Friday, June 13th, 2003. Approximately five years after the Kyoto Arc.

It was a lovely day in Meifu. But then it's always a lovely day in Meifu.The sakura was falling. As usual. Where does it all come from? I mean, to constantly be raining petals, those trees must have some kind of insane immortal metabolic turnover...But back to the point. It was, in fact, lunchtime, and everyone was having a picnic outside under the cherry trees. This is less usual. But I expect doing the same job for possibly decades at a time in the same place where everything remains the same must get pretty boring, so I wouldn't be surprised if Shinigami need a bit of variety every now and then.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Picnic.

The picnic had been going really quite well, until Wakaba managed to knock her cup of tea all over Terazuma. You can guess what happened then, what with him being volatile as he is. He exploded. A short, but flaming row followed. Luckily, neither of them can stay very angry at each other for long, they're like a married couple, really. Anyway, then Saya and Yuma started talking about clothes, between bites of their lunch. Poor Hisoka-kun went white as a sheet and hid behind the nearest thing. The nearest thing happened to be Tatsumi, who was sitting, cross-legged, politely and calmly drinking tea. As usual. Or he was, up until Saya-chan tried to glomp Hisoka, missed, and very nearly knocked _his_ tea over as well. Well, he did that thing he does, you know when he's really ticked off, where he sort of pretends to be straightening his glasses up and covers his eyes as he pushes the middle of the frame upwards. And everyone edged away.

'I agreed.' He said, voice like cold water down the back of your neck. 'To eat outside on the condition that there was no....silliness.'

Everyone looked down, like a class that's just been told off by the teacher.

Except Tsuzuki, who knows he has the awesome power of the purklepuppydogeyes that not even Tatsumi can stand against.

'No you didn't. I was in the corridor, I heard. You agreed because otherwise Watari wasn't going to give you that file back and let you get on with your work.'

Tatsumi glowered. Tsuzuki puppydogged. Watari tried not to catch anyone's eye. Some people giggled behind their hands. Tatsumi appeared to hover briefly between anger and laughter. The surface of the tea in his hand quivered slightly. 'Hm. Nevertheless.' He went on, covering his mouth again to hide a smile at Tsuzuki’s pointy ears and hopelessly wagging tail. Everyone relaxed. 'If you don't behave yourselves, we can all go straight back inside.'

There was a lot of nodding and mumbling of 'yes, Tatsumi' and 'we'll be good, Tatsumi'.

And so the picnic continued, in a more sedate manner. Hisoka emerged from behind Tatsumi and crawled over to the relative protection of Tsuzuki instead, eyeing Saya and Yuma, who thankfully seemed to be no longer interested anyway.

'You have cream on your nose, baka.' He said, sighing and pointing to Tsuzuki’s face as he sat down. Really, how is it that Tsuzuki, a grown man, always seemed to end up with part of what he was eating smeared across him somewhere? It was so ridiculous.

'I do?' Tsuzuki went cross-eyed, trying to look at his own nose. This is, of course very difficult. First he attempted to lick the cream off. This is even more difficult, unless you have a tongue like a snake’s. Then he pawed at his nose and succeeded in spreading the cream across most of his face.

'Oh, you had to tell him.' Watari complained, fishing around in his pockets, unearthing a handkerchief from a jumble of lab notes, pens and miscellaneous bits of metal and handing it to Tsuzuki. 'It was funny.' He grinned

'Watariii-saaaan.' Tsuzuki sniffled, accepting the handkerchief and with which he smeared the cream even further across his face. 'You're mean.'

Hisoka said his favourite word again. Tsuzuki, my partner, my friend, my damaged angel.. I’m so glad you’re here with me. It would be nice if there was no one here but us I could let down my guard and be with you. Instead, here I am calling you an idiot because that’s the only way I can show my affection.

If only I could lick it off.

Eep! I didn’t think that.

'Yes, but everyone forgives me because I'm so young and pretty.' Watari replied, tossing his hair in mock vanity and chuckling, breaking Hisoka’s chin-on-hands gazing-at-Tsuzuki-cleaning-himself-up reverie. 003, dislodged from his shoulder where she was sleeping by a mass of golden curls, hooted. Watari ruffled her head-feathers by way of apology.

'Young? You're FIFTY.' Tsuzuki said, disbelievingly, frantically wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his overcoat, the handkerchief forgotten among the grass.

'Oh, coming from you, oji-san-one-hundred-and-three-a-few-months-back. You're twice my age.'

'Oji-san???'. Tsuzuki squeaked and his eyebrows arched.

Hisoka chuckled. 'No, Watari-san, he was twice your age back in 2000. When you threw that party, remember?'

'I remember!' Watari rocked back and forth, laughing. 003 hooted again and fluttered her wings. 'Sorry 003. He couldn't have been more surprised if Muraki had popped out of the cake!'

Hisoka and Tsuzuki shuddered. Even though Muraki had been missing ever since the Kyoto incident, he had left little reminders lying around so they wouldn’t forget him. As if they could anyway. Hisoka waking up one night, scars aching, the image of a dying man burned into his mind, little gifts left where Tsuzuki would find them, sweets mostly, reminders that the doctor was never far away and he was watching them closely. They sometimes found themselves wondering if Muraki was a little afraid to come back, considering the nasty sucking chest wound Tsuzuki had left him with, indicating just how much he disapproved of the doctor’s behaviour.

'Don't say things like that.' Tsuzuki said, hugging himself. 'The two dozen red roses and violets he sent me were bad enough.'

'And the poem. Don't forget the poem.' Hisoka added.

'How could I?' Tsuzuki recited from memory;

'My Dear Tsuzuki, at the beginning of your second century on this empty earth, here is a little something I composed.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

You are so exquisite,

I want to...’

At this point, Hisoka interrupted for the sake of everyone’s dignity. 'Yes, yes, we all remember the end...Hey, what do you know, lunchbreak is over, we should get back to work.'

