Something to Live For for schweinsty by atama_ga_itai
Author: Atama_ga_itai
For: schweinsty
Title: Something to Live For
Pairing: Tezu/Fuji
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Fuji is in prison for murder. Tezuka attempts to save his soul.
Warnings: Alternate universe. Graphic descriptions of Fuji shooting someone.
Disclaimer: I do not own PoT.
A/N: Forgive me for my sins, I am not a Christian (far from it), nor should Tezuka be. It's just that the thought of Fuji falling for Tezuka in a high-buttoned robe was kinda smexy =_= ...
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
-- Nick Cave, The Mercy Seat
The cell wasn't bad.
Maximum security prisons were really quite nice, Fuji reflected. Honorable, even, after their own fashion. Nobody bothered Fuji, and Fuji bothered no one. Not after the first night. It wasn't his cellmate's fault that he'd had to provide the example, but by morning, everybody around the cell block knew that nobody messed with the new guy, Fuji Syuusuke, or you'd end up like his cellmate, clawing and gibbering at the bars and begging to be transfered.
The tale grew in the telling, of course, until even the meanest buggerers kept well away from Fuji's bottom.
What was left was simply boredom.
Fuji was a cheerful sort. He wasn't going to waste his free time contemplating anything unhappy, like the family he'd left behind, or the family of the victim, not that the victim had much of a family.
Instead, Fuji spent his time ransacking the prison library for how-to books. How to macrame, How to photograph in dim light, Gourmet food with very few ingredients. He kept himself occupied. Some days, reading by himself pillowed in his cell, he almost counted himself happy. How rare was it in the corporate world, he reflected, to get an extended vacation in which to indulge one's interests?
The trial date approached, and Fuji pushed aside any of his more fatalistic thoughts. Everyone died sometime. At least Fuji, in the manner of samurai of old, was able to choose his own way out. So he read vastly, immersed himself in interesting hobbies, and only surfaced from the depth of his own thoughts for his first visit from family.
It was Yuuta, of course.
Yuuta looked haunted and horrible as Fuji clanked through the doors with his hands manacled together, the bright orange of his prison shirt doing nothing, he was sure, for Fuji's complexion.
"I'm not dead," Fuji said with a smile, looking at his brother. "Yet, anyway. At least we get to see each other, right?"
Yuuta bowed his head and scrubbed between his eyes. "How can you look so cheerful, aniki?" His voice was a mumble. "It's been horrible. Mom and dad are suffering to have a murderer in the family. They don't know what to say or do. Mom's seriously depressed."
Fuji dropped his head. Ah -- part of the vast dark well that he didn't want to touch, didn't want to think about. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "Tell mother that if there had been a way to avoid what happened, I would have."
Yuuta nodded, bringing his eyes up to meet Fuji's finally. "Yumi-nee does her best to take care of us all. She believes in you, and I do too. I know," Yuuta hesitated. "I know it was self-defense."
"Thank you," Fuji said sincerely, and opened his eyes briefly to give Yuuta a glimpse into the expression within. Self-defense? No, it hadn't been. It had been premeditated, that's why he was in prison. Then Fuji veiled his expression again, clearing his throat. "How's your girlfriend?"
"Dumped me," Yuuta said briefly with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Didn't want to date the brother of a murderer."
Fuji laughed, then. "She wasn't worthy of you if she leaves for a reason like that," he said, and felt a brief moment of grinding frustration as he stared at the glass between himself and his brother. Now is when he would've hugged Yuuta tightly and kissed his cheek. That's what he missed most, in prison. The ability to touch people, lovingly, gently, tenderly. Fuji could probably find someone's embrace if he wanted it, but tenderness would not be any part of that equation.
Yuuta's fingers touched the glass for a moment, as if reaching for his brother. Fuji met them with his own, and for a long moment he stared at their fingers, parted by the thick clear wall. "You'll find someone," Fuji said lightly. "Maybe an older woman, next time? Someone who can baby you a little."
"Bah," Yuuta snorted, "I have you for that, and Yumi-nee." Yuuta hesitated. "What do you think of...Mizuki?"
"Mizuki...Hajime? Your old friend?" Fuji felt a tingle of astonishment, eyes opening again to survey his brother. "Or does he have a sister?"
Yuuta's face turned shy. "No, I meant Hajime." He looked up and grinned. "Hey, I finally managed to surprise you."
Fuji's mouth was open in a perfect little circle, and he shut it again, feeling a bit of irritation. "He always bullied you," Fuji objected.
"He's changed."
"Remember when he hurt your shoulder?"
"It's different now."
Fuji slumped back in his chair laughing. "Okay...okay. As long as you have someone to support you, I'm happy for you, Yuuta." Mizuki, touching his little brother. Well, okay. Not much Fuji could do about it, after all.
Yuuta's expression was finally happy, and they shared a smile for a long moment. "It's good to see you," he finally mumbled, scrubbing at his hair. "We'll all be here for the trial."
"I'm glad, even if it will be difficult for mother."
Yuuta stood, and Fuji blinked as the guard came near to usher him out.
"I'll send chocolate."
"I know," Fuji said fondly. "It goes a long way, in here. I've been able to barter it for all kinds of things."
Yuuta shuddered, expression distressed, and Fuji felt instantly sorry for saying anything about prison life. It wasn't anything that Yuuta needed to know. "...I look forward to your packages."
"I'll send so much chocolate you can eat some too," Yuuta finally muttered, and with one last touch of the glass, turned to go.
That night, Fuji couldn't sleep. He let himself realize, perhaps for the first time, just how much he'd given up.
*
On the tenth day of Fuji's depression, the warden came to visit.
