Fanfic: Hallow's Eve (Get Backers, Ban/Akabane, #10 - "#10 (the number ten)")
Split into two parts for length restrictions. (Because LJ is wanktastic about things like that...grr.)
Title: Hallow’s Eve
Author/Artist: Amethyst Hunter
Pairing: Ban/Akabane
Fandom: Get Backers
Theme: #10 - “#10 (the number ten)”
Rating: PG-13 (minor adult content/themes)
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for the Voodoo Child curse and basically most of Ban’s/Himiko’s/Yamato’s histories, also canonical mentions of Akabane and Semimaru’s pasts.
Notes:
- Implied past Semimaru/Akabane.
- The song Akabane sings in this, “The Book Of My Life”, is written by and belongs to Sting, and I do not own or profit from it. Lyrics to the song are courtesy of this link: http://www.lyricattack.com/s/stinglyrics/thebookofmylifelyrics.html
- All haikus quoted therein are the properties of their respective authors (i.e., not me) and are used only for fun. See footnotes at the end for haiku links.
- Many thanks to those of you who patiently awaited the next installment of this series. RL has been Rather Unpleasant for me lately, so it’s been hard trying to finish this one.
- This fic and others in this series can be found on fanfiction.net. (I am in the process of setting up fanfic journals so that I can archive the stories elsewhere as well, since my regular website is currently inaccessible by me for updates.)
Disclaimer: GB is not mine. Sting is not mine. The haiku are not mine. Hell, even the chair I'm sitting on isn't mine. All fannish works are done purely for fun and the love of the game.
Summary: On the eve of an anniversary Ban and Akabane revisit old ghosts as they look ahead to future ones.
--
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Akabane gives Ban a puzzled look. He’s just come from the bathroom, fresh from a shower, and now he’s combing out his long hair. “What?”
Ban is steaming. He gives the other man a pointed glare. “You know what.”
Akabane gives a light laugh. “No, I don’t know what. Perhaps you’d like to enlighten me as to why you’re giving me a look you normally reserve for tow trucks?”
He walks over to the dresser, smelling of soap and humidity. Ban’s view traces the thin silhouette he poses in the light as he watches Akabane finish combing his damp hair with one hand and scroll through the messages on his cell phone with the other. When he completes these tasks he lays the comb on the dresser and turns around, and Ban is still glaring at him.
“What?”
“The shirt, Jackal,” Ban growls.
Confusion draws Akabane’s slender brows into a crease. “What shirt?”
Ban resists the urge to slam his fist into the wall next to him. “The one you’ve got on!”
Akabane looks at himself, then back at Ban. “What about it?”
Ban silently counts to ten before responding, cold anger written along the sharp edges of his face and the twitching muscles of his frame. “Where’d you get it?”
“It was hanging on the doorknob of the bathroom.” Akabane shrugs. “I needed a clean shirt. Midou-kun, I don’t understand why you’re so upset. It’s just a shirt.”
It is and it isn’t, Ban thinks. Akabane doesn’t look any different than from how he normally dresses when he’s getting ready to go to bed - he’s wearing a pair of black silk pajama pants and the offending shirt, which is a tank top and olive green and most importantly - Ban’s. Such blatant pilferage of his wardrobe ratchets Ban’s restlessness up another notch into full aggravation, chiefly because it reminds him of two people he’s had more than a passing acquaintance with.
Wear open shirts, Ban. It drives the ladies wild when they see that chest, Yamato had told him. He’d loaned Ban some of his clothes early on when their little ‘family’ had first formed and he’d discovered that Ban was poorer than dirt. Later, a mischievous Himiko had taken to snatching the white sleeved ones Ban had gotten as gifts from her brother and wearing them around whatever home they’d been staying in at the time. It was Yamato who taught Ban a sense of style, how to dress to impress, and the lessons had stuck.
The resurgence of these bittersweet memories makes something twist almost painfully inside Ban’s chest and he covers the soreness by snapping at Akabane again. “It’s my shirt.” Jackal ought to know by now how territorial Ban is about his possessions anyway.
Akabane smiles serenely. “Yes, I gathered that. What I don’t understand is why you’re so upset about me wearing it. I told you, I needed a clean shirt.”
“Why couldn’t you have just used one of your own?”
Akabane shrugs again. “This one was readily available. Oh, don’t give me that look,” he chides semi-affectionately. “You steal my bedcovers all the time. I’m just returning the favor.”
“That’s different. Those were mine to begin with and if I didn’t have to get them back all the time because you insist on cocooning yourself in them like some kind of goddamn caterpillar it wouldn’t even be an issue in the first place. This is my shirt we’re talking about here, so take it off and go find another one.”
Akabane frowns faintly as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed near Ban’s feet. “Midou-kun, is there some reason you are being purposely antagonistic tonight? You’re making an awful lot of fuss over something so simple...”
If only it were that simple, Ban thinks. But he’s feeling on edge tonight, still bruising from past wounds, and that emotional trigger is not what he wants to spend dwelling on. “Look, you don’t like it when I mess with your clothes, so lay off mine, will you? Take it off. Now.”
Akabane’s brows draw into a stern line and his jaw hardens in an instantly recognizable stubbornness. “No.”
“Jackal - “
“Midou-kun, you need to settle down.”
That’s it. Nobody tells him to behave like he’s some snot-nosed brat. “Settle this!” Ban snarls, and lunges at him.
His charge only gets so far before it’s stopped in mid-strike. One pale hand clamps down on Ban’s primary fist and the other forces his second punch to back off before it’s skewered on the scalpels emerging from between Akabane’s fingers. “That’s enough,” the transporter says, his calm politeness reinforced by steel both figurative and literal.
For just a second Ban is tempted to escalate the feud into an all-out fight, thinking that maybe a round or two of roughhousing is just what he needs to distract his mind, but deep down he knows that it will only make things worse - the sparring sessions he and Jackal have are never done in such a half-assed fashion, both for safety’s sake and because neither man’s pride would permit him to engage without full attention given to the art. And a part of Ban, a very secretive part of him, is reluctant to take out his frustration and his anger on someone that he really does care about. Getting to know Akabane Kuroudo hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth a lot of the trouble and time he’s invested in it.
Not only that, but Ban is loath to admit the real reason behind his irritability and endure the potentially cutting pity. This is his cross alone to bear; he knew that a long time ago and accepted his fate for what it was. Not even Ginji knows about it, and they’re about as close as two best friends can get without being joined at the hip.
So, instead of retreating, instead of attempting another attack and planting a knuckle sandwich smack on his lover’s unsmiling lips, Ban shakes him off and gets up. “Fine. Keep the fucking shirt. Use it for tissue paper for all I care.” And with that he stalks out of the bedroom, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter off the dresser as he goes.
He enjoys about a half-hour of uninterrupted smoke-filled peace before Akabane appears alongside him on the balcony. He’s wrapped in his robe now, and he’s holding Ban’s as well. “It gets quite chilly during nights now, Midou-kun. At least bundle up if you’re going to sulk outside.”
