Chapter Seven
While Seishirou was at the art museum realizing what a horrible father he was, Fuuma was trying to drag Nataku around a mall. He wasn’t having a much better time of it than Seishirou. He also wasn’t sure who was dragging who. Nataku still seemed to be in the “ooooohhh new stuff” phase.
At least, Fuuma reflected, he had convinced Nataku not to call him ‘daddy’ while in the mall. They were getting enough strange looks as it was, and while he wasn’t usually averse to strange looks, they seemed to make Nataku nervous.
“First things first,” he said, though they had been in the mall for almost an hour now, darting from store to store too quickly to do any real shopping, “I’ve got to get you into some different clothes.”
“Why?” Nataku asked, stopping to peruse a display of perfume.
“Because they aren’t normal clothes and you’d look better in other stuff,” Fuuma explained. Though Nataku was very fond of questions, he usually didn’t play the ‘why’ game, for which Fuuma was profoundly grateful.
“Okay,” Nataku said. He blinked at a passing couple who were carrying a book out of the store. “Why do they get to take that with them?”
Fuuma blinked. “Because, uh, this is a place to get stuff. You find things you like, then give the people money, and take the things home with you.”
“Do we have money?” Nataku asked, frowning faintly.
“Yes, we have money. Plenty of it.” Fuuma had been spending some quality time lately beating funds out of Kanoe. He thought it was only his due right, after giving up all semblance of any life he might have had, to get enough cash to enjoy the little he had left. Kanoe had been reluctant, but a few well-placed comments about her cleavage had resulted in her giving him the money so he’d go away.
Or, more precisely, a credit card.
Fuuma was interested in seeing exactly what it would take to max it out.
“Anyway, clothes first,” Fuuma said, taking Nataku by the scarf and leading him towards the men’s section. He glanced around, then pulled some clothes at random off the shelves, aiming mostly at T-shirts, sweaters, and cargo pants. Trying to picture Nataku in jeans made his brain ache, and in any case, the khakis would be more comfortable.
He ushered Nataku into the changing room. “Here, can you manage to try these on and tell me if they feel okay?” he asked skeptically.
“Okay,” Nataku said, and took the clothes from him.
“Um, sir?” A timid saleswoman spoke up. “You can only have six items at a time . . .”
Fuuma blinked at her. “Why?”
She blinked back. “Store policy.”
Fuuma quickly counted the items. They had eleven. “Okay, I’ve got five and he’s got six.”
She blinked a few times, then mumbled something indistinct and handed him two placards. Fuuma handed Nataku a few of the items and directed him into a changing room, then waited outside, smiling sunnily at the saleswoman and daring her to say something. He loved breaking rules, he really did. Seventeen years of obeying them to the letter and he was out to break every single one he could before he died.
Nataku came out a minute later, looking very strange in a loose navy blue T-shirt and one of the pairs of khakis. “These are comfortable,” he said, frowning faintly. “I didn’t know clothes could be comfortable.”
Fuuma coughed a few times to stifle his laugh. “Yeah, they’re supposed to be.”
“I can move,” Nataku observed, windmilling his arms to demonstrate the point. “Why did they put me in that horribly uncomfortable thing?”
Fuuma shrugged. “I dunno. Because they were pricks.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Nataku observed, and went back into the changing room. They left the store about an hour later with five sweaters, seven T-shirts, six pairs of pants, and new shoes, leaving behind a few terrorized salespeople.
“May I have my scarf back?” Nataku asked. He had left the store in one of the outfits he had bought, refusing to get back into his old clothes, and now Fuuma stared at him, trying to figure out how Nataku could carry the scarf without looking totally bizarre.
“Uhh . . .”
“Please?” Nataku asked.
Fuuma shrugged and handed it over. “Try . . . looping it around your waist or something,” he suggested.
“Okay,” Nataku said, and did so. It looked bizarre, but Fuuma was a bit beyond caring.
“Now where to?” he asked. “We can go anywhere you like. And if you see anything you want, just let me know.”
Nataku looked around, his eyes landing on a bookstore, and he headed towards it with purpose. Fuuma followed good-naturedly, watching Nataku prowl among the books.
“I want those,” he announced.
Fuuma blinked. “You want the Encyclopedia Britannica.”
Nataku nodded enthusiastically. “Information,” he said earnestly.
“Oh,” Fuuma said. “Okay, encylopedias it is.”
“Can I have other books?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever floats your boat.”