"Stand for the warden," the guard said in a perfectly inflectionless tone. Fuji pondered disobeying, wondering just how painful the flick of the guard's billy club could be, but instead he stood.
"You haven't been to the library lately," the Warden said. "You haven't left your bed even."
"Ah. Yes. Does it matter?" Fuji knew he looked rough. He hadn't bothered to change lately, either. If he'd had more facial hair, it would be hanging down to his chest. But he didn't.
The warden frowned at Fuji. Fuji had been a model prisoner thus far, and seeing him sink into a depression wouldn't be good for the prison's profile. It wouldn't do to have the prison psychological expert claim that his prison was inadequate.
"I need to send you to therapy."
Fuji laughed, then bit his lip when the guard looked at him. "I'm going to be put to death for murder. Should I go happily?"
"Yes," the warden said shortly. "At least -- maybe you can think about your soul."
"My what?" Fuji hadn't expected that. He wasn't Christian, not by a long shot.
"I'll send someone in the morning." The warden left, and Fuji felt strangely better. Curiosity was a fine antidote to ennui.
*
The warden must really be in a bind, Fuji reflected, to get a special room just to attend to Fuji's sanity.
Fuji entered the room hesitantly, chain clanking between his knees as he spotted a chair and sat. The other man was not yet there, so Fuji luxuriated for a moment. There was a certain dearth of comfortable chairs in prison, and he appreciated any luxury he came across. He sat and felt the cushions embrace his legs and back as he slumped comfortably against the seat, and wished for a moment that his wrists weren't bound together, ankles too, so that he could curl up properly.
While Fuji's thoughts were occupied, the other man had slipped quietly into the room.
Fuji looked up. The minister? priest? was in a traditional high-buttoned jacket and white collar, and he even sported a pair of prim little spectacles that gleamed, opaque from the overhead light, to obscure his eyes.
And then the other man turned, a pair of expressionless eyes catching his for a long moment. Within them, Fuji could catch no sign of censure or approbation, but also no sign of anything else. Ah, a perfect cypher, how nice for a priest. Fuji couldn't help his small chuckle.
This caught the man off guard, and he blinked once, an eyebrow raising. "I do not find your situation humorous."
"No? We all die. I simply chose the manner of my going," Fuji said, tone as light as a souffle.
Silence from the other man. After a moment he sat, and Fuji occupied himself by staring at the simple cross dangling from his neck.
"I am Tezuka Kunimitsu, of the Benedictine order." Perfectly flat tone.
"What does that mean?" Fuji stared at him. "I'm not a Christian. I'm not even Buddhist, or Shinto...Not sure why the warden thought you would help me."
Tezuka nodded. "I am aware of your situation, Fuji-san."
"Just Fuji. Surely a murderer deserves no honorific."
"When I reviewed your file," Tezuka continued, ignoring Fuji's interjection, "I noticed that you showed no sign of remorse. My presence here is to bring you to this, help you see your actions from another perspective."
"A Christian one?"
Tezuka nodded. "If you like. More importantly, from the perspective of your victim."
Fuji fell silent, feeling himself shut down again, slowly, turning off part by part. He could not go to that place inside of himself, not even with the help of a stern, inflexible Benedictine. "So are you a monk?"
"I am not. Merely a lay priest, although I have taken the vows."
"Vows?"
"Humility and chastity. I care for my extended family, so I could not take the vow of poverty."
Chastity! Oh my. Fuji started to smile just a little again, running his gaze from the neatly polished shoes, up the tailored pants, over the archaic looking frock coat pulled snugly around carefully maintained muscles, and finally to Tezuka's face, fine bones making the firmness of his expression appear just a bit uncertain. "How sad for you," Fuji said, tone laced with humorous irony. He sought out all that he knew of monks from his memory. "I'm sure you would've enjoyed living in a cell."
"Perfect freedom," Tezuka said, nodding, seeming to completely ignore the irony in Fuji's voice. "In the smallest of cells, monks can find the concentration to reflect entirely upon..."
"God." Fuji's lips twitched. "I hope he's worth all that effort."
"He is." Tezuka stared at him again, and Fuji caught a flicker of something pass through his eyes. "You have distracted me. Let us talk about what happened --"
"You aren't my lawyer." Fuji answered roughly, feeling the desperate pain well up again. He couldn't go to that place, he'd fight against it. "I don't have to discuss it with you."
"Fuji-san. I have your best interest at heart."
"I'm sure," Fuji said, bitterness rising. "But if you can't spare me from the execution, don't bother." Fuji stood. "Guard! I'm done here."
"Sit. Your hour is not over."
Fuji sat. The tone was implacable, and there was nothing he could do to call the guard through the sound-proof wall anyway. Now he was feeling ornery.
"You murdered Ito Mifune in the early morning. You went to his house while he was asleep, entered, and shot him through the forehead from point-blank range. Then, you called the police to turn yourself in. You gave no explanation for your action except that he needed to die. This part of your file puzzled me." Tezuka's voice ran out as if he was unused to talking at such length.
Fuji looked away, not talking, not helping.
"The police questioned your brother, Fuji Yuuta... He said that there had to be a good reason, although he did not know it. His loyalty to you was unquestioning."
Fuji remained silent, the thought of Yuuta filling his heart. He would do -- and did -- anything to protect his brother.
"I did my own research," Tezuka continued quietly, eyes boring into Fuji's face. "Ito Mifune was a well-known drug dealer, although he had no ties to Yakuza. Before you killed him, he'd made friends with your brother."
Fuji's breath caught and he found himself nodding before he could stop his action. Tezuka noticed the motion, of course he did, and when Fuji looked up, he found Tezuka's eyes on him for a long moment, the expression almost compassionate.