'Hisoo....'

~~~

Somewhere else....

'It's too late!!' The dark-haired man laughed, hysterically, as the blond boy and the pale man ran into the room. 'The spell is nearly complete! I’m going have the power of a shinigami! Then you’ll see…'

The man was soaked in blood, the blood of a young virgin girl. Her body lay nearby, a discarded container. Dark and twisting kanjis were marked on the floor in black ink and blood.. Yes, I realise I could have left these things out, but there are certain conventions one has to follow when describing a dark ritual. Virgins, blood, mysterious sigils. Think yourself lucky no goats were involved.

'You can't! Only the dead can possess that power! It's impossible for the living!' The blond boy shouted, waving his arms.

The dark man only laughed in a highly disturbing ‘Can’t you see I’m too insane to give a damn’ way.

The pale man watched him, waiting for the outcome. He thought it best to remain calm, rather than start hurling magic around. He laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. The boy seemed to cool down a little, as if the pale man’s composure had spread across to him.

'There is nothing we can do, whilst he has these wards up.' The pale man told the boy, who glanced at him then back at the dark-haired man.

'You’re right!' Purple sparks were beginning to flash across the body of the dark-haired man.. A wind sprang up out of no-where and made coats and hair whirl around people. ‘There is nothing you can do.’ Light was emitting from his skin and illuminating the room, deepening the shadows and casting the outlines of everyone’s face into sharper definition. He glowed like a violet-eyed angel and rose into the air, the straps of the coat whirling around him like black-feathered wings. 'I feel it coming. Hahaha! Yes! At l...'

Flashes of purple light obscured his vision and a shuddering blast ricocheted around the room. There was a scream, like reality being torn asunder. Which is what it was.

'ast..' He finished. And blinked. Well, this was singularly anticlimactic. It was as if someone had just closed the door on a thunderstorm and shut the curtains.

He was sitting outside in the sun, a forkful of cake a few inches from his open mouth. A sakura petal fluttered past him. He followed it as it plopped into a cup of tea by his right foot. Hmm.

~~~

'kaaaa...what? WAAAAAAHHH...’ Clunk. The purple lights and associated effects snapped out, sharply, as if someone had suddenly switched them off. Reality bounced back and sealed the rent. Tsuzuki landed on his back in a puddle of something wet and sticky. ‘Ittaaaiiii...’

He found himself staring at the shadowed ceiling. Tsuzuki blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and looked around. It was like when you change the channel on the TV from a program you recognise to a horror film, only it was all around him. Just before, there had been a flash of light and it had been almost like he was looking through two pairs of eyes at once, but strangely...at the same time into a mirror. He turned his head to the right and his eyes widened as he saw the mess on the floor and on himself. He saw the dead girl. He saw the goat...hah, no not really. He saw two pairs of feet, one small in trainers, one slightly larger in white shoes. His eyes tracked upwards.

He saw Hisoka glaring at him. Not a normal ‘you baka’ Hisoka glare, but more of a ‘you vile fiend, I hope you’ve just got what you deserve’ sort of glare. It was very disconcerting. Tsuzuki wondered if he was hallucinating. He looked to the right

'Muraki!' Aha! Tsuzuki thought, brows knitting angrily. So now you make your move, you vile fiend. I knew all this silence was you plotting something dastardly... like.... teleporting me and Hisoka.... a ....um.... what’s the point of this anyway?

'Hmm?' The pale man looked surprised.

There was something not quite right about him, Tsuzuki thought. Obviously, I’m seeing him from the floor, and he’s looking down at me, so things are going to look a little funny. 'Is this your doing?' Tsuzuki pointed a finger accusingly. What was different? Something different about Muraki. He wasn’t wearing his usual disconcerting grin, he wasn’t flirting with Tsuzuki, but the same white coat, the same glasses, the same grey eye...eyes. Oh right. They both look the same.

And indeed, this Muraki had no metallic eye. Both eyes were identical and uncovered, behind the thin-framed glasses.

This was odd. A lot of things were odd. So odd, in fact, that he would say he was not...um...where he belonged. This whole place had a sense of what could only be described as difference. Tsuzuki had lived a long time. Even in life he’d had a sixth sense about some things. He knew what it felt like when something was "off". At the moment it felt like he was the one that was off, but that was immaterial. Okay, so don’t take anything at face value. This could be a very realistic dream or hallucination. Some things could be completely different from normal.

'What? My doing? No, it's yours, of course.' Muraki said, looking confused.

Like that. 'Mine?' It was difficult to tell who was more confused by the other’s behaviour. ‘Look, I’d remember if I’d been going around doing things like this.’ Tsuzuki waved a his arms, gesturing at the scene.

'Yes.' Muraki said, looking at Tsuzuki strangely. 'The spell...it must have backfired somehow. You've lost your memory?'

Have I lost my memory? Tsuzuki thought, for one very worrying instant. It’s possible. Perhaps I did this stuff under the influence of something, and now it’s gone and I’ve forgotten what happened. Ah, but that doesn’t explain Muraki’s eyes.

'He recognised you, though, Muraki-san.' Hisoka pointed out. 'He can't have lost his memory.'

Muraki-san? This gets worse and worse. Why was Hisoka speaking to Muraki as if he were a friend, and looking at him, Tsuzuki, as if he were his vilest enemy?

It was then that Tsuzuki noticed something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for the past few minutes, but really hadn’t had a chance to get a word in edgeways amongst the various other concerns. It was a slow, steady thump in his ears. It was oddly familiar. Hmm, now what could it be?

It was his heartbeat. He was alive. 'I'm....alive?' He said, disbelievingly, having something of a propensity for stating the obvious 'Why am I alive?'

'There's no point asking us.' Hisoka said, angrily. 'We're not.'

'Oh.'

'Thanks to you.'

'What??'

'Are you telling me you don't remember doing this?' Hisoka...or the hallucination/dream Hisoka, or whoever he was.. asked, rolling up his sleeve and displaying his curse scars. 'You don't remember...when you...' He started to choke. Muraki laid a hand on his partner's shoulder again. There was a tenderness there Tsuzuki didn't recognise. It was becoming more and more evident that though he could see no difference in Hisoka bar his behaviour, this Muraki was not the Muraki he knew. For a start, he was even more pale than usual (if that were possible without suffering from some form of bizarre anaemia), and he glowed with the preternatural (ah, Anne Rice's favourite word..) beauty of a shinigami. That sort of thing really didn't happen unless you actually were a shinigami. His whole demeanour was different, in fact he reminded Tsuzuki of paler version Tatsumi more than anyone else.

