Watari knew it was a trap the moment he stepped into the old church. Then again, he was going up against demons. Traps were their repertoire.
The shadows around him were deep and black and seemed to teem with evil. The only light came from the lustrous chandelier that hung precariously over what had once been an altar. The church had been abandoned a long time ago, left to rot, a skeletal structure in the middle of nowhere. It had been a proud monument to people’s belief once, but the stones had crumbled and ransacking had done the rest.
Old paintings and statues were silent witness to his entry, following his path with dead eyes. Watari passed a stone display of a saint, one arm broken off, the other still valiantly upholding the staff it carried. Dead eyes, like all the rest.
He smiled a little.
The candles flickered in the breeze coming in through the cracks in the wall and Watari’s hair moved gently. Golden eyes narrowed as the shinigami searched every crevice and niche for his opponent. He could feel him here. He could almost see the invisible eyes on him, assessing him.
“My, my, what a homely place,” he said softly, knowing that the demon heard him.
There was a soft hiss.
That was all the warning he got.
The creature descended upon him in a wrath of black wings, gleaming teeth and sharp claws. Watari’s face showed none of his usual smiles as he gathered his power and pulled an ofuda. He knew he was no match for the creature in the long run; he had no shikigami, only his own power, but he had to buy Tatsumi some time to accomplish his task, to find the lost soul and free it from the demon’s grasp.
Time to play.

* * *

The church had been built on a hill over five hundred years prior to their arrival, at a time neither of the two shinigami had been either alive or dead. It had been the holy haven of the villages near-by, drawing them to masses and celebrations, to weddings and funerals. The graveyard downhill attested to the latter. Like the church, though, it had fallen victim to time and ill maintenance. Abandoned, the weeds had overgrown the markers, had made them crumble, and only a few of the sturdier ones still stood proud.
A chapel had been erected at the other end of the graveyard, but like the church it had fallen to decay. Its roof was mostly gone, one wall crumbling, and the iron fence that had been installed at a later time was rusty and bent.
Tatsumi Seiichiro took all of that in, his sharp blue eyes sweeping over the silent landscape. Somewhere around here the demon had shackled the poor demented soul that had called it, binding it, and it was the shinigami’s task to see what could still be done.
He sighed a little.
The man in question was one Robert Lee, a teenager who had foolishly believed that a little black magic and dabbling in the black arts would give him power over people, girls and money. What it had gotten him was a contract with a demon, his premature death, and a soul that lived on in despair and pain. A shinigami’s mission was to see to it that the souls of the dead made their steps into the afterlife, and being bound to a demon was not it.
So he and Watari had set out to see what could be done. Demons were dangerous, lethally dangerous, and this one had already claimed the soul.
Tatsumi entered the chapel, the lair of the creature, and wondered how his partner was doing. Watari had volunteered to lure the demon away from its prey. While they were dangerous, some were also dumb, and this one belonged to that category. It had pursued the blond, leaving Tatsumi free to look for the soul.
He didn’t expect there to be two demons.
But no one ever asked about a shinigami’s wishes and dreams, let alone his expectations.
The moment he stepped into the chapel, the darkness that enveloped the back roared and red eyes glowed ferally.
Tatsumi had little time to think as instinct took over and powers flared. But one thought stuck: if the demon was here… what had happened to Watari?

* * *

Watari felt the breath leave his lungs as he was thrown against the wall, the bricks breaking under the impact. He slumped to the ground, groaning softly. The demon jumped and he felt its claws dig into his leg.
He screamed in pain.
Blood gushed from the deep puncture wounds, joining the blood already pooling around him from numerous injuries. His body was trying to heal itself, but there were too many wounds, too deep, and something was keeping his body from responding quickly. The scientific part of his mind told Watari that the demon's saliva was probably poisoned, stopping or slowing down the healing.
“Weak creature,” the demon whispered, its hot breath brushing over his blood-matted hair. “Pathetic.”
Golden eyes cracked open and Watari looked at the horrendous face, the long, leathery snout full of canine teeth. He laughed softly.
“Not worth your time, eh? Still you bother with me. Who’s pathetic now?”
The demon snarled. “You think too much of yourself. I like to play while my brother takes care of your partner.”
Watari felt a flash of fear. Tatsumi? There was another demon and it was after Tatsumi?!
The demon chuckled wetly and bared its teeth.
“Then again, why would the Shadow Master need your help, little shinigami?” it whispered. “You are weak. Nothing but cannon fodder for him. It’s why he sent you into my lair.”
Watari’s eyes widened a little. “I am not cannon fodder!” he hissed.
“Oh really? But you are nothing. What are your powers, tell me?” The demon leaned closer, its fetid breath brushing over Watari’s neck. “You have no shikigami to help you, your own powers are nothing… you are weak… dispensable… easy to replace.”
Yellow eyes suddenly glinted with amusement.
“Or is it something else that makes you valuable? For the Shadow Master maybe? For Enma?”
Watari struggled as he felt something cold brush over his mind.
No! No, no, no! The creature was digging into his mind… Claws buried into the abused flesh and Watari cried out, tears shooting into his eyes. Shinigami had a high tolerance for pain, but that had been crossed a while ago. He was flung aside like a rag doll, landing against the altar.
Watari coughed wetly. Blood dripped out of his mouth onto the formerly so splendorous marble ground. His breath rattled in his lungs and broken ribs moved against each other.
“So you have another value,” the demon went on, amused, almost laughing. “I can see where he finds you useful. Tell me, little one, what else can you do? Nothing…” came the answering hiss.
Watari fought the waves of blackness, the cold invasion into his mind.
“You are a scientist, right?” the hated voice continued. “But what are your achievements? Nothing…”
“No…” he breathed.
He had a function, he was worth something…
“You ruin the lab… you play with your chemistry sets… but what’s it worth? You do little to help.”
“No!”
The creature advanced, chuckling. “Poor little shinigami. A scientist without much success or even use. They keep you as entertainment. Just like he does.”
The invasion continued and Watari sobbed in pain and desperation as the demon’s mind wormed itself into his. He had no strength left.
“And you are their doctor, too. What for? Shinigami heal. You are a fool to believe they need you. They sure don’t need your powers. Or lack thereof.”
The demon attacked again.
Watari had barely a moment to think, to react, and he managed to evade the attack by a hair’s breadth. Stumbling, feeling weak from blood loss, the shinigami caught himself against the altar, breathing hard. Blood was running into his eyes, the pain was multiplying, and it was getting harder and harder to think.
Don’t listen to that thing. Tatsumi is in danger, his mind insisted.
His partner didn’t expect a second demon. He had no back-up.
Power curled inside him, the last remnants of his own, and he concentrated on it. He had to destroy this thing, or at least cripple it.
“You are nothing!” the demon whispered, tightening its hold on the pain-wreaked mind. “Let me deliver you from this unworthy existence!”
Darkness soared above him, claws reaching for his unprotected form. Watari closed his eyes, dug deep into his very soul, gathered what he had… and his body screamed with agony. Sweat beaded on his pale face as he tried to last through the pain, as golden eyes snapped open, focusing on the enemy, and then he let go of the shinigami power.
And Watari had power. He might be called a mad scientist by his friends, but foremost he was an angel of death; he worked that job. He might not have a shikigami, but he had his own power. He never flaunted it, he rarely used it due to the slow pace where his own district was concerned. He wasn’t anything like Tsuzuki with his twelve powerful shikigami, Divine Commanders no less, or Tatsumi who controlled shadows. But he had power.
That power he now released in a last, desperate attempt.
A power that gave life to inanimate objects, to dead things, to whatever it touched.
Pictures moved restlessly, the two-dimensional renderings filling with life and turning three-dimensional. Saints and divine creatures left their roosting places as stone statues creaked and twisted. The one-armed saint swung its staff, eyes still dead.
Watari didn’t see the movement, the small army of objects coming to his aid. He only felt the rush of a force he hadn’t thought possible, an energy that left him and flooded the church. Part of him was amazed, but the amazement was drowned in the sheer agony of his bodily pain.
There was a scream; his own? The demon? He didn’t know. Blood was rushing through his ears, drowning out all other noise.
The world whited out around him.