Nataku again began to walk around again, loading his arms up with books. A very confused cashier rang up a set of encyclopedias, five books on bioengineering and genetic technology, and a small library of children’s books.
“Now where?” Fuuma asked, after arranging to have the books sent to Kanoe’s office, because he sure as hell wasn’t carrying them around all day.
“Where do you want to go?” Nataku asked.
Fuuma considered. The shopping trip was for Nataku . . . technically . . . with Kanoe’s money . . .
“You want a Nintendo or a Playstation?” he asked brightly.
“What do they do?” Nataku asked.
“You’ve seen TVs, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you plug it into a TV and then you can play games on it.”
“That sounds like fun.”
Fuuma went into an electronics store and loaded up every video game he’d ever had even the remotest interest in playing, plus all the systems to go with them. This time the clerk was starry-eyed; Fuuma assumed they got paid on commission. He had those sent to Kanoe’s office as well and smirked at the thought of the fit she was going to have.
He decided against a computer store; Nataku had been spending too much time around Satsuki and the Beast to be interested by any of the normal computers they might be selling. He got the few things he had promised to get for Kakyou, including not just flowers, but a few house plants to go with them. Then he remembered that they lived in a basement and bought grow-lights to go with them, which were ridiculously expensive. Even better. He made a mental note to fix the whole ‘living in a basement’ thing as soon as he could.
“What else?” Fuuma asked Nataku.
“What’s that place?” Nataku asked, pointing.
“That? Oh, it’s a pet store.”
Nataku gave it a considering look. “Things are alive in there.”
“Well, yeah. It’s a place that you buy animals to keep and take care of.”
“Can we go look?”
“Yeah, sure.” Fuuma followed Nataku into the store, wondering if they sold live cockroaches that he could have shipped to Kanoe. Nataku was enthralled by the puppies until one licked his face, at which point he put it back. Fuuma was perusing the tarantula selection when Nataku called over to him.
“What’s up?” he asked, blinking at what Nataku was looking at.
“They’re so . . . so . . .” Nataku gestured to the tank of frogs. “Cute!”
Fuuma blinked. “Want one?” He didn’t really want to get more than one; he was afraid that one would eat the other and Nataku would be heartbroken.
“Yes.”
“Let me get someone . . .” Fuuma beckoned a salesperson. “Hey, we want one of these frogs and everything it takes to keep it alive.”
The salesman’s eyes lit up. Within minutes, Fuuma and Nataku were stocked with frog, tank, food (live crickets), screen, heat lamps, live plants, and many other unnecessary items.
“Just so you know,” Fuuma said, waiting while the salesman rang it all up, “I know that you just totally scammed me into buying a bunch of stuff we don’t necessarily need. But it’s not my money and it makes him happy, so I’m going with it. Just don’t laugh at us once we’re gone, okay, cause then I’ll get cranky.”
“Uhh . . .” the salesman said feebly.
Fuuma grinned. “Now have it all sent to this address except the frog itself, because I don’t think we could pry it out of his hands.”
Nataku seemed content to go home after this point, being enthralled by his new pet, and Fuuma was tired after walking around all day, so he got a taxi and took it back to the government building. Kanoe was in the basement waiting when they got there, and launched into a full-blown rant the second he stepped inside.
Fuuma responded to this by laughing his ass off. Kakyou had come out of his room for a change of scenery, and was sitting on the sofa looking on in interest, dressed in a kimono that Fuuma hadn’t seen before. Nataku blinked, perplexed by Kanoe’s fit.
“God, Kanoe,” Fuuma managed between bouts of laughter, “you should be careful. You’re bouncing.”
Kanoe continued to shriek while Nataku walked over and sat next to Kakyou. “I have a frog,” he told him, holding it out to him.
“It’s very cute,” Kakyou said. “Does it have a name?”
Nataku blinked, then frowned. “Frog,” he decided.
Kakyou fought the urge to laugh. “Okay.”
“Why is Kanoe so angry?”
“I think it’s because she wasn’t expecting Fuuma to spend so much money. Or maybe because live bugs were sent to her office.”
“Oh.” Nataku paused. “Why does she bounce?”
Kakyou choked. Fuuma, overhearing, went off into another bout of laughter.
“We saw other women in the mall,” Nataku continued. “They didn’t bounce. They were much prettier.”
