[fic] Danse Macabre :: Tatsumi

[omoikiri]

Title: Danse Macabre
Author: Shan
Prompt: Death.023
Rating: R (graphic images, violence, angst)
Word Count: 5,406
Progress: 5/100
Status: One-shot. Complete.
Summary: "It felt like some wicked danse macabre, with him as the main character."

Author's Notes: Tatsumi only, no Watari (for the obvious reasons). I wanted to write a short backstory!fic, but it somehow grew out to be quite a long!fic >.<;;; FYI: this is not canon, but rather my take on what could have happened. Huge thanks to yutaka for patiently plowing through the mistakes I've made while writing it and to aluragayle for some insightful discussion on the historical topics.

Music :: Antimatter - In stone


Yes, even if he calls but one soul
His own in all the world.
But he who has failed in this
Must steal away alone and in tears.

Ode to Joy, Music - Ludwig von Beethoven :: Words - Fredrich Schiller

Calligraphy had never been his favorite skill - he rarely used it. Yet as he held the thin brush, Tatsumi deeply appreciated that learned art. It required all of his focus and attention to make the markings even and straight. Left to right, then top to bottom, his steady hand strokes left the beautiful curves of kanji on the delicate parchment. Not a drop of unnecessary ink escaped his watchful gaze onto the flawless piece of paper. He made sure of it.

A sudden gust of wind shattered the complete stillness of the evening as it ruffled the trees around the tiny house. The branches rubbed against each other with an ominous sound, scaring a few crows from their nests. Tatsumi looked up and watched the birds fly onto a more distant tree. Escaping in fear, like he had done himself.

Careful not to spill any paint, he put away his brush. Devoid of any other occupation, his mind traveled back to his current problems and his own need to run. He had been driven away from his job in Tokyo, from everything he had worked so hard for. He had found a temporary shelter at his mother's house, but he knew it would not be long until his pursuers caught up with him.

The wind blew through the trees again and, this time, Tatsumi watched the subtle shadows dance across the parchment. In the past, he might have found the display amusing, but not right now. He narrowed his eyes a little and, as if touched with a magic wand, the shapes no longer moved aimlessly. Within a few seconds they slid over the smooth surface and formed one, single word - kagetsukai.

Tatsumi sighed quietly and the letters immediately dispersed into an unintelligible blur. There were people in Tokyo who wanted that shadow power for things he did not even wish to know about. He had never cared about the government's war efforts, which he considered disgraceful, and not even a pile of money would change his mind.

A loud cry came from the nearby tree, startling Tatsumi out of his grim thoughts. Another crow tore up into the sky and flew away in fright. Uneasiness crept into his gut and twisted his stomach into a knot. The air suddenly became heavy, almost electrified. His breathing grew significantly quicker. He glanced around the small property, trying to pierce the deepening shadows with his eyes. As if on command, the hedge rippled with movement.

Tatsumi jumped into a crouching position in an instant. He silently cursed at the yukata he wore that limited his mobility. Alert to any and all motion, he stared at the bushes with determination. That could not have been the wind, he was sure, if the branches had moved so violently. Somebody had been sitting there, watching him. A few long minutes passed until he finally heard approaching footsteps. Judging by the intensity, somebody was running.

"Tatsumi-san! Tatsumi-san! You're back! You came back from the city!"

A small boy, dressed in considerably torn clothing, appeared on the pathway, grinning from ear to ear. Tatsumi's muscles relaxed immediately as he recognized his unusual guest. A gentle smile spread over his face and he urged the child on. In a flurry of gleeful giggles, the boy fell into his open arms.

"I'm not back for good, Mizuki-kun," Tatsumi said in a soft voice. The warmth of the embrace left him happy and craving more. "I'm on vacation."

The little guy straightened himself and gave Tatsumi a critical look. A quick glance at the table revealed his interest in the half-finished parchment.