* * *

Tatsumi made his way through the ruined church, stepping around the rubble, the scorch marks and broken walls, benches and burned out candles. He could smell the fresh ashes, mixed with blood, and part of him clenched in fear. The shadows churned around him, spoiling for a fight, wanting to destroy, but he kept a lid on his instincts.
Not now.
Not yet.
The demon could have lied to him, even while dying. Watari might be perfectly fine. Something inside him begged to differ though.
He climbed over fallen statues, frowning as he noticed that each and every single one had come down from its niche in the wall or its pedestal, and was lying like it had collapsed in mid-stride. The pictures and tapestries were ripped, as if something had exploded out of it.
Something nagged at his mind and he tasted the faint metallic touch to the air, charged with a power he had experienced before, but never like this. Never so concentrated.
Watari?
And then he saw it.
A motionless figure among the remains of what had been the altar once, buried underneath the chandelier. There were two statues laying crumbled next to the body, one leaning on the altar. It looked like another saint. Tatsumi’s shocked blue eyes locked on the still form. Sooty, formerly blond hair spilling over the debris-littered ground. And blood… so much blood.
“Watari!” he breathed.
Tatsumi stared at the fallen shinigami, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat. He had seen many injuries in his time as an angel of death; he had fought demons and devils. He had had to treat his own cuts and bruises and broken bones. His healing factor had taken care of them after a while. Though he now had a desk job and only went out in emergencies or when they were undermanned, he had an intimate knowledge of injuries of all kinds.
But it was something else to gaze upon a person close to him, his partner – and not just a colleague any more.
There was a soft hooting noise and a flutter of tiny wings. 003, Watari’s pet owl, flew in through one of the many broken windows, landing on the remains of the statue closest to the unconscious man. She looked sadly at him, hooting in distress.
Tatsumi felt with her. He was more than a little distressed himself.
“Watari… 'Taka…”
There was no reaction from the slender form. He sank to his knees and touched the motionless figure, felt the torn fabric under his fingertips, wet with blood. The professional inside him started to assess the damage while the private person was horrified at the mess. He carefully removed parts of the chandelier, throwing them carelessly aside.
Watari had lost a lot of blood and his healing factor had yet to kick in. It was probably the demon’s work. Its sibling had gloated with the fact that they had the ability to limit a shinigami’s recovery, even completely inhibit it. One wrist was clearly broken, as were two of the slender fingers. There were deep wounds in both arms as well as equally deep puncture marks in the left leg that were still trickling blood. Bite wounds, Tatsumi thought. Bite wounds from a demon. Those always spelled trouble.
It looked bad.
There was a soft whimper coming from the blond man as Tatsumi palpated the ribs, diagnosing at least two broken ones. Golden eyes flickered open, clouded and filled with such pain, Tatsumi nearly drew back. Watari blinked slowly, trying to focus on him. His breath caught in his throat and he gasped as the pain crashed down on him.
“Yutaka?” the older shinigami asked, voice gentle, private, only for him.
“Over?” Watari asked.
“Yes. It’s over.”
A breath of air. “Good.” Those normally humor filled eyes slid closed. “You?” Watari whispered hoarsely.
“I’m fine.”
"Good… The soul?"
“Taken care of. There wasn’t much left of him, sadly.”
Increasing tremors raced through the bloodied form. Shadows churned and Tatsumi tried to calm down. His emotions affected his abilities and the shadows reacted to it, wanting to lash out and kill the demon again and again. Yes, he was fine, but Watari… He shouldn’t have left him!
“Not… your… fault… Mine. Not strong… enough….” He coughed and groaned softly.
Tatsumi stared at him. Not strong enough? He looked at the chaos of inanimate objects, the clear evidence of life breathed into them to defend their master. No other shinigami could do that. Watari had been chosen by Enma like everyone else. You didn’t just make it here because you looked good!
And Watari did.
He squelched down on that inappropriate thought. Now was not the time.
“You are not weak, Watari Yutaka,” he hissed. “Stop that!”
003 made little distressed noises, anxiously flapping her wings.
Those expressive eyes met his. “You beat… him. Not… me.”
Now where did that come from? He had just arrived. Tatsumi had done squat in this fight. His own battle had been in the now very much ruined chapel where the second demon had found death.
“You annihilated that thing,” Tatsumi begged to differ. “As I did with mine. Don’t tell me you’re weak!”
Watari chuckled painfully, then winced and tried to curl up. His healing factor was truly off. Tatsumi stopped him from moving and the younger man whimpered more as he was wreaked by waves of pain. Blood started to trickle once again.
"Hurts," Watari managed.
It was such a child-like whimper, Tatsumi felt everything inside him yearn to be able to relief his partner's pain.
“I know, 'Taka," he murmured, stroking over the blood-matted hair. "We’ll talk later. We'll go home now.”
Golden eyes clouded over, breaths coming in soft pants, and Tatsumi brushed back the matted strands, smiling tenderly.
“Everything will be fine.”
He prayed it would be.

* * *

Tatsumi had used a portal close by to enter the realm of Enma-Daiou, Watari in his arms. His partner was completely out of it, eyes closed, blood-smeared and bruised face pale. Tatsumi’s clothes were drenched in blood, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the man in his arms. 003 fluttered around them, eyes on her master.
His arrival had been noted and others ran toward him, among them one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, shinigami under Enma’s command.
Amethyst eyes caught blue ones and Tatsumi met Tsuzuki’s level gaze. There was nothing of the carefree, smiling man, just the stricken countenance of someone who had seen too much suffering and death in his time, too. A soul that lived with the guilt and knowledge every single day. Tatsumi read the same pain in those inhuman eyes he felt, but for different reasons. Tsuzuki and Watari were very good friends.
And there was something else. It tickled the edge of senses, made him aware of the brief flare of Tsuzuki’s powers. It was a power under tight control, a power that rivaled Enma Daiou’s, a power that could level everything if Tsuzuki ever lost it completely.
He never had.
“Let’s take him to the hospital,” Tsuzuki said calmly and the other nodded.
Invisible waves of darkness flickered around them, touching and caressing the Shadow Master’s powers, both entwining and forming something like a protective shield around the injured form Tatsumi carried. The others moved back, looking uneasy, except for one person.
Hisoka joined them, young face serious as always, no emotion in his green eyes.

