Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Lost in Jade ❯ Fallen Angel ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Author's Note: Since I was getting poked from several invisible sources, I went ahead and wrote the next day. But after this it'll get filed and ranked like any other project. Yes, Kagami is a real city, though I won't comment on how small it actually is. Um, liberty of perspective??
Warnings: psychological Hisoka-torture, angst, OCs, perhaps excessive amounts of sarcasm, possible Hisoka OOCness (but there's a reason for it!), and more questions than answers! And maybe some OxH vibes? Eh, you tell me.... ~_^
Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The only thing I claim are the original characters and the plot.
Language Notes: otearai - lavatory/bathroom; furouji - juveniel deliquient/street punk; onibaba - (derog.) old bitch; douji - boy/kid; gaki - brat

---

I awoke to the sound of rattan sticks striking each other and sunlight streaming onto my face. It was perhaps mid-morning and Mibu-san had left the door of his apartment ajar. He was teaching someone basic sword forms, showing incredible patience for someone in love with a beast like Muraki. Though perhaps I shouldn't've been so surprised - he had shown me that same patience yesterday, taking my obstinance in stride. But whatever kindness he showed, I couldn't forget who he was, couldn't forget our last encounter. If I had not been shinigami, he would have killed me without hesitation.
I tried to stand but even as I made it to my feet I could tell that I wouldn't be going anywhere today either. At least, not without help. I hated feeling so weak, so dependant on the kindness of others. Particularly his kindness. More than anything, I wanted to go home, but when I tried to make the shift to Meifu, nothing happened. It had been that way since Muraki had captured me, but now that I was free, it was really starting to scare me. I wanted to know why my powers weren't working and I really wanted to know why Tsuzuki hadn't come for me. He always came for me. But this time. . . .
We were in Kagami, investigating a fairly routine case. Small cities tended to be that way and while it's hardly as far away from Kyoto as you could get in the 2nd Block, it wasn't exactly close either. I don't really remember how I was captured or what exactly Muraki did to me, though I think I'm actually grateful for the latter. And I didn't have any idea how I got here.
He only re-bandaged a few of the deeper wounds, even though they had all appeared to be closed when he was bathing me last night. Some of the smaller cuts were starting to itch and I hoped that was a good sign. I had never really been injured like this when I was alive, so all I knew was how they were supposed to feel as a shinigami. I started to scratch at a cut in my arm, then stopped suddenly as a thin line of dark red blood slowly welled up from the reopened wound. I don't remember making a sound, but I must have done something because the light from the door was suddenly blocked.
"Bakayarou!" he scolded sharply, striding purposefully into the room. "What do you think you're doing, bouya?!"
"I . . . it itched," I fumbled, heat rising to my cheeks. He snorted, then frowned at the thin line of suou gel that was slowly crawling down to my wrist. Even I knew that wasn't right. As many times as I had been sliced open . . . blood was supposed to be bright crimson and thinner, more watery. This . . . this felt like heavy oil and it was the same dark color as dried blood.
"Che . . . what did he do to you?"
"I . . . I can't remember. . . ."
"Anou, I think we've found out why you aren't healing normally. . . . Feeling any better today, bouya?"
"Not really," I confessed, surprised at my own honesty. Then again, there was no point in lying; I knew perfectly well that it was a minor miracle I was still standing.
"Aa. Well, otearai first, then breakfast."
Every time he touched me, I felt two layers of emotion from him: the feelings he knew and the ones his mind hid even from himself. Worry, annoyance, frustration, concern . . . they were strange, but at least they made sense to both of us. I doubt he would have understood had I told him of the second set. Concern there too, but something deeper than just worry for an injured guest. It made no sense, these warmer, kinder feelings that lurked behind his conscious awareness, guiding him without him even realizing it. Why should he care for me? I am nothing to him, a nuisance dropped on his doorstep by his black-souled lover.
No, not a nuisance. A gift. Was that why he was spending all this time watching over me? But that didn't fit with the emotions I was sensing from him. It was all very confusing and thinking about it was only succeeding in giving me a headache.
Instead of taking me back to bed, he ended up carrying me to what I could only think to call a sitting room, but one that was open on one side to give an unfettered view of the courtyard. I think I had forgotten just how sizable this place really was . . . and how rich my host was. Still, it felt strange to be set on display, even if the fresh air was supposed to be good for me.
