Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Pins and Needles ❯ Yamato ( Chapter 5 )

DISCLAIMER: Digimon Adventure 02 belongs to Toei Animation, not to me. I'm sad about that, but only because of what they did with the epilogue and the fact that the following series weren't continuations of the first one. This is the first show that ever made me wish the characters never seemed to age or change throughout five or ten series. Darn everyone growing up and getting lives and actual careers. Silly people. Oh, uh...no copyright infringement, all rights reserved.

A/N: Back into Yamato's head here. Poor baby, he's not very fond of Ken right now. And speaking of Ken, I've decided that he would hit puberty at around fourteen -- which makes him something of an early bloomer for a boy, but nowhere near as early as Yamato must have been. Oh, and in this chapter we do have a bit of French. There will be more of it. I'll try to let you know the meaning in context as well as in the notes at the end of each part. I'm glad I don't have to hear it spoken aloud, though, because Ken's Spanish pronunciation was kind of funky, and that sound system is much closer to Japanese than French. ^_~

The sound of a key turning in the lock. His cell door opening, but slowly, as though it weighed a great deal more than Yamato suspected. Then the key again, and he was careful to study the play of light on his bedspread instead of looking up.

So far, he had met six of the Chosen Cadets since his arrival, always at mealtimes because they (or at least a select few of them) seemed to be the servants for the compound. Whatever tasks were too delicate for digimon claws or simply much too dull for their grand master to trouble himself over. Thankfully, Yamato had never seen most of them before now -- a lot of the new recruits were kids from other countries whose names he couldn't even pronounce -- but the little boy at dinner...he'd been different. Hiroshi, an eight-year-old with big brown eyes and messy hair to match them who had known the name Ishida Yamato in a way that had nothing to do with the Wolves. He'd even wanted an autograph.

It hurt that Hiroshi didn't recognize him now. It hurt more that he barely remembered his own name because that wasn't what they called him anymore. A few more months in this place, and Hiroshi would probably think he had been Number Seventy-Eight all his life.

Maybe he was being selfish and stupid, but after that, Yamato just didn't want to see any of the others. When he heard the next kid coming closer to his bed, he drew his legs up to his chest and cinched his eyes shut. They were all so young. The Digital World needed children guardians, Yamato knew that, and for a while there, he had even thought he understood it. He'd been wrong. What he should have wanted right now was to talk to them about their master and which routes would get them the hell out of this compound the fastest. Instead, Yamato wanted to apologize for ever bringing them into this mess in the first place and to keep their minds off of their imprisonment. He should have seen them as equals, and he saw them as something to be protected.

If only they hadn't been so afraid. He'd only gotten up the courage once to ask about possible escape plans, and that girl had responded by digging her fingernails into the skin of her face until she drew blood. She had actually seemed to prefer spending the rest of her life in this dank prison rather than risk upsetting her master.

The new child stopped abruptly at the end of his bed. Yamato caught his breath and held it, wondering what was going on. None of the other Cadets had ever gotten this close to him of their own free will, not even the boy who'd brought him a grey sweatsuit to wear. From the way they'd been acting, Yamato had honestly thought they would appreciate being ignored for once. So how come this kid seem so determined to get his attention?

Lifting his head fractionally, the blond boy could only see the same white fur cloak with violet tiger stripes that all of them wore to fend off the awful aching cold. It told him nothing he didn't already know, but for maybe half a second, Yamato allowed himself to hope that one of these terrified children had stolen his digivice and thought to bring it to him. That was, of course, before the figure spoke.

"Hello, Yamato-san."

Something inside of him went very still at that voice. It wasn't one of the Cadets. It wasn't even the voice of a child, because he had finished that awkward transition months ago. He had gone from a hushed soprano to a duskier tenor, and mistaking him for a little kid would've been very difficult now. In a vague, far-off way, Yamato felt his eyes sliding up the Baihumon cloak almost of their own volition, but he was staring blindly until he reached the younger boy's faintly smiling lips.

The worst part was that it still looked like Ken. He hadn't gelled his hair into an angry indigo froth or hidden his face behind a pair of thick sunglasses. No uniform, no whip, no scuttling Wormmon at his side -- just Ken, Ichijouji Ken, waiting with that same infinite patience to be noticed where he was standing at the foot of Yamato's bed. Just Ken with the Digimon Kaizer looking out through his frosted tanzanite eyes. Yamato felt his stomach clenching and knew that was the difference. The difference that he should have recognized right away for exactly what it was, because Ken had never frightened him.