* * *

There was no real doctor in Meifu. Shinigami rarely needed one due to their healing abilities. For more severe injuries there was the hospital and Watari was their resident stand-in when it came to medical help. Now he was in need as well, but there as no one truly qualified. Still, help was given by those who had some rudimentary knowledge, and Tatsumi assisted in stripping the thankfully still unconscious man of the ripped and soiled clothing. He tried to ignore the deep wounds, the bruises, the contusions, but it was hard to do so.
Watari looked terrible. It was a miracle he was still breathing. As the assistants peeled the pants off, which they had to cut because the dried blood had glued them to the wounds, Tatsumi swallowed heavily.
Tsuzuki hadn’t moved. His serious expression spoke of his mood, of his thoughts, and his closeness to Tatsumi was testament of his silent support. Power churned, barely controlled, as anger rose. It was so rare that the younger got truly angry. His shields, the cheerful façade, usually protected the others from seeing what lurked underneath. Not this time.
Absent-mindedly Tatsumi noticed how Hisoka had distanced himself, was trying not to be in the way of the powerful emotions of the two men, but the young empath was already struggling.
“What happened?” Tsuzuki finally asked, the energy waves around him quieting down a little.
Tatsumi exhaled slowly, centering himself, trying to ignore the medical helper taking care of his partner.
“We thought there was only one. There were two. They played us,” he murmured, trailing off.
He briefly closed his eyes, feeling his insides clench. A warm hand touched his shoulder, squeezing it, and he gave Tsuzuki a thankful smile. The younger man’s face was full of shared pain and emotions. Once upon a time he had fallen for this man. They had been partners for three months until Tatsumi had put an end to it. He couldn’t work with the other man – but not for reasons that had anything to do with Tsuzuki as a colleague. It had been of a personal nature. A very personal nature.
Up until the day he and Watari had gotten together, Tatsumi had never been clear whether or not Tsuzuki had really known the true reasons behind that terminated partnership. They had still remained friends. Tatsumi had never told him about his feelings, about his blossoming love and affection.
Then Watari had entered his life, his private life. The surprise had been the revelation of Tsuzuki that he had known about Tatsumi’s feelings. It had occurred in a small café, both men drinking tea, Tsuzuki nibbling at the sweets he had ordered for himself. Warm, amethyst eyes had met usually so controlled blue ones, smiling, easily telling him that he was okay with it.
“I’m glad you found Yutaka,” the shinigami had said softly. “And I’m flattered by the feelings you harbor for me, Seiichiro.”
“Asato…”
The smile drew him in, grew impossibly gentle. “Your love, even from afar, helped me survive many bad days. I owe you far more than my life. Thank you for feeling this way.”
He had been speechless, thunderstruck, and embarrassed.
Tsuzuki had known.
He accepted the love Tatsumi had felt, and still felt in a different way. They were friends, shared a bond so deep that no one could fathom. And ever since Tsuzuki had finally realized and accepted what he was, what he harbored, he had become more balanced than ever. Tatsumi had only heard rumors and had his own suspicions as to what had brought on the realization and the strange acceptance of the fact, but it had to do with his shikigami.
“Seiichiro?” a soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
He blinked and looked at Tsuzuki.
“What happened?” the other wanted to know again.
He inhaled deeply. “Watari killed the one attacking him, but he used up everything. He gave life to everything in that church, each and every single statue, picture and tapestry image. I never knew he had such… life force…”
And he hadn’t. Watari wasn’t someone to go around infusing his power into inanimate objects. They all knew he could do it, but up until now a single image or little drawing had been the most. Never such a massive scale…
Tsuzuki nodded. “He’ll recover, Seiichiro,” he said softly, only loud enough for the other to hear.
His first name coming for the dark-haired shinigami was like a little curl blossoming inside him. Tatsumi shot Tsuzuki a small smile that relayed everything he felt.
“Yes, he will.”
And when he was better, they would have a talk about Watari’s self-consciousness where his powers were concerned. Watari Yutaka wasn’t weak; he was a force to be reckoned with. That Tatsumi was more powerful meant nothing, neither in their work relationship, nor in their private one.

* * *

Watari lay on the white sheets, hair open, glasses off, staring out of the window. He was bandaged, his right wrist immobilized until the broken bones mended in a day or two, his ribs supported, his legs wrapped as well. His face was plastered with band-aids that also covered his throat. The long hair of before had been cut down to mid-shoulder length because of the severe burns and tangles.
Tatsumi stood at the entrance to the hospital unit, blue eyes on the silent figure, running over the wounded form. He hadn’t been here in the last twenty-four hours even though he had badly wished to sit at his lover’s side when he woke. But work had been relentless. Tsuzuki had offered to jump in, do the paperwork, but one look into the gleaming eyes, seeing the grin, and Tatsumi knew it was a bad idea. His friend wasn’t meant to be paper-pusher.
“Do come in,” Watari suddenly said. “Don’t just stand there holding up the door.”
The blond turned his head and the no longer so pain filled eyes met Tatsumi’s. A smile blossomed on the pale lips. Tatsumi did just that, walking over to the bed, and when Watari raised his uninjured hand, he grasped it gently. He entwined their fingers and ran his thumb gently over the soft skin.
003 was sitting on the head rail of the bed, hooting a greeting, and he smiled briefly at the owl. She hadn’t left Watari’s side ever since he had been brought here, and no one would dare chase her away.
“How are you?” Tatsumi asked.
“Better. I should be mobile in a day or two.”
Tatsumi gazed into the golden eyes that had captured him such a long time ago. They showed little of the agony his partner had endured just the other day. The demon's poison had almost completely stopped the shinigami's healing powers and they were slow to respond. Now those wonderful eyes were filled with the warmth Tatsumi knew and loved, the sheer life this man radiated.
“Good.”
He wanted to say so much, but nothing left his lips. He was mesmerized by the other's expression, blue eyes roaming over the smooth features, locking on the amber gold, an Tatsumi felt his breathing hitch.
"Taka…" he managed and it sounded like a stutter.
Watari smiled knowingly, lovingly, and tugged at his hand. He followed the move, leaning forward. Lips met, a chaste contact, and Tatsumi felt something inside of him flutter briefly and then relax. His free hand stroked carefully over one cheek and Watari’s smile widened, the golden eyes warming with a tenderness that touched the older man deep inside. He gave his lover another little kiss.
“Get well.”
So not what he wanted to say. He wanted to be affectionate and warm as well, he wanted to express his feeling, but something inside him had frozen up and refused to thaw.
“Seii? Take me home tomorrow?” Watari asked, breaking into his train of thought.
“Promise.”
He buried his hands in the blond locks, enjoying the feel of the silky strands. He loved the simple feel of it.
Watari initiated another kiss, lips opening, their tongues meeting. Tatsumi groaned into the skillful contact.
“Taka, not here,” he whispered. “Let’s wait…”
Golden eyes seemed to laugh, sparkling with humor. “Tomorrow,” he said softly.
“Yes, tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, when they were safely back home, he would show his lover just what he wanted to say. What he wanted him to know.
Watari's hand cupped his face and his thumb brushed over the slightly swollen lips.
"I know, Seii," he whispered. "I know."
Tatsumi swallowed, emotions reeling. I love you so much, he thought.
"I love you, too."
And why was Watari such a mind reader?
"Your face is an open book, love," the scientist answered.
And that to the man who could frighten even the hardest shinigami, make them tremble in their boots.
"Get some sleep," he murmured tenderly.
Watari grinned.

*

The door closed after the tall form of his lover and partner, and Watari’s smile faltered, then failed. He closed his eyes and raised his uninjured hand to press it against his forehead. It had taken a lot to sound and appear as carefree as usual while inside a black, cold void whispered to him.
~Worthless. ~
~Just a toy. ~
~A way to entertain in the cold, lonely nights. ~
He swallowed the lump in his throat and cursed his weakened condition. The fight against the demon was still echoing in his mind, as well as the conviction that it had been Tatsumi who had had to save him.
There was a soft hooting and he smiled dimly. 003 was peering at him, worried, disturbed, her feathers fluffed to make her bigger. Watari had no strength to talk to his companion, to cheer her up.
~Little one~, the voice of the dead creature still whispered. ~Who do you think you are? Nothing. Nothing at all. Your powers are laughable. ~
Watari groaned and rolled on his side, trying to ignore the echoes, but it was increasingly hard to do so.
003 fluttered down from her perch, hopping onto the mattress, small round eyes looking at him. Watari didn’t see her, didn’t hear her.
He and Tatsumi had been together for just over a month now and their relationship was… intense. Physically, especially. Sex was incredible, the need quite palpaple in both men, and Tatsumi had shown quite an unexpected amount of passion. He could sweep Watari off his feet, could overrun him with his hunger for the younger man, and when they ended up in bed, Watari forgot all but the man making love to him.
It wasn't any better the other way around, he mused. We're hopeless.
He chuckled sadly.
Yeah. Hopeless.
Like me.
I fell in love with the man. But am I really more to him than a way to sate the need, the hunger? He went without a partner since his death… what if he couldn't control the craving any longer and I was handy?
Those acidic thoughts churned in his mind and he felt himself falling – falling apart.
He didn’t hear his owl’s soft, distressed calls.