"It does not excuse you. It is not your place to play God in another man's life."
"Of course not," Fuji said wearily. "That's why I'm here." He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. "The hour is up."
Tezuka nodded, stood, and opened the door.
Without a backward glance, Fuji left, feeling shaken. He wondered if the testimony of a priest would mitigate his sentence. A lifetime in prison was more of a death sentence to him than the chair, and he hoped that Tezuka would not be so cruel.
*
The next week passed in a haze. Fuji's memories had been stirred, and he woke every night from the same nightmare, shouting and screaming and pleading that he hadn't meant to splatter the walls.
One night, Fuji awoke to find his hands clenched around his cellmate's neck, with his cellmate screaming for mercy. He was transfered out of the cell the next day.
Later that day, Fuji was sent back to the room with the comfortable chair.
"You've been having bad dreams."
Fuji nodded, feeling drowsy. His body and mind were exhausted.
"Tell me."
"You don't want to know," Fuji said, shooting him his best pleading glance. "And I would prefer not to tell you."
"Tell me." That implacable tone again.
Fuji took a deep breath. "He was...asleep. I did not know how to shoot. I fired once, but my hand was shaking, and I...I caught the side of his..." Fuji stopped, shuddering. "I had to shoot again. And again..." The memory of the sound echoed through his mind, and he found himself cringing away, trying to bury his face in his manacled hands.
"Five times."
"Yes...yes. Before he stopped screaming."
Silence, and then a gentle voice. "Do you want forgiveness?"
"E-even this man...did not deserve to be tortured," Fuji said through the large and painful lump in his throat. "If only my hands hadn't been shaking." Fuji felt undone, unzipped, raw.
"Do you want forgiveness?" Tezuka's expression was unchanged, seemingly unmoved by the story.
"I don't deserve it, no," Fuji said. "The best I can hope for is death." He stared into his future with dark eyes. It was bleak, bleak, living every day with the knowledge of his wrongdoing, the memory of Ito's eyes staring at him in horror and pain, blood spurting from the side of his...
"I did not ask whether or not you deserved it, but whether you wanted it."
"Sounds like this is where you slip God into the story," Fuji said wryly.
Tezuka almost smiled.
"How can you keep looking at me that way when I've told you this?"
"Christ said, thieves and murderers and prostitutes need redemption, not honorable men."
"Fine company I keep," Fuji said wryly, and slumped back into his chair again.
"You have forgiveness, Fuji Syuusuke. You are already forgiven. Your hands are washed clean."
"All I have to do is kiss that cross?" Fuji could not keep the snark out of his tone.
"No. All you have to do is want it."
*
Fuji did not want forgiveness. He didn't deserve forgiveness. But what he found he did want, after several days by himself in his cell, was another chance to talk to Tezuka...whose eyes were not kind, but were the closest thing to understanding that he'd seen since the murder.
"I'd like to talk to the warden," Fuji called to the guard. They'd made friends, or perhaps the guard was wary of Fuji's reputation, because the warden came promptly to Fuji's cell.
"I would like more time with the priest."
The warden nodded, a bit sourly. "As long as he isn't fucking you," he said. "I don't encourage relationships between prisoners and the clergy. Gets me in trouble with the church."
Fuji regarded the warden with wide-open eyes, and the warden shivered. "Not that you're engaging in such behavior," he amended hastily.
"No," Fuji agreed, and an appointment was made for the following day.
*
Fuji smiled a greeting when Tezuka entered the small room. "How are you today?"
Cool glance. "Do you want forgiveness?"
Fuji sighed. "Aren't you a broken record. I wanted your company."
Surprise washed over Tezuka's countenance, and Fuji felt a tiny welling of glee.
"My...company?" Tezuka's voice was uncertain for the first time since Fuji had met him.
"Yes. You heard my story and didn't flinch. You're the only person I've told."
Silence for a long moment, and then Tezuka bowed his head. "I...am glad that you asked to see me."
"So. How are you today?"
"Fine." It was a short answer, but then Tezuka looked up, and they shared a long look. It seemed like much was said in their silence, and then Tezuka drew a breath.
"I found a passage that I wanted to read to you." Tezuka took the small pocket bible out of his coat and opened it.
"Don't bother," Fuji said, "I'm not Christian, and will never be."
"Just listen." Tezuka's voice was patient. Then, he read in tones that became deeper and softer, as though Tezuka were sinking into something he believed in utterly and loved more dearly than his breath. “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; and do not condemn, and you will not be condemned; pardon, and you will be pardoned. Give, and it will be given to you.”
"Pretty. But I'm still not a believer."
Tezuka looked at him again, for a long moment, and somehow Fuji found that his eyes were soft.
"These are your words, now." Tezuka got up and walked near Fuji. Then, Fuji felt the warmth of flesh on flesh as Tezuka leaned down and pressed the little book into Fuji's hand.
"Thank you." Fuji was in no hurry to move his hand.
Tezuka nodded, and seemed to shiver just a little as their fingers touched.
"When can I see you again?"
"Next week."
"Well. That's something to look forward to." Fuji's smile was genuine, but Tezuka's expression seemed ever so slightly troubled.
*
By the end of the week, the little book was well-thumbed. Many of the stories were humorous, some violent, and some shocking. Some were drenched in beauty, including the Song of Soloman, the psalms, and one in the later half of the book in which Jesus raised the dead Lazarus back to life.
Fuji couldn't bring himself to the final step, he was no kind of Christian. The stories read more like quaint fables than anything else. When he asked himself whether or not he wanted forgiveness, his answer was still No, hardly, not after what I've done. But this thought was mitigated by the contemplation that he might not want forgiveness from Jesus, but he did want something from Tezuka Kunimitsu.
