Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Omi and Cosmos ( Chapter 15 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

 

Monozuki 15 - Omi and Cosmos

 

By Kelly and Lisa

 

 

***************

 

Impromptu hugs and a blushing Abyssinian aside, there was still the very small matter of a stranger in the living room with them. Lifesaver or not, this man claimed knowledge of the workings of Weiss, and possibly Kritiker as well. Tsuzuki, even with a mouthful of pancakes, had deflected queries with the ease of a seasoned operative and when a chance-heard noise from the upper floors had had Omi distracted, the next thing he knew, the handsome, violet-eyed stranger had gone.

 

Omi sure as hell wasn't going to let a new source of information slip out of his hands this time.

 

“Takashi-san,” he started and both Takashi and Abyssinian stiffened, glancing over at him and looking almost guilty. Well, Aya looked guilty. Takashi had let slip a small smirk before covering it with an affable smile. The hacker restrained a sigh. Great, just what he needed. Antagonism from Weiss' field leader even before they interrogated the man. “We need to talk,” the child-like blond said bluntly and if he thought to throw the man off, he was disappointed. The doctor simply dipped his head in acknowledgement.

 

“I agree. Certain. . .” Takashi hesitated, “issues have come to light and our superiors have instructed us to make contact with your team. Considering your own injuries and the defilement of your kitchen, we seem to have the same problem.”

 

Even as Bombay nodded, smile pleasant and deep blue eyes wide and almost innocent-looking, his mind processed the few clues he garnered. Takashi had used the term `superiors.' Which supported his theory that Tsuzuki and the others were from an organization, perhaps one which operated along similar lines as Kritiker. That Tsuzuki had mentioned dropping off any anonymous tip with the Tokyo police was evidence of a matching… devotion to justice. Even if the problems that Weiss faced often stemmed from corrupt public servants. And if Takashi was correct, that they were chasing the same man who could incapacitate him so easily, then. . .well, the enemy of my enemy. . .

 

“Shall we?” he asked brightly, ignoring the rather incongruous image of playing the good host with his torn and bloodied t-shirt.

 

He felt Aya tense marginally beside him when Takashi cocked his head to the side, eyes sliding out of focus. “Ah,” Takashi murmured. “We're just in time, I think. Any longer and I fear your team members are going to disembowel my partner.” There was a genuine grin on his face so Omi doubted it would really come to that. He hoped. He really didn't want to explain to Birman how a dead teen came to be in their kitchen. It would be bad enough to explain whatever it was that had happened.

 

The reluctance in how Aya's hand briefly clung to Omi's elbow before allowing his younger companion to head for the stairs under his own power suggested that a number of things had occurred while Omi was out of it. The small blond sighed, while still keeping a bright smile on his lips. It would be so great if there were a way to review the footage from the mini-cam mounted in the light fixture overhead, but another crash, and the ominous timbre of Ken's yowl from below warned the hacker that delaying might not be a good idea, after all.

 

Rising to their feet, the two men stared warily as the shorter boy between them huffed impatiently. Honestly! What was wrong with them? Superficially, they were much of a type: both tall and slim, with the kind of graceful movements that went with being comfortable and confident in their own bodies. Takashi's neatly trimmed hair was shades lighter and brighter than Aya's wine red, but the colors suited both of them, as did the guileless hazel eyes of the one, and the suspicious, darkened violet of the other.

 

It just wasn't fair that the two handsomest men that Omi had had the pleasure of laying eyes on were determined to fight like preschoolers over a favorite toy.

 

Little Bombay stilled.

 

Did he just think of Aya as attractive?

 

Did he just refer to himself as a toy?

 

He nodded decisively. It must have been the amplified neuromuscular blocker. That could explain the strange visions he'd been having and the fact that his mind had sunk to the gutter when he wasn't looking. Yes, it had to be.

 

Mind made up, Omi shooed both men out of the living room and down the stairs, briskly ignoring the annoyed glance Abyssinian sent his way. If it were left to the strung-out swordsman, they'd be cleaning the living room floor of blood and entrails. And he still needed answers, dammit.