Kakyou gave up and burst into snickers. Fuuma was literally lying on the floor, laughing so hard he was nearly crying. When Kakyou finally got a hold of himself, he turned to Nataku and said seriously, “because Kanoe is a floozy.”
“Oh.” Pause. “What’s a floozy?”
“It’s somebody who dresses in clothes that are too tight and throws themselves around to try to get men to sleep with them and are shameless.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “Is sleeping with someone fun?”
Kakyou choked again. “I hear it is, yes.”
“Oh, it is,” Fuuma said from his place on the floor.
“Why is it fun?” Nataku asked.
Fuuma picked himself up off the floor. “To sleep with someone is a euphemism for sex, Kazuki.”
“Oh!” Nataku said, understanding dawning at last. Pause. “You’ve had sex?”
Fuuma fell over again.
Before Fuuma had to reply, the conversation was cut abruptly short by Muraki’s entrance. Nataku shrank slightly against Kakyou, hugging the bag that had the frog in it. Kakyou blinked, having not met Muraki, and looked on in interest as Fuuma sprang up from his place on the floor. “Yo, sensei,” he said, not intimidated in the slightest.
“Who’s this?” Kakyou asked Fuuma.
“This is Muraki Kazutaka,” Fuuma explained. “The scientist I got to take care of Kazuki. How’s the lab coming?”
“It’ll be finished tomorrow,” Muraki replied smoothly.
“About damn time,” Fuuma said, ignoring Nataku’s disgusted noise. “Are you going for the day, then?”
Nataku turned to Kakyou. “I don’t like him. He’s got a funny eye,” he stated, quietly enough so that Muraki wouldn’t overhear.
Fuuma, on the other hand, did, and was hard put to not start laughing in Muraki’s face.
Kakyou nodded. “You might not want to say anything else, or Fuuma will start laughing again. But you’re right, it is funny.”
Muraki, meanwhile, was nodding. “I’ll be back tomorrow and start it running. He’ll have to spend a few nights there for maintainence, since he hasn’t been able to in almost a week.”
Nataku shuddered slightly but said nothing.
“Okay. Thanks. Stop by at Kanoe’s office upstairs and she’ll pay you, if there’s any money left on her credit card.”
Muraki cleared his throat, indicating that there had better be. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said, and left the room.
“He really creeps me out,” Fuuma announced.
“I don’t like him,” Nataku stated.
“Yeah, I know. Blame Satsuki.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s the one who told me to call him to take care of you.”
“Okay.”
~~~~
“I think he saw that we were spying,” Seimei said, when Hisoka rounded the corner to find him intently examining a painting.
“Yeah, he did,” Hisoka replied.
“That’s not good at all,” Seimei said, looking guilty.
“It’s his own damn fault for being such a prick in the first place,” Hisoka replied.
“It’s really not his fault that we were spying.”
“No, but . . . I’m finding myself hard pressed to care. No offense, but I don’t like your father very much.”
“Sorry,” Seimei said.
“Well, look, why don’t we walk home? It’s not more than a few miles, and it’ll give him time to cool off and you time to calm down. I’ll walk with you and make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”
“I’m relatively capable of taking care of myself, you know,” Seimei said. “Martial arts, onmyoujitsu . . .”
Hisoka shrugged. “It’s reflex. Tsuzuki requires a great deal of taking care of a lot of the time.”
“I thought he was . . . you know, a Shinigami too. Powerful. Not needing to be taken care of.”
“Yeah, he is, but he’d probably leave his ofuda in his other pants if I wasn’t his partner,” Hisoka said with a smile that could only be described as affectionate.
“Ah, one of those kinds of people,” Seimei said, returning the smile. “Really powerful when they remember that they’re really powerful.”
“That’s about it, yeah. Look, there’s your dad, let’s go tell him we’re walking.”
“Okay.” Seimei followed Hisoka over to where Seishirou was standing, obviously waiting for them so he didn’t interrupt their conversation. “Do you . . . uh, mind if I walk home?”
Seishirou raised an eyebrow. “It’s nearly five miles, you know.”
“If we get tired, we’ll take a taxi,” Hisoka said smoothly, interrupting Seimei’s stammering.
Seishirou looked at him. “Are you gracing us with your presence tonight? Seimei has training to do.”
“No, I just want to make sure he gets home safely,” Hisoka said, smiling at the jealousy he could feel emanating from Seishirou. “A sentiment I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”
Seishirou gave him a dirty look. “Fine then. Have fun. Sei-kun, try to be home in time for dinner.”