If only a few more chances to talk to him.
*
"I enjoyed this," Fuji said when Tezuka entered their sitting room. Fuji sat quietly in his chair. He had no manacles, finally. Perhaps Tezuka had intervened with the warden. Fuji took advantage of the manacles' absence to curl comfortably into the chair and drape an elbow over one arm.
Tezuka actually smiled, and moved his chair nearby so that they could both look at the book together. "Which parts drew you?"
"The story of Abel and Cain. It hurt me to see the jealousy that could arise between brothers, even unto murder."
"I can see how such an action between brothers would seem foreign to you." Tezuka's tone was wry.
Fuji felt a wash of surprise. "Was that -- humor?"
Tezuka looked faintly sheepish, and Fuji laughed.
"I also liked this psalm..." Fuji pointed to the passage, and his finger brushed against Tezuka's over the open Bible. There it was again, that palpable shiver through Tezuka's body, and this time Fuji could feel it.
Fuji immediately took his hand away. "I am full of 'sin'," he said, feeling wretched again. "I am sorry for...for touching you."
Tezuka's face began to glow a bright, uncomfortable red above his neatly starched white color. "No. I do not find your touch dirty or sinful."
"You don't?"
Tezuka shook his head, and said something so soft that Fuji almost didn't hear it. "Unless it is my own...sin." Tezuka looked away, and Fuji stared at him.
"What?" Fuji said, mouth gaping.
Tezuka shifted away. After a moment he shook his head. "It is nothing. Let us read about Sodom and Gomorrah."
Fuji listened to the stern, inflectionless voice talk about the sins of homosexuality, and smiled. It was as though he'd been given a secret. He silently promised Tezuka that he'd carry this secret to the grave.
Speaking of the grave. "Tezuka-san, my trial is in ten days. May I see you beforehand?"
Tezuka nodded. "I would insist upon it."
"You haven't yet convinced me that I need forgiveness," Fuji teased, smiling.
Tezuka hesitated, and then said simply, "I enjoy speaking with you."
And once again, Fuji felt astonishment sweep through him.
*
Alone in his cell, late that night, Fuji remembered the tingle of his fingers from Tezuka's touch, and the blush that seemed a tacit admission that the stern priest felt more for Fuji than he should.
Fuji's mind filled with a torrent of pleasantly wicked thoughts, and for the first time since coming to prison, he felt his body rise at the memory.
He brought his hand down his skin and imagined undoing the single button that held the collar around Tezuka's neck, then each button of the plain black coat, then the zipper of the tailored pants. He thought about how he would run his fingers down the bare and vulnerable skin of Tezuka's chest and wrap his hand around the revealed, upright heart of the orchid.
Afterwards, falling asleep, Fuji admitted to himself that he respected the man too much to do any of those things. Besides, it would have to be in the next life.
*
"Can I convince you into Buddhism?" Fuji asked as soon as Tezuka sat opposite him.
Tezuka's face stilled. "Why do you say that?"
"My trial is in three days. I will plead no contest. And then I will be put to death. I want a chance to meet you in another life, Tezuka-san." Fuji's voice was light, but he meant it seriously. His eyes opened wide to drill home his words, expression not smiling but pleading.
Fuji watched as Tezuka's face went still, and then as he mastered his expression, Tezuka schooled it back to the woodenness that it was when they'd first met.
"I want...you to plea bargain." Tezuka's voice was abrupt. "Tell them. That you were protecting your brother. At least get life in prison. Not death." Almost, almost pleading.
Tears sprang into Fuji's eyes as he heard Tezuka's tone, and he bowed his head. "I don't agree with you that I deserve anything other than death. I have done a terrible thing."
Tezuka's hands caught his, and Fuji stared in astonishment at their linked fingers.
"Haven't I given you something to live for?"
"You mean God?"
Tezuka turned away, mouth open, and then closed again. Tezuka's expression seemed to be at war with itself.
Fuji's mind dissolved into anguish. Life, a trial, would change everything, everything. He would have to live a long time in prison with murder on his conscience, with his family's pain.
"I'll have to think about it," Fuji finally murmured, and he clung to Tezuka's hands.
*
On the day of the trial, Fuji was delivered a letter.
Fuji-san,
If you will not live for God, live for me.
Tezuka
*
Fuji stood before the judge. In back of him, lining the benches, were friends, enemies, members of the press, and the people he loved. He could feel Yuuta's presence like an ache -- his poor, easily bullied brother, but next to Yuuta someone else was giving him love. Was it Mizuki? Fuji could feel his father's stern attention to seeing justice done; and beside his father, his mother's pain like an ache to Fuji's soul.
Without any words, Fuji could also feel Tezuka there, a solid presence and warmth that Fuji clung to, bolstering him as he bowed his head under the eyes of all present, facing his fate.
"You have been charged with murder of the first degree. Fuji Syuusuke, what do you plead?"
Fuji took a breath, and said clearly: "Not guilty."
Astonished voices filled the court room, and Fuji couldn't blame them. Hadn't Fuji done it, planned it? The judge pounded the gavel for order.
"So be it."
Fuji turned to take his place at his lawyer's table, but as he did so, his attention was caught by the figure behind his lawyer in the gallery benches.
Tezuka was there, but for the first time since Fuji had met him, he was not in a stern, high-buttoned garment. Tezuka glanced up and noticed Fuji's eyes upon him. He tugged at his open collar almost shyly, giving Fuji a small, slightly wicked smile.
Fuji thought with a wash of astonishment that when Tezuka agreed to something, he didn't hold back.
...Which meant that Fuji had better win his case. Straightening his shoulders, Fuji sat down on the bench and faced the rest of his life.