Muraki looked thoughtful and took off his glasses and chewed pensively on the arm, yet another addition to the weirdness. 'Let's look at this calmly, shall we?' He suggested.

'All right.' Tsuzuki said, controlling his rising bile at the sight of Muraki comforting Hisoka. Muraki touching Hisoka. Hisoka allowing Muraki to touch him. Admittedly, there was a glove and a sweater between them, but nevertheless, it implied that Muraki had nothing inside him the other hadn’t already seen.

'Are you Tsuzuki Asato?' Muraki asked, gesturing at Tsuzuki with his glasses.

'I am. At least I was last time I checked.' Tsuzuki replied, peeling himself off the floor and standing up.

'And you remember us?'

'Yes.'

'But you don't remember cursing Hisoka-san or cutting my throat?' Muraki lifted his head a little and Tsuzuki saw a thin reddish line marring the whiteness of his neck. Shinigami seem to retain the mark of whatever killed them even on their immortal bodies. One assumes there is some ethereal significance in this, but perhaps it just makes for good angsty plot.

'There've been times when I wish I could have cut your throat, but no, I've never actually done it.’ Tsuzuki confessed. It wasn’t strictly true. Most of his ‘killing Muraki again, properly this time’ fantasies involved things that took a lot longer than a simple throat slash. ‘And it was you that cursed Hisoka-san.'

'It was not!' Hisoka cried, angrily and starting forward. Tsuzuki’s face fell. Please Hisoka, don’t look at me like that, like I’m someone terrible, I can’t stand it. It makes me feel like someone is crushing my heart.

'Calm down, Hisoka-san.' Muraki said, holding him back by his arm. 'I believe I'm beginning to understand what is going on here.'

'Oh...' Hisoka stopped and stepped back, still regarding Tsuzuki with green-eyed disconcertion. It was better than the anger, but still bad.

'Tsuzuki.' Muraki said. 'Where were you five minutes ago?'

'I was at a picnic, in Meifu, eating cake.' Tsuzuki replied. 'With Tatsumi and Hisoka and Watari and Saya and Yuma and Terazuma and Wakaba.'

'You've never been to Meifu. He's lying.' Hisoka said. Tsuzuki bit his lip. 'How can we trust him?'

'Hmm.' Muraki said again, thoughtfully. 'A picnic. How nice. I suppose you were under the willow trees?'

'Cherry trees.' Tsuzuki corrected.

'Where does Tatsumi keep his pens?'

'In that thing on his desk.'

'Where does 003 like to sleep?'

'On Watari's shoulder, or on the window ledge in his office.'

'Where is the library?'

'Past the chief’s office, second left.'

'He knows JuOhCho as little too well for someone who's never been there, don't you think Hisoka-san?' Muraki said.

'All right, yes.' Hisoka said, grudgingly.

'A few minutes ago I was a shinigami.' Tsuzuki said. 'Now I'm human. I don't understand any of this.'

'A few minutes ago, you...though evidently it wasn't you, it was some other you...said you were going to gain the power of a shinigami.' Muraki told him.

'Really? There are two mes?' Tsuzuki went through a brief existential crisis. On the other hand, it did explain the mirror-double-vision thing he’d had for a second or two.

'Yes. And the other you has changed bodies with you, by the looks of it. He's done what he said he would, gained the power of a shinigami. By becoming another version of himself, who is one.'

'This is too complicated for me.' Tsuzuki said, dismissing the intricacies of four dimensional space with a wave of his hand. 'So this other me, who sounds like a really mean guy from what you said he's done, is running around in my body now? In Meifu, doing whatever he wants?'

'Yes.' Muraki nodded. ‘At least, I assume so.’

'That's not good, right?'

'No.'

'Can that be fixed? Swap us back?'

'I don't know. Perhaps we should go back to Meifu and research the spell that he used. Though I don’t know how everyone’s going to react if we bring you in. It will take a _lot_ of explaining.'