Ban stares out at the city lights from where he’s perched on the ledge, refusing to acknowledge the other man’s presence. Silently he wills Akabane’s sense of politeness into obeying a mental order for him to go away and leave Ban the fuck alone.
Akabane, however, is persistent to the end when he decides he wants something. He comes closer, calmly disregarding the hostile aura around his lover and carefully drapes the robe around him, his voice gentle as always. “I won’t have you catching cold, Midou-kun. Even if you are so reckless about your health.”
You’re such a reckless idiot, Ban! Why can’t you listen to others for a change?!
Himiko’s face swims in his mind’s eye - a memory from a time when they’d botched a job because of something he’d done and she’d chewed him out royally for it. Yamato had bitched them both out, saying that they could each do with a little more maturity. Later that same evening they’d brushed the incident aside over hot takeout and cold beer (fruit punch for Himiko, a fact which annoyed her to no end as she insisted she was mature enough to drink alcohol), and Ban had asked Yamato how he could so casually dismiss what had happened.
Fuck-ups are fuck-ups, Ban, Yamato had replied, affectionately cuffing him about the head. Mistakes will always come and go, but you’ll only ever have one family. We’ll get ‘er next time, kid, don’t worry.
Christ, Yamato. I’d give my life a thousand times over just to hear you rip into me like that again and ten minutes later laugh and tell me it’ll be all right.
Ban swiftly blinks away the sting of wet heat threatening to blossom in his eyes, and shivers.
“If you come inside where it’s nicer, I’ll make you some hot cocoa and you can tell me why you’re suddenly not speaking to me,” Akabane tries to entice him.
Ban crunches the remains of his cigarette between his fingers and flicks the used butt over the edge of the balcony. He yanks a fresh one from the crumpled box in his hand and fishes in his jeans pocket for his lighter. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he mutters coldly, touching the flame to the tip of the cigarette before jamming it in between his lips.
Akabane smiles.
Ban looks out on the night again. This is his private pain, dammit. Why can’t people just leave it alone?
Movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention. Ban looks, but Akabane has vanished in a flurry of black silk. He looks back to the stars and feels something warm, soft but with the strength of a born predator underlying, enveloping him from behind.
“We’ll be warmer if we sit together like this,” Akabane breathes into Ban’s ear, wrapping his arms around him and twining their legs as he fits himself spoon-style against his lover.
“Maybe. And maybe I’ll toss you off this ledge if you don’t cut out the bullshit,” Ban growls.
He can practically feel Akabane’s smile against the back of his neck. “Ah, but if you do that, I’ll take you with me, and then neither of us will have any fun.” Pale arms tighten subtly around his chest, and a cool moisture slides along his cheek as Akabane rests his chin on Ban’s shoulder, his damp hair fragrant with the pleasant scent of conditioner.
Scent. Himiko’s calling card. Every time Ban encounters an unusual smell - chemicals, spices, things such - he automatically thinks of her. She’d be able to identify it in a heartbeat, with her skill at detecting and sorting fragrances. She has to, in her profession. Her weapons - her perfumes - are her strongest asset, and the ability to wield them effectively in a fight is every bit as important as knowing how to mix their dangerous recipes to the precise measurements. Truly the talent of a witch of poisons...
Akabane’s hand curves lightly over the top of Ban’s. Ban’s fingers are fidgeting with the top of his lighter, flicking it open and shut, open and shut, in a slow repetitive clinking. “It’s not just about the shirt, is it, Midou-kun?”
He shouldn’t bother answering, should just keep his fat mouth shut and go on pretending he’s ignoring Jackal so as to bore him that much sooner. Then he’d go away and leave Ban to his misery. Despite himself Ban hears words pass through his lips. “Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?”
Taking no offense at the sarcasm Akabane nuzzles his cheek. “You have the stale scent of old blood on your mind tonight.”
He isn’t saying that to be a creepy smartass. The other man is uncannily perceptive at times, Ban knows.
He inhales another drag and blows forth a wisp of smoke, watching it spiral effortlessly and thin out into nothingness. “I hate the fucking change of seasons. Autumn, everything turning brown, shit decaying...”
A soft chuckle stirs the fine hairs on his skin. “My, this is different. Usually I’m the one waxing poetic about death.”
“Heh.”
They sit in silence for several minutes, Ban smoking, Akabane idly caressing his hand. Ban hates to admit it, but it has gotten cool out here in the night air and having his jackal pressed up against him like a living blanket is rather...comforting. Sleeping with Akabane is like going to bed with a hot-water bottle, enjoyable warmth all around. Some of his anger dissolves into a brooding mist, and he leans back just a little into his lover’s chest.
As if sensing his thoughts, the other man pauses in his touch and murmurs, “Would you like to come to bed now?” The offer is made innocently enough, without a trace of sex in it, but sex usually winds up being part and parcel of the deal anyway, just because they can’t keep their hands off each other.
Nonetheless, Ban declines. “Not yet.”
Akabane kisses his cheek and resumes stroking his hand.
Ban’s eyes fall to their fingers, what he’s holding in his own. Click, clink. Click, clink. He remembers clearly when he’d started smoking, seriously that is. Prior to his full induction into the nicotine lovers’ club he’d attempted a few hits here and there from his days on the streets, if only to embellish his ‘tough’ image around some of the older kids. He had been ten years old when he’d had his first cigarette.
Yamato had been a regular smoker. His favorite brands varied, but he usually stuck to the full flavors. Menthols when his preference was unavailable. Himiko had never cared for the habit, complaining that he was going to get lung cancer and die before he was thirty, but Yamato had teasingly ruffled her hair and laughed, kiddo, if this doesn’t get me, something else will, so I’m gonna enjoy what I’ve got.
As it turned out, something else had gotten him before he turned thirty.
Ban studies the lighter. Its silver is still polished - he takes care to keep it that way, it’s the least he can do for the man who taught him how to light up in style. His eyes glaze over at the memory of Yamato catching Ban watching him one day. He’d offered the boy his lit cigarette with a wink and a jaunty Want one, Ban? Nah, you’re not old enough to know how, I bet.
I know how to smoke, asshole! And Ban had grabbed the little stick from him and proceeded to gulp down a huge cloud of smoke, which he’d promptly gagged on and nearly vomited up in a fit of red-faced spluttering.
Yamato had laughed, but not unkindly. Here, he’d said, let me show you how to do it right. They’d practiced it all afternoon until Ban got good at inhaling without choking. Soon he was making smoke rings and spirals like Yamato did. In the summer they’d sit outside sometimes after a job was done, sharing a companionable pack of cigs and bullshitting each other about the crazy and stupid things each of them did or said.
The day Ban had turned sixteen Yamato had taken him aside after a job and plopped a small metallic weight in his hand. I forgot to get you a present since we had to work today, so here’s a consolation gift, he’d grinned.
