"Tatsumi?" Tsuzuki mumbled. It was oddly difficult to speak: his mouth felt as if it were full of cotton wool, and he seemed to be having difficulty coordinating his thoughts. "Is something the matter with Watari?"
Tatsumi spun on one heel with surprising speed, pillow still held firmly between his hands, and hesitated for half a second before saying, "Good. You're awake, Tsuzuki-san. I thought for a moment that you might have fallen asleep." He shook his head, as though tired himself. "I . . . yes. It seemed to me that an extra pillow might help Watari-san sleep better. But perhaps I should leave him - her - be. What do you think?"
"I think," said Tsuzuki, fighting back a yawn, "that Watari's just woken up."
The blonde shinigami peered up from the bed, then fumbled one hand over to the table nearby and managed to secure her glasses. Gazing upwards thoughtfully at Tatsumi, she inquired, "Why are you holding a pillow, Tatsumi-san? Is it valuable evidence?"
Tatsumi dropped the pillow on her bed with a snort. "No. Sometimes a pillow is just a pillow, Watari-san. I am glad to see that you are resting so well."
Watari jerked her head nervously. "I'm doing better! Really!" She glanced across to Tsuzuki, and her eyes narrowed. "Where's Hisoka-kun?"
Tsuzuki stretched, and tried to ignore the feeling that his head had been wrapped in cotton wool and that he was about to fall over and snooze for twelve hours or so. "Oh, he was working on writing down stuff about Muraki. I just left him alone so he could think about it more easily." Now that he verbalised his thoughts, they began to sound suspiciously full of dangerous holes. "Er . . . tell you what, I'll just go and check on him!"
He dodged out of the room before either of the others could catch him, and sprinted down the corridor.
The room was empty. Empty of Hisoka, that was. A scattering of blank papers lay on the table, weighed down by a solitary fountain pen. The chair had been tipped over, and rested on the floor, rocking slightly in the draught from the window. There was no sign - verbal, physical, or emotional - of the young empath.
"No," Tsuzuki muttered to himself. Then, louder, he shouted, "No! HISOKA!"
But there was no answer.
---
The emergency meeting held five minutes later in Watari's sickroom produced a notable lack of results. Wakaba and Terazuma stopped in briefly - she leaving a noticeable trail of sakura petals behind her, he with all the signs of having "gone monster" in the recent past, and both wearing dark glasses.
"Well, there was this guy who made them look really cool," was Wakaba's explanation.
"Don't ask," muttered Terazuma. "Damn big green eyes."
Curiously, Tatsumi seemed strangely unconcerned by Hisoka's absence. As he pointed out, the boy might have decided to travel up to Earth briefly to check on something. "Unlike some of us," he commented, "who do so solely to buy Cinnabons." His gaze rested pointedly on Tsuzuki, who blushed and developed a cute kicked-puppy look. "I agree that we are in a state of emergency, but I don't think we need to worry about him quite yet. Of course, if he doesn't turn up in an hour or so . . ."
Tsuzuki glanced down at Watari, and was surprised to see that the blonde shinigami's eyes were narrowed in concentration. The scientist looked up at him, blinked, and then assumed a bland _expression of vague focus. "Of course, Tatsumi-san," she said warmly. "The boy's probably just wandered off to investigate something which has come to mind. He's even worse than Tsuzuki-san that way."
Tsuzuki muttered something from his corner about how nobody liked him and he had been investigating for the Department for 70 years now, and where was the boss in all of this, anyhow?
"Talking to the higher-ups," replied Tatsumi. He was experienced at interpreting Tsuzuki's mumbles by now. "In the meantime . . ." He sighed. "Perhaps I should keep you with me in my office, Tsuzuki-san, to make sure that you don't wander off too."
"He can stay here, can't he?" put in Watari. She lowered her eyelashes delicately. "I'd feel safer - and I can help him with his expenses."
Tatsumi hesitated, then shrugged. "If you think that's best." He patted Tsuzuki on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Tsuzuki-san. I'm sure Hisoka will be back shortly."
Tsuzuki wandered across to the window, and gazed out gloomily at the cherry trees as Tatsumi's footsteps faded away down the corridor.