 

To Omi's immediate surprise, his own redhead paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for some unfathomable reason for the wobbling teen to join him. His astonishment grew even greater when a sword-hardened hand grasped the boy's biceps to steady him on the steep stairs.

 

How... weird. Aya didn't like to touch, or be touched. And here he was, voluntarily...?

 

Omi shook his head slightly, more to dislodge the strange notions that had taken residence than in actual negation. Later. He would think about Aya's behavior later.

 

They entered the kitchen to find Yohji physically restraining a furious Ken, while the strange kid, Kyo, watched with avid amusement. The black haired boy looked up at their entrance, face visibly brightening.

 

“Taka!” the boy said happily, bounding over to his partner with puppyish eagerness. The wide smile, eyes of a palest blue and the nervous energy that practically gushed out clicked together in Omi's head. He jerked to a stop. Kyo was the one who had come into the shop the other day! That would make the older man with glasses who came by to collect him a colleague as well?

 

“I froze the spell!” Kyo declared, hand pointed proudly to the defaced table and following it, Omi's eyes widened.

 

It wasn't just the sight of their elderly neighbor's cat, lying eviscerated that startled him, but the swirling miasma that hovered over it in a miniature, malevolent storm.

 

“Shit.”

 

The rare occurrence of sweet, waif-like Bombay swearing halted the members of Weiss, even Ken. All three of them stared at him with something akin to astonishment, which he promptly dismissed. Honestly, did they really think he could have kept his ears clean after living with them all this time? Keeping the two strangers in his peripheral vision, he approached the vandalized table cautiously. Halting a good foot away, Omi swallowed back his nausea, pushing bothersome emotions out of the way so that he could analyze the sick display. Without taking his eyes away from the gruesome sight, he rapped out quick instructions to his team.

 

"... evidence recovery kit's in my duffle. Ken-kun, you go get that. Yohji-kun, please, may I borrow your 35mm? My digital's batteries are dead, and we haven't been to the store yet."

 

The level, commanding tone had the desired effect; both Yohji and Ken nodded promptly and ran to fetch the items that the team's information specialist had requested, coincidentally removing them from the peculiar teen's vicinity.

 

Omi listened with half an ear to the rapid clatter of Ken's sneakers on the iron steps leading down to the basement mission room, while he focused on his opposite number. Kyo's head was tilted to one side, watching him back with such obvious amusement that the younger blond was uneasy.

 

"You won't want to touch it. Trust me."

 

He eyed the grinning boy warily. “And why is that?” he asked cautiously.

 

Kyo shrugged affably. “I only froze the spell. The curse is still active. If you touch it, since it is tuned to the four of you, you'll unleash the curse's intent.”

 

“Ah.” Omi blinked bemusedly before backing away further from the table. He might not believe in magic wholeheartedly but the accumulation of little things, seemingly inconsequential on their own, but added together making for a disturbing picture, convinced him. “All right then, what do you suggest?”

 

Takashi spoke up, taking out a slim, black cell phone from inside his jacket. “We'll need to do a ritual cleaning - the spiritual kind - and blessing. After that, we can both take the evidence we need, yes?”

 

A small, involuntary twitch of protest from the silent Abyssinian at his back reminded Omi that he still had one more teammate to contend with. Unexpectedly, the swordsman muttered, "He's right. Don't touch it."

 

Would wonders never cease...? Aya had just agreed with Takashi.

 

Bemused though he was, it finally sank in that they had a stranger standing in their kitchen, about to make a call to call his contacts… Omi's hand shot out, plucking the tiny black rectangle from the doctor's hand, automatically thumbing the phone off. “No.” he said with more conviction than his trembling body was really up to, “Our house, our problem.”

 

A different kind of wildness had flitted across the vibrating teen's pale blue eyes the second Omi had touched Takashi, and the younger blond had an instant of near panic; those were the reflexes of someone like them, of a fellow Hunter.