"You are so serious, Tatsumi-san," he said. "All you do is work and work, no time for yourself. You need to take a wife and settle down. She can cook good food for you and you can have a son, so I can play with him."

It took all of Seiichirou's self-restraint not to burst out laughing at the boy's antics. He arched his eyebrow and glared playfully.

"Mizuki? What did I tell you about eavesdropping on the conversations of adults?" His stern tone was anything, but harsh.

The seven-year-old immediately flashed a grin that only confirmed his guilt. He seemed quite untroubled by the fact that he had been caught red-handed.

"It's not my fault my mom keeps talking about you," the boy said. "Some of my aunts are very curious and can't stop chatting. And they use some very difficult words, too! Tatsumi-san, what does 'eloped' mean?"

A miniscule tremble ran through Tatsumi's body, the joy from seeing his young neighbor significantly dampened. The local gossip had to run low if the neighborhood women chose to entertain themselves with his family history again. Anger stirred inside of him, but he squashed it at once. He had learned to live with his shame and moved on.

"Tatsumi-san, what are you writing?"

The sound of the young, inquisitive voice tore him away from the less than cheerful thoughts. The boy stood next to the table, his focus already on something else and the controversial question forgotten. Tatsumi forced a smile onto his face and also turned to his parchment.

"This is a birthday gift for my mother," he said quietly. "I can't afford anything expensive from the store so I'm inking the kanji. I also drew the picture."

Mizuki stood for a while, ignoring the drawing and intently staring at the black markings. He screwed up his face as he tried really hard to read them. Very quickly he gave up and turned back to Tatsumi.

"What do they say?"

Tatsumi pointed to the row on the farthest right. The letters were slightly thicker, indicating the title.

"It's Ode to Joy."

The young boy concentrated again, as if trying to remember what the title stood for. He gave up equally fast and looked at Tatsumi, confused.

"I've never heard of it before. Did you write it yourself?" he asked slowly.

One more time Seiichirou felt like laughing out loud. He had to admit that the boy amused him.

"No, I did not," he said with a smile. "It's an old song from Europe, written by a very talented poet, Fredrich Schiller."

Mizuki's eyes became large and filled with adoration.

"Amazing. You're so smart, Tatsumi-san," he whispered with reverence. "I want to be just like you when I grow up."

However ridiculous the idea sounded, it brought a wide grin to Tatsumi's face. He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Study hard at school and be a good son to your parents, Mizuki-kun," he said cheerfully. "If you do that, you will become even smarter than I am."

A sound inside the house startled them both. Mizuki looked at Tatsumi with worried eyes, unsure what to do. Somebody deep within the household was approaching and the boy looked less than inclined to wait for the person to appear.

"Go home," Tatsumi said quickly, recognizing Mizuki's discomfort and intent on ignoring the shuffling behind the screen door. "Your mother will worry."

The boy nodded.

"Goodnight, Tatsumi-san." He bowed and ran away as quickly as he had come.

The door slid open and Tatsumi turned to greet his mother.

"Good evening, Mother," he said in an official tone. "I'm glad to see you up from your nap."

The woman scoffed. Her still-young face seemed to have frozen in an everlasting scorn.

"Stop your games, Seiichirou," she replied. "For once you could admit you wish I fell asleep and never woke up. I can see it in your eyes."

"But-"

"And I don't understand why you still associate with that Asumi boy. His mother made sure everybody knows about every detail of our family history."

Tatsumi involuntarily clenched his jaw. It proved really hard not to give in to his growing annoyance.

"It's not the boy's fault his mother is jealous of your lineage, mother," he said through his gritted teeth. "I can't blame him for trying to be friendly."

The woman smirked at him.

"He shouldn't be too friendly with a Kageshi, though. It could be dangerous."

Tatsumi's brows climbed into his hairline, his blue eyes intently staring into the chocolate brown ones. There was a hidden message in his mother's words, he could tell.

"What do you mean, Mother?"