Seimei nodded. “Okay. I’ll help you cook if you want,” he offered, in an attempt to make it back into Seishirou’s good graces for the day.
“I can manage,” Seishirou said, and turned and walked away.
Seimei turned to Hisoka. “I’m screwed.”
“What makes you say that?” Hisoka asked calmly.
“He’s definitely mad.”
“Oddly enough,” Hisoka said, still with a slight smile, “he’s jealous. He doesn’t like you spending the time you’re supposed to be with him with someone else. I’m not sure I’d call that anger, though.”
Seimei filed this away for future reference. “He looked mad.”
“He is mad. But not at you.”
“Oh.”
“He’s mad at me and annoyed at the Tree and cranky at Sumeragi-san and furious at himself. But none of it’s directed at you.”
“Maybe I’ll stop and buy him a new pair of sunglasses.”
“He’s probably got a dozen already.”
“You’d be surprised. He’s very picky.”
“Well, go ahead then. It can’t hurt.” The two of them left the museum and started the walk home. “So I take it you’re staying with your dad for the weekend?” he asked.
“I usually do, yeah.”
Hisoka searched for a conversation topic, but none appeared readily in his mind. Seimei, however, seemed quite content to walk in silence for a bit, brooding to himself. Hisoka reflected that he really ought to have called Tsuzuki; it was getting late and the man was probably wondering where he was. But he didn’t remember the number of where they were staying. He made a mental note to go straight back to the hotel as soon as he was sure that Seimei was home safely.
He blinked suddenly, feeling a very familar sensation as his skin began to crawl and itch. “Stop,” he said. “Wait a minute.”
Seimei stopped midstep and turned to him questiongly. The two of them were walking along the outskirts of one of the frequent parks. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Hisoka rolled up his sleeve and glanced at the curse marks, now flaring red. “That.”
Seimei looked at them curiously. “And that means what exactly?”
“Muraki’s nearby.” Hisoka started to peer around the park; there was almost no crowd.
“Who’s Muraki?”
“Long story no real time to explain.” Hisoka took Seimei by the sleeve and started to tug him along, thinking, I come along to protect him and now the kid’s going to get in trouble because of me. Just perfect.
Seimei followed along willingly enough, then nearly tripped over Hisoka when he skidded to an abrupt halt in front of a man in a long white coat.
Muraki raised one silver eyebrow at them, then smiled. “I didn’t know you were here, Little One,” he said cheerfully.
Hisoka inched backwards. Seimei inched out from behind him to get a better look. Hisoka was practically radiating fear and anger, so Seimei wanted to make himself available to be useful if it was necessary. “I could say the same of you,” he retorted.
Muraki smirked at him. “I have business here. I assume you do as well?”
Hisoka really, really did not like the sound of that. The whole end of humanity thing was bad enough without Muraki being involved in any way, shape, or form. “What sort of business?” he asked suspiciously.
“It doesn’t concern you,” Muraki said offhandedly, taking a few more steps forward.
Seimei twitched. If he heard that phrase one more time . . .
“In the past, you’ve shown to be a very bad judge of what does and does not concern me,” Hisoka said coolly. Despite his tone of voice, he backed away as Muraki advanced, nearly stepping on Seimei’s toes.
Muraki just smiled. “Is Tsuzuki-san with you?”
“No,” Hisoka snapped immediately.
“That’s a shame,” Muraki said, still walking forward deliberately. “I suppose I’ll have to content myself with you, then,” he added, leaning forward so close that their faces nearly touched.
Seimei stepped between them and pushed Muraki backwards. “I really don’t think he wants you invading his personal space,” he said, his voice cold. He sounded quite a bit like Seishirou.
Muraki raised an eyebrow at him. “And who might you be?” he asked, looking altogether too interested for Hisoka’s comfort.
“It really doesn’t matter,” Seimei replied.
Hisoka took Seimei’s arm and said quietly, “You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’t want him molesting you, either,” Seimei replied, keeping his voice too low for Muraki to hear. For whatever reason, Hisoka seemed either unwilling or unable to defend himself; therefore Seimei decided he would do it for him.
“I think it matters,” Muraki replied. “I’m always interested in meeting new people.”
“It’s too bad your opinion doesn’t count,” Seimei said cheerfully. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have to be going.” He didn’t want to back away, because that made him look intimidated, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off Muraki, either. He settled for extending his arm and calling up his Shiki, a peregrine falcon that took off into the sky. “Jaa ne,” he said pleasantly, and turned to walk away, tugging Hisoka with him.
