Tsuzuki Asato was fairly sure that this had happened before.
The feeling of a hard wall against his back as he backed away from the advancing Muraki was painfully familiar. The sight of his scattered hand of cards, that pitiful heart flush strewn across the deserted card table, the glint in the visible eye of the man approaching him. He knew it was downright pitiful of him to be retreating like this, trying to find a place to hide, but he couldn't help it - not then, not now.
"This night and forever you are mine," Muraki murmured into his ear, having drifted forward in a sudden burst of motion which ended up with him pinning Tsuzuki against the wall, hands firm and warm on the shinigami's wrists. His lips slowly began to move over Tsuzuki's neck, millimeter by agonising millimeter, tracing a hot path up towards the other man's ear. "Tonight," he purred, "you will blossom beneath me."
The problem was that it felt so good. He could let go. Muraki wouldn't ask him to be anything other than himself. He didn't have to worry about anything or make any decisions. He just had to let go and let the dollmaster pick him up and hold him close and kiss him till he screamed.
He closed his eyes.
"Tonight," whispered Muraki, a demonic smile to his voice, "I marry you."
That broke the mood. Tsuzuki opened his eyes with a shriek to find a giant wedding cake pinning him against the wall, tentacles of white icing rising to clasp him to it. But this he could handle! This he could deal with! He seized a knife and fork from the nearby table and mercilessly assaulted the cake, scooping huge gobs of sponge and icing into his mouth. He had it on the defensive now! He threw himself on it, pinning it to the floor, and took a massive bite . . .
He was kissing Muraki, a deep kiss, open mouth against open mouth, and the other man was holding him firmly, arms wrapped tightly around him, crushing the life out of him. Wedding drums were beating in the distance. No, wait, that was someone banging on his door.
And he had a mouthful of pillowcase.
Spluttering and shaking, Tsuzuki hauled himself out of his untidy tangle of blankets, pulled on trousers while hopping on one leg, ran a hand hopelessly through his hair, and answered the door, pulling it open mid-bang. He consoled himself with the thought that whoever it was, it probably wasn't Muraki, who certainly wouldn't do anything as impolite as hammer on someone's door at an unreasonable hour in the morning.
Hisoka nearly tumbled into the room as Tsuzuki opened the door, but caught himself mid-hammer. "Tsuzuki! Are you all right?" There was an unusual agitation to his eyes, and for once he wasn't affecting a casual, icy demeanour.
Tsuzuki blinked at him, one hand going to scratch the back of his head in perplexity. "Well, of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?"
"It's Muraki," Hisoka spat out. "He broke into Meifu, attacked Watari. I was afraid . . ." He broke off sharply. "And here you are, half asleep baka, tearing your pillow to shreds and sleeping off too much food the night before."
Tsuzuki didn't even spare a glance at his mangled pillow, which had apparently been used as a combined teddybear and masticator during the night. He grabbed for jacket, tie, and trenchcoat, managing to sling them on in approximately the right order. "But why would Muraki go after Watari? They haven't even met! And is Watari all right? Did Muraki get caught?"
Hisoka, relieved of immediate concern for his partner, was slouching again, staring mournfully at the damp-spotted mirror which dangled askew in a corner of the apartment. "Watari's hurt - and there's another problem - but he'll live. So will 003. But the lab's a mess. We don't know why Muraki went after him." He shrugged. "But who else would have done something like that and then left a red rose behind him?"
Tsuzuki blushed and sprouted puppy-ears for a moment. "Well . . . eh heh heh . . . let's get going! I want to see how Watari's doing!"
---
The hospital room in Meifu was crowded, but it wasn't that that made Tsuzuki come to an abrupt halt in the doorway as he saw Watari lying in the bed. The purple-eyed shinigami stiffened, then pointed an accusing finger at the blonde scientist's body. "You've got breasts!"
"Do you mind?" Watari protested weakly and hoarsely, an octave higher than usual.
Behind him, Hisoka covered his face with one hand. "Trust the baka to notice the really important details . . ."
"Apparently Muraki tipped most of Watari's experiments over him - excuse me, her - before leaving," explained Tatsumi, looking up from where he was sitting in the corner. A laptop was humming on his knees, and several piles of invoices were precisely stacked next to his chair. "It would appear that there was some sort of miscibility reaction. I'm sure Watari will be glad to investigate, once she's out of bed."
"Poor Watari!" declared Wakaba, appearing in the door with a plateful of cake already cut into slices. Tsuzuki unselfishly took the plate off her and appropriated a few slices before passing it on. "How horrible! I wish that evil Muraki had tried to attack me! I'd have shown him a few things!"