Her gaze drifted towards the horizon. For a brief moment she watched the fading light of the already gone sun.

"Why did you come back, Seiichirou?" she asked, her voice filled with weariness. "First, some unknown men appear, sniffling around the town like dogs, wanting to know about the Kagetsukai who used live here. Then you come to my house. Unannounced."

A breath caught in Tatsumi's throat at the surprising news. He had expected to be followed by the group of zealots from Tokyo, but not so quickly. They were more efficient than he had initially thought. Knowing it would be pointless to hide the facts from his mother, Tatsumi cleared his throat. Bringing up his own faults pricked his pride.

"I was made an offer," he said. "A deal of sorts, which I could not accept. They threatened to negatively influence my position at work so I took an early vacation and came here. I didn't think they would be so persistent."

The woman snarled impatiently.

"You clearly didn't think, Seiichirou. You brought down gods-know-what onto my household and now you're making me worry about it! And who are 'they'?"

Tatsumi flinched at the obvious contempt in his mother's voice. He knew he deserved it, but it hurt his pride to be scolded like a little boy. Reluctant to talk about the questionable days of his past, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tried to hide his face behind long bangs.

"It's Itagaki-san and his group of military fanatics," he said quietly, disgusted. "I met him during an Imperial Youth Federation camp in college. He has always been an overachiever and too eager to hold power over people. He found out about my little... talent and now, he wants me to enlist in the war efforts."

The woman narrowed her eyes, clearly unhappy about the news.

"And how exactly did he find out, Seiichirou?"

The severity of her voice felt like a slap across Tatsumi's face. He found himself unable to look into her eyes. For a brief moment, he wished he had even longer hair to hide behind.

"He pushed me." His voice degraded to a whisper. "He knew exactly what to do, and what to say, to make me angry. One day I lost my temper and--"

"You have lost your temper?" his mother exclaimed. "This is ridiculous! How long have you been practicing self-control? Don't you think you're a bit too old to be 'losing your temper'? How disappointing. I thought I raised you better, Tatsumi Seiichirou."

Each word felt like a knife to his heart, but in his mind, Tatsumi knew he deserved every one of them. No matter how, and in what kind of tone of voice his mother put it, she was absolutely right. He had felt guilty ever since he had let his concentration slip, those few years back. Now, the repercussions came back to haunt him.

A subtle touch of a slender hand startled him out of gloomy thoughts. His mother leaned over and looked at him with suddenly gentle eyes.

"Out of curiosity, son," she continued, her voice sweet and calm. "How do you intend to run away from those horrible men if you are here? They know I am your mother. If you stay here, they will try to catch you unawares. I think they might already be on their way."

That sudden, panicked thought electrified Tatsumi again. He jumped to his feet and looked around the darkening neighborhood, searching for any indication of the approaching nemesis. He glanced down at his mother, amazed at how calm she appeared. He, on the other hand, wanted to run as fast, and as far, as he could.

"Mother, we need to pack and--"

"I'm not going anywhere," she interrupted with a stony look on her face.

"If those men come here--"

"As I said, I am not going anywhere, Seiichirou," she repeated. "They want you, as unfortunate as it sounds. They have no business with me, an old woman." Her tone changed suddenly, her face showing all the burdens she had carried over time. "Run, if you wish. I am too sick to go with you. I would only stall your escape."

Torn between the two choices, Tatsumi felt hot tears well up underneath his eyelids. He promptly blinked them back; he had no time to waste. For a brief moment, he looked into his mother's eyes, almost willing her to change her mind. Deep down, though, he knew she was too stubborn and he decided to yield.

He nodded and opened the sliding door behind them.

"Let me take you back to your bed, then," he said softly.

With her approval, Tatsumi reached around his mother and lifted her into his arms. He had not done it in a long while and was quite surprised at how light she felt, how fragile. Then he remembered the long years of her struggles, sickness and sorrow and his heart melted with tenderness. No matter how young in years she was, her body had aged much quicker.