Ban had looked at what Yamato had given him and was startled. Yamato had saved for ages to buy this lighter, an expensive custom job that he’d had his initials stenciled on. Next to his car, it was his sole favorite possession. Ban knew this because he’d once seen Yamato go apeshit looking for it when he’d thought he’d lost it once on a job. The guards they’d encountered had borne the brunt of his temper, and had wisely allowed them to escape unhindered.
Nearly a year after that, Yamato was dead, Himiko hated him, and Ban was out on the streets again. Happy birthday, indeed.
Warm hands fold over his with the lighter in it. Ban looks at the starburst of scar decorating the pale skin and wonders if Akabane has ever known such a loss. Ginji had once told him that during an ongoing fight with the head of the seven elders from the Kiryuudo he’d sensed a peculiar aura coming from the transporter, something what felt to him like “raw flesh scraped into hide.” Not a pretty picture, to be sure, but Ban knows exactly what that feels like because that’s how he felt when he’d had to do what he did, how he still feels every time the anniversary rolls around.
His anger has long since cooled now, and maybe it’s just the difference of having someone close enough to confide in, or maybe he’s just trying to articulate his own conflicted thoughts, but whatever the reason Ban finds himself speaking at last. “Hey, Jackal.”
“Mm?” Akabane stirs, lifting his head slightly from its place on Ban’s shoulder.
“You know how...I once told you I had to kill somebody?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“This weekend is the anniversary of his death.”
“Ohhh,” Akabane says softly in understanding. He strokes Ban’s hair. “You must miss him very much, then.”
The tears suddenly well up again and Ban shuts his eyes, forcing them back. When he’s sure he can talk without cracking, he says quietly, “Yeah.”
“Tell me about him? Unless it pains you to speak of it. I understand if that’s the case, Midou-kun.”
Ban shrugs. “Not much to tell. I fell in with him and his younger sister some years back. They were running a small-time thievery operation. Just little things, nothing big although we did those too, once in a while, if the money was good and the risk was worth it. Yamato taught me a lot of stuff.”
“Yamato. Was that his name?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you have to kill him?”
Ban...I can’t hold out any longer. You have to do it, now, before the curse completes itself.
Jesus, God, no, Yamato! There has to be another way!
Ban! Please...
Ban inhales a small shuddering breath. Unconsciously his right hand clenches around the lighter. “He...asked...me to.”
“And you didn’t want to.”
“Nah, I wanted to, I hadn’t racked up my body count for the day. Of course I didn’t want to do it! Shit. Jackal...” Ban inwardly curses himself for that higher-sounding note straining his voice, and for the stinging heat that keeps building in his eyes. Goddammit, of all the times to have to start bawling like a baby... “Yamato...he was - he was like...he was family to me. A brother. A father.” More of one than his actual sire, Ban thinks. He still doesn’t quite know what to make of Kaiser, as the man called himself. He caused a shitload of trouble as Beltline ruler, but he did actually say to his son once that he was proud of him. That’s more than Ban could ever say for his mother...
“Why do you blame yourself so, Midou-kun? You fulfilled his request. It’s what any professional would have done.”
Akabane is only asking out of curiosity and there’s no malice, no taunt in his tone. Yet Ban suddenly wants to smash his fist into the other’s face, a white-hot spike of rage rushing through his blood that wants to make his lover hurt, wants him to feel what Ban feels. As if Yamato had wanted to die, wanted to leave Ban and Himiko alone to face the aftermath!
He roughly shoves Akabane away from him and gets up, pacing the balcony with a grim snarl. “It shouldn’t have been necessary at all, goddammit!” In a lesser tone, he hisses, “I told him to let me help, that we could find the way together...”
Akabane remains calm in the face of his lover’s fury, but then it’s hard to faze him. He swings his legs down from the ledge and stands up, folding his arms over his chest. “But he wouldn’t let you,” he guesses correctly. “Perhaps he felt he was protecting you. You still mustn’t blame yourself for his death. He chose as he thought was best. Did he not have the free will to do so?”
Ban stops pacing and rakes a hand through his hair as he stares at Akabane. His stub of a cigarette has finally extinguished, and he pitches it to the side and contemplates lighting up another as he glances at the lighter again, then back at the jackal. A part of him understands the practical wisdom his lover is trying to be helpful in offering; the wounded half just doesn’t want to hear it right now. Ban gives him a hard glare. “So what if he had the choice? It still doesn’t excuse the truth of the matter.”
Akabane’s gaze is steady, placid purple meeting thunderous blue. “Only if you refuse to let the past be past. You torture yourself needlessly with it in the present and therefore are unable to find any enjoyment from either.”
Ban fairly sneers at him. “Isn’t that my choice, then?”
“True.” Akabane comes to stand behind him again, aligning their bodies together as he wraps his arms around Ban. His hands lace in a loose clasp at his lover’s abdomen and he rests his head on his shoulder, lips caressing Ban’s ear as he speaks in a near-whisper.
“But if you persist in this useless martyr’s penitence, then Himiko-san may lose the choice to decide her future.”
The words stab Ban to the core, and not just because deep down inside, he knows that Akabane is right. He pulls away in astonishment and turns around.
Akabane is surprisingly solemn. “There are those who still speak in Babylon, even if only in allusion to it, for they fear repercussion from the ones interested in the Last Children who bear the Voodoo lineage. I was aware that Himiko-san was mourning the loss of an older brother. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”
Ban is still gaping at him, stunned by the extent of the other man's knowledge of the Voodoo curse. It’s a vivid reminder that Akabane Kuroudo is himself a man of many secrets, some of which Ban’s not entirely sure he wants to learn about.
Ban...in case anything happens to me...
I promised Yamato I would protect her. God help me if I fail a second time.
“Does she know, Midou-kun?”
The silence hangs heavy between them like a lead weight. It could almost flatten them, Ban thinks. “No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
Ban hesitates. “When the time is right,” he hedges.
Akabane’s brow raises only just a little. “Do you think that’s wise, waiting?”
“She can’t handle that information at her age. She’s just a kid.”
“Maybe you ought to let her be the judge of that. Himiko-san is more resilient than you think.”
Himiko, what the hell d’you think you’re doing? You’re just a brat, they’ll eat you for breakfast.
Don’t treat me like a little kid, Ban! I can do it on my own!
Akabane comes closer, taking Ban into his arms. “Midou-kun...have you ever considered that perhaps you are doing Himiko-san a grave disservice by not telling her? What if this curse activates prematurely? What if it happens when she is alone and has no one to aid her?”
Those thoughts and more have indeed crossed Ban’s mind. But he feels just as powerless and helpless to intervene, and he’s reasoned that it’s better the devil one does know instead of the unknown. “According to Yamato, it’s not supposed to hit till she turns seventeen. There’s still time.”
Akabane frowns faintly. “Time flies fastest when one least expects it to, Midou-kun. It would be better spent in preparation than denial. Surely you would agree with such wisdom.”
Damn it. No, he can’t argue with that, Ban realizes. But a part of him still balks at revealing to Himiko the truth of her own cursed heritage. Hang around a warlock long enough and just maybe some of his less-than-appealing traits might start to rub off...