* * *

A day later Watari was up and about, had already paid his lab a visit, and while he still limped and his wrist was bandaged – the bones were mending – the cheerful nature was back in place. In a way he was no better than Tsuzuki. He hid his pain and guilt and shame behind a façade. Even in front of his lover, who had picked him up in the hospital ward. The haunting dreams and nightmares of last night were locked away by the smiles, but they still existed and they hadn’t been dealt with.
By tomorrow even the limp would be gone as his healing powers were fully up to speed, but he would take it easy for the rest of the week. No more missions. Then again, his sector was truly quiet, so there wasn’t even much shuffling around.
 

Tatsumi was keeping an eye on the slender man as they made their way into the apartment Watari called his own. It was an airy, spacey place, with high windows, cream colored walls, a wooden floor, and more open space than anyone could have suspected. Watari’s lab was cramped, he was piling work high on his desk, and sometimes it was complete chaos. The first time Tatsumi had been here he had thought to be in the wrong place.
As the door closed after them, Watari turned and slipped his arms around the taller man’s waist, closing the distance. Nimble fingers pulled off the thin glasses, pushing his own up to sit on his head.
“Weekend,” he murmured and kissed the other.
Tatsumi was only too happy to reply, feeling the familiar form so flush against him, feeling his body react to the sheer prospect of more than just a kiss.
“Our weekend,” the blond added with a grin.
“Definitely our weekend.” Blue eyes relayed desire and Watari dove in for a kiss again.
Tatsumi let his hands slide underneath the loose sweater, touching once again healed skin, smooth and warm against his palms. Watari pushed a knee between his legs, becoming more demanding, and Tatsumi’s touch grew more intimate. Hot gasps met, breaths mingling, and two pairs of fired up eyes sparked as they met.
“Bedroom,” Tatsumi said hoarsely.

*

He let his fingers glide over the still lightly marred skin. Marred not by scars but lingering bruises. It were the remainders of his severe injuries and would be soon gone. Tatsumi kissed and licked at the hot skin, careful not to hurt his lover, feeling Watari’s hands in his hair, pushing him south to where his lover wanted him the most.
“Slow down, Taka,” he whispered, looking at the flushed face, the bright eyes. “We have time.”
“Need you now,” the blond groaned.
“You have me.”
And I won’t let you go again now that I do. Took me long enough anyway.
Tatsumi resumed his slow seduction, listening to each moan and exclamation, smiling as the body underneath his hands seemed to melt into his every touch. Watari was a very responsive man and a whirlwind in bed. Tatsumi had been overwhelmed the first time they had slept together.
“Seii!” the blond demanded. “Please!”
He silenced the plea with a kiss, leaving Watari breathless and panting. “All in due time, love,” he murmured against the flushed skin. “All in due time.”
“You’re killing me!”
“Well, figuring you’re already dead…”
A growl answered him. “Figuring I’ll kill you if you don’t stop teasing and get going…!”
Tatsumi laughed, stroking the slender form, delighting in the moan of approval. “Taka,” he whispered.
Golden eyes seemed to glow, seemed to pull him in, devour him, and he did the same.

* * *

The lab was quiet and dark, the blinds drawn shut, the electronics shut off, the lights turned down so only a faint glow radiated from the ceiling. A small owl was sitting on his shoulder, silent, radiating as much worry as a bird could. 003 had kept him company like a leech lately, never leaving hima lone, and he was infinitely gratefuly for it, but she couldn’t solve his problems.
Watari was back, he was healed, and he had resumed work. Just like everyone else. Watari Yutaka, always smiling and cheerful scientist, doctor and shinigami. Golden eyes gazed into the mirror that hung over the sink in his lab, then dropped. He couldn’t even face himself.
Failure.
What was he? He was no scientist. An engineer who had been killed and now worked as an angel of death. He was tinkering with things he had no clue of, but he had been doing it for close to thirty years now. He was good with computers, granted.
Watari snorted. So were the Gushoshin. They could run a search program just as well as him. Big deal.
His visits to the world of the living were nothing grand. He liked Kyoto and Osaka. He liked going back to the places he knew, but anyone else could do it just as well.
So that left his work in the lab, which was, aside from the odd case-related research, a way to follow his passion. He loved experimenting. But it had no value.
Watari looked around the place he called home and spent most of his time in, smiling sadly. No value at all… but maybe he could make it valuable. Maybe he could find something helpful because otherwise, even as a stand-in medic, he was worthless.
The memory of the cold touch of the demon came back and he clenched his hands into fists.
He could do something worthwhile. He could…

* * *

Tatsumi had seen little of his partner and friend in the last few days. Granted, there was a lot of paperwork piling up and expenses needed to be stopped from rampaging. But he had always had time for Watari and even if he buried himself in work, his lover just barged into the office and brought with it a moment of normality and relaxation.
There had been no whirlwind storming into his office. There had been no meetings over a cup of specialty coffee. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Watari at all. He came home to an empty apartment, feeling cold and lonely in bed like he hadn’t felt in decades. He missed his lively companion, the evening discussions, the casualness, how they watched a program together, how the slender body accommodated him when they lay together…
Tatsumi sighed and forced himself back on his report.
There was a knock on the door and he frowned. There were one or two individuals who actually knew how to knock, but others usually just came in. When the door opened, he was surprised to see that the man entering usually belonged to the last category.
Tsuzuki, balancing two mugs of coffee, shot him a brief smile. “Busy?”
“No,” Tatsumi answered warily.
Tsuzuki Asato was a man with several faces. There was the outermost personality, the cheerful, sometimes very child-like one who loved sweets, who could pout like a four-year-old and whom you couldn’t be mad at for a very long time. It was the personality that charmed people, that was soft and gentle and loving. It was the innocence. Then there was the layer just underneath, the slight edge to the innocence, but still warm and gentle. But more serious. More aware of the evil of the world and handling it still.
And there was the innermost part, the fragile human being that was still dealing with so many things, with guilt and shame and pain and suffering. It was a soul that had been torn apart many times and was only held together by the sheer willpower of the man, by his ties to people who worked with him, who supported him, who listened to him.
But underneath it all raged a darkness, a power, that rivaled Enma-Daiou’s. Tsuzuki Asato was the most powerful shinigami in Meifu. His power was a darkness brought forth by what Tsuzuki was, by his genealogy, his DNA. Tatsumi didn’t know how much of his friend wasn’t human, but considering everything… a good part of him. His eyes were a dead giveaway, as was his ability to gather twelve shikigami around himself! Among them Touda, who Tatsumi wouldn’t want to face even when the lethal creature had a good day. But Tsuzuki… he had fought for this particular entity, had freed him, had done everything to keep him free. Was it that strange innocence that refused to see the darkness, or was it the darkness yearning for an equal?
“Coffee?” Tsuzuki now offered and held out the cup.
Tatsumi took it and met the violet gaze, frowning a little. Tsuzuki… knocking at the door… offering coffee.. and then he saw the serious expression.
“Something the matter?”
A wide, cheerful smile was the answer, momentarily erasing the expression. “Just thought you needed a caffeine boost.”
Another frown. “I see. And?”
“And nothing.”
“Tsuzuki…”
A sigh. The black dressed man sank into the chair opposite Tatsumi’s desk. “You okay?”
Now where was that coming from?
“Of course I’m okay.”
“Good. Just asking.”
“Tsuzuki…” He put a warning into his voice.
And the amethyst eyes snapped from cheerful and teasing to serious.
“Seiichiro, what’s wrong with Yutaka?”
Tatsumi felt the breath leave his lungs, shocked by both the personal address and the topic. “Wrong?” he echoed.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that he has taken to hiding in his lab, slaving over whatever it is, how he seems so different. I haven’t talked to him in over a week. Watari is my best friend, but he shies away from contact. Hisoka tells me he’s getting something weird from him.”
“Weird?” he echoed again.
“Weird. As in – it’s not him any more. I’m not saying possessed, but something has changed. Did the two of you break up?”
He sucked in another breath. “No!” he blurted and the shadows twitched.
Shit.
Tsuzuki smiled a little. “Good. Just checking. Now… what’s wrong?”
Tatsumi stared at him, cursing the perceptiveness that hid underneath the innocent façade.
“I don’t know,” he finally said.
And what’s it to you? Since when did my personal life become of such interest?
Tsuzuki leaned forward. “Then find out. He’s your partner. Your lover. As a friend I can do only so much until he kicks me out. Actually, he doesn’t have to because the lab’s locked. Whatever he works on, he’s serious about it. Very. As his lover, you are the closest person to Yutaka. Seiichiro…”
He was mesmerized by the intense expression and blinked to tear his gaze away. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Not just talk. Listen, too.”
And then the smile was back, the carefree, humorous, cheerful version. Violet eyes changed from serious to fun. It was such a startling change, so unexpected, and still, after seventy odd years of knowing the younger shinigami, Tatsumi should be used to it by now. Seventy years where Tsuzuki kept the world at bay, let others only see what he wanted them to, and where he controlled a power that made him a dangerous man to piss off. Terazuma had found out the hard way once, but only once, and it hadn’t really helped their relationship.
“Okay!” Tsuzuki announced, a bounce in his voice and body. “Gotta go. Hisoka’s promised to get me some cake.”
And with that he was out of the office, leaving his empty mug behind. Typical.
Tatsumi stared at the closed door, amazed by his former partner again and again.
“Thank you, Asato,” he murmured.
There so much more to you than meets the eye. I’m glad you are our friend.
He planned to talk to Watari tonight, maybe even sooner.
 

