Tsuzuki stirred and opened eyes that felt gummy and dry, as if someone had poured sand in them and then glued them shut. Light lanced into his pupils, sending jolts of pounding agony straight to his brain. He groaned and closed his eyes again. He must’ve had more to drink last night than he thought. Strange, though, he couldn’t remember even having *one* drink, let alone enough to make him pass out and unable to remember anything from the previous night. He turned to his side, wondering why the bed seemed so hard, and slowly opened one eye, allowing his poor brain to get used to the bright morning light. *Oh, that’s why the bed is so hard . . . I’m on the floor.*

Tsuzuki’s eye roamed around the room, landing on the coffee table only a foot away from his nose, the couch and loveseat, and the end table, bringing him to the conclusion he was in the living room. He wondered where Hisoka was and why the teen hadn’t put him into the bed like he usually did when he had a little too much to drink. Tsuzuki sighed, his partner had probably finally had enough and left him on the floor while he went to bed. It had happened once before, only that time Tsuzuki had woken up in the bathroom . . . and with clothes on. *I’ll have to spend most of the day apologizing to him. He’ll forgive me, though. He always does.*

A small groan escaped from Tsuzuki’s lips as he pushed himself into a sitting position, he pressed a palm against his head and groaned again, feeling lightheaded. He kept getting flashes of a horrendous nightmare, and his entire body ached, but he attributed that to the fight with Xios and sleeping on a rock-hard floor all night. He couldn’t remember much after leaving the office, so he assumed he had just had too much to drink while celebrating with Hisoka.

Tsuzuki grabbed on to the edge of the coffee table and leveraged himself onto shaking legs. He stumbled into the bedroom, “’Soka? I’m sorry I pass-s-s-s . . .” He trailed off when he saw that Hisoka wasn’t, in fact, in the bed.

“’Soka? ‘Soka?” Tsuzuki looked in their bathroom, but Hisoka wasn’t there either. Tsuzuki got dressed, wondering where his wayward lover could be, and went back into the living room. He paused at the door, smiled and had to stifle a laugh when he saw that Hisoka was lying on the floor near where he had been. He shook his head, and just admired the teen. He seemed so peaceful, lying on the floor with only a towel covering the lower half of his body. Dark brows lowered as Tsuzuki noticed that there seemed to be something a little strange about his young lover, something not quite right about the way the teen was lying. He stared at Hisoka, trying to pinpoint exactly what was odd about his partner. *What is it? He looks all right. Although he seems a little too stiff, almost motionless.* Then Tsuzuki realized that, in the two or three minutes he’d been watching Hisoka, the teen’s chest hadn’t moved at all!

Tsuzuki hurried over and knelt next to the still form of his partner. A shaking hand reached toward Hisoka, visions presumed to be flashes of a horrible nightmare starting to become a vicious reality.

“’S-Soka?” His hand came into contact with cold, clammy skin. He gently shook Hisoka’s arm, his voice becoming panicked as memories returned, “’Soka, please wake up. ‘Soka!”

The trembling hand traveled upwards, searching for the quick thumps that would tell him Hisoka was alive and well but finding none. Memory crashed into Tsuzuki’s brain like a tsunami, leaving devastation and despair in its wake. Tsuzuki clutched his hands to his head, as if that tiny gesture alone would keep the memories from invading his head, and howled out his anguish. His partner, his love, was dead. And the last thing they had done together had turned into one of Tsuzuki’s greatest regrets, not because they had done it, but because of his mistake.

As if holding the finest and most delicate of spun glass, Tsuzuki carried Hisoka’s body into their bedroom, where he took the utmost care in dressing his young lover. Tsuzuki chose the orange shirt and jeans that had been Hisoka’s favorite, along with the worn denim jacket that almost always accompanied the young Shinigami. Throughout the process Tsuzuki’s eyes stayed dry, it was almost as if he had shed every tear that could ever be held within his body last night. When he was done, he once more cradled Hisoka’s body against his chest. His eyes had become glazed and unfocused as he stared at the body in his arms and, without realizing it, he teleported to the division office.

“Watari, I told you no,” Tatsumi said calmly as he walked down the halls of Enmacho.

“But, Tatsumi, I *need* one for the experiments I’m doing,” Watari begged for the hundredth time that morning.

“Well, you should have thought of that before you blew the last one up.”

“I couldn’t help that! That’s why it’s called experimenting! Now I know that twelve drops is too much. Next time I won’t put in that many, but I *need* a new Bunsen burner to continue!”

Tatsumi stopped and turned to Watari, using the most effective of his glares, the one he usually reserved for Tsuzuki when he was begging for more money for sweets, “No, we don’t have the money.”