He can live with her hating him. He’s lived with it ever since the day he took Yamato’s life. What Ban can’t bear is the thought of her following in her brother’s footsteps, should the Voodoo Child return for its pound of flesh.
A pale scarred hand reaches up to touch his face, cup his jaw. “Be like Ginji-kun, Midou-kun. Have a little more faith in Himiko-san. She is much stronger and smarter than you sometimes give her credit for. I of all people ought to know her capabilities,” Akabane says gently, a reminder of the transporters’ unusual partnership. “Trust me when I say that she will be far angrier with you for having denied her this information than by the actual curse itself. Compared with risking her life in ignorance...don’t you think this is the better gamble?”
Anger...He can deal with that. Himiko will yell and scream and curse at him, call him all sorts of vile and vicious names in language unfit for a girl of sixteen. And she’ll be justified in it, of course, because Ban would have done the exact same thing to anybody who kept him in the dark about events affecting his life. And just maybe after enough time has passed and her temper has cooled, she’ll grow to...tolerate him again, and they can regain a semblance of what they had when it was still just the three of them taking on the world together - Yamato, Himiko, and Ban...
“I’ll think about it,” he eventually concedes.
Akabane smiles. “I know.” He kisses Ban chastely on the lips. “Now will you come to bed? It’s cold there without you.”
“Why? You’ll just steal my covers again like you always do.”
That smile deepens and takes on a hint of sly amusement. “And then you will be forced to attach yourself on top of me in search of body heat.”
“Heh. Should’ve known you had ulterior motives,” Ban grunts as he lets Akabane lead him back inside the apartment.
“I never claimed to be a saint, Midou-kun.”
Inside the bedroom they slip beneath the blankets after shedding their respective robes and curl against each other. Ban’s still somewhat tense, and Akabane starts to dig elegant long fingers into his muscles. “Let me?” he murmurs.
Ban feels emotionally if not physically drained. Anger - persistent anger - takes a lot of energy. So does regret. But in the reminders of the Child’s imminent return, he needs...something. Needs that reassurance, to know that he’s got viable options other than the ones he’s loath to resort to, and Akabane is willing to provide that relief from his nightmares, however temporary a solution it is. He lifts his face and kisses his lover in silent acceptance.
Akabane works with exquisite care, kissing back tenderly while he undresses them both, and lies atop Ban. Slender hips undulate lightly against him; scarred hands bracket Ban’s face while Ban’s hands grasp a marked shoulder in one and a firm buttock in the other. They move together like this for a minute or two, an unhurried rustle of pleasurable friction, and then the jackal shifts his hand, wrapping it around both of their erections and pumping steadily as they both reach for a satisfying release.
Ban groans, and moments later wet heat spurts between their bellies as he comes first, followed shortly thereafter by Akabane who utters a mute whimper amidst his shaky panting. They hold each other for a while, coasting into a sated doze before Akabane stirs and rises from the bed. Ban vaguely hears the sound of running water in the bathroom.
He sighs quietly in the darkness, fuzzy mind registering the slow caress of a warm, wet cloth being passed over his abdomen and groin as his lover cleans them both up. Then the dampness is gone and replaced with another warmth, a more solid one that winds itself around him as he rolls over and encourages his head to pillow itself on a pale chest.
“Sleep now, Midou-kun.”
And Ban does.
--
The noonday sun beads a pretty lance of light over the top of the Ladybug. Ginji notices that the route they’re taking isn’t leading directly back to the Honky Tonk. “Ban-chan, where’re we going?”
Ban is silent at first. Then he says, “I gotta stop and see somebody about a job.”
“All right! You have something lined up for the Get Backers?”
There’s a pause. Ban doesn’t take his eyes from the road he’s navigating. “You could say that,” he mumbles after a while.
Ginji looks pleased. “It’s been a good week for us, huh Ban-chan? Jobs coming in and for once we’ve got money! Has the client for this one told you anything yet?”
“I know everything I need to know,” Ban answers cryptically. “This is just to finalize the details.”
Some time later when he pulls up into the cemetery Ginji shows little sign of surprise. It’s not uncommon for them to meet clients in the oddest of places. Ban parks the car and motions to Ginji to stay put. “This might take awhile, so you wait here. The client is sorta out of this world, and it’s best if I’m the one to speak with him. There are a few words that need to be said.”
Puzzled as to this turn of events but trusting that they’ll be explained eventually, Ginji nods.
Ban exits the car and starts walking up a small hill.
He follows this path into a clearing where tombstones lie in spaced rows of ten, each one a silent testament to its owner’s presence on this earth. Ahead is a large tree, its vibrantly green limbs spread broadly out to receive the light as it shelters one marker in particular.
Don’t cry for me when I’m gone, Ban. Tears are wasted on the dead - it’s the living they need to be shed for.
Ban thinks of all the times when he wished he could have given both tears and blood for dead and living alike. Somehow that won’t be a problem in regards to the former today, he decides.
As for the latter...that will come soon enough.
He approaches the headstone he’s singled out, and he does say a few words.
“Yamato, you cagey bastard...you never told me that growing up was so goddamned hard to do...”
--
Ginji yawns and stretches in his seat. It’s been a while since Ban left to meet with their client, and he’s growing bored. Deciding that a little exercise is in order to relieve the ennui he gets out of the car and begins wandering up the nearest hill.
He spots a large tree at the other end of the clearing and perks up. Trees are great for swinging and climbing on, despite the fact that Ban complains about Ginji looking like “one of that damn monkey-trainer’s apes” when he catches him doing something like that. Then he realizes what else is under the tree, and concern draws his expression into a worried frown.
Ban is alone, and it looks like he’s been hurt. He’s hunched over one of the tombstones, making choking noises.
Ginji’s immediate instinct is to run to his side, but before he gets two steps a shadow falls across his path.
“AAAKA - “ A gloved hand clamps down over his mouth before he finishes his scream.
“It’s all right, Ginji-kun. Midou-kun is unharmed.”
Ginji swats away the hand over his mouth and jumps back, glaring. “Do you have to sneak up on people all the time, Akabane-san?” he hisses, twitching like a jittery feline.
Akabane smiles, perhaps a bit sadly. He glances to where Ban is still kneeling in front of the grave. “Midou-kun asked me to meet him here when he was done. He’s to drop me off someplace for a meeting of my own.”
“Oh.”
A sound draws their attention towards the tree. Ban has fallen forward with bowed head now and is shaking, fists clenched in the grass and dirt. Ginji moves, but Akabane blocks his way. He puts a finger to the blond’s lips and shakes his head, indicating quiet.
“Midou-kun needs to be by himself for a little bit.”
“But - “
Akabane loops his arm around Ginji’s and gently but firmly tows him away from the scene. “Come, Ginji-kun. You can walk me to the car.”
“...as long as you promise not to poke me with any scalpels...!”
About an hour later Ban returns. He gets inside the car without a word. His companions can easily see what the glasses can’t hide, but no one makes any mention of it. All Ginji says is, “Ban-chan, can we get ice cream?”