'Okay.' Tsuzuki said, feeling a little better now things were clearer, but still very, very weird. 'Let's go.'

~~~~

Meanwhile, back in the timeline we know...

'Hisokast?' Hisoka said. 'Baka, there isn't even anything in your mouth.'

Hisoka and Watari saw Tsuzuki pause for a few moments, looking utterly bewildered, look around, look at the hand holding the cake fork, look at each of them in turn, and smile oddly, before putting the forkful of cake in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

But if they had been able to hear his thoughts, they would have got this...

Huh? What happened? Where am I? Do I have the power of a shinigami? Yes, my hand seems different, and ...I can no longer feel my heart beating. I'm dead. Not what I expected, but not really a problem. And there's the boy, and that idiotic scientist, what'shisname, Watari. And the shadow-master and the other shinigami. No Muraki. Hmm. Perhaps he's not around. The boy doesn't seem surprised, so this must be normal, me and him being in the same place. So I’m an official shinigami. Maybe I’ve replaced Muraki? That would be funny, but I would have preferred to replace the boy, and be Muraki’s partner. Haha, I remember...no, time for that later. I must have changed time, or changed the world somehow, so that I'm a shinigami. How unexpected.

I'd better eat this cake. Mmm... caramel.

'Are you all right, Tsuzuki?' Watari asked, a little disconcerted by the range of facial contortions Tsuzuki had just performed.

'Mff?' Tsuzuki said, muffled by a mouthful of cake.

'Chew and swallow before trying to speak, Tsuzuki.' Hisoka said.

Tsuzuki did so, suppressing his anger at being ordered around by the boy. 'Yes, I am, Watari-san. Why?'

'You just acted rather funny.'

'I...uh...I'm feeling a little strange. Perhaps I'm ill?'

'Ill? Would you like me to take a look at you?'

'No, I’m sure it’ll pass. Is there any more cake?' Some things remain the same whichever Tsuzuki you are..

Hisoka sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Baka. You and sweets' He got up.

Tsuzuki's eyes flashed, strangely. Irritating boy. Is this how you treat....me...ah. I suppose it is. Ah, well, sweets was one thing he and this other Tsuzuki had in common, Tsuzuki thought.

'Aren't you coming?' Hisoka asked. 'We have to get back to work. You're so lazy. Look at Tatsumi glaring at us.'

Tsuzuki looked at Tatsumi. He was, indeed, glaring at them in a 'get back to work, you seventy-year term no-good worker' way. Tsuzuki wondered if the person he was at the moment would glare back. He decided against it. He stood up and followed the boy and the scientist (did that man _ever_ brush his hair?) inside. How much longer could he keep up this charade? He might easily slip up. He had to get away from here. Shinigami could teleport, couldn't they?

'Ah..Hisoka?'

The boy turned to face him. The scientist had wandered off somewhere. Probably back to his lab. That was good. Tsuzuki remembered the time when he’d captured the scientist and...well, let’s just say back in his world, Watari had a tendency to wince when he looked at fire-irons.

'What now?' Hisoka sighed.

'I forgot my...uh...thing..'

'B..'

'Don't call me a ba...' Tsuzuki’s temper flared. He’d had just about enough of the boy. Ch, keep your face straight, put on a silly grin.

'You...' Was that anger I felt? Hisoka thought. No, it can’t be.

'Hehe...yeah. Silly me.'

'Go and get it if you must.' The boy pointed, irritatedly. He was a little fazed. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.

'I'll be right back....' Tsuzuki hurried away.

'Hey...You're going the wrong way..'

'Sorry...' Tsuzuki turned around and went in the opposite direction. Once he got out of sight of the boy, he breathed a

sigh of relief and mentally cursed the boy repeatedly. Pleasing memories of what he had done to Hisoka flashed through his head and he smiled. Now, what does one do to teleport...Tsuzuki thought of the quiet alley behind his favourite cake shop.. and he was there.

Oh..right...that.

Smiling like the cat that got the cream, the smoked salmon and just sliced up the sofa, he stepped out from the alley and into the cake shop. It was exactly the same as the one in his world, The baker even recognised him and knew what his favourite kinds were. Strange how some things were exactly the same, yet others were completely different...

Well thank goodness one of the things that stayed the same was Chocolate Buttercream Filling. Sadly, that included prices that would have given Tatsumi a minor cerebral haemhorrage if he had been there.

Happily, Tatsumi wasn't around, nor would this Tsuzuki have given a damn if he was. He emerged from the shop with a slight patina of chocolate decorating his mouth.

'Tsuzuki-san. Out on your own?'

Tsuzuki didn't look up. 'Hello, Muraki. Yes. I ditched your...I mean my... partner.'

'How odd. You and the boy are usually inseparable. Well, never mind. I suppose I shouldn't question my luck.' Muraki stepped out of the shadows. Ah, it had been far too long, and now, what a stroke of luck, whilst he was in Nagasaki, here was Tsuzuki, all alone. Vulnerable.

Tsuzuki looked up, a comical sight, his mouth still half full of cake, nothing anywhere to indicate that he was a homicidal psychopath who’d just bodysnatched his otherworld double. Mm..that same thin, spun platinum hair, those beautiful pale silver eyes, like the winter clouds before a storm wind begins to blow. And for once, not looking at me with polite hatred. Well...hm...that's interesting. Why is one of them covered? He seems a lot more alive than usual as well.

'My beloved Tsuzuki...I'm sorry I've been away for so long...I didn't forget you, believe me.'

'My...beloved...Tsuzuki....?' Have I died and gone to heaven? Tsuzuki thought, covering his mouth to stop anyone seeing the evidence of this sudden happiness . Well, obviously yes on the first part. Oh boy. Okay, so in this time..world...whatever, I'm dead and a shinigami and he's alive...and in love with me...this is so great! I couldn’t have done better if I’d planned it all.

'You had better chew and swallow before you choke.' Muraki said. Tsuzuki did so. Muraki moved closer to him. There was barely any distance between them. Tsuzuki gulped and almost choked on the remnants of the cake in his mouth. Muraki seemed tense, as if waiting for him to do something, like he was a small animal that might be startled and run away. Tsuzuki grinned, and wondered what Muraki expected him to do. He stared into the wonderful grey eyes..well..eye, unable to conceal the pure joy spreading across his face.

Is he going to kiss me?

Muraki frowned. Tsuzuki blinked.

'Who are you and what have you done with Tsuzuki?' Muraki said.

'Whaaa?' Oh pooh. How can you tell? No-one else could. Mind you, I didn’t stick around long, did I?

'My Tsuzuki has never looked at me like that before. With disgust, with hatred, with complete uncaring emptiness, yes, but only in my dreams with abject adoration. You look like my Tsuzuki, you smile like my Tsuzuki, you even eat cake like him. But you are not him.'

Tsuzuki pouted. 'I'm jealous of your Tsuzuki.'

'Many people are, I expect. You say 'your Tsuzuki' as if there were more than one.'

'Well, you were talking about your Tsuzuki, why shouldn’t I? Yes, I’m the other one. Your Tsuzuki doesn't like you then?' What an idiot, what was there not to like?

Muraki seemed to find this statement incredibly funny, and took his glasses off to dab at his eyes with an immaculate handkerchief. 'I suppose you could put it that way, yes. He doesn’t like me.'

'My Muraki doesn't like me either.' Tsuzuki said. He was finding this quite interesting. This person was a great deal more interesting than the Muraki in his world. He seemed more confident. Uncaring, almost, as if he had nothing to lose.

'Why not?' Muraki asked, replacing his glasses.

'Probably because I killed him. And his fiancée.' Tsuzuki replied, smiling innocently, eyes twinkling.

'Ukyo?' Muraki asked, looking interested, and suddenly fuming internally. How dare this...person discuss with such impunity murdering the two people he cared about most in the world (along with Tsuzuki). But then didn’t he do the same with the boy? Was this what it felt like for Tsuzuki when he spoke to him of killing his partner? And is he...flirting...with..me? Good grief. 'I don't expect he was very pleased about that.'

'I suppose you could put it like that.' Tsuzuki repeated Muraki's affirmation back at him, with a cheeky little turn of the lips. 'He came after me, with dragons and beasts. I cut his throat. Right across here.' Tsuzuki's mouth twisted into some sort of vile smirk and he reached a thin finger up and drew the nail across Muraki's pale throat as if it were a blade. ‘He still has the scar.’

Muraki couldn't supress a little gasp at Tsuzuki touching him, the contact eradicating his anger at the things the man had said. He caught the other man's hand and held it. Tsuzuki made no move to take it back. 'So..unlike my Tsuzuki, you have no qualms about killing people, then?'