For: schweinsty
Title: Something to Live For
Pairing: Tezu/Fuji
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Fuji is in prison for murder. Tezuka attempts to save his soul.
Warnings: Alternate universe. Graphic descriptions of Fuji shooting someone.
Disclaimer: I do not own PoT.
A/N: Forgive me for my sins, I am not a Christian (far from it), nor should Tezuka be. It's just that the thought of Fuji falling for Tezuka in a high-buttoned robe was kinda smexy =_= ...
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
-- Nick Cave, The Mercy Seat
The cell wasn't bad.
Maximum security prisons were really quite nice, Fuji reflected. Honorable, even, after their own fashion. Nobody bothered Fuji, and Fuji bothered no one. Not after the first night. It wasn't his cellmate's fault that he'd had to provide the example, but by morning, everybody around the cell block knew that nobody messed with the new guy, Fuji Syuusuke, or you'd end up like his cellmate, clawing and gibbering at the bars and begging to be transfered.
The tale grew in the telling, of course, until even the meanest buggerers kept well away from Fuji's bottom.
What was left was simply boredom.
Fuji was a cheerful sort. He wasn't going to waste his free time contemplating anything unhappy, like the family he'd left behind, or the family of the victim, not that the victim had much of a family.
Instead, Fuji spent his time ransacking the prison library for how-to books. How to macrame, How to photograph in dim light, Gourmet food with very few ingredients. He kept himself occupied. Some days, reading by himself pillowed in his cell, he almost counted himself happy. How rare was it in the corporate world, he reflected, to get an extended vacation in which to indulge one's interests?
The trial date approached, and Fuji pushed aside any of his more fatalistic thoughts. Everyone died sometime. At least Fuji, in the manner of samurai of old, was able to choose his own way out. So he read vastly, immersed himself in interesting hobbies, and only surfaced from the depth of his own thoughts for his first visit from family.
It was Yuuta, of course.
Yuuta looked haunted and horrible as Fuji clanked through the doors with his hands manacled together, the bright orange of his prison shirt doing nothing, he was sure, for Fuji's complexion.
"I'm not dead," Fuji said with a smile, looking at his brother. "Yet, anyway. At least we get to see each other, right?"
Yuuta bowed his head and scrubbed between his eyes. "How can you look so cheerful, aniki?" His voice was a mumble. "It's been horrible. Mom and dad are suffering to have a murderer in the family. They don't know what to say or do. Mom's seriously depressed."
Fuji dropped his head. Ah -- part of the vast dark well that he didn't want to touch, didn't want to think about. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "Tell mother that if there had been a way to avoid what happened, I would have."
Yuuta nodded, bringing his eyes up to meet Fuji's finally. "Yumi-nee does her best to take care of us all. She believes in you, and I do too. I know," Yuuta hesitated. "I know it was self-defense."
"Thank you," Fuji said sincerely, and opened his eyes briefly to give Yuuta a glimpse into the expression within. Self-defense? No, it hadn't been. It had been premeditated, that's why he was in prison. Then Fuji veiled his expression again, clearing his throat. "How's your girlfriend?"
"Dumped me," Yuuta said briefly with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Didn't want to date the brother of a murderer."
Fuji laughed, then. "She wasn't worthy of you if she leaves for a reason like that," he said, and felt a brief moment of grinding frustration as he stared at the glass between himself and his brother. Now is when he would've hugged Yuuta tightly and kissed his cheek. That's what he missed most, in prison. The ability to touch people, lovingly, gently, tenderly. Fuji could probably find someone's embrace if he wanted it, but tenderness would not be any part of that equation.
Yuuta's fingers touched the glass for a moment, as if reaching for his brother. Fuji met them with his own, and for a long moment he stared at their fingers, parted by the thick clear wall. "You'll find someone," Fuji said lightly. "Maybe an older woman, next time? Someone who can baby you a little."
"Bah," Yuuta snorted, "I have you for that, and Yumi-nee." Yuuta hesitated. "What do you think of...Mizuki?"
"Mizuki...Hajime? Your old friend?" Fuji felt a tingle of astonishment, eyes opening again to survey his brother. "Or does he have a sister?"
Yuuta's face turned shy. "No, I meant Hajime." He looked up and grinned. "Hey, I finally managed to surprise you."
Fuji's mouth was open in a perfect little circle, and he shut it again, feeling a bit of irritation. "He always bullied you," Fuji objected.
"He's changed."
"Remember when he hurt your shoulder?"
"It's different now."
Fuji slumped back in his chair laughing. "Okay...okay. As long as you have someone to support you, I'm happy for you, Yuuta." Mizuki, touching his little brother. Well, okay. Not much Fuji could do about it, after all.
Yuuta's expression was finally happy, and they shared a smile for a long moment. "It's good to see you," he finally mumbled, scrubbing at his hair. "We'll all be here for the trial."
"I'm glad, even if it will be difficult for mother."
Yuuta stood, and Fuji blinked as the guard came near to usher him out.
"I'll send chocolate."
"I know," Fuji said fondly. "It goes a long way, in here. I've been able to barter it for all kinds of things."
Yuuta shuddered, expression distressed, and Fuji felt instantly sorry for saying anything about prison life. It wasn't anything that Yuuta needed to know. "...I look forward to your packages."
"I'll send so much chocolate you can eat some too," Yuuta finally muttered, and with one last touch of the glass, turned to go.
That night, Fuji couldn't sleep. He let himself realize, perhaps for the first time, just how much he'd given up.
*
On the tenth day of Fuji's depression, the warden came to visit.
