These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: Vain 10/16/2001-

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I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot-everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has yoai, shounen-ai, and mature themes including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene-meaning that the rating will go up.

Special thank you's are extended to Herongale for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her, Kinslayer just because of all those inspiring fics that have so influenced my work, and Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, andPeaceKeeper A for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat. Please keep in mind that Taichi -is- slightly OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though. Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: PLEASE REVIEW :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.

If you're not and you didn't, then please:

Enjoy the fic.

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"When on rises above the individual villainy displayed by the masses, one can only pity them all, just as we shall be pitied someday."

-Authur Miller

The Crucible

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Chapter Two:

I Sought Affliction

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Ken wrapped his arms tight around himself as though trying to crush himself in his own embrace. His head was tilted back and the wind whipped around him angrily, frustrated that he had defied the warning chill of November and come up to the roof. His head was tilted all the way back and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the heavy sky. There were stars up there, he knew. But this was Tokyo-there were too many lights for the stars to come out. They were up there, but forever invisible. Invisible until all the lights in the world went out. He'd like to see that someday.

"The stars sure are pretty tonight, aren't they, Osamu?"

The other boy leaned over the balcony rail and looked up, his violet eyes surveying the sky dispassionately. "Stars are the visible result of chemical reactions between pockets of gas coalesced in the void of space by the gravitational pull created by the presence of other stars. It's a self-perpetuating chain of events, nothing more."

The little boy's shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground. "Oh."

Sam watched his brother for a moment; a spasm of regret quickly slid across his face and then vanished. "Yeah, Ken. They sure are pretty."

He sighed then, his breath fogging in the cold air. "Pockets of gas, nothing more."

It had been a long time; for him one year was a long time. One year since he'd retrieved his partner's egg. One year since he'd felt the digital sun. One year since he'd watched his army perform maneuvers. One year since he'd last sat in his control room. One year since he'd ruled the world.

Having power changes a person. It settles deep in your soul and seeks out the dark places. It hunkers down and chills your heart. It infests your body and drains you soul even as it enflames your mind. The more power you have, the more profound the effect is. For Ken power-control-was a drug. It was something that was almost sexual. The crack of the whip . . . The fear in their eyes . . . Dominating . . . Subjugating. Oh, gods, how he wanted it! The taste of it, the feel . . . But he couldn't have it. Not anymore.

Now he had to sit still like a good boy. Fold his hands like a good boy. Smile for the cameras like a good boy. Do his homework like a good boy. Play nice like a good boy. Be good like a good boy. Be charismatic like a good boy. Be kind like a good boy even though he wanted nothing more than scream and punch and kick and hurt and destroy and yell and wrapped his hands around their scrawny necks and bash their fucking heads against the ground again and again and again until the blood flowed everywhere and they all stopped screaming and whining and bitching and demanding and smiling like the damnable mindless puppets they were and-

"Ken, dear?"

He stiffened, unwrapping his arms from around his waist and dropping his head down. "Yes, Mother?"

"The phone . . . um . . . someone's called . . . for you . . ."

He sighed. "Yes, Mother.

He waited until she had gone again before looking up at the sky. Deep down inside, a part of him lamented the fact that he couldn't see the stars, but to look at him, you wouldn't have been able to tell.

The stairwell leading back into the building was narrow and neglected and the light was a disgusting burnt yellow color, like old paper. Ken liked it. It looked like he felt inside: empty, alone, discolored, small, and neglected. Sometimes he considered burning the entire building down just so that he could watch that stairwell burn. Perhaps it would be cleansing.

His mother handed him the phone when he entered the apartment, flinching back from his touch as though he were poison. He didn't notice. "Ichijouji Ken."

"Hey, Mon Capitan-kun!!"

The distinctive blend of French and Japanese made the edges of Ken's lips twitch ever so slightly towards a smile. Barring Wormmon, there was only one person in the world who would dare you such an honorific or disrespectful tone of voice in reference to Ichijouji Ken: Tanuki Minokichi.

Tanuki Minokichi was almost as much of a legend in Tamachi School for the Gifted as Ken himself was. White haired, blue eyed, tall, and slicker than a snake dipped in oil, the Coon (Tanuki means raccoon in Japanese) was American born and Japanese bred. The boy had moved from Pittsburgh, U.S.A. to Tamachi, Japan when he was five. He was also 100% red, white, and blue blooded American. Two months ago when he had transferred to the gifted private school, the very first thing he did was join the soccer team. The second thing he did was get into a fistfight with Ichijouji Ken and get the crap beat out of him, the third he did was stand up, wipe the blood off his mouth, dust himself off, and proceed to attach himself to the caustic young genius's side. He was a prankster, a troublemaker, smart-alecky, and dangerously manipulative.