Seimei half-closed his eyes as the falcon settled into a tree to watch Muraki, and he was seeing through his Shiki’s eyes but also trying to look where he was going. It was extremely disorienting, but they made it around a corner well enough. Seimei sent a brief note to the Shiki to follow Muraki and alert him if he did anything suspicious, and devoted his attention back to the sidewalk.
“Who was that scary, scary man?” he asked, glancing over at Hisoka. The older boy had wrapped his arms over his chest and was shivering slightly.
“Muraki Kazutaka,” Hisoka said, the words brief and clipped. “He’s . . . uhm . . . evil.”
“And what’s with the . . .” Seimei pointed to Hisoka’s arms. “The curse. I can only read a few symbols, but they didn’t seem nice.”
Hisoka hesitated, then gave the briefest answer he possibly could. “Muraki cursed me once. The only upside to this is that the scars burn when he’s around, so I know.”
Seimei dropped the subject. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Hisoka stopped and took Seimei by the arm. “Look . . . he’s dangerous. If you see him again, promise me that you won’t try anything cute, okay?”
“I don’t want to try anything cute. I want to stay away from him. He kinda creeped me out, but I wasn’t about to just stand there and let him molest you.”
Hisoka looked away. “Right, and I’m too much of a wuss to defend myself.”
“There’s obviously information here that you’re not telling me, and I’m not going to judge until I know it, nor am I going to ask you to tell me.”
Hisoka blinked, then gave a slightly relieved, slightly embarrassed smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“And if he does come near you, let me know, all right?”
“If it makes you feel better.”
“I like to keep track of him.”
~~~~
“Tadaima,” Seimei announced as he walked in the front door, toeing off his shoes. He was still paying half an eye on his Shiki, who was following Hisoka home. The older boy had been so nervous that Seimei had offered to make sure he got back to his hotel safely.
“Okaeri,” Seishirou said, coming out of the kitchen. He was stirring a bowl of something unidentifiable. Though Seimei would probably never realize it, Seishirou only really cooked on the days that Seimei was visiting. The rest of the time he ate TV dinners and fast food, or ordered takeout. “How was your walk?”
“It was . . . I would’ve been home sooner except we were, well, Hisoka was . . . ever heard anyone by the name of Muraki Kazutaka?”
Seishirou paused in his stirring, a faint frown creasing his face. “It sounds very vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.” He caught Seimei’s half-skeptical glance. “I swear, I’m telling the truth.”
“Because he totally creeps me out,” Seimei replied, ignoring the comment about the truth.
“I take it you ran into him?” Seishirou asked, walking back into the kitchen to finish cooking. Seimei followed, holding the bag with the new pair of sunglasses in one hand.
“Yeah. He . . . he seems to have a thing for Hisoka.”
“What kind of a thing?” Seishirou asked.
“It appeared to be a . . . a sexual thing.”
Seishirou paused, then poured a mug of tea and handed it to Seimei. “Hisoka’s a bit young for that.”
Seimei accepted the mug and sipped it thoughtfully. “Hisoka totally agrees with you.”
“What happened?” Seishirou asked curiously.
“He completely and utterly invaded Hisoka’s personal space and probably would’ve done more but I got between them. At which point Hisoka became very paranoid that he might try to hurt me.”
Seishirou considered this for a long minute. “Do you think Hisoka’s paranoia was reasonable?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right.” Seishirou paused again. “Well, if he does try to hurt you, I’ll kill him. How’s that?”
“Okay,” Seimei said, not quite sure how to react to that statement. “Oh, and I bought these for you.” He offered the bag to Seishirou. “Sorry I was eavesdropping.”
Seishirou accepted the bag and shrugged at his apology. He took out the pair of sunglasses (same brand and style as he always wore). “You didn’t have to do this,” he stated, looking at Seimei curiously.
“I know.”
“Well.” Seishirou slid them into his shirt pocket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Let’s eat, and then go feed the Tree, because it’s been whining incessantly for the past half hour.”
“You make him sound like a pet.”
“He acts like one.”
::I resent that.::
“You resemble that,” Seishirou retorted. He glanced at Seimei, and seeing that his son was about to start snickering, said, “Go set the table, okay?”
“Right-o.”
~~~~
Chapter Eight
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