The purple eyes storm-clouded over and brows knitted. 'Is he really like that? He cares for those worthless....after the way they treated me...him....us...'

'So I believe..from what I read in my grandfather's notes, and the way he behaves..'

'I killed him too, by the way.' Tsuzuki interrupted, nonchalantly. 'Your grandfather. He tried to keep me a prisoner. In that hospital of his.'

It was difficult to make himself remember that none of this had happened here. The gleeful abandon with which this Tsuzuki discussed killing his friends and relations.. Even I’m not this bad, am I? 'My, you are prolific. Continuing, my grandfather's notes said that Tsuzuki considered himself some inhuman creature. A monster, and not fit to live among humans. He blamed himself for the way he was treated, rather than, as you do, the people who harmed him.'

'I remember thinking like that a long time ago. Before I realised the monster in me made me superior to them. In fact, I almost k..'

'Killed yourself? Look at this.' Muraki moved his grip along and showed Tsuzuki his own right wrist.

Tsuzuki did so. 'Yes, he wears his watch on that one. Odd, considering he's right handed, the same as me.'

Muraki unbuckled the watch.

'Oh.' Tsuzuki said, and remembered the surgical scalpel they left lying around, thinking he was too incoherent to realise it was there, the scalpel he never found the courage to pick up and press down, however many times it lay on his mind, a few inches away from his hand, and the longing to end his pain, the longing for blissful release, to fly out of the window with the butterflies, but the fear of darkness that kept him down. And the hatred, of himself for being such a coward, and eventually for those who kept him locked up, for every flawed, reeking human on this cesspit of a planet. A few small cuts? Was that all that made the difference? Between life and death, between hatred and humanity? These scars could have been on my wrist.

Muraki ran his fingers across aforementioned scars lightly, making Tsuzuki shiver in dark-tinged pleasure. 'So if I have it correct...you couldn't kill yourself. And you remained in my grandfather's hospital, your pain becoming worse and worse and transmuting finally to hatred.'

'Mhm.'

'How interesting...to think that it only required one decision to make the two of you completely different people.

Superficially the same, and yet with utterly contrary motivations. He dies another little death every time he is forced to end a life. And you...' Muraki replaced his fingers on the scars with his lips, a smattering of kisses, brushing gently across the grid of fine lines. Tsuzuki's fingers tasted deliciously of the chocolate from the cake. Ah, you may be rude, but you certainly taste good.

'Quite enjoy it, actually.' Tsuzuki said, eyes closing. 'Mmm...oh, please don't stop.'

Muraki stopped. Tsuzuki growled. Did he have to be so contrary? Muraki returned Tsuzuki's hand to him and pressed his watch into it..

'Perhaps we might go somewhere a little more private than the alley behind a cake-shop?' He suggested.

'Oh, I suppose so.' Tsuzuki replied, replacing the watch, this time on his left wrist, almost a defiant act, emphasising his difference to his other self, and then threading his arm around Muraki's. 'Lead on, my dear Muraki. Perhaps you'll help me finish my cake'

Well...Isn't this a suprise. Muraki thought, as he walked through the streets with his beloved on his arm. Perhaps another man would have been bothered by the knowledge that a manic sociopath had taken over the body of the man he loved, but really the part of Tsuzuki that interested him most was his body, so the fact that the current occupant seemed as infatuated with him as he was with the previous. He was quite happy to sacrifice that adorable self-loathing martyr-complex that made it so easy to interfere with the man's head for the kind of contact this other Tsuzuki was allowing him.

As the sun began to set and the shops closed around them, they walked, enjoying each other's company without really saying anything. They left the commercial streets of Nagasaki behind them and wandered into a park. The flowers were blooming, scenting the dusky air and the cicadas chirped in that mildly irritating fashion of theirs.

Tsuzuki thought about insecticide and other things ending with -cide. The more he heard about this other him, the more he disliked him. And the more he vowed to take his place permanently. The man was wasting his life..er..afterlife..existence, whatever. He had all the power of a shinigami and this amazing version of Muraki, as outgoing and forward as the other one was quiet and shy.

They found a bench beneath a long leaved tree, and by unspoken mutual consent, sat down. Muraki, quite to his astonishment, found himself with a messy brown head in his lap.

'Am I out of line?'

'Would you move if I said you were?'

'No. But I'm trying to be nice. Cake?' Tsuzuki produced a plastic fork from a pocket somewhere.

For the second time that day, Muraki had to wipe the laughter from his eyes. 'No...thank you.' He looked down at the smiling purple eyes, amongst the tangle of brown hair and glanced at the black coat clad body draped over the bench, long legs dangling off the end and contemplated how beautifully it all fit together. It almost seemed to good to be true. Here, now, with Tsuzuki stretched out before him. He ran his hand through the other man's hair. Tsuzuki positively purred with delight. A thin hand reached up and traced the line of his cheek, accidentally-on-purpose brushing the pale strands of platinum hair away from his right eye. There was a gasp.

'I take it your Muraki doesn't have this?'

'No. Let's not talk about him, mm?' Tsuzuki replied. 'Let's not talk about either of them. I like it. It makes you seem even more strange than usual.'

'Strange?'

'Odd. Otherworldly. Ethereal. Whatever. Angelic, perhaps.'

'Do you flatter the other me like this?'

'I asked you not to talk about him.' Tsuzuki twitched, angrily and Muraki felt nails dig into the skin of his face where the other man was running his fingers.

How violent this man could become, scowling with Tsuzuki's mouth and clawing with his nails. Muraki took hold of the thin wrist again, wrapping his fingers tightly around the scars, drawing the wandering hand down towards his mouth and planting kisses on the tips of the fingers. 'Well, do you?'

Tsuzuki chuckled. It wasn't a nice chuckle. 'Persistent, aren't we? Yes, I do. Do you do the same to your Tsuzuki?'

'Whenever I see him.' Muraki saw Tsuzuki's mouth twist with envy. 'How can you be jealous of yourself?' Muraki asked.

Tsuzuki slapped him across the face with his other hand, striking with inhuman speed, like a snake. He watched gleefully as livid red marks appeared on Muraki's astonished face and noted how beautifully they showed against the paleness. 'Superficial resemblance. He and I are not the same person. Oh, I'm sorry, my dear Muraki, but you shouldn't make me angry.' He sat up and kissed the marks.

Muraki's expression passed quickly through suprise, dismay, fury and finally stopped on amusement. The other emotions looked as though they might make a comeback in the near future, though. 'You certainly are volatile, Tsuzuki-san.'

'As volatile as you seem to be patient.' Tsuzuki replied. ‘It’s one of the things I love about you.’

Muraki touched his face. Every moment a new suprise. He would have to watch out for that look of capricious, childish anger that seemed to appear just before this Tsuzuki did something unexpected. Well, if he thought Muraki

Kazutaka was going to be upstaged, he had another think coming.

'Forgive me, Tsuzuki-san, I didn't mean to offend.' He said, the picture of gentlemanly politeness. Tsuzuki did not seem surprised, merely complacent.

'You're forgiven.' Tsuzuki replied, graciously winding his arms around Muraki's neck and pressing himself against the white-clad body. Arms enclosed him and supported him as he buried himself in the folds of the coat and the hollow above a shoulder bone. Muraki smelt of red things, though you wouldn't think so. Roses, anger, blood. It felt so right to be here. He belonged here, he was even regretting a little having hit the man. Just a little though. It had been quite pleasurable to wipe that smug look off his face. Purple eyes closed, blissfully, enjoying the moment.

The light of a bloody moon fell on the pair as it emerged from behind the clouds (certain dramatic conventions have to be followed here. Red Moon = Bad stuff happening), staining one pale red and the other shades of chocolate and dusky grey.

'Can we go and kill someone?' Tsuzuki asked, turning his face upwards, deliberately letting his breath fall on Muraki's neck and enjoying the little shudder it elicited far too much.

'Whatever you wish, my beloved.' Muraki replied, kissing the top of his head.

'Can I bring my cake?'

Laughter echoed around the trees. It was a little too maniacal for comfort.