“Yeah.” And that’s that.
--
TBC in Part 2
Title: Hallow’s Eve
Author/Artist: Amethyst Hunter
Pairing: Ban/Akabane
Fandom: Get Backers
Theme: #10 - “#10 (the number ten)”
Rating: PG-13 (minor adult content/themes)
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for the Voodoo Child curse and basically most of Ban’s/Himiko’s/Yamato’s histories, also canonical mentions of Akabane and Semimaru’s pasts.
Notes:
- Implied past Semimaru/Akabane.
- The song Akabane sings in this, “The Book Of My Life”, is written by and belongs to Sting, and I do not own or profit from it. Lyrics to the song are courtesy of this link: http://www.lyricattack.com/s/stinglyrics/thebookofmylifelyrics.html
- All haikus quoted therein are the properties of their respective authors (i.e., not me) and are used only for fun. See footnotes at the end for haiku links.
- Many thanks to those of you who patiently awaited the next installment of this series. RL has been Rather Unpleasant for me lately, so it’s been hard trying to finish this one.
- This fic and others in this series can be found on fanfiction.net. (I am in the process of setting up fanfic journals so that I can archive the stories elsewhere as well, since my regular website is currently inaccessible by me for updates.)
Disclaimer: GB is not mine. Sting is not mine. The haiku are not mine. Hell, even the chair I'm sitting on isn't mine. All fannish works are done purely for fun and the love of the game.
Summary: On the eve of an anniversary Ban and Akabane revisit old ghosts as they look ahead to future ones.
--
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Akabane gives Ban a puzzled look. He’s just come from the bathroom, fresh from a shower, and now he’s combing out his long hair. “What?”
Ban is steaming. He gives the other man a pointed glare. “You know what.”
Akabane gives a light laugh. “No, I don’t know what. Perhaps you’d like to enlighten me as to why you’re giving me a look you normally reserve for tow trucks?”
He walks over to the dresser, smelling of soap and humidity. Ban’s view traces the thin silhouette he poses in the light as he watches Akabane finish combing his damp hair with one hand and scroll through the messages on his cell phone with the other. When he completes these tasks he lays the comb on the dresser and turns around, and Ban is still glaring at him.
“What?”
“The shirt, Jackal,” Ban growls.
Confusion draws Akabane’s slender brows into a crease. “What shirt?”
Ban resists the urge to slam his fist into the wall next to him. “The one you’ve got on!”
Akabane looks at himself, then back at Ban. “What about it?”
Ban silently counts to ten before responding, cold anger written along the sharp edges of his face and the twitching muscles of his frame. “Where’d you get it?”
“It was hanging on the doorknob of the bathroom.” Akabane shrugs. “I needed a clean shirt. Midou-kun, I don’t understand why you’re so upset. It’s just a shirt.”
It is and it isn’t, Ban thinks. Akabane doesn’t look any different than from how he normally dresses when he’s getting ready to go to bed - he’s wearing a pair of black silk pajama pants and the offending shirt, which is a tank top and olive green and most importantly - Ban’s. Such blatant pilferage of his wardrobe ratchets Ban’s restlessness up another notch into full aggravation, chiefly because it reminds him of two people he’s had more than a passing acquaintance with.
Wear open shirts, Ban. It drives the ladies wild when they see that chest, Yamato had told him. He’d loaned Ban some of his clothes early on when their little ‘family’ had first formed and he’d discovered that Ban was poorer than dirt. Later, a mischievous Himiko had taken to snatching the white sleeved ones Ban had gotten as gifts from her brother and wearing them around whatever home they’d been staying in at the time. It was Yamato who taught Ban a sense of style, how to dress to impress, and the lessons had stuck.
The resurgence of these bittersweet memories makes something twist almost painfully inside Ban’s chest and he covers the soreness by snapping at Akabane again. “It’s my shirt.” Jackal ought to know by now how territorial Ban is about his possessions anyway.
Akabane smiles serenely. “Yes, I gathered that. What I don’t understand is why you’re so upset about me wearing it. I told you, I needed a clean shirt.”
“Why couldn’t you have just used one of your own?”
Akabane shrugs again. “This one was readily available. Oh, don’t give me that look,” he chides semi-affectionately. “You steal my bedcovers all the time. I’m just returning the favor.”
“That’s different. Those were mine to begin with and if I didn’t have to get them back all the time because you insist on cocooning yourself in them like some kind of goddamn caterpillar it wouldn’t even be an issue in the first place. This is my shirt we’re talking about here, so take it off and go find another one.”
Akabane frowns faintly as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed near Ban’s feet. “Midou-kun, is there some reason you are being purposely antagonistic tonight? You’re making an awful lot of fuss over something so simple...”
If only it were that simple, Ban thinks. But he’s feeling on edge tonight, still bruising from past wounds, and that emotional trigger is not what he wants to spend dwelling on. “Look, you don’t like it when I mess with your clothes, so lay off mine, will you? Take it off. Now.”
Akabane’s brows draw into a stern line and his jaw hardens in an instantly recognizable stubbornness. “No.”
“Jackal - “
“Midou-kun, you need to settle down.”
That’s it. Nobody tells him to behave like he’s some snot-nosed brat. “Settle this!” Ban snarls, and lunges at him.
His charge only gets so far before it’s stopped in mid-strike. One pale hand clamps down on Ban’s primary fist and the other forces his second punch to back off before it’s skewered on the scalpels emerging from between Akabane’s fingers. “That’s enough,” the transporter says, his calm politeness reinforced by steel both figurative and literal.
For just a second Ban is tempted to escalate the feud into an all-out fight, thinking that maybe a round or two of roughhousing is just what he needs to distract his mind, but deep down he knows that it will only make things worse - the sparring sessions he and Jackal have are never done in such a half-assed fashion, both for safety’s sake and because neither man’s pride would permit him to engage without full attention given to the art. And a part of Ban, a very secretive part of him, is reluctant to take out his frustration and his anger on someone that he really does care about. Getting to know Akabane Kuroudo hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth a lot of the trouble and time he’s invested in it.
Not only that, but Ban is loath to admit the real reason behind his irritability and endure the potentially cutting pity. This is his cross alone to bear; he knew that a long time ago and accepted his fate for what it was. Not even Ginji knows about it, and they’re about as close as two best friends can get without being joined at the hip.
So, instead of retreating, instead of attempting another attack and planting a knuckle sandwich smack on his lover’s unsmiling lips, Ban shakes him off and gets up. “Fine. Keep the fucking shirt. Use it for tissue paper for all I care.” And with that he stalks out of the bedroom, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter off the dresser as he goes.
He enjoys about a half-hour of uninterrupted smoke-filled peace before Akabane appears alongside him on the balcony. He’s wrapped in his robe now, and he’s holding Ban’s as well. “It gets quite chilly during nights now, Midou-kun. At least bundle up if you’re going to sulk outside.”