It was just too bad that something interrupted and all his good intentions were blown to bits. A small crisis that turned into a full-blown problem.
It was late when he returned home, cursing Enma, Konoe and whoever else was handy for the workload, but all his curses were swallowed when he saw the sleeping form in his bed, blond hair loosely braided, pale face smoothed out, completely naked. The Shadow Master looked at the man he loved, feeling those emotions again, overwhelming him like nothing else ever had.
Took us years to get to this point, he thought. Years of being colleagues, friends and partners.
After nearly a week, Watari had found his way into his home again. He wanted to touch his lover, hold him close, kiss his lips, run his hands over the smooth, warm skin, but he stopped himself.
Tatsumi prepared for bed as silently as possible, then slipped under the covers. Watari was sleeping on, exhausted as it seemed, and the Shadow Master smiled tenderly. He lay down, eyes on his lover, and finally dozed off.

* * *

He had spent the last days looking for a formula to repel demons, to fight them on a chemical basis, not just with magic, but whatever he had tried, it hadn’t worked. Frustrated, sometimes close to tears, Watari had finally buried his project and dejectedly resigned himself to the fact that he was neither a researcher nor a scientist.
Failure.
The fact that three days of research couldn’t miraculously produce a solution didn’t cross his confused mind. He only heard the mocking voice, taunting him. He didn’t recall the fact that it took time and patience to find something so complex. He wanted a success. He needed to prove to himself that he was not worthless.
~But you are, little shinigami~ the voice snickered.
So he had crawled back to Tatsumi, into the empty apartment, into the cold bed, waiting. He had dropped off into sleep and not felt his lover snuggle in with him, close to him.
What am I for you? Watari thought as he looked at the sleeping man. Golden eyes rested on the naked shinigami, smiling faintly as he let his gaze linger on the muscular form. The blankets pooled enticingly around Tatsumi’s hips, revealing a hint of buttock, and he itched to lay down next to his lover again, touch him, hold him, feel the reassurance of their bodies together.
~They keep you as entertainment. Just like he does. ~
The demon’s words kept echoing in his mind and he bit down on his despair. For a week now it was haunting him throughout his waking hours and in his sleep. It taunted him with its knowledge, how it read his emotions, how it knew. The voice never stopped, only faded, but the cold remained.
Had he really defeated that thing? Or had Tatsumi lied for his sake? Had he destroyed it with his shadows?
What are my powers anyway? he thought. I bumble along in the lab. I pursue odd potions. I’m an engineer, not a scientist! What have I to show for thirty odd years of playing with my chemistry sets? Now and then I patch someone up who doesn’t really need my help. It’s like a reassurance that stems from their human past. Have someone care for their injuries.
Watari closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, but it didn’t work.
I have no function. I am a shinigami, responsible for a district with close to no activities… and my life after death is senseless.
He opened his eyes and looked at his lover.
Seii… What do you see in me? Entertainment? A way to handle the need?
The demon’s voice snickered in his head, sneering. The sadistic whispers continued, sowing doubt and fear.
He angrily clamped down on his emotions. Why was he so damned depressed all of a sudden? He had never cared about all of this before, except… except his relationship with Tatsumi Seiichiro. It meant the world to him. It meant his life…
Watari rose from the bed and slipped on his clothes, walking into the kitchen to make himself a coffee. The noise of fluttering wings told him that 003 was following, as she had done so often lately. She had been with him when he had come to tatsumi’s place, happily hooting her approval of his choice of overnight stay, and had fallen asleep on her favorite highback chair.
Watari felt shaky, weak, rattled, and he still felt the cold touch of the demon now and then. It had read his innermost thoughts… and his innermost fears.
I don’t want to lose you, Seii, he thought. But if I’m just a body for you to relieve your needs, did I ever have you?
Cold fingers closed around the mug and he bit back his tears. Watari rarely cried. He never did so in public or around his friends, and now he was close to a breakdown in Tatsumi’s flat.
“’Taka?”
The voice made him flinch and it took everything inside the blond not to wince away. Instead he summoned what strength he had left and turned to face his lover, a smile on his features.
“Good morning, Seii.”
 