 

Hazel eyes were fixed with thoughtful intensity on Omi's innocent blue as the man's arm shot out, nearly cloths-lining his own partner. Takashi murmured softly, “Hold it, koi… I want to see what they have in mind.”

 

Omi blinked, momentarily distracted from the sudden fear of provoking a dangerous unknown. Koi. . .? So they were more than just partners then. He was swiftly brought back to the present when Kyo hissed, trembling wildly and it quickly brought the other Weiss to ready alertness. He could feel Aya getting ready to lash out and without taking his eyes away from Takashi, Bombay placed a steadying hand on Aya's, murmuring, "Wait." The rigid, focused tension at his shoulder brought up a vision of the feral Abyssinian as an attack dog, on point and ready for a word of command, a concept that the younger Weiss found oddly comforting. Forcing himself to remain relaxed, open, he addressed the older intruder politely, “I'm sorry, but I - we - really can't have you calling in more people. Not until we have a better idea what's going on.”

 

Allowing his restraining arm to slowly drop, Takashi ignored the muttered “… no one touches my…” from his own partner. Instead, he forced a kind smile, holding back a knife's-edge of annoyance in favor of returning Omi's courtesy. “Of course. However… unless you have some very unusual friends, I don't see how you expect to take care of that without our assistance. At lease let me call Tsuzuki back, and reassure him. You've met him, ne? Do you think he's dangerous, to you, or your friends?”

 

The younger Weiss swallowed the automatic retort that rose to his lips. Did he consider

Tsuzuki dangerous-?! Hah! Of course he did. The man with his beautiful, innocuous features had waltzed into the Koneko, past Omi's safe-guards.

 

But… he couldn't very well say that, not with Aya standing at attention behind his shoulder.

 

He sighed, hand rising to rub at the ache between his brows, and nearly whapped himself in the head with the cell phone that he still clutched. Automatically, the boy extended it to Takashi, murmuring, “No. I don't. But I'd rather we took care of … that… ourselves. We have responsibilities to our employers, and if you've been investigating us as you say you have, then you should understand that.”

 

A large hand, lightly callused, covered his and with the small phone as a buffer, squeezed gently. "I do," Takashi answered wryly, taking his phone back and seemingly oblivious to Omi's reddened cheeks. Hushing his still protesting partner gently, he shot the two Weiss members an apologetic look before quickly dialing up his colleague again. He spent a few minutes quietly talking on the phone, and in the interim, Yohji and Ken came back from their errands, looking suspiciously at the cell phone but thankfully subsiding at a glance from Bombay as they slipped into place at his back.

 

Snapping his phone shut, Takashi smiled at Omi, the expression somewhat easier than before. "I realize we're not exactly in a position to make demands of you but if you could help us. . .?"

 

“With what?” This time, the suspicious growl came from a different teammate, as Yohji stepped up on the boy's far side, surreptitiously brushing against Omi's rear. But before the outraged blond could do more than stiffen at the unexpected contact, he recognized the hard feel of one of the former detective's triangular throwing knives slipping into his back pocket.

 

Trust Yohji to think of something like that.

 

If the strangers in their kitchen noticed the brief exchange, they made no comment, instead limiting themselves to courteous nods. Even the odd boy, Kyo, managed to look mild and unthreatening in the face of the unified Weiss front. Takashi took a deeper breath and plunged in bluntly, “You know that we're tracking a man in relation to a series of murders, yes? We believe that he's the same one who placed this abomination in your home, and who also attacked you. If at all possible, I'd like to collect some samples in hopes of being able to finally get a solid lead on his whereabouts.”

 

Nodding reasonably, Yohji struck an outwardly casual pose, left hand on his hip, thumb of his right hand hooked carelessly into the low-ridding waist of his jeans. Coincidentally, it was a position that would also allow him to unspool his lethal wire faster than an ordinary person could see… A minute shift from Ken, adjusting his own balance, told Omi that his partners were ready and willing - and just waiting for his signal.