There was a brief but appalled silence and mutual multiple sweatdrop, during which none of the men (or even the temporarily female Watari) could force themselves to comment on the mental images this brought up. Tatsumi broke the silence with a painful-sounding cough. "And, ah, how are you feeling now, Watari?"
The blonde scientist was clearly sulking. Her face had scarcely changed at all, except for a slight softening of the chin, but her body's new outline was visible under the sheets of her hospital bed. "How am I supposed to check out what caused this now? The uncultured clod! The viper! My poor laboratory!" She broke off to take a gulp of water. "I am not happy, not happy at all. How's 003 doing?"
"He's doing fine," Wakaba reassured him. "We've put him in splints and Terazuma's promised to feed him grapes."
There was an ominous flash of glasses from Tatsumi's direction. "How are you doing physically, Watari, I meant."
"Oh!" Watari sighed, and leaned back into her pillows. "Well, unless you feel like increasing the size of my grant to compensate for work-related injuries - okay, okay, it wasn't very likely, you can turn down the scary red aura now, Tatsumi - then I think I may need another couple of days in bed. I . . ." She hesitated. "I don't feel very well."
Tsuzuki stared at Watari. This was the first time he'd ever seen the scientist less than genki and bouncy. There was a slight twitch to the other shinigami's hands, and a certain flinch to the eyes, that he remembered from Hisoka's early days. Or from seeing himself in the mirror on a couple of occasions after close encounters with Muraki. Let me be the only one to see you broken . . . "It's all right, Watari," he said impulsively. "He won't get in here. We'll keep watch."
Watari bit her lip. "Couldn't he at least have left a list of which ones he spilled on me?" she asked plaintively.
"So what are we going to do about this?" Hisoka folded his arms, assuming an air of severe practicality. "Tatsumi-san, surely Muraki shouldn't have been able to get into Meifu like that? How do we stop it happening again?"
Tatsumi sighed. "He shouldn't. Unfortunately, the person who might be able to tell us best how it was done . . ." He nodded to Watari. "Needs to recover his, ah, her health." Plaintively, he added, "You are going to change back, aren't you?"
Watari shrugged. The pain of speaking on a bruised throat was beginning to show in her voice as she replied, "I don't know. I need to run some tests. But you all seem so surprised! It's as if you thought I'd never succeed anyhow!"
Tsuzuki was about to say, "Well, yes," when Hisoka kicked his ankle without even looking at him. He yelped in pain instead.
Watari gave him a grateful look. "I appreciate the sympathy, Tsuzuki-san. I'll be back to normal soon. But I don't seem to be healing as fast as we normally would. It must be that mix of potions again. You'd have thought a fellow scientist would have better manners!"
Tatsumi rose to his feet, giving everyone in the room the Cold Scary Authority Glare. "If you have all quite finished, these are the instructions from above. We're to stay in pairs until Watari is better and has worked out what's going on, how Muraki got in here, and how to stop him. Tsuzuki-san, Hisoka-kun! You will be staying in here with Watari for the morning! I'll take over in the afternoon. Wakaba-chan! You'll be with Terazuma. We've got a list of possible hideouts that Muraki may be using on Earth that you two can check out together. He's distinctive. Someone may have seen something."
Tsuzuki's mouth gaped open in awe as he admired the secretary's firm handling of the situation, then snapped abruptly shut as he realized what was missing from the room. "But! Tatsumi-san! There isn't a television in here!"
"Budget cuts," Tatsumi explained coldly. "Just sit quietly and let Watari-san heal. Either that, or . . ." His spectacles glinted. "You can do your monthly expense reports. Hisoka-kun can help."
Both shinigami swallowed in unison. Hisoka managed to reply first. "We'll be glad to stay here!"
"Good." Tatsumi steepled his hands. "Well? Why is everyone still standing here?"
Within five seconds, the room was empty of all except Hisoka, who was staring moodily out of the window, Watari, who was trying to go to sleep, and Tsuzuki, who had already managed it.
I wonder what's really going on, thought Hisoka. He rubbed one of the curse marks on his arm thoughtfully. Why should Muraki attack Watari, of all people? Scientific jealousy? And why make it so obvious that he's able to get in here, when he could have kept it secret and managed to kidnap Tsuzuki and me? What does he want with the baka, anyhow?
Watari shut her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. It was strange to be concentrating on breathing so much, so aware of the physical sensation. She tried not to think about those long moments of choking, of feeling her life in between someone else's hands and their continuing to press harder on her throat, to kill her . . .
Tsuzuki made a whimpering noise as Muraki chased him through his dreams. The doctor was smiling, a bouquet of lush red roses in one hand, a small plush doll of Watari in his other hand. "Come here," he whispered, his voice seeming to turn Tsuzuki's bones to water. "Your skin is so soft, Tsuzuki-san . . ."
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