At first Ken had merely ignored this insane boy who seemed to be the only person willing to try to penetrate Ken's walls, then he merely suffered him in silence. After over a month, Ken discovered that the foreigner was actually intelligent, engaging, and not the least bit intimidated by either the former despot or his infamous cold rages. More importantly, he didn't give a damn about Ichijouji Ken the genius-he didn't even know or care whom Ken was when they met-he just liked Ken. He liked Ken's confidence, his powerful presence, his silence, his egotism, and even his barely concealed sadism. It was something of a novelty to Ken and he eventually deemed the other boy worthy of his attention.

They weren't friends, though, and they both knew it. If the partnership became disadvantage to either or them, both boys were more than prepared to drop the "deadweight." Coon just happened to be closer to Ken than anybody else in Tamachi. They weren't even rivals. Tanuki's IQ was +2 above the mean. Ken's was +3. It was an odd relationship, but advantageous to the both of them. Ken was a shield that Coon could hide behind when he pushed people just a little too far and Tanuki provided an excellent foil against which Ken's obedience, intelligence, and overall superiority shone like the sun. Moreover, the partnership was more often than not regarded as friendship by their parents and provided both boys with a bit of ever-craved breathing space.

"What do you want, Tanuki?" Ever anti-conformist, Ken flat out refused to call Tanuki "Coon."

The Coon snickered. "I take it you haven't heard."

"Enlighten me."

"The game's back on schedule. We're playing Odaiba tomorrow."

"They weren't next in line."

"They are now. Motomiya's on that team, as I recall. He's not half bad. Not half good, either, but he's better than those other nitwits. This should prove to be interesting."

There came a long silence, not unusual when Ken was involved, but Coon sensed something intense in the pale boy's lack of response.

"Still there, mon Capitan?"

"Yes."

"Everything copasetic? You're not stressed over Motomiya because he stopped last year, are you?"

"No. Motomiya is nothing for me to be concerned about anymore. Goodbye, Tanuki."

He hung up the phone.

Ken brushed past his mother on his way to his bedroom. She asked him something, but he merely closed the door in her face.

"Ken-chan?" A small green head appeared over the edge of the bed as he locked the door behind him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes. Go back to sleep Wormmon."

The digimon vanished again and Ken began to strip. Shoes, jacket, undershirt, pants, socks, underwear: he removed them all with smooth silent motions until he stood completely naked. He picked up the discarded clothing and walked over to the closet where they were unceremoniously dumped in a hamper. There was a full-length mirror hanging on the inside of his closet door and he took the opportunity to study his nude reflection critically for a moment.

His skin was smooth and pale. Dozens of angry slashes adorned the white flesh in various states of healing. Some were years old. Six had been done this morning. He ignored them and frowned at his abdomen.

Thin. He was just too damned thin. He placed the tips of his right hand on his solar plexus, right in the center of his chest, and pushed down hard. What little complexion he had fled beneath the pressure. He removed his hand and watched as the blood rushed back, giving the skin a ruddy tint. He dropped his hand to his side and continued his inspection. His ribs were visible, but not prominent, and his stomach was flat and well defined. His hips protruded just a tiny bit and were unusually sharp for a male, adding to what he considered to be his extremely effeminate looks. His penis was soft and rather uninteresting looking nestled in a bed of indigo pubic hair. He sneered. Indigo. What a ri-goddamn-diculous color. His legs were long and very muscular, like a racing horse.

The boy stiffened as he felt eyes on his skin; no, not his skin-his scars. Indigo hair flared out as his head snapped around to spy Wormmon gazing at him from the bed.

"Ken-chan . . .?" a hesitant voice sounded from the bed.

The human turned around and dropped his head down to his chest.

"Ken-"

"They'll all be at the soccer game tomorrow," he interrupted the virus without looking up.

Wormmon was silent, unsure of what he should-could-say.

"I'll have to face them."

The digimon wriggled his way free of the blanket and hopped off the bed, landing with a grunt. He puttered his way over to Ken and nuzzled his ankle. "I'm here Ken-chan. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"I wasn't talking about them, Ken-chan."

Tears tracked down Ken's cheeks. He made no effort to brush them aside; brushing them aside would acknowledge that he was falling apart inside, that he was crying at all. He fought crying like his worst enemy. "I know," he murmured to the precious little creature on the ground.

Wormmon heard it and sighed.

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"What is it like to be dead, Osamu?"

"W-what?"

"What is it like to die?"

"Why do you ask me such questions?"

". . . I'm sorry, Oniichan."

"Are you happy, Kenny-boy?"

"Of course I'm happy, Oniichan. I have you."

"Then hush and do not speak of such things."

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Chapter Three:

Cassant le Dôme du Verre de la Rose

Meet Tanuki! Plus, Taichi's on a mission . . . But to do what? And more importantly why??

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