If I had thought I would learn anything about Mibu-san's business while staying with him, I was quite mistaken. Either there was little he himself needed to do, or he was excusing himself to watch over me. Though apparently, now that I was awake and coherent, he seemed satisfied to relax his watch over me. Once he saw me settled, he resumed the lesson I had interrupted. I watched him and his student intently, focusing on their training to keep my mind from wandering to the host of unpleasant questions lurking under the surface.
It was just after noon when the housekeeper I vaguely remembered from the night before stalked out and chased Mibu-san and his student off to the showers. He glanced at me, smiling, before letting himself be ordered about. I suppose he was trying to reassure me, but I couldn't help worrying as the woman came over to frown down at me.
"Aa, niisan takes in the strangest strays. . . ."
"I'm not a stray," I grumbled defiantly, uncomfortably aware that words were the only weapon I had to defend myself.
"You look it, furouji. How he ever thinks you'll be healthy weighing so little. . . . Don't you ever feed yourself?"
"It's hard to eat when you're tied to a wall and having all your bones broken," I spat back venomously. She didn't even flinch.
"Save your lies for Owner, douji; he might actually believe them."
"Don't assume you know anything about me, onibaba," I hissed. Her eyes grew wide for a second and then she actually slapped me.
"I don't care what Owner says, you can learn manners or you can go back out onto the streets, gaki!"
I was reaching for an ofuda I didn't have before I even realized what I was doing. I growled wordlessly in annoyance; it was bad enough being so weak, but I wanted my ofuda back. No, what I really wanted was for Tsuzuki to find me already and take me back to Meifu so Watari could figure out what Muraki had done to me this time.
"Throw me out if that's what you want. See if I care. . . ."
It was a stupid thing to say, but the only thing I could think was that Muraki had somehow shielded Mibu-san's home. It made sense and it would explain why we would have such a hard time tracking him. And why no one had found me here yet.
"See if I won't!"
"Do it, then!" I taunted. "I'm not stopping you!"
"You think I won't? You think I'm afraid of what niisan will do?"
"If you aren't, you should be," Mibu-san murmured, startling both of us by his sudden reappearance. "I don't know what you said to him, Cheisa, and I don't care. He stays."
"But. . . ."
"He stays," he repeated firmly.
"Hai, Owner," she said at last, bowing low before heading back to the restaurant section. Her anger and his annoyance hammered at my already weakened shields until she was out of sight and I was left only with Mibu-san. His annoyance faded swiftly as he sat with his pipe, careful to settle upwind so as not to subject me to an undue amount of his smoke. Oddly enough, I found that I didn't mind; there was something soothing in the smell of his pipe, though I couldn't even begin to imagine just what that was.
Another of Mibu-san's girls came with our lunch and a pot of tea. He mixed my medicine himself. Though I was curious, I was also hesitant to actually ask him what he was giving me. He had given me no reason to distrust him, but he was still Muraki's lover. With a silent sigh of annoyance, I kicked myself for reminding myself of that fact yet again. It was so much easier to trust him when I didn't think about his connection to the man responsible for raping and killing me.
"Here, bouya, drink it all, quickly."
I did as he said without thinking about it, surprising myself in the process. I was not usually one to placidly follow directions, with only a few exceptions. But Mibu-san could have a commanding presence when he so desired and he knew well the tone that made arguing inconceivable.
I was thoroughly pleased with myself when I managed to eat my meal without any assistance. Outwardly, he appeared to be pleased as well, but facades mean nothing to an empath; I knew that he was inwardly disappointed. Another reaction that made no sense. My list of them was getting annoyingly long.
I tried not to yawn, but it was a vain struggle. He chuckled as he caught me, a warm sound that easied a knot of worry.
"Needing a nap, bouya?"
"Why do you . . . call me that?" I asked, annoyed that I'd had to pause for another yawn.
"Why not?" he asked in amusement.
"I have a name. . . ."
"Of course you do. Two of them, since I presume Kurosaki is your family name. . . ."
"Hai. Hisoka. Kurosaki Hisoka."