"Stand for the warden," the guard said in a perfectly inflectionless tone. Fuji pondered disobeying, wondering just how painful the flick of the guard's billy club could be, but instead he stood.
"You haven't been to the library lately," the Warden said. "You haven't left your bed even."
"Ah. Yes. Does it matter?" Fuji knew he looked rough. He hadn't bothered to change lately, either. If he'd had more facial hair, it would be hanging down to his chest. But he didn't.
The warden frowned at Fuji. Fuji had been a model prisoner thus far, and seeing him sink into a depression wouldn't be good for the prison's profile. It wouldn't do to have the prison psychological expert claim that his prison was inadequate.
"I need to send you to therapy."
Fuji laughed, then bit his lip when the guard looked at him. "I'm going to be put to death for murder. Should I go happily?"
"Yes," the warden said shortly. "At least -- maybe you can think about your soul."
"My what?" Fuji hadn't expected that. He wasn't Christian, not by a long shot.
"I'll send someone in the morning." The warden left, and Fuji felt strangely better. Curiosity was a fine antidote to ennui.
*
The warden must really be in a bind, Fuji reflected, to get a special room just to attend to Fuji's sanity.
Fuji entered the room hesitantly, chain clanking between his knees as he spotted a chair and sat. The other man was not yet there, so Fuji luxuriated for a moment. There was a certain dearth of comfortable chairs in prison, and he appreciated any luxury he came across. He sat and felt the cushions embrace his legs and back as he slumped comfortably against the seat, and wished for a moment that his wrists weren't bound together, ankles too, so that he could curl up properly.
While Fuji's thoughts were occupied, the other man had slipped quietly into the room.
Fuji looked up. The minister? priest? was in a traditional high-buttoned jacket and white collar, and he even sported a pair of prim little spectacles that gleamed, opaque from the overhead light, to obscure his eyes.
And then the other man turned, a pair of expressionless eyes catching his for a long moment. Within them, Fuji could catch no sign of censure or approbation, but also no sign of anything else. Ah, a perfect cypher, how nice for a priest. Fuji couldn't help his small chuckle.
This caught the man off guard, and he blinked once, an eyebrow raising. "I do not find your situation humorous."
"No? We all die. I simply chose the manner of my going," Fuji said, tone as light as a souffle.
Silence from the other man. After a moment he sat, and Fuji occupied himself by staring at the simple cross dangling from his neck.
"I am Tezuka Kunimitsu, of the Benedictine order." Perfectly flat tone.
"What does that mean?" Fuji stared at him. "I'm not a Christian. I'm not even Buddhist, or Shinto...Not sure why the warden thought you would help me."
Tezuka nodded. "I am aware of your situation, Fuji-san."
"Just Fuji. Surely a murderer deserves no honorific."
"When I reviewed your file," Tezuka continued, ignoring Fuji's interjection, "I noticed that you showed no sign of remorse. My presence here is to bring you to this, help you see your actions from another perspective."
"A Christian one?"
Tezuka nodded. "If you like. More importantly, from the perspective of your victim."
Fuji fell silent, feeling himself shut down again, slowly, turning off part by part. He could not go to that place inside of himself, not even with the help of a stern, inflexible Benedictine. "So are you a monk?"
"I am not. Merely a lay priest, although I have taken the vows."
"Vows?"
"Humility and chastity. I care for my extended family, so I could not take the vow of poverty."
Chastity! Oh my. Fuji started to smile just a little again, running his gaze from the neatly polished shoes, up the tailored pants, over the archaic looking frock coat pulled snugly around carefully maintained muscles, and finally to Tezuka's face, fine bones making the firmness of his expression appear just a bit uncertain. "How sad for you," Fuji said, tone laced with humorous irony. He sought out all that he knew of monks from his memory. "I'm sure you would've enjoyed living in a cell."
"Perfect freedom," Tezuka said, nodding, seeming to completely ignore the irony in Fuji's voice. "In the smallest of cells, monks can find the concentration to reflect entirely upon..."
"God." Fuji's lips twitched. "I hope he's worth all that effort."
"He is." Tezuka stared at him again, and Fuji caught a flicker of something pass through his eyes. "You have distracted me. Let us talk about what happened --"
"You aren't my lawyer." Fuji answered roughly, feeling the desperate pain well up again. He couldn't go to that place, he'd fight against it. "I don't have to discuss it with you."
"Fuji-san. I have your best interest at heart."
"I'm sure," Fuji said, bitterness rising. "But if you can't spare me from the execution, don't bother." Fuji stood. "Guard! I'm done here."
"Sit. Your hour is not over."
Fuji sat. The tone was implacable, and there was nothing he could do to call the guard through the sound-proof wall anyway. Now he was feeling ornery.
"You murdered Ito Mifune in the early morning. You went to his house while he was asleep, entered, and shot him through the forehead from point-blank range. Then, you called the police to turn yourself in. You gave no explanation for your action except that he needed to die. This part of your file puzzled me." Tezuka's voice ran out as if he was unused to talking at such length.
Fuji looked away, not talking, not helping.
"The police questioned your brother, Fuji Yuuta... He said that there had to be a good reason, although he did not know it. His loyalty to you was unquestioning."
Fuji remained silent, the thought of Yuuta filling his heart. He would do -- and did -- anything to protect his brother.
"I did my own research," Tezuka continued quietly, eyes boring into Fuji's face. "Ito Mifune was a well-known drug dealer, although he had no ties to Yakuza. Before you killed him, he'd made friends with your brother."
Fuji's breath caught and he found himself nodding before he could stop his action. Tezuka noticed the motion, of course he did, and when Fuji looked up, he found Tezuka's eyes on him for a long moment, the expression almost compassionate.