Ban stares out at the city lights from where he’s perched on the ledge, refusing to acknowledge the other man’s presence. Silently he wills Akabane’s sense of politeness into obeying a mental order for him to go away and leave Ban the fuck alone.
Akabane, however, is persistent to the end when he decides he wants something. He comes closer, calmly disregarding the hostile aura around his lover and carefully drapes the robe around him, his voice gentle as always. “I won’t have you catching cold, Midou-kun. Even if you are so reckless about your health.”
You’re such a reckless idiot, Ban! Why can’t you listen to others for a change?!
Himiko’s face swims in his mind’s eye - a memory from a time when they’d botched a job because of something he’d done and she’d chewed him out royally for it. Yamato had bitched them both out, saying that they could each do with a little more maturity. Later that same evening they’d brushed the incident aside over hot takeout and cold beer (fruit punch for Himiko, a fact which annoyed her to no end as she insisted she was mature enough to drink alcohol), and Ban had asked Yamato how he could so casually dismiss what had happened.
Fuck-ups are fuck-ups, Ban, Yamato had replied, affectionately cuffing him about the head. Mistakes will always come and go, but you’ll only ever have one family. We’ll get ‘er next time, kid, don’t worry.
Christ, Yamato. I’d give my life a thousand times over just to hear you rip into me like that again and ten minutes later laugh and tell me it’ll be all right.
Ban swiftly blinks away the sting of wet heat threatening to blossom in his eyes, and shivers.
“If you come inside where it’s nicer, I’ll make you some hot cocoa and you can tell me why you’re suddenly not speaking to me,” Akabane tries to entice him.
Ban crunches the remains of his cigarette between his fingers and flicks the used butt over the edge of the balcony. He yanks a fresh one from the crumpled box in his hand and fishes in his jeans pocket for his lighter. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he mutters coldly, touching the flame to the tip of the cigarette before jamming it in between his lips.
Akabane smiles.
Ban looks out on the night again. This is his private pain, dammit. Why can’t people just leave it alone?
Movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention. Ban looks, but Akabane has vanished in a flurry of black silk. He looks back to the stars and feels something warm, soft but with the strength of a born predator underlying, enveloping him from behind.
“We’ll be warmer if we sit together like this,” Akabane breathes into Ban’s ear, wrapping his arms around him and twining their legs as he fits himself spoon-style against his lover.
“Maybe. And maybe I’ll toss you off this ledge if you don’t cut out the bullshit,” Ban growls.
He can practically feel Akabane’s smile against the back of his neck. “Ah, but if you do that, I’ll take you with me, and then neither of us will have any fun.” Pale arms tighten subtly around his chest, and a cool moisture slides along his cheek as Akabane rests his chin on Ban’s shoulder, his damp hair fragrant with the pleasant scent of conditioner.
Scent. Himiko’s calling card. Every time Ban encounters an unusual smell - chemicals, spices, things such - he automatically thinks of her. She’d be able to identify it in a heartbeat, with her skill at detecting and sorting fragrances. She has to, in her profession. Her weapons - her perfumes - are her strongest asset, and the ability to wield them effectively in a fight is every bit as important as knowing how to mix their dangerous recipes to the precise measurements. Truly the talent of a witch of poisons...
Akabane’s hand curves lightly over the top of Ban’s. Ban’s fingers are fidgeting with the top of his lighter, flicking it open and shut, open and shut, in a slow repetitive clinking. “It’s not just about the shirt, is it, Midou-kun?”
He shouldn’t bother answering, should just keep his fat mouth shut and go on pretending he’s ignoring Jackal so as to bore him that much sooner. Then he’d go away and leave Ban to his misery. Despite himself Ban hears words pass through his lips. “Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?”
Taking no offense at the sarcasm Akabane nuzzles his cheek. “You have the stale scent of old blood on your mind tonight.”
He isn’t saying that to be a creepy smartass. The other man is uncannily perceptive at times, Ban knows.
He inhales another drag and blows forth a wisp of smoke, watching it spiral effortlessly and thin out into nothingness. “I hate the fucking change of seasons. Autumn, everything turning brown, shit decaying...”
A soft chuckle stirs the fine hairs on his skin. “My, this is different. Usually I’m the one waxing poetic about death.”
“Heh.”
They sit in silence for several minutes, Ban smoking, Akabane idly caressing his hand. Ban hates to admit it, but it has gotten cool out here in the night air and having his jackal pressed up against him like a living blanket is rather...comforting. Sleeping with Akabane is like going to bed with a hot-water bottle, enjoyable warmth all around. Some of his anger dissolves into a brooding mist, and he leans back just a little into his lover’s chest.
As if sensing his thoughts, the other man pauses in his touch and murmurs, “Would you like to come to bed now?” The offer is made innocently enough, without a trace of sex in it, but sex usually winds up being part and parcel of the deal anyway, just because they can’t keep their hands off each other.
Nonetheless, Ban declines. “Not yet.”
Akabane kisses his cheek and resumes stroking his hand.
Ban’s eyes fall to their fingers, what he’s holding in his own. Click, clink. Click, clink. He remembers clearly when he’d started smoking, seriously that is. Prior to his full induction into the nicotine lovers’ club he’d attempted a few hits here and there from his days on the streets, if only to embellish his ‘tough’ image around some of the older kids. He had been ten years old when he’d had his first cigarette.
Yamato had been a regular smoker. His favorite brands varied, but he usually stuck to the full flavors. Menthols when his preference was unavailable. Himiko had never cared for the habit, complaining that he was going to get lung cancer and die before he was thirty, but Yamato had teasingly ruffled her hair and laughed, kiddo, if this doesn’t get me, something else will, so I’m gonna enjoy what I’ve got.
As it turned out, something else had gotten him before he turned thirty.
Ban studies the lighter. Its silver is still polished - he takes care to keep it that way, it’s the least he can do for the man who taught him how to light up in style. His eyes glaze over at the memory of Yamato catching Ban watching him one day. He’d offered the boy his lit cigarette with a wink and a jaunty Want one, Ban? Nah, you’re not old enough to know how, I bet.
I know how to smoke, asshole! And Ban had grabbed the little stick from him and proceeded to gulp down a huge cloud of smoke, which he’d promptly gagged on and nearly vomited up in a fit of red-faced spluttering.
Yamato had laughed, but not unkindly. Here, he’d said, let me show you how to do it right. They’d practiced it all afternoon until Ban got good at inhaling without choking. Soon he was making smoke rings and spirals like Yamato did. In the summer they’d sit outside sometimes after a job was done, sharing a companionable pack of cigs and bullshitting each other about the crazy and stupid things each of them did or said.
The day Ban had turned sixteen Yamato had taken him aside after a job and plopped a small metallic weight in his hand. I forgot to get you a present since we had to work today, so here’s a consolation gift, he’d grinned.
Ban had looked at what Yamato had given him and was startled. Yamato had saved for ages to buy this lighter, an expensive custom job that he’d had his initials stenciled on. Next to his car, it was his sole favorite possession. Ban knew this because he’d once seen Yamato go apeshit looking for it when he’d thought he’d lost it once on a job. The guards they’d encountered had borne the brunt of his temper, and had wisely allowed them to escape unhindered.