“But . . .”

“You should have thought of that before you blew it up! Now, enough!” Tatsumi turned on his heel and continued down the hall, ignoring Watari. Just before he reached his office he heard footsteps running down the hall, coming after him. With his hand on the doorknob, Tatsumi turned and glared at Watari, “What?”

Watari held up his hands, making a peace sign with one of them and smiled, “I was wondering if you wanted to do something after work?”

A small smile graced Tatsumi’s lips as he opened the door to his office, “What did you have in mind?”

Watari grinned and bounced into Tatsumi’s office, “Well, I was thinking we could . . . Hey, Tatsumi, what’s wrong? You’re just standing there. Tatsu . . . Tsuzuki?”

Tsuzuki was standing in the middle of Tatsumi’s office, Hisoka’s body hugged protectively against his chest, a look of such absolute, soul searing pain on his face that it was difficult to look at him. Glazed violet eyes flicked to Watari, pleading silently.

“Tsuzuki-san, what happened?” Tatsumi asked, staring at the unnaturally still form of the young Shinigami.

Tsuzuki stared down at Hisoka, then flicked back up to Tatsumi, begging, “Tatsumi, Watari, he’s . . . I didn’t know . . . He didn’t say anything. Just collapsed. Never forgive myself. All my fault. . .”

Tsuzuki continued to babble, all the time holding onto Hisoka’s body as if he would never let it go. Watari walked up to Tsuzuki and placed two fingers along Hisoka’s throat, searching for a pulse. Alarmed, he looked over at Tatsumi, “He’s dead. I don’t know how, but he’s dead. Tsuzuki, what happened?”

Tsuzuki shook his head, “It’s all my fault. I didn’t notice. I should have, he was too tired, he looked drained . . .”

Watari tried to take Hisoka, but Tsuzuki held on tighter, refusing to let the teen’s body go. Watari looked at Tatsumi pleadingly, “Tatsumi, help me get Hisoka, I don’t think Tsuzuki even knows where he is, and I want to see if I can’t find out what killed him.”

Tatsumi nodded and little tendrils of shadows wrapped themselves around Hisoka’s body and Tsuzuki’s arms, gently prying the older Shinigami’s hands away from Hisoka’s body. The teen floated briefly in midair, supported by Tatsumi’s shadows, before Watari cradled him in his own arms. Tsuzuki made a small sound in the back of his throat and looked around, seemingly lost. His eyes landed on Watari gently holding Hisoka, “Watari? Tatsumi? H-how did I . . . ? The last thing I remember is dressing Hisoka.”

Watari looked at Tatsumi, silently asking him to take care of their shattered friend before turning and leaving the office. Tsuzuki started to follow, but Tatsumi stopped him with an arm across the other man’s chest. Tsuzuki looked up at Tatsumi, confusion scrawled across his face.

Tatsumi took Tsuzuki’s arm and gently led him out of the office and toward the break room, “Come on, Tsuzuki-san. Let’s get you something to eat, and you can tell me what happened.”

Tsuzuki sat down at the table in the break room and waved Tatsumi away when the secretary offered him a plate full of donuts, “I’m not hungry, Tatsumi.”

Tatsumi’s eyes widened and flicked warily to the ceiling, worried that perhaps the sky would fall right on top of them. He had never, in all his years of knowing Tsuzuki, heard the man turn down food, especially sweet food. He put the donuts back and sat in the chair across from Tsuzuki. He leaned forward on his elbows, clasping his hands in front of him, “What happened? When you left here, Hisoka seemed fine, a little tired, but fine.”

Tsuzuki looked up at Tatsumi, his eyes still glassy and dry, he shook his head and stared at the tabletop, his arms wrapped around himself, “I don’t know. I should have noticed. It’s all my fault.”

“Tsuzuki-san! Please, tell me what happened after you two left here!” Tatsumi’s tone was sharp and brooked no argument.

Tsuzuki started then nodded his head. He took a deep breath and, haltingly, told Tatsumi everything. His face flushed at times and he rocked in his seat with nerves. When he was finished with his story he looked up at Tatsumi, searching for any kind of reaction. Before Tatsumi could say anything, though, Watari walked into the room, “I did a blood test on Bon’s body.”

Tsuzuki shuddered, “Don’t say that, please. Just say Bon, or Hisoka. Not body.”

“What did you find?” Tatsumi asked, keeping his voice tightly controlled.

Watari looked down at both of the Shinigami and said, pushing his glasses up, “There was poison in his blood. I’ve never seen this kind of poison before, but it’s highly effective, and very potent. If Hisoka had been human, he would have died immediately, but his regenerative powers staved off death for a few hours. Tsuzuki didn’t you notice Hisoka feeling weak, more exhausted than usual?”