"It does not excuse you. It is not your place to play God in another man's life."
"Of course not," Fuji said wearily. "That's why I'm here." He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. "The hour is up."
Tezuka nodded, stood, and opened the door.
Without a backward glance, Fuji left, feeling shaken. He wondered if the testimony of a priest would mitigate his sentence. A lifetime in prison was more of a death sentence to him than the chair, and he hoped that Tezuka would not be so cruel.
*
The next week passed in a haze. Fuji's memories had been stirred, and he woke every night from the same nightmare, shouting and screaming and pleading that he hadn't meant to splatter the walls.
One night, Fuji awoke to find his hands clenched around his cellmate's neck, with his cellmate screaming for mercy. He was transfered out of the cell the next day.
Later that day, Fuji was sent back to the room with the comfortable chair.
"You've been having bad dreams."
Fuji nodded, feeling drowsy. His body and mind were exhausted.
"Tell me."
"You don't want to know," Fuji said, shooting him his best pleading glance. "And I would prefer not to tell you."
"Tell me." That implacable tone again.
Fuji took a deep breath. "He was...asleep. I did not know how to shoot. I fired once, but my hand was shaking, and I...I caught the side of his..." Fuji stopped, shuddering. "I had to shoot again. And again..." The memory of the sound echoed through his mind, and he found himself cringing away, trying to bury his face in his manacled hands.
"Five times."
"Yes...yes. Before he stopped screaming."
Silence, and then a gentle voice. "Do you want forgiveness?"
"E-even this man...did not deserve to be tortured," Fuji said through the large and painful lump in his throat. "If only my hands hadn't been shaking." Fuji felt undone, unzipped, raw.
"Do you want forgiveness?" Tezuka's expression was unchanged, seemingly unmoved by the story.
"I don't deserve it, no," Fuji said. "The best I can hope for is death." He stared into his future with dark eyes. It was bleak, bleak, living every day with the knowledge of his wrongdoing, the memory of Ito's eyes staring at him in horror and pain, blood spurting from the side of his...
"I did not ask whether or not you deserved it, but whether you wanted it."
"Sounds like this is where you slip God into the story," Fuji said wryly.
Tezuka almost smiled.
"How can you keep looking at me that way when I've told you this?"
"Christ said, thieves and murderers and prostitutes need redemption, not honorable men."
"Fine company I keep," Fuji said wryly, and slumped back into his chair again.
"You have forgiveness, Fuji Syuusuke. You are already forgiven. Your hands are washed clean."
"All I have to do is kiss that cross?" Fuji could not keep the snark out of his tone.
"No. All you have to do is want it."
*
Fuji did not want forgiveness. He didn't deserve forgiveness. But what he found he did want, after several days by himself in his cell, was another chance to talk to Tezuka...whose eyes were not kind, but were the closest thing to understanding that he'd seen since the murder.
"I'd like to talk to the warden," Fuji called to the guard. They'd made friends, or perhaps the guard was wary of Fuji's reputation, because the warden came promptly to Fuji's cell.
"I would like more time with the priest."
The warden nodded, a bit sourly. "As long as he isn't fucking you," he said. "I don't encourage relationships between prisoners and the clergy. Gets me in trouble with the church."
Fuji regarded the warden with wide-open eyes, and the warden shivered. "Not that you're engaging in such behavior," he amended hastily.
"No," Fuji agreed, and an appointment was made for the following day.
*
Fuji smiled a greeting when Tezuka entered the small room. "How are you today?"
Cool glance. "Do you want forgiveness?"
Fuji sighed. "Aren't you a broken record. I wanted your company."
Surprise washed over Tezuka's countenance, and Fuji felt a tiny welling of glee.
"My...company?" Tezuka's voice was uncertain for the first time since Fuji had met him.
"Yes. You heard my story and didn't flinch. You're the only person I've told."
Silence for a long moment, and then Tezuka bowed his head. "I...am glad that you asked to see me."
"So. How are you today?"
"Fine." It was a short answer, but then Tezuka looked up, and they shared a long look. It seemed like much was said in their silence, and then Tezuka drew a breath.
"I found a passage that I wanted to read to you." Tezuka took the small pocket bible out of his coat and opened it.
"Don't bother," Fuji said, "I'm not Christian, and will never be."
"Just listen." Tezuka's voice was patient. Then, he read in tones that became deeper and softer, as though Tezuka were sinking into something he believed in utterly and loved more dearly than his breath. “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; and do not condemn, and you will not be condemned; pardon, and you will be pardoned. Give, and it will be given to you.”
"Pretty. But I'm still not a believer."
Tezuka looked at him again, for a long moment, and somehow Fuji found that his eyes were soft.
"These are your words, now." Tezuka got up and walked near Fuji. Then, Fuji felt the warmth of flesh on flesh as Tezuka leaned down and pressed the little book into Fuji's hand.
"Thank you." Fuji was in no hurry to move his hand.
Tezuka nodded, and seemed to shiver just a little as their fingers touched.
"When can I see you again?"
"Next week."
"Well. That's something to look forward to." Fuji's smile was genuine, but Tezuka's expression seemed ever so slightly troubled.
*
By the end of the week, the little book was well-thumbed. Many of the stories were humorous, some violent, and some shocking. Some were drenched in beauty, including the Song of Soloman, the psalms, and one in the later half of the book in which Jesus raised the dead Lazarus back to life.
Fuji couldn't bring himself to the final step, he was no kind of Christian. The stories read more like quaint fables than anything else. When he asked himself whether or not he wanted forgiveness, his answer was still No, hardly, not after what I've done. But this thought was mitigated by the contemplation that he might not want forgiveness from Jesus, but he did want something from Tezuka Kunimitsu.
