get the cloak off fast enough. Skinning animals was one thing; if you were going to eat them anyhow, maybe there was something to be said for using all of the body. But digimon? Sure, they varied in intelligence, but most of them could speak clearly and all of them could cry. They would have died begging for their lives.

"Yamato-san." The younger boy sounded eminently reasonable, but his eyes were narrowed with intent. They looked purple again. "I understand your feelings, but you won't help those digimon by freezing to death."

He was right. At that moment, Yamato hated him for it. He yanked the cloak back into place with a series of sharp, jerky movements; and horribly, the smooth black silk lining still felt as wonderful on his bare skin as ever. His obedience earned him an approving smile.

"That's a good boy," Ken murmured. He turned in his chair and bent down to pick something up off the concrete floor. A tray with ramen soup, a bowl of rice, and what smelled faintly like a spicy pork bun. "It's all gone cold, sadly. There are heated bowls and plates in the kitchen to keep the food hot, but nothing so good for the prisoners." The younger boy shrugged indifferently. "At least it tastes good. DigiTamamon is a fine chef."

Something in the back of Yamato's mind twigged at the name. "I've met him," he told the indigo-haired boy, taking a large bite of noodles. He frowned slightly at the taste. It wasn't how he would've made it, but not bad. "He had a diner in the Digital World. Jyou ate there once and ended up paying for his meal with weeks of hard labor. I thought Mimi said he'd gotten better, though...why would he be helping another evil digimon?"

If anything, the smile on Ken's face widened. "Oh, he isn't. Not willingly, at any rate. Most of the digimon here are wearing collars of Black Matter to secure their cooperation."

"Black Matter?" Yamato repeated, blinking. He had never heard the term before, and was slightly confused by the younger boy's jovial manner. There was a joke in here somewhere. There had to be.

"A substance that ensnares the mind and dominates the will. I think there's some connection or other with those...Black Gear things your group used to deal with." Ken paused, as if considering. "But the name may be a coincidence. Daisuke seemed to be under the impression that Black Gears only brought out the aggression and violence in a digimon, and that they were uncontrolled for the most part."

"No," Yamato said, slowly remembering. It had been seven years since that first mysterious summer in the Digital World. "Because Devimon used them to control Leomon for a little while. They turned his skin grey and his mane black. But without a master, I guess that's more or less right..." He was feeling more and more uncomfortable. "How do you know all of this, Ken?"

For the first time, the indigo-haired boy stopped smiling completely. Eyes so blue they were almost black flitted to the ceiling then the floor and slid off both. His lips twitched. "Believe me, Yamato-san, when I say that you don't really want to know. Let us say rather...that the Master trusts me implicitly."

The way he said it...at once, Yamato knew that Ken was right. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know how you went about earning the implicit trust of a monster. Huddling deeper into his fur cloak, the blond went back to eating his ramen. Neither of them said anything to break the silence, but all the while Yamato felt the younger boy's gaze. The one time he dared to glance up, Ken was staring at him with the strangely focused indifference of a cat. Staring with his cold eyes that were blue one second and purple the next like tanzanite.

"I have to know," the indigo-haired boy said suddenly and quietly. His voice was hot chocolate now, warm and reassuring. It didn't seem to touch the frost in his eyes. "Why did you come here to look for your new enemy? Why not the mountains or the forest or perhaps the bottom of the sea? Some of the cruelest digimon are ocean-dwellers, you know."

"I..." His instincts were screaming at him not to say a word. Yamato ignored them. He may have only just awoken, but Ken had been staying here for at least three days. Whatever had happened to him in those three days, he obviously didn't want to talk about it. Until he changed his mind about that, the blond knew he wasn't in any position to judge him. "Daisuke wanted to try the deserted regions first. Deserts, small islands, that kind of thing. There are only a few sub-zero digimon, so the arctic seemed like a good place to start."

Ken pursed his lips. "Ah," he murmured, sounding disgusted. "Blind luck. Of course. The scientific method. And here I was all this time actually thinking I had underestimated Daisuke."

There was something weird about the way he'd said that. Almost like he wasn't pleased. Yamato edged back along the wall, putting a bit of extra space between them. It wasn't much, but it was the most he could do. The younger boy didn't give chase or try to back him into the corner or even so much as blink in surprise. He just sat there, on the edge of the bed, smiling.

For the first time, Yamato wondered why there was only one small bed if they were sharing the room.

"Yeah," he agreed, trying not to sound as uneasy as he felt. "We get by a lot with blind luck. But they were watching from Iori's computer when we left, so they know where we are now. They'll come to find us."

He had meant to reassure Ken, but the indigo-haired boy's face was completely expressionless. After a moment of silence, he lowered his eyes to the empty dishes on Yamato's tray. "If you're done eating now, servants will be more than happy to relieve you of your mess. Food steadies the nerves wonderfully, don't you think?"