Nearly a year after that, Yamato was dead, Himiko hated him, and Ban was out on the streets again. Happy birthday, indeed.
Warm hands fold over his with the lighter in it. Ban looks at the starburst of scar decorating the pale skin and wonders if Akabane has ever known such a loss. Ginji had once told him that during an ongoing fight with the head of the seven elders from the Kiryuudo he’d sensed a peculiar aura coming from the transporter, something what felt to him like “raw flesh scraped into hide.” Not a pretty picture, to be sure, but Ban knows exactly what that feels like because that’s how he felt when he’d had to do what he did, how he still feels every time the anniversary rolls around.
His anger has long since cooled now, and maybe it’s just the difference of having someone close enough to confide in, or maybe he’s just trying to articulate his own conflicted thoughts, but whatever the reason Ban finds himself speaking at last. “Hey, Jackal.”
“Mm?” Akabane stirs, lifting his head slightly from its place on Ban’s shoulder.
“You know how...I once told you I had to kill somebody?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“This weekend is the anniversary of his death.”
“Ohhh,” Akabane says softly in understanding. He strokes Ban’s hair. “You must miss him very much, then.”
The tears suddenly well up again and Ban shuts his eyes, forcing them back. When he’s sure he can talk without cracking, he says quietly, “Yeah.”
“Tell me about him? Unless it pains you to speak of it. I understand if that’s the case, Midou-kun.”
Ban shrugs. “Not much to tell. I fell in with him and his younger sister some years back. They were running a small-time thievery operation. Just little things, nothing big although we did those too, once in a while, if the money was good and the risk was worth it. Yamato taught me a lot of stuff.”
“Yamato. Was that his name?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you have to kill him?”
Ban...I can’t hold out any longer. You have to do it, now, before the curse completes itself.
Jesus, God, no, Yamato! There has to be another way!
Ban! Please...
Ban inhales a small shuddering breath. Unconsciously his right hand clenches around the lighter. “He...asked...me to.”
“And you didn’t want to.”
“Nah, I wanted to, I hadn’t racked up my body count for the day. Of course I didn’t want to do it! Shit. Jackal...” Ban inwardly curses himself for that higher-sounding note straining his voice, and for the stinging heat that keeps building in his eyes. Goddammit, of all the times to have to start bawling like a baby... “Yamato...he was - he was like...he was family to me. A brother. A father.” More of one than his actual sire, Ban thinks. He still doesn’t quite know what to make of Kaiser, as the man called himself. He caused a shitload of trouble as Beltline ruler, but he did actually say to his son once that he was proud of him. That’s more than Ban could ever say for his mother...
“Why do you blame yourself so, Midou-kun? You fulfilled his request. It’s what any professional would have done.”
Akabane is only asking out of curiosity and there’s no malice, no taunt in his tone. Yet Ban suddenly wants to smash his fist into the other’s face, a white-hot spike of rage rushing through his blood that wants to make his lover hurt, wants him to feel what Ban feels. As if Yamato had wanted to die, wanted to leave Ban and Himiko alone to face the aftermath!
He roughly shoves Akabane away from him and gets up, pacing the balcony with a grim snarl. “It shouldn’t have been necessary at all, goddammit!” In a lesser tone, he hisses, “I told him to let me help, that we could find the way together...”
Akabane remains calm in the face of his lover’s fury, but then it’s hard to faze him. He swings his legs down from the ledge and stands up, folding his arms over his chest. “But he wouldn’t let you,” he guesses correctly. “Perhaps he felt he was protecting you. You still mustn’t blame yourself for his death. He chose as he thought was best. Did he not have the free will to do so?”
Ban stops pacing and rakes a hand through his hair as he stares at Akabane. His stub of a cigarette has finally extinguished, and he pitches it to the side and contemplates lighting up another as he glances at the lighter again, then back at the jackal. A part of him understands the practical wisdom his lover is trying to be helpful in offering; the wounded half just doesn’t want to hear it right now. Ban gives him a hard glare. “So what if he had the choice? It still doesn’t excuse the truth of the matter.”
Akabane’s gaze is steady, placid purple meeting thunderous blue. “Only if you refuse to let the past be past. You torture yourself needlessly with it in the present and therefore are unable to find any enjoyment from either.”
Ban fairly sneers at him. “Isn’t that my choice, then?”
“True.” Akabane comes to stand behind him again, aligning their bodies together as he wraps his arms around Ban. His hands lace in a loose clasp at his lover’s abdomen and he rests his head on his shoulder, lips caressing Ban’s ear as he speaks in a near-whisper.
“But if you persist in this useless martyr’s penitence, then Himiko-san may lose the choice to decide her future.”
The words stab Ban to the core, and not just because deep down inside, he knows that Akabane is right. He pulls away in astonishment and turns around.
Akabane is surprisingly solemn. “There are those who still speak in Babylon, even if only in allusion to it, for they fear repercussion from the ones interested in the Last Children who bear the Voodoo lineage. I was aware that Himiko-san was mourning the loss of an older brother. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”
Ban is still gaping at him, stunned by the extent of the other man's knowledge of the Voodoo curse. It’s a vivid reminder that Akabane Kuroudo is himself a man of many secrets, some of which Ban’s not entirely sure he wants to learn about.
Ban...in case anything happens to me...
I promised Yamato I would protect her. God help me if I fail a second time.
“Does she know, Midou-kun?”
The silence hangs heavy between them like a lead weight. It could almost flatten them, Ban thinks. “No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
Ban hesitates. “When the time is right,” he hedges.
Akabane’s brow raises only just a little. “Do you think that’s wise, waiting?”
“She can’t handle that information at her age. She’s just a kid.”
“Maybe you ought to let her be the judge of that. Himiko-san is more resilient than you think.”
Himiko, what the hell d’you think you’re doing? You’re just a brat, they’ll eat you for breakfast.
Don’t treat me like a little kid, Ban! I can do it on my own!
Akabane comes closer, taking Ban into his arms. “Midou-kun...have you ever considered that perhaps you are doing Himiko-san a grave disservice by not telling her? What if this curse activates prematurely? What if it happens when she is alone and has no one to aid her?”
Those thoughts and more have indeed crossed Ban’s mind. But he feels just as powerless and helpless to intervene, and he’s reasoned that it’s better the devil one does know instead of the unknown. “According to Yamato, it’s not supposed to hit till she turns seventeen. There’s still time.”
Akabane frowns faintly. “Time flies fastest when one least expects it to, Midou-kun. It would be better spent in preparation than denial. Surely you would agree with such wisdom.”
Damn it. No, he can’t argue with that, Ban realizes. But a part of him still balks at revealing to Himiko the truth of her own cursed heritage. Hang around a warlock long enough and just maybe some of his less-than-appealing traits might start to rub off...