~~~

Tsuzuki, our Tsuzuki, sat outside his office (although in this reality it was Muraki's office) deep in fearful depression.

It wasn't just the things he'd been told that the other him at done. Nor was it the way Tatsumi, his reliable, trustworthy oni-san figure had looked at him with polite contempt and asked Hisoka and Muraki icily why they had brought _him_ to JuOhCho, or the knowledge that the reason Watari had looked at him in such fear was because the other him had once tortured the scientist for apparently something ridiculous like looking at him funny. Coming to terms with the idea of a good Muraki, a man with the face of his and Hisoka's tormentor, as Hisoka's shinigami partner in his place was quite a large part of it.

But the biggest blow was the horrible sick feeling in his stomach when he saw the way Hisoka regarded him with complete indifference. Though he no longer saw horror in the wide green eyes, he couldn't see the amusement and occasional irritation that to him said 'friends, partners'. The knowledge that here, it was him who was responsible for Hisoka's death, and whenever this Hisoka looked at him, he would see the image of the man who raped him and condemned him to a horrible, torturous death. It confirmed one of his worst fears, and the reason he could never really let himself go with the boy present. That he was capable of hurting him in the way the Muraki from his world had done. That he was no better than a serial killer and only his guilt kept him from being a hundred times worse than the doctor.

'This place is insane.' Tsuzuki told himself, burying his face in his hands. 'I want to go home.'

He was not a happy bunny.

He would just have to hope the Gushoushin-tachi, Hisoka and....his partner...he couldn't bring himself to say the man's name in conjunction with Hisoka's, could find the spell his other self had performed and the way to reverse it.

Speak of the devil, the door opened and Muraki stepped out, closing the door behind him.

'I have bad news.' He said. 'I managed to talk Tatsumi-san round, but he says he isn't prepared to trust you and help you with the spell unless you agree to let Hisoka scan you to be sure you're telling the truth. I'm sorry.'

'Thank you. It's all right.' Tsuzuki said, not looking at Muraki. It was easier to talk to him if he didn't have to see him. 'It's the sort of thing I'd expect from Tatsumi-san.' He looked up, forgetting. 'It's Hisoka-kun I'm more worried about. I don't want to hurt him.'

'Hisoka is tougher than he looks.' Muraki said, smiling. It was a kind smile, seeming to thank Tsuzuki for his concern about his partner's welfare. Tsuzuki found himself smiling back. Look at the person, not at the face. 'And Tatsumi and I will be there, just in case.'

Tsuzuki was still worried. He knew how Hisoka's empathy could affect him, almost completely incapacitating him in the presence of someone feeling strong emotions. And here they were asking him to let down all the walls that kept him from hurting the boy, like he had that first day they met.

'Come inside the office.' Muraki beckoned. Tsuzuki stood up and followed him through the door. Inside, Tatsumi and Hisoka stood. Tatsumi looked totally calm, as usual, but the flickering of the shadows around him said different. Hisoka looked slightly irritated, as he did when trying to conceal concern for himself or others. Everyone was on edge, and this made Tsuzuki on edge as well.

'He agrees.' Muraki told them, glancing at Tatsumi as if to say ‘I said he would, calm down’.

'Tsuzuki.' Tatsumi said. 'I warn you....if you...'