"Well," the Digimon Kaizer remarked lightly, almost carelessly, "I can see that someone has been thoughtful enough to bring you clothing. Who was it? I shall have to thank him."

There was a lilt to his voice that didn't sound entirely pleased, though, so Yamato merely stared up at him and said nothing. The other boy pursed his lips very slightly, then forced out a bark of laughter.

"Was I at least correct in my earlier supposition that your digivice would not come with it?"

At some point, his hands had started making fists, swirling the soft blankets around his knotted fingers like cooked spaghetti. Yamato had never liked being mocked, not for anything, but to be laughed at because he'd dared to trust...that was twisting the proverbial knife.

When he didn't react further, the Kaizer seemed dissatisfied. "I'll take that for a yes, Yamato-san, but in the future -- you might want to remember that I do not appreciate being ignored."

A threat. He was being threatened. From some distance, Yamato heard himself saying, "I'd remember that if I gave a damn about making you happy," and tried to shut his mouth before the words could escape but only managed to choke them until he was whispering instead of shouting.

"Making me happy?" Far from looking upset, the Digimon Kaizer's eyes were dancing with silent laughter. "Oh, no, Yamato-san. I would never ask that of you. I do not think you're quite capable of such a thing, whether or not you 'give a damn' about the task. Rather, I think it merely in your best interests to refrain from deliberately angering me." His lips quirked. "I've been told I can become most...unpleasant when angered."

It was different this time, Yamato thought. Not a threat at all, but a statement. If anything, the younger boy was warning him. He licked his lips and tried not to let himself be intimidated, to make his own voice casual and unconcerned. "What kind of unpleasant?"

"Do you really want to know?" the Kaizer asked. He tilted his head to one side, looked considering, then seemed to come to a decision and took a measured, graceful step towards the bed. "The kind that results in death, little one."

By all rights, being called little one by someone three years his junior should have been funny. Somehow, it wasn't. The fact that the indigo-haired boy had poised himself to sit on the edge of the bed made it even less so. Yamato saw that they were going to play that game again, the one that had ended before with him trapped in a corner, but this time he had no reason to stay motionless on his bed, clutching at the blankets like a child. He made for the far end of the mattress before the Kaizer could rest his full weight on the it and hurried to his feet, not relaxing until he was on the other side of the room and as safe as he could get.

"What if I'd rather be dead?" he demanded. They were Taichi's words, and he didn't really mean them, but his eyes were on the door. Yamato found himself thinking crazy thoughts, like whether or not he could overpower the indigo-haired boy completely and steal the key to the room. Probably, but what then? Without his digivice, he couldn't have gone through any of the gateways...

The bed creaked, drawing his attention back to the Digimon Kaizer's face. He was standing again and didn't look the least bit concerned. "Who said anything about your death, Yamato-san?"

At first, the words didn't seem to want to sink in, and all he could do was blink. Then they hit him full force in a rush of images. Yamato thought of Gabumon and of Taichi. He thought of Hiroshi's brown eyes. Even the fragile, nameless little girl who had clawed at her face to stop his words from hurting her. He wondered if any of the other Chosen Children had been captured yet and doubted it, but that didn't help. There were too many hostages already. One of them would have been too many. He cleared his throat and tried to speak. "You can't," was what came out. It sounded hollow and meaningless to his own ears.

"Oh?" Amusement mingled with curiosity, and he knew that the Kaizer wasn't taking him any more seriously. "Why ever not? I already have more servants than I need. Doing away with one or two of them might be a relief of sorts."

"But..." Yamato stared at him and felt helpless. "But it's got nothing to do with them."

"No," the other boy admitted in a thoughtful sort of way. "I suppose it really doesn't." His eyes glittered maliciously. "What's your point, exactly?"