Very gently, Tatsumi lowered his mother onto the bed and covered her with a warm blanket.

"I'll be back when all of this is over," he said quietly, a soft smile gracing his face, and kissed her forehead.

A light squeeze of her hand indicated the only reply.

He had no more time to waste. One last time, he glanced at his resting mother and got up to leave. In quick, determined paces he moved towards his room, shedding his yukata in the process. It took him another few moments to dress in a set of plain clothes, pack some necessary items and run outside, into the dead of the night.

The lack of sound unnerved him. The way his mother spoke of the earlier occurrences told him that, perhaps, the group of men was already out. He could not risk any reckless behavior that would result in his swift capture. The abundance of shadows gave him enough coverage to quickly move down the street, away from any accidental onlookers. He could not shake off the nasty feeling that his neighbors were in on the manhunt.

Tatsumi swiftly turned the corner and froze in place. A few dark-clad men stood in the dark ally, their silhouettes visible in the dim light of the scattered lamps. To his dismay, they all carried weapons - swords, knives and guns. In the midst of it all stood none other but Itagaki Ishiwara, wearing a triumphant grin of a tiger that had just managed to corner its prey.

"Tatsumi-san! I'm glad you could join us," said the man in a slow, silky voice. It made Tatsumi's skin crawl. "For a brief moment back there, I thought your young friend Mizuki would never leave." Itagaki's eyes shone with unhealthy amusement that did not foretell anything good.

A large lump formed in Tatsumi's throat as his mouth went dry. He was right to think he had been watched. He also had been naïve to think Mizuki had been the one to stir the bushes. He coughed gently; a feeble attempt to steady his voice.

"I'm sorry, but I don't share your sentiments, Itagaki-san," Tatsumi replied icily. "I was just leaving."

The dark eyes flickered dangerously.

"You must be joking. The party has just started and you are running away? How rude."

Tatsumi could feel anger simmer in his veins, stirring his blood. Instead of acting rash, he decided to stay calm, for as long as necessary. He knew that if he lost his temper, the others would have a better chance of finding his weak spot. Above all, he refused to use his powers in plain view, while still within the inhabited area.

"Quit your games, Itagaki-san," he said pointedly. "I have already told you I am not interested in your expansion plans. I insist that you leave and forget I ever existed."

A loud, unpleasant laugh escaped Itagaki's mouth, ringing through the crisp air of the night. He took a step closer towards Tatsumi.

"That's quite impossible, my friend," he said quietly. "You can't keep such an amazing gift to yourself. You need to work on it, expand it, and use it well in the service of our Emperor."

Tatsumi's lips curled in disgust.

"I am not your friend, Itagaki-san," he whispered menacingly. "And don't wipe your unworthy face with the Divine Emperor's name."

The other man glanced past Tatsumi and smirked.

"Are you sure you are drawing correct conclusions, Tatsumi-san?" he asked and pointed to where he was looking.

A breath caught in Tatsumi's throat as he turned and watched another group of men approach. They walked slowly, leading somebody in their midst. Horror grasped his heart as he recognized his mother's thin silhouette. Each of her steps, unsure and wobbly, only emphasized how weak she had to be. Tatsumi jumped to her aid, to seize her in his arms again and shield from those wicked men.

Yet Itagaki did not let him.

"Do you wish to reconsider your decision, Tatsumi?" asked the military man. He had a firm grip on Tatsumi's arm that made sure he wouldn't move. "Your mother is too sick to be out during such a cold night. It would be desirable to let her go back to bed and rest."

"Let her go," Tatsumi slurred from between his clenched teeth. "She hasn't done anything to you."

Itagaki smiled nastily.

"I beg to differ. She gave birth to the great Kageshi, thus making her a valuable asset in this situation. Frankly speaking, I'm surprised you left her behind. Such an honorable man as yourself--"

"Shut up!"