He can live with her hating him. He’s lived with it ever since the day he took Yamato’s life. What Ban can’t bear is the thought of her following in her brother’s footsteps, should the Voodoo Child return for its pound of flesh.
A pale scarred hand reaches up to touch his face, cup his jaw. “Be like Ginji-kun, Midou-kun. Have a little more faith in Himiko-san. She is much stronger and smarter than you sometimes give her credit for. I of all people ought to know her capabilities,” Akabane says gently, a reminder of the transporters’ unusual partnership. “Trust me when I say that she will be far angrier with you for having denied her this information than by the actual curse itself. Compared with risking her life in ignorance...don’t you think this is the better gamble?”
Anger...He can deal with that. Himiko will yell and scream and curse at him, call him all sorts of vile and vicious names in language unfit for a girl of sixteen. And she’ll be justified in it, of course, because Ban would have done the exact same thing to anybody who kept him in the dark about events affecting his life. And just maybe after enough time has passed and her temper has cooled, she’ll grow to...tolerate him again, and they can regain a semblance of what they had when it was still just the three of them taking on the world together - Yamato, Himiko, and Ban...
“I’ll think about it,” he eventually concedes.
Akabane smiles. “I know.” He kisses Ban chastely on the lips. “Now will you come to bed? It’s cold there without you.”
“Why? You’ll just steal my covers again like you always do.”
That smile deepens and takes on a hint of sly amusement. “And then you will be forced to attach yourself on top of me in search of body heat.”
“Heh. Should’ve known you had ulterior motives,” Ban grunts as he lets Akabane lead him back inside the apartment.
“I never claimed to be a saint, Midou-kun.”
Inside the bedroom they slip beneath the blankets after shedding their respective robes and curl against each other. Ban’s still somewhat tense, and Akabane starts to dig elegant long fingers into his muscles. “Let me?” he murmurs.
Ban feels emotionally if not physically drained. Anger - persistent anger - takes a lot of energy. So does regret. But in the reminders of the Child’s imminent return, he needs...something. Needs that reassurance, to know that he’s got viable options other than the ones he’s loath to resort to, and Akabane is willing to provide that relief from his nightmares, however temporary a solution it is. He lifts his face and kisses his lover in silent acceptance.
Akabane works with exquisite care, kissing back tenderly while he undresses them both, and lies atop Ban. Slender hips undulate lightly against him; scarred hands bracket Ban’s face while Ban’s hands grasp a marked shoulder in one and a firm buttock in the other. They move together like this for a minute or two, an unhurried rustle of pleasurable friction, and then the jackal shifts his hand, wrapping it around both of their erections and pumping steadily as they both reach for a satisfying release.
Ban groans, and moments later wet heat spurts between their bellies as he comes first, followed shortly thereafter by Akabane who utters a mute whimper amidst his shaky panting. They hold each other for a while, coasting into a sated doze before Akabane stirs and rises from the bed. Ban vaguely hears the sound of running water in the bathroom.
He sighs quietly in the darkness, fuzzy mind registering the slow caress of a warm, wet cloth being passed over his abdomen and groin as his lover cleans them both up. Then the dampness is gone and replaced with another warmth, a more solid one that winds itself around him as he rolls over and encourages his head to pillow itself on a pale chest.
“Sleep now, Midou-kun.”
And Ban does.
--
The noonday sun beads a pretty lance of light over the top of the Ladybug. Ginji notices that the route they’re taking isn’t leading directly back to the Honky Tonk. “Ban-chan, where’re we going?”
Ban is silent at first. Then he says, “I gotta stop and see somebody about a job.”
“All right! You have something lined up for the Get Backers?”
There’s a pause. Ban doesn’t take his eyes from the road he’s navigating. “You could say that,” he mumbles after a while.
Ginji looks pleased. “It’s been a good week for us, huh Ban-chan? Jobs coming in and for once we’ve got money! Has the client for this one told you anything yet?”
“I know everything I need to know,” Ban answers cryptically. “This is just to finalize the details.”
Some time later when he pulls up into the cemetery Ginji shows little sign of surprise. It’s not uncommon for them to meet clients in the oddest of places. Ban parks the car and motions to Ginji to stay put. “This might take awhile, so you wait here. The client is sorta out of this world, and it’s best if I’m the one to speak with him. There are a few words that need to be said.”
Puzzled as to this turn of events but trusting that they’ll be explained eventually, Ginji nods.
Ban exits the car and starts walking up a small hill.
He follows this path into a clearing where tombstones lie in spaced rows of ten, each one a silent testament to its owner’s presence on this earth. Ahead is a large tree, its vibrantly green limbs spread broadly out to receive the light as it shelters one marker in particular.
Don’t cry for me when I’m gone, Ban. Tears are wasted on the dead - it’s the living they need to be shed for.
Ban thinks of all the times when he wished he could have given both tears and blood for dead and living alike. Somehow that won’t be a problem in regards to the former today, he decides.
As for the latter...that will come soon enough.
He approaches the headstone he’s singled out, and he does say a few words.
“Yamato, you cagey bastard...you never told me that growing up was so goddamned hard to do...”
--
Ginji yawns and stretches in his seat. It’s been a while since Ban left to meet with their client, and he’s growing bored. Deciding that a little exercise is in order to relieve the ennui he gets out of the car and begins wandering up the nearest hill.
He spots a large tree at the other end of the clearing and perks up. Trees are great for swinging and climbing on, despite the fact that Ban complains about Ginji looking like “one of that damn monkey-trainer’s apes” when he catches him doing something like that. Then he realizes what else is under the tree, and concern draws his expression into a worried frown.
Ban is alone, and it looks like he’s been hurt. He’s hunched over one of the tombstones, making choking noises.
Ginji’s immediate instinct is to run to his side, but before he gets two steps a shadow falls across his path.
“AAAKA - “ A gloved hand clamps down over his mouth before he finishes his scream.
“It’s all right, Ginji-kun. Midou-kun is unharmed.”
Ginji swats away the hand over his mouth and jumps back, glaring. “Do you have to sneak up on people all the time, Akabane-san?” he hisses, twitching like a jittery feline.
Akabane smiles, perhaps a bit sadly. He glances to where Ban is still kneeling in front of the grave. “Midou-kun asked me to meet him here when he was done. He’s to drop me off someplace for a meeting of my own.”
“Oh.”
A sound draws their attention towards the tree. Ban has fallen forward with bowed head now and is shaking, fists clenched in the grass and dirt. Ginji moves, but Akabane blocks his way. He puts a finger to the blond’s lips and shakes his head, indicating quiet.
“Midou-kun needs to be by himself for a little bit.”
“But - “
Akabane loops his arm around Ginji’s and gently but firmly tows him away from the scene. “Come, Ginji-kun. You can walk me to the car.”
“...as long as you promise not to poke me with any scalpels...!”
About an hour later Ban returns. He gets inside the car without a word. His companions can easily see what the glasses can’t hide, but no one makes any mention of it. All Ginji says is, “Ban-chan, can we get ice cream?”
“Yeah.” And that’s that.
--
TBC in Part 2