Sarcasm was the right response for this situation, Yamato knew. Lots of it and quickly, because you weren't ever supposed to show the enemy your soft underbelly and he already had. If he were nasty enough, apathetic enough, then maybe -- only maybe -- he could make the Kaizer think he had imagined what he'd seen. But when he opened his mouth and looked right into the younger boy's eyes to show him how serious he was, Yamato saw something in those tanzanite depths that robbed him of his caustic words. He saw indifference. He saw that killing Gabumon or even Taichi, another human being, one of Ken's own friends, would have meant nothing to the Kaizer. And he understood suddenly that he could not bluff, could not barter, because if he tried...if he tried, he was going to lose. Yamato ducked his head and hated himself for not being stronger. Hated Ken for doing this to them all.

"Fine," he said in a bare whisper. Tension drained from his shoulders down his arms until it left even the fists he didn't remember balling, and Yamato admitted, at least to himself, that he was beaten.

"Fine?" the other boy repeated, his voice tinged with laughter and somehow much nearer than it should have been. The Digimon Kaizer was closing the distance between them in a noiseless, unhurried gait. "Is that all you have to say?"

Anger wanted to flare up again, but Yamato knew he didn't have the luxury to be angry. Not if he wanted to keep his friends safe. "What do you want me to say?" he demanded levelly, every bit as calm as the eye of a storm. "Were you expecting tears?"

Privately, he thought there wasn't much chance of that. He rarely ever cried these days, and certainly not in front of people he didn't know. People like the Digimon Kaizer. Ken hadn't been a stranger, but then, Ken had been his friend, and it was too hard to think of him like that right now. Fucking friendship. Without it, he would have...

Well, all right, without friendship, he would have died a long time ago. Maybe not physically, nothing so grandiose as that, but the part inside. The part that mattered. Because the Keeper of Friendship needed his friends, as badly as any drug and worse than some of them. But for the first time in years, Yamato found himself wishing miserably that he had never let anyone in. He hated being caught like this.

A strange emotion that wasn't quite irritation but was nowhere near pleasure washed over the Digimon Kaizer's face and spilled into his cold tanzanite eyes. "From you?" he whispered. "No, Yamato-san. No tears just yet. I think that perhaps I expected something more along the lines of, 'Yes, Master, thank you, Sir.' Do you think you can say that?"

Gabumon, Yamato reminded himself. His teeth were so tightly gritted that he couldn't speak. Taichi, he thought more desperately, and felt his jaw loosening just a little bit. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

"That's better," the younger boy said quietly, then paused. "Still. There's something about the way you said that that I don't like." He made the reprimand teasing, as though he truly hadn't noticed anything specific. "But I suppose it's a start."

And he looked so fucking pleased with himself. Yamato managed not to spit in the younger boy's face, but only just. "Was there anything else?" he asked, hoping there wasn't, hoping he'd be left alone now to nurse his wounds in private.

Luck wasn't with him today. "No...oh, wait, yes. One more thing." The Digimon Kaizer smirked in a way that made it clear that he'd never forgotten. "A very small favor that you might do for me, Yamato-san, if you're willing."

No matter how polite he made himself sound, though, Yamato couldn't ignore the way his hands slid easily behind his back and squared his shoulders, spreading the omnipresent fur cloak mock-incidentally. Ken was tall and slender, but in the same way that a racehorse is slender; it doesn't mean there isn't an awful lot of finely-corded muscle under that sleek skin. Soccer seemed to have that effect on a person, but it made Yamato nervous now. He was the elder of them, and he had -- what, maybe three whole centimeters on Ken? But he wasn't an athlete by any stretch of the imagination and it had been literally years since he'd done anything more than meditate in Judo.

A few minutes ago, Yamato had been thinking that he could've taken the Kaizer in a fair fight. Now he wasn't so sure, and it made him swallow uncomfortably. "That depends on what the favor is."

"Well..." Still such a pleasant expression on the younger boy's face. "You see, I'm conducting an...experiment of sorts. I wanted Taichi-san to help me with it, but I'm afraid he just wasn't quite as cooperative as he should have been."

He was using the past-tense way too often. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Is he okay?"

Something in the Kaizer's expression said no, long before he actually opened his mouth to speak. "'Okay' is such a strong word."

At the back of his eyes, Yamato felt an all-too familiar prickling sensation. He closed them tightly and willed the tears away. "What did you do to him?"

"I hurt him," the Digimon Kaizer admitted, as though this were both very obvious and rather unimportant. He took another of his deliberate, soundless steps across the room until they were only some thirty centimeters apart. "He's still alive, but alas: he has proven himself to be ill-suited to the project. So I have come to find a replacement."