"--would want to make sure his mother was safe," he finished, satisfaction evident in his face.

Tatsumi's whole body began shake in uncontrollable rage. He had an overwhelming desire to wring Itagaki's neck, but he knew it would do more damage than good. He focused his mind, making it work overtime, desperate to find the best way out.

"Seiichirou?"

His mother's trembling voice brutally shifted his attention to her fragile shape.

"Seiichirou?" she repeated quietly. "Why have you left me to a certain death?"

Tatsumi's eyes flew wide open.

"Mother?" he asked.

Confused, he opened his mouth to reassure her of his good intentions. An avalanche of words pressed onto his lips, each more vague than the other, none accurate enough to explain the course of his actions. Before he could make a sound, it died in his throat as he watched his mother slide to the ground with a soft thud. She landed on her knees in hysterical sobs.

"Everybody wants my death!" she wailed. "Everybody left me alone and suffering. My mother, my husband, my daughter, they all left me in shame. Even my beloved son sold me out!"

The soldiers around her stood still, uncertain what to do next. They kept glancing at Itagaki, who looked equally perplexed at the outburst. Suddenly, before anybody reacted, the woman lunged at the nearest man, aiming for his belt. With a sharp draw, she pulled a short sword out of a scabbard. The blade glimmered ominously in the faint lamplight.

Chaos erupted in a manner of seconds as everyone ran towards the woman. Three men at once jumped to Tatsumi's side and grabbed his arms, holding him in place. He tried to break away and run towards his mother, but he wasn't strong enough. Helpless, he watched the others shuffle around the writhing form on the ground. He could feel the familiar sting underneath his eyelids, but he refused to let the tears out. There was still hope.

"What happened?" Itagaki called out to his charges. Tatsumi vaguely registered that the man sounded apprehensive.

One of the others straightened up and turned to his superior.

"I believe she attempted jigai*, sir," he reported uneasily. "That stupid woman missed the spot and cut her trachea instead."

The hands restraining him were gone and Tatsumi suddenly found himself on the ground. He refused to believe what he had heard, but deep down, he knew the truth. Slowly, he shifted towards his mother.

"Tatsumi, don't move," Itagaki cried out his warning.

None of that mattered anymore. Tatsumi ignored the armed men around him and continued on his way. He could feel those restrictive hands again, but he knew they would not stop him, this time.

"Tatsumi!"

His mind numb, he barely registered the warm trails running down his cheeks. The mud on the street soaked through his pants, but it had no importance to him. He broke into a quick run, pushed the other men aside and scooped his mother's body into his arms. Even then, she still thrashed around in agony.

The blood poured freely onto her yukata and further, over Tatsumi's hands. He barely glanced at the cut that ran across her neck and looked into her wide-open eyes instead. He saw so many raw emotions. A quiet moan of despair escaped his dry mouth.

"Why, Mother? Why?" he whispered in tears.

He gasped as he felt her thin fingers grasp his shirt. She wanted to say something, he could tell, but the air no longer had a pathway to her lungs. The grip gradually loosened and her body went limp.

A silent sob rippled through Tatsumi as he looked into those glassy, desolate eyes. They still carried so much contempt. He wanted to shake her, wake her up and apologize for all the wrong he had done. Instead, he swept those long, beautiful strands of black hair away from her face. Gently, as if not to disrupt her sleep, he cupped her head and pressed it to his chest. Her warmth scorched his fingertips, an impression of breathing fire.

"Tatsumi, she's already gone. You have to come with us."

That stern voice sounded muffled and distant in Tatsumi's ears. He ignored the insistent shake to his shoulder, determined to keep his mother safe in his arms. She would not have to suffer anymore, if he had anything to say about it.

"Tatsumi! Get up! We are leaving, right now!"

Somebody approached him, kneeled down and reached to remove Tatsumi's mother from his grasp. His muscles contracted as he cradled the body even closer.