 

But… did they need to resort to violence? Here was a potential partnership that could fill some of the gaps left when Kritiker had been decimated first by Takatori's coup, and later by Eszett. Instincts that he trusted with his life and with his friends' lives said that whatever the four strangers were, if they had meant to destroy Weiss, Weiss would already have been gone. And Omi trusted his gut reactions, not only where the weird, pancake-loving older man was concerned, but also about the angelic boy, Hisoka, and now these two. Suddenly impatient, he flicked a quick finger sign at his own team, ordering them to stand down, even as he addressed Takashi briskly. “All right. But only after I make a couple of phone calls of my own.”

 

Sunk in thought, the young tactician hardly noticed when Aya, Ken and Yohji exchanged sharp glances over his head, or that the sensei took a small step backwards, pulling his koi with him. Step one was to get to a secure line where no one would be able to eavesdrop, and that meant down to the basement mission room… which meant leaving the others unsupervised. Uncertainty made Omi hesitate. Could he trust them to behave? He made a wobbling movement in the direction of the tight spiral of stairs, adding with a frustrated whine that it would also depend on him getting there. In one piece. And just then, the weakened teen didn't think he was up to descending the narrow metal steps.

 

Aya's hand gripped his elbow again.

 

Startled, the boy twisted, looking up into narrowed violet eyes that were unexpectedly troubled. “Do you want me to call Birman?” the tall man murmured. Mute, Omi nodded, and found himself being transferred over to Ken's supporting hand as their field leader slipped past and out of sight down the stairs.

 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen's remaining occupants, as they all tried to keep a wary eye on one another, while still avoiding looking directly at…that. No one wanted to sit, and offering hospitality was right out as no one could possibly want to eat with the malevolent curse drying on the table. That it added a foul, copper-blood scent, mixed with the sweetness of the lilies and mock orange was insult on top of injury, and as soon as little blond thought of it, his stomach roiled miserably.

 

Dammit, what could be taking Aya so long?!

 

Maybe that was why he jumped so badly when a discrete trill emanated from Takashi's suit coat.

 

Getting a raised eyebrow from the doctor, Omi flushed but stared defiantly back as he nodded his permission for the man to answer the call, eliciting a quick smile from the doctor, and another hiss from his koi. Blinking, little Bombay tried to pacify Kyo with a hesitant smile. It didn't work. Was Kyo jealous?

 

". . .Hello? Ah. . ." The doctor was looking weirdly at his phone, surprise evident on his features. The three Weiss exchanged glances, not sure what to expect but Kyo apparently did. With a sudden grin, the boy skipped over to the open basement door, halting by the steps and hollering down, "Hey, Red! Come on up, no need to be shy! Taka doesn't bite!" He threw a smirk in Yohji's direction. "Unless I want him to."

 

"Kyo. Behave."

 

Perplexed and getting more than a little annoyed, Omi, Ken and Yohji watched silently as the strange (hell, make that 'off his rocker') boy bounced back to his partner, seemingly unable to do anything in moderation as he latched his arms around the taller man's neck, giggling softly.

 

Heavy thumps warned them that Aya was coming back up and the noisy ascent was unlike Abyssinian. Face flushed, Aya finally emerged and growled, "What's the meaning of this?" He waved the cordless phone in Takashi's direction.

 

The accused nudged his partner. "Kyo? An explanation would be good, please."

 

"Catherine-san is on our list," Kyo answered brightly.

 

'Catherine-san'. . .? Realization came almost immediately. 'Catherine' was one of Birman's more frequently-used aliases, when she needed to become the 'face' of Kritiker in order to handle less sensitive affairs without jeopardizing the organization's security. Usually guileless eyes gleamed calculatingly. And apparently, she had been in contact with the four newcomers in the past.

 

"Catherine-san. . .Ah yes, she's secured our services. . what, a year ago?" Takashi explained to the members of Weiss, "We hire ourselves out as onmyouji as well. It helps us keep track of the going-ons here in Japan without straining our resources. We've helped Catherine-san out in the past." He turned to Aya. "I'm guessing she referred you to my number?"