If only a few more chances to talk to him.
*
"I enjoyed this," Fuji said when Tezuka entered their sitting room. Fuji sat quietly in his chair. He had no manacles, finally. Perhaps Tezuka had intervened with the warden. Fuji took advantage of the manacles' absence to curl comfortably into the chair and drape an elbow over one arm.
Tezuka actually smiled, and moved his chair nearby so that they could both look at the book together. "Which parts drew you?"
"The story of Abel and Cain. It hurt me to see the jealousy that could arise between brothers, even unto murder."
"I can see how such an action between brothers would seem foreign to you." Tezuka's tone was wry.
Fuji felt a wash of surprise. "Was that -- humor?"
Tezuka looked faintly sheepish, and Fuji laughed.
"I also liked this psalm..." Fuji pointed to the passage, and his finger brushed against Tezuka's over the open Bible. There it was again, that palpable shiver through Tezuka's body, and this time Fuji could feel it.
Fuji immediately took his hand away. "I am full of 'sin'," he said, feeling wretched again. "I am sorry for...for touching you."
Tezuka's face began to glow a bright, uncomfortable red above his neatly starched white color. "No. I do not find your touch dirty or sinful."
"You don't?"
Tezuka shook his head, and said something so soft that Fuji almost didn't hear it. "Unless it is my own...sin." Tezuka looked away, and Fuji stared at him.
"What?" Fuji said, mouth gaping.
Tezuka shifted away. After a moment he shook his head. "It is nothing. Let us read about Sodom and Gomorrah."
Fuji listened to the stern, inflectionless voice talk about the sins of homosexuality, and smiled. It was as though he'd been given a secret. He silently promised Tezuka that he'd carry this secret to the grave.
Speaking of the grave. "Tezuka-san, my trial is in ten days. May I see you beforehand?"
Tezuka nodded. "I would insist upon it."
"You haven't yet convinced me that I need forgiveness," Fuji teased, smiling.
Tezuka hesitated, and then said simply, "I enjoy speaking with you."
And once again, Fuji felt astonishment sweep through him.
*
Alone in his cell, late that night, Fuji remembered the tingle of his fingers from Tezuka's touch, and the blush that seemed a tacit admission that the stern priest felt more for Fuji than he should.
Fuji's mind filled with a torrent of pleasantly wicked thoughts, and for the first time since coming to prison, he felt his body rise at the memory.
He brought his hand down his skin and imagined undoing the single button that held the collar around Tezuka's neck, then each button of the plain black coat, then the zipper of the tailored pants. He thought about how he would run his fingers down the bare and vulnerable skin of Tezuka's chest and wrap his hand around the revealed, upright heart of the orchid.
Afterwards, falling asleep, Fuji admitted to himself that he respected the man too much to do any of those things. Besides, it would have to be in the next life.
*
"Can I convince you into Buddhism?" Fuji asked as soon as Tezuka sat opposite him.
Tezuka's face stilled. "Why do you say that?"
"My trial is in three days. I will plead no contest. And then I will be put to death. I want a chance to meet you in another life, Tezuka-san." Fuji's voice was light, but he meant it seriously. His eyes opened wide to drill home his words, expression not smiling but pleading.
Fuji watched as Tezuka's face went still, and then as he mastered his expression, Tezuka schooled it back to the woodenness that it was when they'd first met.
"I want...you to plea bargain." Tezuka's voice was abrupt. "Tell them. That you were protecting your brother. At least get life in prison. Not death." Almost, almost pleading.
Tears sprang into Fuji's eyes as he heard Tezuka's tone, and he bowed his head. "I don't agree with you that I deserve anything other than death. I have done a terrible thing."
Tezuka's hands caught his, and Fuji stared in astonishment at their linked fingers.
"Haven't I given you something to live for?"
"You mean God?"
Tezuka turned away, mouth open, and then closed again. Tezuka's expression seemed to be at war with itself.
Fuji's mind dissolved into anguish. Life, a trial, would change everything, everything. He would have to live a long time in prison with murder on his conscience, with his family's pain.
"I'll have to think about it," Fuji finally murmured, and he clung to Tezuka's hands.
*
On the day of the trial, Fuji was delivered a letter.
Fuji-san,
If you will not live for God, live for me.
Tezuka
*
Fuji stood before the judge. In back of him, lining the benches, were friends, enemies, members of the press, and the people he loved. He could feel Yuuta's presence like an ache -- his poor, easily bullied brother, but next to Yuuta someone else was giving him love. Was it Mizuki? Fuji could feel his father's stern attention to seeing justice done; and beside his father, his mother's pain like an ache to Fuji's soul.
Without any words, Fuji could also feel Tezuka there, a solid presence and warmth that Fuji clung to, bolstering him as he bowed his head under the eyes of all present, facing his fate.
"You have been charged with murder of the first degree. Fuji Syuusuke, what do you plead?"
Fuji took a breath, and said clearly: "Not guilty."
Astonished voices filled the court room, and Fuji couldn't blame them. Hadn't Fuji done it, planned it? The judge pounded the gavel for order.
"So be it."
Fuji turned to take his place at his lawyer's table, but as he did so, his attention was caught by the figure behind his lawyer in the gallery benches.
Tezuka was there, but for the first time since Fuji had met him, he was not in a stern, high-buttoned garment. Tezuka glanced up and noticed Fuji's eyes upon him. He tugged at his open collar almost shyly, giving Fuji a small, slightly wicked smile.
Fuji thought with a wash of astonishment that when Tezuka agreed to something, he didn't hold back.
...Which meant that Fuji had better win his case. Straightening his shoulders, Fuji sat down on the bench and faced the rest of his life.