Tatsumi had woken to the emptiness beside him, feeling slightly cheated out of a nice morning wake-up snuggle. With a resigned sigh he had dressed and followed the smell of coffee into his kitchen where he found his wayward lover. Watari hadn’t heard him and the way he was clutching his coffee…
Something was wrong.
“’Taka?”
Watari turned, a bright, false smile plastered onto his face. Alarm bells shrilled inside the older shinigami.
Something was very wrong!
“Good morning, Seii.”
The golden eyes, normally so warm and loving, were filled with despair that Watari was unable to hide. His face was pale, his slender frame shaking.
“Yutaka…” Tatsumi murmured and came closer.
The blond seemed to almost physically move away from him.
“What happened?” the Shadow Master asked, straight-forward.
“Nothing!”
He tilted his head, blue eyes digging into golden ones, and Watari suddenly looked away. Tatsumi closed the distance and reached for his lover, touching him gently.
“What’s wrong, ‘Taka? What happened?”
There was a long moment of silence, then, “What am I for you?”
Tatsumi froze. “What?”
Those expressive eyes desperately held his. “What am I for you? A toy? A way to pass the time? A warm body for the cold, lonely nights? Tell me, Tatsumi!”
Tatsumi stared at his partner, thunderstruck. Where the hell was that coming from?
“What do you see in me?” Watari whispered, eyes swimming. “Why do you stay with me? I’m nothing. I’m not your equal and never will be.”
The hands were shaking so badly, coffee spilled over the rim of the cup. Tatsumi quickly steadied the hands and removed the cup, placing it securely onto the table.
“Come,” he murmured and guided the distraught man over to the chairs.
He made Watari sit down and pulled a chair out opposite.
“Where did all that come from?” he wanted to know, voice calm, quiet.
Watari swallowed, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Yutaka,” Tatsumi coaxed softly.
“I’m nothing,” he whispered. “I’m no scientist, no doctor, and as a shinigami I rank somewhere on the lowest levels… What am I to you?!”
Tatsumi felt something inside of him clench, felt hot and cold in one, fear and hysteria colliding at the words.
 “I’ve no function,” Watari continued, voice trembling. “Just someone to fill in when no one else is around. Cannon fodder. A warm body to be disposed off… Your entertainment for the cold and lonely nights…”
He grabbed the narrow shoulders and shook the younger man, anger dispersing all other feelings. “Watari! Stop that! You’re not cannon fodder! You’re as important as each and every other shinigami! Enma himself chooses us!”
Watari was trembling more, chalk white, eyes dilated. “He told me…”
“Who?”
“The demon…”
“What?!” Tatsumi’s anger turned into rage and the shadows churned. “What did that thing say to you?”
“He knew everything about me…”
The demon had invaded his lover’s mind, Tatsumi realized in horror. He had manipulated his thoughts, his emotions, had used what he felt… had used his fears…
His fears…
The Shadow Master forced the golden eyes to look at him.
“Watari… ‘Taka…”
Tears spilled over and he froze for a second, unable to comprehend, to deal with the emotions, then simply leaned forward and kissed his lover.
“You’re not cannon fodder,” he whispered against the pale lips. “You’re not someone I just use. You’re not a body to warm me. I love you.”
“How… how can you? How can you love this? You could have someone to better suit you… Why bother with me?”
Watari’s legs gave way and Tatsumi caught the exhausted man. He sank to the floor, Watari cradled in his arms, listening to the dry sobs. He cursed the demon for what it had done to the blond’s mind. All his fears and desires, his dreams and hopes, all his private thoughts had been laid open to that monster, and it had used them cruelly. It had manipulated him, had planted the doubt. It had started to destroy the self-assured, cheerful man.
“You’re everything to me, ‘Taka,” he murmured into the mass of blond waves.
“I’m weak…”
“No. We all have strengths and weaknesses. Even I do,” he added with a light tone to his voice. “Though I’d deny ever saying it.”
It didn’t have the desired effect.
Tatsumi framed the pale, drawn face, gazed into the swimming eyes.
“I love you, Watari Yutaka. I fell in love with you, not your powers, not your abilities. I’ll continue loving you, whatever happens. I admire your strength, your passion, your ability to cheer people up, to lighten a mood. I envy you your friendships, how you can be everyone’s friend. I envy you your warmth and affections and everything I can never have. You are very strong.”
He caressed the stunned face.
“Strength is not your fighting power, ‘Taka. It’s your soul. Yours is a rock in a sea. My rock. I need you so badly. I need you to be my light, my sunshine, my warmth. I need you to love me. I’m scared what happens if you’ll ever leave me.”
“Seii… I’d never… no!”
Tatsumi smiled tenderly. “I love you. This isn’t about standing or rank or whatever else. This about what I feel for you. The person.”
Watari raised a shaking hand and touched his chest, pressing his palm against it as if trying to push him away. But he didn’t. The hand just rested there.
“I love you,” Tatsumi repeated.
And then he had an armful of desperate blond in his embrace, Watari’s lips crushing onto his, the kiss hard and needy. He answered it with his own emotions, holding on tight, sinking back with his lover on top of him.
"I love you," he repeated quietly, sincerely.
Watari finally quieted down, his head resting against Tatsumi’s chest while the other shinigami stroked over his back, calming him – and himself. If the demon wasn’t already did, he would kill it again. That monster! Why?!
The blond made a soft sound and Tatsumi blinked, aware of the shadows churning around them. His emotions were getting out of control.
“Shhhh…” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Watari murmured.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You were influenced by that thing.”
“Because it exploited my fears. I can still hear its voice, feel it touch my mind…” He shivered. “It saw it all, my every thought, wish and dream.”
Tatsumi carded his fingers into the long, blond strands. “I never thought you had issues concerning your status as a shinigami.”
Watari sighed. “I didn’t know either. But it made such sense. What am I good for?”
“You are in charge of an entire sector.”
A snort. “The quietest place on earth.”
“You want more action? You could apply for another sector.”
Golden eyes looked at him, a frown marring the handsome features. “No.”
Tatsumi smiled. “See?”
Watari chuckled and laid his head back down again.
“Did you really think I’d be such a lowlife to use you?” Tatsumi asked after a while of playing with his lover’s hair.
A sigh. “The demon’s arguments were… sound. Why would a powerful man like you want me?”
“Because… well, let’s see… I love you?”
Watari hugged him. “Yeah, maybe,” he whispered.
Tatsumi waited as he sensed a 'but' there somewhere. He was good at reading people, their emotions, their eyes, even if he himself tried to hide his from everyone else.
"I didn't dare," Watari murmured after a while. "I just didn't dare to let go and let myself believe it so completely."
"That I love you?"
A nod.
"But I do. I don’t use people, ‘Taka. You should know that. Before you stormed into my life and turned it upside down, there was no one else.”
“Tsuzuki,” the blond reminded him quietly.
He sighed. “That was one-sided and foolish on my part. I confess to feeling more for him than just friendship, but it wasn’t to be. You on the other hand… you were meant to be with me. I firmly believe that.”
Silence, not even broken by a hoot as 003 watched them tense anticipation and expectation.
"I never doubted the passion," Watari murmured.
Yes, the passion. Their first four weeks had been quite… well, passionate.
"You thought it was a phase?" the Shadow Master asked quietly.
A sigh. "I don't know. It happened so fast. I couldn't really give it a lot of thought. I just… reacted."
"You and me both, 'Taka. I never had a lover like you."
Golden eyes glanced at him. "You never had a lover, Tatsumi Seiichiro. Period."
He chuckled. "Yes. But even if I had had… they wouldn't have been like you. What I feel with you… it's very intense. Not just physically, 'Taka, but everywhere."
There was a long silence, then Watari shifted to look at him once more. “Thank you.”
Tatsumi blinked, confused. “What for?”
“For being there, Seii. Just for being there.”
He kissed him, slow and gentle. “I’ll always be there for you.”

*

Watari leaned back against the solid form of his lover, enjoying the peace and quiet they had had together today, the first time in what seemed to be ages, after all the chaos the demon had caused. Being together like this, just enjoying each other’s company in front of the fireplace in Tatsumi’s apartment with a glass of sparkling red wine was so – normal, Watari mused. The first weeks of their relationship had been – passionate, filled with desire and lots of pent up need, at least from his part. And given the fact Tatsumi hadn’t been involved with someone either for at least a hundred years – yep, lots of pent up need.
Honeymoon phase.
Now they had to put some work into taking the relationship from the bed into every day life – not that Watari minded the bed-part, not at all. He had met a Tatsumi Seiichiro he had never thought existed – passionate, tender, caring. And gods if he didn’t love that man even more.
A hand brushed away the hair covering his neck and fingers started to massage his skin, more a caress than an actual rub, and he all but purred at the gentleness this simple touch. Letting his head sink forward to give the hand more access he sighed in contentment.
“What are you thinking about?” Tatsumi asked.
“You, me, demons … “
The fingers stopped for a second before continuing their soft caress.
“Demons?” Tatsumi sounded a little tense.
“hmm… oh, right there, yes… well, about what that demon had said, and all. It's still there. Can't really forget it. I… think deep down inside I just couldn’t believe you’d really love me for what I am, not for what I do.”
“’Taka? What do you mean?”
Watari sighed a little, both at the pleasant feeling and the cautious tone of voice of his lover.
“I jumped into bed with you the first chance I got. One could think I’m easy.”
A chuckle from behind him. “You, Watari Yutaka, are not easy. You’re complicated, aggravating, frustrating, difficult, and I love you.”
Watari shivered when he felt a pair of lips brush over his neck, and he sighed slightly with the sensation.
"I take that as a compliment."
"You should," Tatsumi rumbled, still nibbling at the skin of his neck.
"Uh-huh…"
Those skilled fingers slid to his shoulders, continuing the massage, relaxing him more and more.
"And it wasn't the first chance," Tatsumi said after a while.
"Oh? Did I miss something?"
"We were alone countless times before."
"Ah, well, you see, we were alone, true. But that was as co-workers." He glanced over his shoulders, shooting the older shinigami a smile. "You were my boss. Still are, actually. And it was on company time, so to speal. The club… now that was just us. No rank, no office, no restraints."
Another kiss and he closed his eyes.
"Yes, no restraints. You are a whirlwind, Watari Yutaka. An unstoppable force."
"Sweet talker," Watari moaned under the ministrations.
"And I would never, ever take advantage of either my rank or my powers to get you," Tatsumi added. "I don't use people," he repeated what he had said before.
"I know." Watari turned and knelt before the other man. "It just needs to sink in enough to destroy the last shreds of that thing. I know it, I feel it, but sometimes… like just now… it comes back."
Tatsumi smiled. "I'll be there if you need me… like for reassurance."
The blond answered the smile. "I need it now, Seii. Very, very badly."
 