Tsuzuki looked up at Watari, alarmed, “He seemed tired, but said he was fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell us yesterday? Why didn’t you insist he come in so that Watari could look at him? Neither of you mentioned Hisoka coming into contact with the demon,” Tatsumi’s voice was no longer controlled but accusing.

“You should have noticed *something* at least. I might have been able to help him had you brought him in last night,” Watari glared at Tsuzuki.

The violet-eyed Shinigami quailed beneath the accusing and nearly hateful glares of his two colleagues. Fresh tears, tears that he thought he didn’t have, spilled down his cheeks, “It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault. Thought he was fine, it was just a scratch, just a scratch.”

“Even a scratch could be dangerous when a poison this potent is used!” Watari placed both his hands on the table, leaning in close to Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki stood up, wild-eyed, and ran out of the break-room, muttering to himself, “Just a scratch. A scratch. Should have realized. My fault.”

Neither Tatsumi nor Watari made a move to follow him.

Tsuzuki ran, not sure where he was going, or even caring, just trying to outrun the pain that tore through his heart and soul like a jagged piece of glass. He fell at one point, ripping his pants and the skin on his knees and hands, but he clambered to his feet and continued to run. He came to a field where the grass reached up to his waist, but he didn’t even slow down.

“Tsuzuki-san!”

Tsuzuki stumbled to a halt and looked around, eyes wide. He could have sworn he had heard someone calling to him, it almost sounded like Tatsumi. Tsuzuki shook his head and sat in the grass, hugging his knees to his chest. First he killed his best friend, partner, and lover, and *now* he was hearing things! Couldn’t be Tatsumi; Tatsumi blamed him for Hisoka’s death. It was his fault. HIS!

“Tsuzuki, come back!”

Tsuzuki started, looking around him. He could have sworn that was Watari’s voice! Perfect, he was going crazy, that’s all he needed. Watari blamed him just as much as Tatsumi. If only he had noticed, if only he had *told* someone about the scratch. But it was only a scratch, it seemed fine. Only a scratch. Tsuzuki stumbled to his feet and looked around him, seeing only an endless field of grass.

“Tsuzuki!”

*I may be going crazy, but I could swear that was Hisoka’s voice. I don’t care. I have to find him. I don’t care if it is just my imagination.* Tsuzuki started to run in the direction he thought the voice had come from.

“Tsuzuki, you idiot!”

Tsuzuki stopped and looked around, the field seemed to shimmer and then solidify around him. He shook his head, he *must* be going nuts. He hurried forward again, calling out, “Hisoka! ‘Soka?”

“Tsuzuki, you idiot. Where are you?”

Tsuzuki ran faster, sure now that his insanity would lead him to some form of Hisoka. Without warning, he broke into a small clearing; the grass here trimmed short and neat, water lapping at the shore of a small lake. The water was a clear, perfect blue near the shore and a darker, deeper blue-bordering-on-black in the middle, showing that the lake was actually quite deep. Tsuzuki paused looking around at the rather peaceful scene. He walked to the edge of the lake and looked into the water. His reflection showed a man with dirt covering most of his clothes, a torn jacket, torn and bloodied pants, wild hair, and blood-shot eyes.

“Tsuzuki!”

He stumbled back, swearing that Hisoka’s voice had come from the lake. He walked into the water until he was chest deep and stared hard at his reflection. The reflection flashed, the eyes becoming the same mint green color of Detective Hatoyama’s eyes. Those eyes stared straight at him, the reflection that was him-and-not-him opened its mouth, revealing sharp fangs, and laughed silently. He stumbled back, fell, and sank beneath the water.

He floated down, further and further, the light above him becoming nothing more than a small pinprick, and then nothing. Tsuzuki hadn’t thought he was that far into the lake. He had never heard of a lake that went this deep before. Tsuzuki knew he should be worried that he was sinking this far down, he would need air soon, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He had killed Hisoka. Watari and Tatsumi were right, it was all his fault. He should have noticed. Added to that the extreme guilt he felt for calling out Hijiri’s name. Now, it was too late to apologize to Hisoka, too late to take back a horrible mistake. Tsuzuki closed his eyes and let himself drift slowly deeper into the lake. A cloud of oblivion started to shroud his mind, slowly embracing him. He welcomed it.

“Tsuzuki!” He heard the distant sound of Hisoka’s voice calling to him and he smiled with the knowledge that he was going to join his young lover once more. That was his last thought before he completely surrendered to the darkness that clouded his mind.

TO BE CONTINUED....