They were much too close now for his comfort. Sucking in a harsh, shallow breath, Yamato withdrew a little. "And you want me," he said reluctantly. Announcing it seemed to make everything more real. "Do I really have a choice?"

Without warning, all of the humor drained from the Kaizer's face and left him very serious-looking. "Certainly. There is always a choice, Yamato-san. And every choice has its consequences."

He had to ask, couldn't just avoid the taunting question, but oh how he wanted to. "If I refuse?"

"Then I'll kill him." In some other, very different context, the smile on the younger boy's lips might have been gentle. Maybe when he wasn't talking about murdering people just to make a point. "Taichi-san is useless to me as it is. If his life isn't enough to ensure your assistance, well, then I would have no other recourse, mon esclave."

It sounded funny and foreign and familiar. Like something he might have heard a long time ago but no longer remembered. When Yamato went to ask what the words meant, though, he realized that he didn't really care right now. He didn't have the energy to care about anything else right now. Hell, he barely had the energy to nod his head in that tiny, seemingly insignificant nod that would signal his acceptance. Signal his understanding of their situation, and...his surrender.

This time, when the Digimon Kaizer approached him, he didn't bother trying to move away. Even as the younger boy's gloved hand settled on his face, middle finger slipping under his chin to lift it, Yamato remained perfectly still. He gazed into the Kaizer's tanzanite eyes because he thought he was supposed to and hoped that at least a little bit of his hatred was visible to them. It didn't seem to be.

"You're afraid of me," the Digimon Kaizer whispered, and the words crawled all over his skin like insects.

"No, I'm not," he hissed back, wanting it to be true.

Laughing, the indigo-haired boy shook his head and leaned forward, until their faces were close enough that when he breathed, Yamato felt it on his own lips. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Yamato-san. Fear is such a healthy, normal emotion. Fear preserves life when bravado would have the whole lot of us in our graves."

He didn't ease back on the balls of his feet or remove his hand, and for an entire minute, Yamato thought the Digimon Kaizer meant to kiss him. He still hadn't worked out how he was going to react to that when the younger boy turned aside and sniffed his hair instead, making him almost painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't had a proper shower in days. At least he hadn't been terribly active, but Ken smelled like expensive soap, and under that, very faintly of lavender oil. Sweat and dirt didn't compete very well with lavender oil. When the Kaizer pulled away, his eyes were very close to being expressionless -- but Yamato still thought he saw a hint of disgust there.

"Ken..." he began, having no idea what would come after that, but he didn't have the chance to come up with anything.

Honestly, the slap didn't hurt him very much. It had been just hard enough to turn his head, and the only thing it left behind was a faint stinging in his cheek. The shock of being hit at all and the confusion as to what he'd done were what kept Yamato's mouth shut and his head down when the pain had faded completely. Pissing off the Digimon Kaizer on purpose would've been one thing, but doing it accidentally...

That uncertainty must have shown on his face, because some of the ire faded from the younger boy's tanzanite eyes. "Yamato-san, really. I'm surprised at you. Have you forgotten so much in four short years? Or did the others perhaps neglect to mention that I will not tolerate the use of that name? I am the Digimon Kaizer, and that is how you will address me at all times. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Yamato whispered, because he had.

One fine indigo eyebrow lifted in a wordless challenge, and he felt his bile rising uncontrollably, but then he pictured Taichi lying dead and forced himself to say what the Kaizer so very obviously wanted to hear, even though every word was acid in his mouth.

"Yes, Digimon Kaizer-sama."

An appreciative little smile spread over the other boy's lips. "Ah," he said softly. "Now that is lovely. On that note, Yamato-san, I would very much like to begin properly -- but my inattention to your care..." He shrugged with his hands still clasped elegantly behind his back and walked leisurely to the door. "You'll have to be cleaned before I can bear to touch you. Nothing personal, of course. You understand."

Yamato swallowed and counted to ten. What was one more tiny horrible degrading remark, he asked himself. Self seemed to think it was an awful lot, but then he heard the sound of the cell door unlocking and blinked eyes that he didn't remember closing, somewhat startled to see the Digimon Kaizer stepping out into the corridor beyond and looking back at him expectantly.

"Well? The bathing room is in this direction."

He had to hurry to catch up.

End of Part Five.

TRANSLATION NOTES
mon esclave : my slave