"Well, come on!" Watari's voice broke in on his meditations. He turned to see the blonde scientist clambering out of bed, and showing a lot of leg in the process from under her nightshirt. "We haven't got much time . . . oof!" She swayed, stumbled, and sat down abruptly on the floor, trying to get her breath back.
Tsuzuki eyed her, mouth agape in incomprehension.
"Oh, don't be stupid, and give me a hand up," she said crossly. "We need to find Hisoka fast. I'll explain the rest when we're up on earth. Lend me your trenchcoat. No, the one you're wearing will do just fine."
Tsuzuki gallantly helped Watari to her feet, then draped the trenchcoat over her shoulders so that she could cover her hospital gown. "But why do you believe me?" he asked worriedly. "Not that I'm complaining, of course . . ."
Watari gazed into his eyes, then nodded as if confirming something to herself.
It was very strange, Tsuzuki had to admit, to try to equate the fragile woman he was holding with his incredibly genki scientist colleague. Something in his brain just shrugged at the concept, threw up its hands, gave up the struggle, and went to fantasize about apple pie.
"It's because I've decided that I trust you," Watari finally said. "Please. Now. We'll explain to Tatsumi later."
Tsuzuki had never yet been able to refuse a sincere appeal for help, whether from woman, boy, or slice of cake which needed finishing off. The fact that he wanted to find Hisoka only confirmed him in the decision. "Of course," he said.
Five minutes later they were on Earth - in Nagasaki, at Watari's suggestion, with Watari still bundled up in Tsuzuki's trenchcoat. Tsuzuki had suggested that they get her some proper clothes first, but the blonde had declined, muttering something about, "get out first, explain later," which didn't make a great deal of sense.
Or perhaps it did, but Tsuzuki didn't want to think about that.
What he found himself concentrating on was an odd sense of direction that seemed to have switched itself on in the back of his head. He knew, in an abstracted sort of way, which direction he had to go in. Of course, it was obvious what it was - it had to be some sort of signal from Hisoka, an appeal for rescue or a method of guidance. And best of all, it felt relatively close, half an hour away at most.
"No problem," he told an increasingly pale Watari. "Now explain what's going on?" He didn't want to mention his dream of Muraki. It surely wasn't relevant what he thought about the man, after all - what he felt about him, what he dreamed about him . . .
Watari blinked long-lashed eyes, and muttered something incomprehensible. She was far weaker than she had expected. It was taking all her strength to fly and remain invisible. She'd had to reprioritise drastically. "I'll tell you when we've reached Hisoka, Tsuzuki-san, that way I only have to explain to one of you at once." After all, she consoled herself, trying to ignore a vague feeling that it would be far more sensible to sit Tsuzuki down and explain everything right this minute, checking on Hisoka was a priority. And Tsuzuki should be able to handle any problems with his shikigamis - though surely, if he was receiving a homing signal of some sort (oh, to have my lab and analyse it!) then the boy couldn't be in any particularly bad trouble.
Half an hour later, they stood in front of an old house on the outskirts of the city. It was well-kept, and clearly belonged to someone with the money to take care of it and the taste to arrange an elegant garden outside. Wisteria climbed up the side of the house, arching over the door, pale purple flowers half open and swaying in the wind.
"So who lives here?" Watari gasped, trying to get her breath back. It was taking all her energy not to sway over and lean against Tsuzuki. Didn't realise it'd be this bad, didn't realise it would be this bad . . . It had been an absolute priority to get out of there, she reminded herself, pressing her lips together till they turned white, and keeping upright by sheer force of will.
"No idea," replied Tsuzuki cheerfully. "But it feels like the endpoint!" He leaned forward and rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the door was answered by an elderly-looking woman, in an old-fashioned black dress with her hair up in a tight grey bun. She blinked at the two shinigami, face bland, but eyes glinting with unexpressed opinion on Tsuzuki's windblown hair and Watari's hospital-gown-under-trenchcoat haute couture. Finally, she said, "You'd better come in."
As the door closed behind them, the wind caught the wisteria again, and blew a few tendrils aside from the gleaming brass plate by the door, which they had hidden. Engraved on it were the words, MURAKI, MD.
---