 

At Abyssinian's sour nod, Takashi let out a low chuckle. "Well then, Fujimiya-san, Tsukiyono-san, does this arrangement appease you, since your employer has seen fit to have us work together?"

 

"Only because they don't know the entire truth," Omi answered blandly and was rewarded with another smile.

 

"And the kitten shows his claws," Takashi murmured. The 'kitten' bristled, unsure whether to accept it as a compliment, insult or dismiss it entirely. It didn't help that the man's remark might indicate that they know about Weiss' code-names as well. But then, was it really surprising? After all, the four of them had been more than competent enough to trace them back to the Koneko, even with Omi's care to be sure there wasn't any tell-tale evidence left behind after a mission.

 

Omi felt his eyes narrow at the mistrust that surged through him, but before he could open his mouth to snap back - and maybe say something he'd regret - Yohji was nudging him toward Ken, saying, “Hey, Soccer Boy, why don't you help Omitchi up to his room. I'll be he'd really like some clean clothes about now.” Startlement wiped the hostility and fear from the brunet's face, and he glanced at his younger teammate in surprise.

 

“Oh. O- okay, Yohji.” The surprise turned to a mix of guilt and worry. “Hey, you probably shouldn't be on your feet, Omi. Let's go get you cleaned up.”

 

Now that it was brought to his attention, the dark blond couldn't help but grimace and it took a fair bit of his training to not break out into an "Eew. . ." of disgust. Most of the liberal quantity of blood that he had lost was on himself and dried, caking blood wasn't exactly pleasant. Not when he had to contend with the stink in their kitchen as well.

 

"Gods, I need a shower," he grumbled under his breath and was rewarded with a tremulous laugh from the teammate who held his elbow in an increasingly tight grip.

 

"Y-yeah, that w-would be a good idea."

 

He looked up into wild, chocolate-brown eyes with more than a hint of worry. Ken had been wound up tighter than a spring, ever since the mall incident and time and relative distance didn't seem to be easing whatever it was that had spooked Siberian so badly. Ignoring the others for now, he gently disengaged his elbow, hooking his arm through Ken's instead and urged him to the direction of the stairs. But even before he set foot on the first riser, Ken following his lead dumbly, he was stopped by a soft touch on his other arm. Takashi had approached them silently, his partner hanging back but keeping a careful eye on them all the same.

 

"If I might trouble you for a while?" the auburn haired doctor murmured, looking significantly at Ken, and back to Omi.

 

Frowning, the small tactician nodded once - a sharp motion that indicated his reluctant readiness. He wasn't about to let a stranger mess with his friend, and he made sure the other man knew it. Giving a small nod of comprehension, Takashi did not try to physically engage the tense Hunter but instead, asked kindly, "Did you, by any chance, Hidaka-san, met a man dressed in white, with silver hair?"

 

Still holding on to Siberian's arm, ostensibly for support but more to make sure that the skittish man didn't do anything foolish, Omi clearly felt the way Ken froze, muscles bunching under his hand, and the sharp exhalation that ruffled his bangs.

 

"Y-yeah. . ." the former soccer player nodded jerkily. "I thought it was weird, y-you know? Him all dressed up i-in w-white like that. Thought he was a stuck up bastard th-that one. Turns out he was all that and more, huh?"

 

"And he was the one who hurt me," Omi added quietly, rubbing Ken's arm soothingly when the boy jerked in remembrance.

 

Unsurprised, darker, almost-black lashes swept down, veiling the gold-flecked green of Takashi's eyes and the man reached over, putting his own hand over their entwined ones. There was a very small smile on the doctor's face - something that was genuinely kind and sympathetic, not like the earlier mask of professionalism he wore. At that moment, Omi firmly believed that despite their unorthodox introduction, despite the occasional lapses into otherworldly weirdness, and despite their claim to magic, this man truly wanted to help.

 

That was why he refrained from cutting off the lightly tanned hand at the wrist with Yohji's blade.