"Aa. I still prefer bouya," he replied with a warm smile. I dredged up my most furious scowl, but still he smiled, a quiet smile of self-assurance. The sort of smile that made me want to wring his neck. The sort of smile that softened his entire face and lifted the years from his shoulders. The sort of smile that could capture hearts.
. . . .
I couldn't believe I was just thinking he looked . . . attractive. That I was still thinking it as I sat there, watching him. What was wrong with me? This was the enemy. This was the man who harbored and abetted a psychotic rapist and murderer who fully intended to kill me. This was the man who had sliced me open not once but twice in the interest of delaying us from reaching Muraki in time to save Tsuzuki. This was . . . this was the man who had sat beside my bed all night and all day. The man who had patiently tended my wounds, saw that I took my medicine, made sure I ate, and even provided me with clean clothes.
"Saa, nap time, bouya," he murmured as he stood up. I sat, transfixed, as I watched him cross the room, picking me up all too easily. I tried to force myself to stay rigid, to minimize the contact between us, but those warm emotions were back again, stronger this time than before. The desire to help, to heal my hurts. Concern for my well-being. Worry for what Muraki had done and what he still intended to do. Anger and a burning conviction that he would give Muraki a sound beating at their next meeting. All of these things and more flowed into me from him, carried on a steady current of warm caring. It made absolutely no sense but it felt so soothing that I felt myself relaxing against him inspite of myself.
Even more irrationally, I was reluctant to lose his presence as he settled me on his bed. Only Tsuzuki had ever held me with such warm thoughts and ever since Touda's fires, my partner's presence had been darkened by a deep sadness. There was a sadness here, too, but it was nothing compared to Tsuzuki's lingering dispair. In comparison, Mibu-san was almost a blinding source of warmth.
"Sleep, bouya. You need the rest. I'll be here if you need me, daijoubu?"
"Hai. Arigatou, Mibu-san."
He smiled again, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something. Apparently he changed his mind, ruffling my hair in silence before letting himself out of the room. If I thought Tsuzuki could be frustrating and confusing at times, Mibu-san was much worse. And why oh why was I comparing the two of them?
My dreams were haunted by ghosts of chocolate eyes and the scent of fragrant pipe smoke, mingled with visions of Tsuzuki laughing at me for ever thinking I could be more than just his partner. I tried to deny them, but they refused to be controlled. I fought back the only way I knew how, bolting upright in a cold sweat.
"Bouya? What is it?"
"Nightmare," I rasped, my hand reaching out for the glass of water before my mind had even processed it's appearance. The cool water felt good to my parched throat and I tried to push the disturbing dreams from my mind. Of course I was important to Tsuzuki. Of course I meant more to him than just another partner. I didn't know why he hadn't come for me yet, but I was confident that he had a reason for it.
"Muraki?"
"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Could he . . . could he mess with my dreams? Change my dreams as I was dreaming them?"
"I don't know, bouya. I don't know his powers and I don't want to know; it would only make me fear him and I don't want that."
"I . . . I guess that makes sense," I sighed, passing back the now empty glass.
"What was the dream?"
"It wasn't the dream - I knew it was a lie. But I couldn't break free of it, I couldn't control it. . . . I guess I panicked."
"It happens," he replied quietly, setting aside the glass before turning back to me. He was giving me his full attention and I revelled in the sense of power; it was so rare that I had someone's undivided attention for any amount of time.
"How long was I asleep?"
"Nearly all afternoon. I expect Sonashi will be grumbling for my dinner plans soon. If your friends don't come for you tomorrow, I suspect my assistant manager will be ready to quit."
"You don't have to stay and watch over me," I replied without thinking, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. "I don't want to be a burden."
"And if I leave you alone, Cheisa just might try to throw you out onto the streets. You wouldn't last a day out there. Or are you forgetting this morning?"
"But. . . ."
"Don't worry for me, bouya. But if you know of some way I could contact your friends. . . ."
"If I still had my magic. . . ."
"But if you still had your magic, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he concluded, smiling. "Aa, no sense worrying over it. They'll find you eventually, I'm sure."
He ruffled my hair again as he stood and walked out of the room. I felt like I should have been annoyed with him for continually mussing my hair, but I couldn't summon the necessary emotion. It was a gesture of familiarity and safety. For the first time I actually let myself believe that he would protect me.