"No..." he croaked.

"Tatsumi, stop being so sentimental," he heard Itagaki say behind him. "That woman," the man continued in a whisper. "She crossed all of our plans!"

Tatsumi stirred. Not without a lot of effort, he lifted his head and searched for Itagaki's face. Everything blurred together when he looked at what he thought was the right person.

"Go away. It's all your fault, Itagaki--"

"This is ridiculous! Take her away!" came a sharp command.

A sharp pull came out of nowhere and Tatsumi found himself devoid of the cooling warmth of his mother's body. A quiet, longing moan escaped his mouth, just as hot rage began to boil his blood once more. First they had killed his mother and now they dared to take her away. He slowly stood up, once again ignoring the armed sentries.

"It's all your fault," he whispered through his gritted teeth. "I will never forgive you."

He focused his thoughts and directed them towards the shadows that had formed around the group. Frustrated and disappointed, he watched as they raised a few inches off the ground and swirled around in pretty circles - a far cry from what he needed. He decided it was time for more drastic measures.

Tatsumi had never fought outside of the mandatory military camp, but what he had learned was still fresh in his mind. It took one, quick move to steal a katana from the zealots, who kept trying to restrain him. He heard a collective gasp of surprise, but he had already cut through the throat of his first enemy. It felt like some wicked danse macabre, with him as the main character. One by one, the men met their end at his blade. He saw the crowd around him thin out, but he did not notice when Itagaki reached into his pouch. Two sharp sounds echoed through the air like whips.

A pain like he had never felt before erupted in his chest and the katana slipped out of his grasp. He barely heard the sound of the metal clamoring on the ground over the deafening beat of his heart. Everything came into a sharp focus and he watched Itagaki put away his still-smoking gun.

"What a waste," he heard Itagaki's voice through the thick wall of his slipping consciousness. "For all the power he could have had, he chose to join his mother in disgrace. Pathetic. Let's get out of here, boys."

The sound of shuffling feet and quick steps penetrated the thick fog that formed around Tatsumi's mind. He knew he had fallen to the ground, but he could not feel the mud that splattered over his face. All he could hear was the gradually slowing pace of his own heart and his rattling, labored breath.

For the last time, Tatsumi reached out towards his mother, wishing for a brief contact with the rigid body. It hurt more than his physical wound to know she would not get a proper burial. He didn't care about himself; he was already doomed for bringing death upon his kin, but he wanted everything to be right for her. With the sheer force of his will, Tatsumi pulled himself closer.

Her eyes were still open, staring out into the dark sky. The emptiness inside them spoke of death and despair and Tatsumi shook with another sob. He wanted well, he thought he had done the right thing, but then he messed everything up. There would be no Seiichirou to say the last prayer for his mother. There would be no burial place waiting for either of them.

Numb from the excess pain, Tatsumi found it almost impossible to bring himself to a kneeling position. He didn’t care about the two large blood stains on his shirt, his mind completely preoccupied with the corpse. One slow motion after another, he brought himself closer. He noticed the soldiers had taken all of their weapons, including the one responsible for his mother's death.

He had no idea how he managed to heave himself up with such a weight in his arms. His mother suddenly became unbearably heavy and it took all of his concentration to keep moving forward. All he could think of was the house he grew up in, the only place he thought suitable for their resting place.

One step after another labored step, he dragged his feet forward. He had his glasses on, but still couldn't see ahead of him. The world around was completely out of focus, as if he had forgotten them at work. A faint thought struck him, that he would never go back to Tokyo. Disappointing, indeed.

There had to be a stone somewhere on the road, he thought as he fell to the ground. A sharp pain exploded in his knees. He refused to think that the only reason he collapsed was his own weakness. He pressed his mother's body tighter to his chest and tried to stand up. His head kept spinning, but he was determined to move on. After what had to be the fifth attempt, he finally succeeded.