Sinking down on the soft carpet Watari wrapped his arms around his lover, looking up in a pair of intense blue eyes, reflecting the flicker of the fire in the fireplace. Tatsumi’s lips met his gently; his hands slowly ran over his body, caressing each inch before slipping under the loose shirt.
“I just want to feel you, ‘Taka,” Tatsumi said softly.
Watari was only able to moan in compliance, as the skillful hands freed him ever so gently from his clothes. Being stretched out beside his equally nude lover Watari simply enjoyed the touch of skin against skin, of hands mapping his body slowly, as if Tatsumi hadn’t seen him before, as if he wanted to take in every inch of him. He returned the favor, fingers mapping the strong curve of muscle under the toned skin, the line of the ribcage, up to the shoulder, following a collarbone to the neck and throat.
Tatsumi let himself run his fingers over his face like a blind man would, kissing the inquisitive fingers. His own continued their slow caress, strong, reassuring and gentle.

* * *

The morning after the night before.
Tatsumi watched his lover, smiling as he recalled the unrestrained passion, but it was dampened by the lines of exhaustion, mentally as well as physically, that were still quite visible. Watari needed to recover from his ordeal, from the attack on his mind, and if it went by Tatsumi he would have all the time in the world. There was no need for Watari to push himself, to prove something he didn’t have to.
I love you just the way you are, he thought.
The blond moved sleepily and golden eyes blinked open. A smile graced the pale lips.
“Good morning,” Tatsumi greeted him.
“Morning already?” came the semi-yawn.
“It’s nine o’clock, to be precise.”
Watari’s eyes opened wide. “What?!” he blurted and sat up.
“It’s Saturday,” Tatsumi murmured and sat down on the bed, calming the panic. “We have all the time in the world.”
“Oh.” Brows drew down in puzzlement. “I… forgot.”
He smiled. “I figured. How do you feel?”
“In desperate need of coffee,” came the answer and Watari gave him a grin.
“That can be arranged.”
Blue eyes still upheld the question and Watari squirmed a little. Finally Tatsumi got up and gave his lover a look.
“I’ll make coffee.”
The blond nodded silently.
With that, Tatsumi left, giving Watari the time to get showered and dressed.
Fifteen minutes later Watari walked into the kitchen, hair damp and held back by a ribbon, glasses off, wearing light sweats. Without his glasses, he usually looked a lot younger than his actual twenty-four years, the age at which he had died prematurely. He gratefully accepted the mug of steaming hot coffee, not really meeting Tatsumi’s eyes for very long.
“Sorry,” he murmured after a while.
“What for?” the Shadow Master inquired.
“Everything. I… kinda lost it.”
“Understandably lost it, ‘Taka.”
He winced. “Not really. I should have been able to counter the attack, to detect the influence… to get it all undone before this culminated.”
Tatsumi frowned. “What makes you think you’re Enma-Daiou?” he demanded.
The blond head shot up, golden eyes wide, and the mouth opened, then snapped shut again. “W…what?”
“What makes you think you have the power of Enma-Daiou? What makes you think shinigami are immune to demonic influence?”
Watari stuttered, then fell silent. “Somehow I think I should have been more… capable.”
“You are capable, Watari Yutaka. You are a shinigami!”
It looked like the argument from last night was flaring again, but the younger man just sank into himself. This would take a lot more time, Tatsumi realized. More than a night of talking and love, more than a few gestures and touches and reassurances. What the demon had done to Watari had been anchored deep within his soul.
“And you are worth of it,” Tatsumi said quietly. “Never doubt that. You are one of eighteen shinigami in the service of Enma-Daiou.”
The tiny owl that had been watching them with eagle eyes hooted her agreement.
A shudder ran through Watari and Tatsumi stepped closer.
“You are everything to me,” he went on, in a rare moment of complete emotional openness. He needed to say this, Watari needed to hear it. “You are my life. You know I don’t lie.”
The blond swallowed. “I know,” he whispered.
Tatsumi stood in front of the slightly smaller man and when tentative eyes met his, he smiled openly.
“We can handle this, ‘Taka. Whatever this thing did to you, we can handle it. Its influence will wear off.”
Watari nodded slowly. “It has already gotten weaker.”
But it had left its marks already. The shame and guilt and perceived weakness was strong.
He touched one smooth cheek. “Don’t listen to it."
"It's hard not to."
Tatsumi met the usually so warm and lively eyes, angry at himself, the demon and the circumstances. He could have been faster; he should have thought of the possibility; maybe if… He pushed the thoughts aside.
Useless.
It was over and they had to deal with the consequences.
"We can do this," he murmured, as much to uplift Watari's spirit as his own.
Tatsumi wrapped his arms around the other man, desperately needing the contact, and Watari placed his mug aside, letting himself be drawn in. The older shinigami buried his head in the blond mane against his lover's neck, and held on tight. He needed as much reassurance about his lover, of his lover, as the other man needed from him.
"Don't run," Tatsumi begged.
"I won't," Watari vowed softly.
They stayed like this for a while until Tatsumi lifted his head, meeting the expressive eyes and seeing the familiar warmth with only a few remainders of the nightmarish days of last week.
"Got plans?" he wanted to know.
"For the weekend?" came the playful replay. "Well, let's see, I was actually looking forward to some peace and quiet in the lab…"
Tatsumi's frown stopped him and Watari chuckled.
"Actually, I was very much looking forward to you and me… spending some time together."
"Me too," Tatsumi murmured and leaned down for a kiss that was readily given. "So how about breakfast," he added when he released his lover's mouth.
"Sounds like a plan."
Sparkles adorned the golden gaze and Tatsumi felt part of his heart lift in joy. He knew they weren't over it, but at least it had been a start. A small start.