'Let's just get on with it.' Tsuzuki hung his head, preferring not to see the hatred Tatsumi was emitting, despite his exterior. The other Tsuzuki must have done something really bad to him. Either that or this Tatsumi was as fiercely protective of Hisoka and Muraki, and probably Watari as his own Tatsumi was of him. 'How close do I need to be?'

'Stand there.' Tatsumi pointed. 'Don't even think about moving any closer to Kurosaki-kun.'

Tsuzuki obligingly moved. He looked at Hisoka, who seemed as nervous as he was, if not more. He turned back to look at Tatsumi and Muraki. It was odd to see Muraki looking worried.

'Okay.' Tsuzuki said, closing his eyes. 'Shoot.' He lowered the shields he'd carefully put up to protect his partner from his less-than-stable-personality. He heard a gasp from Hisoka as emotions flooded over him.

'Kurosaki-kun?' Tatsumi.

'I'm all right. I know he isn't lying, but I can't tell any more than that.' Hisoka said, his voice quavering.

'Is that okay?' Tsuzuki asked, opening one eye, then the other.

Hisoka shook his head, swallowed drily and held out his hand. Tsuzuki bit his lip, worriedly. Was it safe to touch Hisoka? He looked at the boy, who had confusion and apprehension in his sparkling green eyes. The moment seemed to last a ridiculously long time. Tatsumi was beginning to look suspicious. They might get angry if he didn't do as he was supposed to. Tsuzuki reached out and took Hisoka's hand, making the boy stagger as a flood of images and emotions overwhelmed him. Tsuzuki caught him as he fell, supporting his weight against him and filling his own vision with blond hair and warmth. He saw the ends of Hisoka's scars emerging from the cuffs of his sweater, and noticed with horror how exactly his own forefinger fit into the marks. The feeling must have been reflected in Hisoka, because the boy shook his head, as if to say they weren’t Tsuzuki’s fault.

At last Hisoka recovered, and with Tsuzuki’s help, stood on his own two feet again.

'Are you all right?' Tsuzuki asked.

Hisoka nodded and smiled, reassuringly, always an odd thing for Hisoka to do. He stood up and whispered into

Tsuzuki's ear. ‘It was good to feel loved like that. Thank you.’

Tsuzuki was speechless. He looked up and noticed that Muraki had been holding Tatsumi back, and there were frightening, jagged shadows only a few feet away from him and Hisoka, poised to pounce.

'It's all right. He's telling the truth, about everything.' Hisoka told them.

'I thought so.' Muraki said, straightening his glasses and breathing a sigh of relief.

Tatsumi seemed to relax a little. The shadows calmed down, returning to their normal ‘absence of light’-ish selves. 'All right.' He said. 'You have my permission to go to the Library and try and sort this mess out. I'll go and make a report to the chief.'

~~~

They found a nice girl, who shouldn't have been walking home alone...

Tsuzuki held her head back, one hand over her mouth, choking her screams, offering up her throat to Muraki's knife, a bizarre gift where only the presenter and the presentee knew the real meaning. He held her close, feeling the life ebb out of her, spill across Muraki's beautiful white coat, probably irreparably staining it.

'How can you wear white?' Tsuzuki asked. 'And do things like this?'

Muraki contemplated the blade and his front for a moment. He smiled. 'Cold soak with salt and triple strength washing powder.' (Thank you mother, cleaning tips for psychopaths) He licked a little of the blood off his fingers. 'She was drinking... Silly girl.'

'Sake?'

Muraki nodded and stepped in closer, to help Tsuzuki hold up the dying girl, whose legs were no longer supporting her, as if they could. She could only have been about fifteen, fair haired and blue-eyed and a little plump. Her head fell forward onto Muraki's blood-sprayed shoulder as she lost muscle control, spreading red-tinted golden curls around his neck and down his back, like a lion’s mane. Tsuzuki gazed happily at him, the crimson moon filling his eyes with blood and staining his own a deeper midnight purple, empty and full of darkness. Forgotten, the girl slipped from their grasp and slid onto the floor between their feet, an unnecessary obstruction, the evidence of her existence spread across their bodies, wet and glistening.

Bloody hands slid around Tsuzuki's lower spine, leaving a red snail trail across his coat. Tsuzuki twisted his fingers together behind Muraki's neck and pulled his head down towards him, wet coats sticking together as they kissed.

Muraki tilted Tsuzuki's chin up and spread bloody kisses across his neck, returning the gift as a trail of red marks and small moans while Tsuzuki entwined his fingers in his hair and drove his nails into the back of his neck with each touch.

Muraki stopped. He enjoyed hurting people himself, but liked it less when other people hurt him.

'Stop that.'

'What, this?' Tsuzuki asked, pressing harder. Muraki winced.

'That.' Muraki replied, removing Tsuzuki's hands from behind his neck, and bringing the right wrist to his mouth, running his tongue along the scars, drenched once again in blood. Tsuzuki pouted and tugged at his hands, trying to get Muraki to release them. Muraki just chuckled, nastily and pulled him close for another kiss, practically lifting him off his feet, then contrarily dropping him on the floor.

'There was no need for that.' Tsuzuki whined, picking himself up.

'Perhaps you'll learn to listen when people ask you to stop.' Muraki suggested, folding his red-smeared arms. 'Really, even my Tsuzuki is politer than that and he detests me.'

Tsuzuki deliberately ignored him, and lifted the upper body of the girl on the floor beside him, before letting it fall again. The movement caused more blood to leak out and soak into the earth, dyeing the green grass dead brown. 'I think we broke her.'

'Mm.' Muraki had seen many broken dolls.

'I like her better like this.' Tsuzuki said, running his hands through blonde tresses and rearranging them on the floor. 'Just a body. No more flawed human in it to laugh and cry and do all the silly things they do.'

'Excuse me...'

'Oh, I don't count you.' Tsuzuki shuffled around on his knees and found where he had placed the box with what was left of the cake in it, and fished out a slice. Muraki watched him over his glasses, curious to see what he was doing. Tsuzuki ran a finger across the bleeding throat, and then through the buttercream on top of the cake, and then licked the digit clean in a way that made Muraki want to pin him down and do dreadful things to him.

'You want some?' Tsuzuki asked, offering the slice of cake like a puppy bringing a stick for it's master to throw..

'Now that you mention it.' Muraki said, joining him at floor level. 'I am a little peckish.'

Tsuzuki smiled, a mockery of a radiance, a happy child at some kind of grotesque picnic and held up a plastic forkful of cake, sprinkled liberally with red liquid. 'Say ah.'