 

"Do not think less of yourself for reacting so to him," Takashi spoke softly. His eyes, unnaturally wide and nearly glowing gold, flicked up and he locked gazes with the frozen Siberian, ignoring Omi. "Muraki has done things even I dare not speak of and others stronger than me have felt exactly as you do now." And with those words, an indefinable … warmth surged through their linked hands. Beside him, Ken immediately sagged in relief and even Bombay felt himself relax perceptibly. “I'm sorry that you had to endure him alone.”

 

“What…?” Ken whispered weakly, and alarmed, Omi clutched at his friend's elbow as the strange doctor smiled and stepped back. Takashi spoke in a normal, cheerful tone.

 

“That was only a very little curse. Nothing to be worried about, Hidaka-san.”

 

Shaking himself like a dog out of water, Siberian stammered, "T- thank you, for… whatever it was you just did." The Hunter's frank, candid acceptance threw Omi into a loop but even he could not deny that whatever it was the man had done, it had helped. `Little' was probably an understatement to keep from freaking the ball player out; sensitized by his own experience, Omi had felt the snapping of the spell driving Ken dangerously close to hysteria, and it had felt anything but trivial. Knots of tension Bombay hadn't even been aware of dissolved in the flood of relief that Ken was okay, and all of a sudden, he lost feeling in his legs and his knees buckled underneath him.

 

With a yelp, Ken quickly scooped the youngest assassin into his arms. There was a wry chuckle from Takashi and Omi scowled when his hair was ruffled, the gesture unmistakably affectionate.

 

"I may have broken your curse first, and helped your body restore itself, but it wasn't a full healing," he chided, shooing them toward the door. "You'll need some rest soon, before you collapse completely. Myself and the others will wait for Asato and for Hisoka-kun. Hidaka-san, if you would make sure that Tsukiyono-san has plenty to drink, as well? Thank you."

 

Wearied beyond belief, Omi didn't even protest when Ken insisted on carrying him up the stairs. He supposed he could afford to be generous, what with the lingering warmth of having Takashi call him “Tsukiyono-san,' instead of `-kun,' in response to the reality of what life had dealt him, and not only his apparent age. Ken was talking, mostly to himself, about hot water, bandages, and towels, and it made for a comforting lullaby, vibrating under Omi's cheek. He was actually dozing, and awakened with a jerk, when Ken set him down on the closed toilet seat and began peeling off his bloodied clothes. The older boy seemed oblivious to how the touch of blunt, strong hands raised goose flesh on gory skin, and Omi could only be grateful that the frowning, chocolate gaze was fixed on the ruins of his favorite L'Arc en Ciel shirt.

 

“Geez, Omi… I dunno. I hate to toss it, but face it, this shirt is trashed.”

 

The hacker managed a strangled whisper. “It's okay. I don't care. Just throw it out. After today, I don't think I could wear that again, anyhow.”

 

“Hmm?” Guileless brown met dark blue, and Ken frowned. “Hey, don't go doing anything weird, like passing out on me, okay? That doctor, Takashi, he said to make sure that you got something to drink. I want you to just sit here, and relax, `cause I'm going to go to my room and get a bottle of sports drink. I've got some stuff that should do the trick.”

 

Mute, Omi nodded, and waved Ken toward the door. Okay, technically, he hadn't promised not to pass out, and for a moment, after the worried soccer player left, he bent forward and hung his head between his knees until the darkness receded. But it wasn't the fear of unconsciousness while there was an unknown danger outside, and potentially dangerous strangers inside that was getting to him. More, it was a case of What the Hell has gotten into me?

 

Right. Attempted murder by a man he'd never even seen before, followed by finding that someone - very likely the exact same man - had not only entered the one place that he'd felt safe, but desecrated it. Add on discovering that a boy who had likewise circumvented Omi's best security had also managed to break in, and that said boy could fly… It was a wonder that Kritiker hadn't outfitted him with a strait-jacket to match the crazy Schwarz's, Farfarello's. The giggling Hunter buried his face in his still-bloodied hands, and fought for a calming breath.

