Hisoka stops just before Watari's door, his hand reaching out automatically before pausing. He looks back at Tsuzuki and scowls, unhappy but determined.
There is no other way, he reminds himself.
He takes a deep breath and opens the door. The flicker of feathers at the corner of his sight makes him tense automatically, remembering his last encounter with 003.
Watari barely manages to catch the owl without tripping, then winces when she bites his hand.
"Ohayo, Tsuzuki- if you could just-"
Watari wriggles past them to the hallway and releases 003. 003 hoots angrily, once, and disappears down the corridor, leaving Watari blinking after her.
A moment, then he shakes his head and re-enters the lab.
Tsuzuki follows the others into the lab, leaving the door an owl-width ajar in case 003 recovers her temper and decides to come back.
He smiles warmly at Watari, watching him for signs of yesterday's unsteadiness, but it's Hisoka he hovers beside. He stays just inside his partner's personal space, always close enough to touch him. Tsuzuki's been doing it all morning. He knows he's probably being annoying, but he wants to be sure Hisoka knows he's there if he needs him. For now he keeps his mouth shut, silently wishing reassurance at his still-upset partner.
Hisoka crosses his arms and looks away, then takes a deep breath. He forces his arms down to his sides, looking at Watari in the eye.
"It's my fault," he blurts out. Wide green eyes stare at Watari unhappily. "What's wrong with you -- what you've lost -- my fault. I did it."
He backs away a little, unconsciously trying to shield himself from Watari's emotions.
"I-- I wanted to know if I could use my empathy. Not be just-- a damn victim anymore. You were thinking those thoughts about Tatsumi and they were there in my head, in me, and I pushed into you. Your being. And something happened."
Hisoka swallows, trying to regain self-control. "I didn't know what it was, then. I know now. But I still don't know how to fix it."
"Don't look. Don't look." Hisoka's words are curt, but the fear in his voice begs Watari to turn away. "Don't."
His fingers clench in cloth and hair. He knows the solid warmth against him is an illusion, memories of touch and scent, but Watari's closeness is a comfort he craves too badly to resist just yet. Is this what it would be like to--
"I'm fine. We have to go deeper," he whispers to Watari's neck. "Sorry."
The sensation is nothing akin to falling, but more that of sinking past resistance after resistance, until Hisoka or/and/maybe Watari feels as if he is breathing in viscous oil. There is a part of Watari that feels walled off, blocked by something metallic and terrible, and Hisoka or Watari flinches.
Watari or Hisoka shudders.
Tatsumi flits by their eyes and they run after the image-memory. There is something not quite right, though. The cluster of memories around the image feels different, as if from another lifetime in another country.
Tsuzuki pauses in his pacing. A slight sound, little more than a breath. Watari has moved, suddenly tightening his grip on Hisoka’s hand, though his eyes are still shut, still elsewhere. As Tsuzuki watches, the scientist reaches out to Hisoka, who wraps thin arms around him as he leans forward from his precarious perch on the edge of his desk
( ... )
The initial memory has gone, somewhere, blocked behind living metal again. Part of their double being is curious, wanting to see where it had come from. The other part knows that that memory should not have been there for them to see. Ignore it, Watari murmurs. Let it go.
It is dangerous, playing here. There are blocks that, twenty years old, will still draw unwanted attention if they are tampered with. You're not the first one, Bon. The tone of the thought is indecipherable, but no longer angry. Watari wants to get Hisoka out of here without involving him in any of Enma's games
( ... )
Hisoka opens his eyes and draws in a sharp breath, disoriented and momentarily panicky. Lights, the smell of Watari's laboratory, Tsuzuki's anxiety -- too much, too soon.
He forces his lips to form the words: "Did it work?"
Ignoring Tsuzuki's comforting voice, he reaches out through the still-present bond between himself and Watari. There. Right there. A chaotic rush of images and emotions, memories newly-vibrant, waiting only for time to help sort out the disorder.
Hisoka pulls away from Watari's mind, as gently as he can, furling his empathy back into himself. He presses a hand to his forehead, feeling a dull ache there.
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There is no other way, he reminds himself.
He takes a deep breath and opens the door. The flicker of feathers at the corner of his sight makes him tense automatically, remembering his last encounter with 003.
"Watari? I have something to tell you."
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Watari barely manages to catch the owl without tripping, then winces when she bites his hand.
"Ohayo, Tsuzuki- if you could just-"
Watari wriggles past them to the hallway and releases 003. 003 hoots angrily, once, and disappears down the corridor, leaving Watari blinking after her.
A moment, then he shakes his head and re-enters the lab.
"What was it you two wanted to say?"
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He smiles warmly at Watari, watching him for signs of yesterday's unsteadiness, but it's Hisoka he hovers beside. He stays just inside his partner's personal space, always close enough to touch him. Tsuzuki's been doing it all morning. He knows he's probably being annoying, but he wants to be sure Hisoka knows he's there if he needs him. For now he keeps his mouth shut, silently wishing reassurance at his still-upset partner.
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"It's my fault," he blurts out. Wide green eyes stare at Watari unhappily. "What's wrong with you -- what you've lost -- my fault. I did it."
He backs away a little, unconsciously trying to shield himself from Watari's emotions.
"I-- I wanted to know if I could use my empathy. Not be just-- a damn victim anymore. You were thinking those thoughts about Tatsumi and they were there in my head, in me, and I pushed into you. Your being. And something happened."
Hisoka swallows, trying to regain self-control. "I didn't know what it was, then. I know now. But I still don't know how to fix it."
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His fingers clench in cloth and hair. He knows the solid warmth against him is an illusion, memories of touch and scent, but Watari's closeness is a comfort he craves too badly to resist just yet. Is this what it would be like to--
"I'm fine. We have to go deeper," he whispers to Watari's neck. "Sorry."
The sensation is nothing akin to falling, but more that of sinking past resistance after resistance, until Hisoka or/and/maybe Watari feels as if he is breathing in viscous oil. There is a part of Watari that feels walled off, blocked by something metallic and terrible, and Hisoka or Watari flinches.
Watari or Hisoka shudders.
Tatsumi flits by their eyes and they run after the image-memory. There is something not quite right, though. The cluster of memories around the image feels different, as if from another lifetime in another country.
They realise, suddenly, that they are/were alive.
Hisoka mouths: FollowAnd they ( ... )
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It is dangerous, playing here. There are blocks that, twenty years old, will still draw unwanted attention if they are tampered with. You're not the first one, Bon. The tone of the thought is indecipherable, but no longer angry. Watari wants to get Hisoka out of here without involving him in any of Enma's games ( ... )
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He forces his lips to form the words: "Did it work?"
Ignoring Tsuzuki's comforting voice, he reaches out through the still-present bond between himself and Watari. There. Right there. A chaotic rush of images and emotions, memories newly-vibrant, waiting only for time to help sort out the disorder.
Hisoka pulls away from Watari's mind, as gently as he can, furling his empathy back into himself. He presses a hand to his forehead, feeling a dull ache there.
"Yes, it worked."
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