They stared at each other. Perfectly innocent, normal words -- but Ken had lowered his voice in such a way that made them intimate, and somehow suggestive. A simple matter of rising and falling in all the wrong places. What the hell was going on? Sure, in the last couple of years, the Keeper of Kindness had stopped being the poster boy for social anxiety -- he even made jokes every now and then -- but this was a far cry from being comfortable in his own skin. There was a certain tension in the air, an almost audible hum of nervous electricity, and it took every drop of willpower Yamato had not to squirm or falter.

Here he was, in the clutches of an evil digimon, the air in his cell so cold it stung his cheeks, and Ken was scaring the shit out of him, yes -- but at the same time oozing sex out of every pore on his body. Yamato swallowed, not liking this at all. Once he could dismiss as being a random burst of hormones. Twice, and things got complicated. Damn it. The younger boy wasn't sexy. He just wasn't. He was still too awkward and shy for that.

"Well?" Ken asked, still smiling, still speaking in that tone of voice that made everything he said sound vaguely obscene. "Don't you feel much better now that you've had something to eat?"

No, he really didn't. When the indigo-haired boy leaned towards him, dragging his long limbs slowly up onto the feather bed, Yamato curled in on himself to keep their bodies from brushing even accidentally. He felt sick with fear, among other things, and...there were just certain emotions you weren't supposed to combine.

"Are you drunk?" It would have explained almost everything. "I know you probably didn't have any beer intentionally, but this digimon -- how do you know he doesn't slip anything into the food here?"

The other boy had already started shaking his head. Tanzanite eyes glittered with silent laughter. "That would be cheating, Yamato-san. The Master doesn't want to cheat. He wants to win this little game on his own merits."

The Master. Instantly, Yamato felt more comfortable. Talk of the master was good, reassuring, and it kept him from concentrating on what was wrong with his friend. Besides, Ken had stopped moving closer to him. Maybe if they stayed on this subject, he would stay on his side of the bed. "Sounds like you've met him. Did you catch his name? Maybe if you could tell me what he looked like, I'd know him..."

"Well..." And the younger boy's smile widened in the most peculiar way. Instead of stretching it across his face, he pulled his lips apart vertically so that all of his teeth were showing. "Actually, I got quite a good look at him, Yamato-san. I think he looked just like me."

Everything, everywhere stopped. Everything except for Ken.

"Yes," the indigo-haired boy went on brightly. "He had eyes like mine, and his hair cut like mine, and skin like mine...he was dressed like me, too. A pity, that. I don't think I have much fashion sense." He widened his eyes theatrically. "Why, Yamato-san, do you know? I think he actually might have been me."

No. No. That didn't make any sense. Ken was one of them. He had been one of them for years. He wouldn't have done something like this. He wouldn't have skinned a Baihumon just to make himself a pretty coat, and he wouldn't have kidnapped the Chosen Cadets. Even back when he'd been their enemy, the younger boy hadn't been hurting the digimon intentionally. He had thought the Digital World and its inhabitants were all just part of an enormous virtual reality computer game. The moment Daisuke and the others had explained things, he had ripped the Kaizer's uniform from his body and sobbed. From the way Daisuke had described things, he hadn't been such a bad person even with the Dark Seed inside of him.

"You're crazy," Yamato heard himself whispering. He hadn't meant to. Calling crazy people crazy generally made them violent.

But not the former Keeper of Kindness. He only looked thoughtful, and a little sad. "That is the way history is written," he murmured. "If I should succeed, then I will be remembered as a genius with a grand vision and a destiny to fulfill. Fail, and I'm crazy. Sanity is very subjective in the long run." With those words, Ken slunk closer to him and put his lips right up to Yamato's ear, so that his tongue brushed against the lobe of it when he spoke. "Will you write a nice long book about me, if you survive?"

Claustrophobia washed over the blond in waves and he turned his head sharply, pulling away from the other boy's soft mouth. "Why are you doing this? What are you getting out of it?"

Muffled laughter, but Ken pulled back and got to his feet, brushing imaginary dirt from his clothes. "No, Yamato-san, I'm afraid I won't be answering that. You see, I've never gone in much for the part of the movie where the supervillain reveals his master plan to his captive so that when said captive is rescued by his little friends with only minutes to spare they still have plenty of time to put a stop to it."

He sighed then, drew back one of his tight leather sleeves, and checked his watch. If Yamato hadn't known better, he might have thought the younger boy almost looked bored.

"Well," Ken said, suddenly very businesslike, "it's been fun, but I'm already overdue. Appointments to keep. Taichi-san is expecting me, and I really must be on my way."

When the cell door slammed shut, even when the indigo-haired boy's footsteps were echoing off down what was probably a corridor beyond it, Yamato still hadn't thought of a single decent retort.