 

“Omi…” There was a sharp clatter as hard plastic hit the bathroom's tiled floor, and bounced, and then muscular arms were wrapped tightly around the sobbing teen, rocking him until the mixed hilarity and hysteria died away.

 

The embrace felt really, really good… and not just because it kept the demons at bay, either. Omi was almost disappointed when his partner released him, and shoved a bottle into his hands. “Drink this, while I get the shower up to temperature, okay? We probably shouldn't leave Yohji in charge any longer than strictly necessary - who knows what that guy will get us into?”

 

Uh, oh… Omi blinked, and went to work setting a speed record for downing a half-liter of the worst tasting bile that he had ever encountered.

 

************

 

Clean, refreshed and only slightly out of sorts, as he was recovering from major blood loss, Bombay was in a decidedly better mood as he went downstairs with Ken hovering behind him. His ruined t-shirt had been replaced with another - a long-sleeved tee from Glay's Tokyo Dome concert. Next to the L'arc en Ciel, it was his favorite and surely fate wouldn't be so unkind as to ruin this one as well, right?

 

Stopping just inside the kitchen doorway, Omi quickly revised his earlier optimism. Fate, he remembered glumly, could screw you ten ways to next week and still find ingenious methods to turn your life upside down and on its way to merry hell.

 

The reason for his sudden gloom? Only the fact that there were currently six people in the small kitchen and with various degrees in intensity, all of them were glaring at each other, the sides they took all too clearly shown with the two oldest members of Weiss off to one side and their new 'friends' at the other.

 

"Damn, this isn't going to be pretty," came Ken's low muttering from behind and Omi had to agree.

 

Before physical violence could erupt, the youth made his presence known with a light cough and found himself the uncomfortable recipient of intense stares. Undeterred (living with Aya tended to thicken your skin after a while to such hostile looks), he graced the newcomers with a slight nod.

 

"Tsuzuki-san," he greeted the violet-eyed man neutrally. "And Hisoka-san."

 

There were murmurs of greetings before the atmosphere subsided back into tense wariness. Neither party knew where to start and judging by the looks of it, Aya and Yohji were getting more than a little impatient and that strange boy was starting to hum again.

 

The sight of his bulging duffel sitting neglected on the floor by Yohji's feet recalled Omi to more important things - like getting samples of whatever trace evidence he could before that… thing … with its whirling cloud of red and black streaked miasma could be dealt with. He reached for the bag, nodding at the other petit blond. “Ne, Hisoka-san… As I understand it, touching this curse isn't a good idea. How would I go about gathering evidence without setting it off?” Green eyes, a shade brighter and more intense than Yohji's, blinked at him, then golden-brown eyebrows pulled into a thoughtful frown.

 

“Kyo only has it in a kind of suspended animation. I would suggest that you wait until it's disarmed before attempting anything.” The eyes shifted to his own partner, glancing up at the tall form leaning carelessly against the refrigerator door. “Tsuzuki? Do you think a camera flash would have any ill effect?”

 

A frown marred the face of the young blond's partner, as he ambled closer to the frozen construct, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his trench coat. Tsuzuki ignored the way both Yohji and Aya eyed him warily as he bent closer to the table. With a shake of his head, Tsuzuki straightened, running a hand through his already messy bangs.

 

"Better not," he concluded wearily. "Usually, I'd say there's no harm in it but with Muraki involved. . ." Omi did not fail to notice the way Hisoka flinched at the mention of that name. "Better safe than sorry. I wouldn't put it past that bastard that even a simple thing like a flash could trigger a trap."

 

"So what do you suggest then?" the Weiss tactician asked, just the slightest bit miffed. He was getting annoyed - standard procedure seemed to be flying out of the window, and all thanks to the advice of people whom he only knew by their names and nothing more.

 

The tall brunet exchanged glances with his much smaller partner and something unreadable flashed between their gazes. With a small nod, Hisoka gestured to Omi even as he caught hold of one of Kyo's arm, halting the dreamy humming.