The tiny backyard welcomed him with silence. Carefully, Tatsumi stepped onto the wooden patio, intent on getting his mother inside. There, his strength left him for good. The pain hardly penetrated his mind as his legs failed him. He desperately tried to get up again, but his weakened body denied compliance. Gently, he sat his mother's body against the wall, facing east, and took a deep breath.

His wounds could not have been so grave after all, he mused. His mind, foggy and befuddled with pain, tried to supply a logical explanation, but promptly gave up. He didn't care either way, as long as he could carry out everything he had planned. Instead of digging up a grave - an impossible feat in his state - he decided to leave his mother sitting, until the sun came up and graced her face one last time.

Tatsumi wanted to avoid her eyes, forever frozen in a painful expression, but he found it impossible to close them. He deserved that contempt. A chilly, autumn draft ran over his back, as if confirming his thoughts. Redemption would be a long and hard process, he knew.

Resolved to start right away, he slowly crawled back into the empty house. He could not find the strength, or the will, to stand up and do everything properly. Only after a very long time, he returned, his breath harsh and ragged, clutching various articles in his hand.

The beginning was the hardest. In a hypnotic daze, Tatsumi took the damp cloth and reached over his mother's face and neck to clean them. Every stroke of his gentle hand removed a bit of dirt and blood from the paper-thin skin. Tenderly, he reached for her hair and continued his ministrations, determined to wash away as much mud as he could.

The skies had already turned a lighter hue of grey by the time he stopped, finally satisfied with the results. The cloth in his hand had long since turned an ugly shade of dirty-red; an indication of how thorough he had been. He reached for a wooden box he had brought and breathed another rattling sigh. Back in the old days, when his sister was still too small to assist their sick mother, he had had that responsibility. He lifted the lid and reached to put powder onto the deathly pale skin.

By the time the sun's first warm rays graced the woman's face, Tatsumi was done putting color onto her lips and eyelids. Somewhere along the line, he had noticed he could not see well anymore; his surrounding blurring significantly. Only once he finished, he dared to toss his glasses away and wipe his own face on one of his sleeves, finally getting rid of the constantly flowing streaks.

"Goodbye, Mother," he whispered and bowed his head, tears pouring down his face anew.

"Tatsumi Seiichirou-san!"

The sudden appearance, and the urgency of the voice, efficiently pierced through the thick fog around Tatsumi's mind. He whipped his head around, almost afraid to see who stood on the pathway. Through the blur, he saw a tall, dark silhouette, swiftly approaching the patio.

As surprising as it was, he did not fear the apparition.

"Who are you?" he asked in a quiet, croaky voice.

"My name is Tsuzuki Asato. I came to take you with me."

The man approached him and bent over just a notch. Tatsumi could distinguish beautiful facial features, lovely dark hair and a smile; that smile made all of his reserves melt in an instant. Could that be his mother's spirit, back in another form to guide him?

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To a better place, Tatsumi," came a soft reply. Could those eyes be any gentler, he wondered.

"But, my mother..."

The hand on his cheek felt so warm. It was the first time in a very long time that anybody offered him any form of comfort.

"I think she's already there," Tsuzuki said and Tatsumi believed him.

The caress of those slender fingers over his face felt like nothing he had experienced in his entire life. It didn't matter that a complete stranger showed him kindness and wiped the tear stains away. Even though it should have been awkward, he did not want the touch to go away. He looked into those violet eyes.

"Can you take me there?" he asked. A nod was the only reply.

To his great disappointment, the man's hand left his face. He watched as Tsuzuki took a few steps back and pulled out a fuda. The next few moments blurred together, as he admired the grace with which the other man performed his charm.

It had to be most beautiful dance of death he had ever seen.

-----
*Jigai - the female equivalent of seppuku and a traditional method of suicide in ancient Japan: the cutting of the jugular vein with a short sword or dagger. Read more at Wikipedia.