* * *

Tsuzuki sat outside, among the cherry trees that were in full bloom. The sun was out, warming the grass, bathing everything in its warmth. Inhuman violet eyes watched the cherry blossoms sway in the breeze, listened to the rustle of the wind, while the sharp, agile mind behind the strange eyes was contemplating the changes of the last few weeks.
Watari was getting better. Tsuzuki could see, hear and even feel it. He was finding his balance again, was overcoming the shadows the demon had cast on his mind. Watching him interact with Tatsumi eased the worries on Tsuzuki's mind. He wanted his friends to be happy. He needed them to be happy. It meant so much to him, especially where Tatsumi was concerned. He had been unable to give the older shinigami what he had secretly hoped for. Tatsumi had never approached him, had never said it out loud. His gestures had been gentle enough, had shown friendship, and if Tsuzuki had known he would have seen the much deeper emotions, too.
But he hadn't.
For decades, actually.
He had wallowed in his own guilt, in his shame, in the long gone past of his life among the living. His suicide had accompanied him into his life after death, and it had weighed him down. That and the fact that as an angel of death he had to take lives. He, a man who had taken the easy way out, who had refused to confront his problems, who had simply tried again and again until it had just happened.
So the darkness had overwhelmed him, had forced the brighter, carefree side to the forefront to over his fragile soul. Tatsumi had wanted to help, but he had failed, blaming himself for Tsuzuki's tears. And he had left him.
Tsuzuki smiled sadly at the memory. At the time he hadn't understood. Now he did. He knew it had been a selfless act, but it had hurt. Like so many things had hurt. Like so many partners had left him while he, Tsuzuki Asato, remained behind. Seventy years in the same department, the same position, the same payment.
He understood.
And he didn't want a change. He liked his life; he wasn't looking up the career ladder.
Now even less than before.
Tsuzuki looked inward, felt the power inside of him stir, felt a responding echo from a place no one could normally enter without help. Help in form of Wakaba, for instance. But things had changed for him and he hadn't told either Wakaba, nor someone else.
Blackness coiled deep inside him; a blackness that ran deep and powerful. His other side, his strength. It called to a power that was as destructive as his own, heard its answering call, and he smiled a little. It felt warm and familiar and very gentle.
No one would believe it if he ever revealed the fact. No one would take his reassurances that no one was in danger. The ferocity that lingered in the other half, the ruthlessness, coldness and sheer destructive power was balanced by Tsuzuki's inherent warmth, life and gentleness.
//You think too much// a voice whispered, the darkness briefly touching his waking mind.
//I’m rarely accused of that// he chuckled.
Power called to power and Tsuzuki let himself sink into the warmth that was offered, into what others called lethally dangerous and without remorse, but to him Touda was unconditionally loyal. No one and nothing could turn this shikigami against the one he had accepted as his master.
Power had attracted power.
Touda wrapped himself around the fragile soul and whispered softly, soothing Tsuzuki's body and mind.
Power.
Dark and strong and inherently dangerous. Volatile and fragile in one. Two creatures with wounded souls that accepted the other without question.
Sometimes Tsuzuki thought Hisoka suspected the changes within him. He was an empath after all.
//So what if he does? I am yours.// It was stated matter-of-factly with little emotion.
//Yes, you are// Tsuzuki whispered gently, almost possessively.
He had found the imprisoned shikigami, had fought to set him free. He would forever hold on to him.
//I will not leave you// the creature rumbled, a sliver of emotions breaking free, caressing Tsuzuki's soul.
No, he wouldn't.
Laying back onto the grass, he watched the clouds drift by. The bond between them was stretched across dimensions, between Meifu and GensouKai. It was thought of as impossible. Well, someone like Tsuzuki shouldn't exist either. Both did, though.
And Tsuzuki was infinitely glad to be alive. His suicide attempt as a shinigami was not forgotten, but he no longer wished for release. He had finally found his counter-weight. Not in a new partner, not in Hisoka, but in one of the twelve shikigami that served him.
//Come// Touda whispered invitingly and he smiled.
He let himself slide into the other dimension where he was already expected by the tall, dark-clad shikigami, wearing control mechanisms to keep him in line. A visor hid eyes that Tsuzuki had seen looking at him in wonder and confusion down in that forgotten prison cell. Eyes that spoke of suffering and hope. A hope in form of Tsuzuki Asato, a man Touda would never have acknowledged as a master.
No, not a master.
Equals, Tsuzuki had always insisted. He claimed he wasn't worth the loyalty of the Divine Commanders, but they begged to differ. Each for his or her own reasons they followed this single, unassuming man. Touda’s fascination with the shinigami was unbroken and while his behavior was cold, close to rude, and spoke of little emotion, there was more to it than the outside world would ever see.
In Touda and Tsuzuki, two lonely souls that had finally found peace in each other.
Now those eyes met, aware of each other even without the visor, and Tsuzuki smiled more. No words were lost.
Power called to power, balanced it, made it whole, healed fractures and wounds, knitted them, smoothed over scars.

* * *

They lay together. Watari had wrapped his arms around his lover, who was snuggling against him, head resting on his chest, and he ran his fingers through the short, brown hair. Blue eyes were half closed, each breath tickling against his chin. One of Tatsumi’s legs lay snugly between Watari’s, his hip on his lover’s, both men connected and entwined in multiple ways.
Watari bathed in the sensation of warmth and closeness, of the sheer physical presence, of the powerful aura around the older man. In these moments it was almost palpable, surrounding him with its strength.
“I love you,” Tatsumi whispered, fingers gliding over Watari’s rib, following the curve of the bones under the pale skin.
Watari just smiled.

* * *

Tatsumi watched his lover as he typed away at the computer, face a mask of concentration, busy with one of the latest research projects ordered by Konoe. Two weeks had passed and things were getting more or less back on track. Watari still had moments of insecurity, when he would hesitate, look like he wasn't sure he was allowed to feel what he did for Tatsumi, but they were getting rare. Tatsumi saw to it that Watari received all the reassurances he needed, either physically or just by being there when he needed a presence close by.
It was throughout those times that something he had pushed away had come back, a thought that had struck him the moment he had entered the old church, seeing the destruction.
An hour later, throughout lunch break, he finally addressed the topic he had been wanting to ask Watari about. They were alone since Hisoka and Tsuzuki were on a case.
"Yutaka?"
Amber golden eyes looked up from the wrap Watari had gotten himself for lunch. "Yes?"
"When you use your powers to animate an inanimate object… you touch it, right?"
Watari bit into his wrap and chewed, nodding. "Yep."
"How many have you given life at the same time and remained in control of?"
A slight frowned marred the handsome face. "Huh?"
Tatsumi raised an eyebrow.
"Uh, I rarely do that kinda thing, Seii…" Watari answered. "I mean, I did pull Tsuzuki out of the book, which was hard enough, but…"
"You very rarely have the chance to use your potential," Tatsumi finished.
His lover nodded. "Why are you asking?"
"You gave life to every picture, tapestry and statue in that church, 'Taka."
The frown deepened.
"You didn't touch them."
"Oh." Silence. "Right." A new frown. "right…"
"So I was wondering what you did."
Watari let the wrap sink onto his plate and leaned back, clearly puzzled. "I never thought about it, but… I really don't know. The demon was tormenting me and I just… well… threw everything I had at him. It was like a brief rush and then… I blacked out."
"So stress might account for this multiplication of potential," Tatsumi mused thoughtfully.
Watari said nothing, just looked intrigued by the possibility.
"Could you animate the picture over there?" Tatsumi asked and gestured at the kitten calendar at the other side of the break room.
Wakaba had one day brought it along, hung it up, crooned over the happy kittens and how cute they were, and no one had had the heart to remove it since then. Currently it showed two cuddly tabbies playing.
Watari frowned. "No idea. I mean… I need to touch things, y'know."
"Just try it."
Watari shrugged and Tatsumi felt power gather. The blond wasn't some low level magic user, but he also didn't come exactly close to his own or even Tsuzuki's level.
Nothing happened.
More power rose.
003 hooted softly, feathers rising, then she fluttered over to the picture as if having a closer look whether or not something was happening.
From one minute to the next the energy levels dropped and Watari exhaled slowly.
"Nope, impossible. I can feel the power's there, but I can't use it. Let me touch the image and it works."
But he had brought the whole church to live. Even accounting for the measure of stress and mental pressure, he should at least have been able to make the kittens twitch now. Tatsumi thoughtfully tapped a finger against his lips, not looking at the blond until Watari appeared right in front of his face, waving a hand.
"Hey?" he called, grinning. "You in there?"
"Huh? Oh, yes…" He gave him a smile.
"So… do I pass or do I have to check myself into the infirmary?" the blond asked cheerfully.
"You pass. I'm just intrigued by the difference. I don't really understand it…"
"The day you understand shinigami powers is the day I'll call you Professor, Seii."
He chuckled. "I doubt that would be any time soon."
Watari leaned forward and kissed him briefly, the contact tender and fleeting. Before Tatsumi could say something, amber golden eyes smirked at him.
"I know, I know, no kissing, groping, fondling or worse at work. It wasn't technically a kiss either."
"It wasn't?" Tatsumi asked, amused.
"Nope."
"What was it then?"
"Uh, not a kiss."
He smiled and fisted his hand into the wide pullover Watari insisted to hide underneath at work. He pulled him close, kissing him, his own rules be damned.
Watari blinked at him when they separated, then broke into a wide grin. "See? That's a kiss! Mine was just like.. a handshake!"
"Only you, 'Taka."
"Well, if I were anyone else you wouldn't kiss me, right?"
"Right."
Blue eyes met golden ones and Tatsumi wished this wasn't just an office break. Reluctantly he detached himself. Watari just gave him a reassuring smile mixed with a promise that they would continue tonight.
But the strange flare of power in the church wouldn't leave his mind, even when he had returned to his desk.