 

"Kyo," he said quietly and light blue eyes snapped open. "Why don't we go upstairs and you can tell me what happened?"

 

The dark haired boy looked back and forth between his own partner and the blond youth, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. He seemed torn over an issue; one that Omi realized with a start, concerned him. "He might touch Taka again," Kyo complained, making it clear that he didn't want Takashi anywhere near the bemused Bombay. At least, not without supervision.

 

"I want Tsukiyono-san to follow us, as well," Hisoka soothed, patting his friend's arm. "Tsuzuki and Takashi need to concentrate on the unbinding, Kyo. And you must be tired, yes?"

 

"Just a bit," Kyo admitted grudgingly and with Hisoka tugging him, and Takashi himself urging him to go, the boy finally relented, following Hisoka's lead like an obedient puppy and Omi fell into step with the other blond, Ken bringing up the rear.

 

Relief, more than could be accounted for just by getting away from the weird boy's behavior flashed across Tsuzuki's features, and Omi resisted the temptation to point out that it had been Aya, not himself, who had grappled with the doctor. And Aya was making no move whatsoever to leave. In fact, Weiss' field leader was leveling a thoughtful stare at Tsuzuki that was almost more frightening than his usual glare.

 

Side by side, just before mounting the staircase in Kyo's bounding wake, Hisoka muttered, “Some choice… babysitting the crazy one, or avoiding the effects of curse resonance….” Jerking his head in the direction of the older boy's back, already vanishing through the second-floor door, the scowling blond added, “Him, not you.”

 

Intrigued, Omi whispered, “ `Curse resonance?' ”

 

“Aa. You and me, we've both been cursed by Muraki-sensei. Even if Tsuzuki was too polite to say it, staying down there, in close proximity to one of his workings while they disassemble it is likely to be painful.”

 

“Hm.” Keeping one hand carefully on the banister, Omi considered the new information. “So… you were cursed?”

 

“Yes.” Hisoka snapped shortly. Interestingly, a tide of red flooded his features, only to ebb away, leaving him pale and tense. The way his soft mouth tightened suggested that further questions would be far from welcome, but that wasn't something that Omi was likely to allow to dissuade him. Instead, the hacker pulled out his friendliest, most clueless grin, and said, “How terrible! But at least you can tell me what to expect, ne?”

 

It was with considerable surprise that Bombay found himself pinned to the wall, Siberian barely stopping himself from crashing into them. And his teammate would have attacked then, if not for the fact that Hisoka didn't do anything else beyond pinning his arm across the tactician's chest and hiss low enough that his words wouldn't carry to the kitchen, "Drop the clueless act, mortal." Fervent, shadowed forest-green eyes bored into him, freezing him into place. "You know nothing of the monster hunting you and you might want to thank all the gods you can for it. And as to how I was cursed. . ." The mirthless grin the blond gave was disconcerting, a too gruesome expression for one as young as he, and it kept Omi still as Hisoka pushed off of him and, with a swift movement, unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Concentration lowered his brows and broke that strange hold, and Omi opened his mouth, ready to retort when he was stopped cold.

 

Lines of red flared to life on the visible skin of Hisoka's chest. Judging by what he could see, the patterns covered the boy's entire upper torso and, checking the sullen glow beneath the boy's clothing, it most likely covered his entire body.

 

. . .sweet Jesus, his entire body?

 

"He carved this into me, his own personal brand. " Morbidly satisfied, Hisoka eyed him expectantly, that twisted smile again turning his angelic face into something dark and bitter.

 

"He. . .carved. . .?" came Ken's faint voice.

 

All of a sudden, the strange boy deflated, sighing as he re-buttoned his shirt. "Yes," he snapped wearily. "Happy now, or would you like more of the gory details?"

 

Caught off guard, Omi shook his head, managing a tremulous, "No. . .I. . ."

 

"Tch. Whatever." With disconcerting speed, the earlier mask of indifference, tinged lightly with annoyance, returned and Hisoka trudged up the stairs.

 

 

***************

 

Cosmos - harmony.