~~~

‘It’s fascinating.’ Muraki said, looking up from an ancient spell book at Tsuzuki, and resting his head on his hands. ‘How different things are where you come from.’

They had told him their stories, in return for his. How the other Tsuzuki, after wandering Japan, a demonic and immortal killer, had met Muraki working in a hospital, found out he was the grandson of the man who had kept him imprisoned for years in a hospital without his consent and become obsessed with him. How he had slain first the man's fiancée, his adopted brother Oriya, and then when he sought revenge, the man himself. Hisoka's story was much the same, only with the obvious difference. Here, Hijiri was dead, they had not been able to save him or Kazusa from Sagadalius. Tsuzuki had been the one responsible for Maria Won, Tsuzuki had manipulated Tsubaki-hime (although, obviously someone else had done the heart operation) and the Kyoto events had never happened. In fact, Hisoka and Muraki had looked quite shocked when he painfully related them. Muraki had seemed quite angry at his counterpart’s behaviour. This felt strange, but good.

‘I’m glad someone managed to save Hijiri.’ Hisoka commented. ‘At least somewhere he’s living a normal life.’

Tsuzuki said nothing. He knew they were trying to comfort him, distract him from thinking on all the things that he could have done if he’d been a little different, the evidence of which was borne on the bodies of the people before him. The sort of maniac he could have been. On the other hand, it was getting easier to be in the same room with this Muraki and this Hisoka. Since Hisoka had been inside his mind, he had stopped looking at Tsuzuki with hatred, and started treating him as if he were some long lost older brother. And in this Muraki, he saw all the time the one or two moments when the Muraki from his world showed how he really felt, instead of constant mild amusement or anger. It was refreshing.

'I think I've found it..' Hisoka said.

Tsuzuki peered over at the book. 'No this isn't it. It includes goats.'

'The goats are optional.'

'All right. We'll try it. Let's go.'

~~~

'Pretty hair.' Tsuzuki's face was smeared with chocolate and blood, much to Muraki's amusement. 'Like the boy's.' He and Muraki lay on either side of the corpse, which was staring blankly into space. 'Who killed him in your world? Was it you?'

'Yes.' Muraki said, gazing at the countenance of his beloved across the sight line of a dead face.

'Why?' Tsuzuki asked, playing with the limp strands of blond hair.

'He saw something he shouldn't have.' Muraki replied, watching Tsuzuki’s fingers leave patches of blood in the hair. Where was this going?

'Let me guess...that girl with the dark hair...Makoto something..'

'Aoiyama.' Muraki frowned and looked away. This was an intrusion. Bad enough to talk about killing Oriya and Ukyo, but to dally on private moments between him and his victims in such an offhand manner, as if discussing a meal they’d had together, was almost unforgivable. Perhaps if the man hadn’t been so nonchalant, it would have been good to share the memories, the feel of the knife striking, the terror in the air, the falling sakura. But this...mindless ‘chatting’....cheapened the whole thing. Suddenly the dead girl between them wasn’t a moment of meaningful sharing, a task accomplished together, a joint pleasure. She was like the empty plates at the end of a meal, dirty and lifeless.

'That was it. She looked so pretty dying amongst the sakura...and he..well, he sweetened the deal.' Tsuzuki rolled onto his back, twisting the hair in his fingers as he had done with Muraki’s.

'Very much so.' And yet he continued talking. Muraki wondered why. Perhaps it was the lingering memory of Tsuzuki’s willing arms around him, Tsuzuki’s throat and mouth emitting whimpers of pleasure, Tsuzuki’s amethyst eyes closing in pleasure, his fantasies fulfilled, if only for a while.

'Funny how in some things you and I are the same, but in others completely different.' Funny how I keep thinking that.

'Quite.' This man was an effigy. A rude mimicry of the beauty that was Tsuzuki. Uncouth, shallow, and perhaps even a little disturbing. He felt ill.

'You don't say much, do you?'

'I am far too busy looking at you.' And wondering what it would be like to cut _your_ throat.

Tsuzuki rolled over on his back and gazed at the moon through slitted eyes. 'I'm going to stay here forever.' He rolled back, quickly and pillowed his head on his elbow. 'Muraki?'

'Yes?'

'I know what I did that was different from your Tsuzuki. What did you do that was different from your counterpart in

my world? What makes you so much more interesting than him?'

'Now how can I know that without knowing his life story, hmm?'

'Well, why do you kill?'

'Why does there have to be a why?' How dare you ask that question. It’s none of your business. I seek perfection, you seek nothing.

'When did you start?'

'Perhaps..a little after my brother was killed.' Why am I humouring him? Is it worth it just to sleep with Tsuzuki’s body?...Yes.

'Saki? He just ran away in my world. No-one knows where he went. Believe me, I looked.'

'Really.. interesting.' To kill him as well, no doubt. You are a thorough sociopath, aren’t you?

'Yes. My Muraki took the bullet that was meant for his brother. He still has the scar in his arm. Saki ran away and was never seen again.'

'How selfless of me' Muraki spoke as if the persons discussed were a mere acquaintances. Took the bullet for Saki? For the insane, tainted evidence of his father’s adultery? What had gone through this other him’s head? It was quite ridiculous, the whole idea was ridiculous. He had disliked his half brother from the moment he met him, and he was rude enough to use his first name. Things had really gone downhill from there. What could possibly have motivated him to do that? Compassion? A sudden flash of empathy? Brotherly feeling? No, there was just no way he could put himself into a mindset that would let him save Saki’s life anymore. Perhaps when he’d first met him, and had wanted to make him feel at home, but not now.

Muraki’s thoughts were interrupted by a presence on the edge of perception, an ‘ah, so that’s where I left that doll’ kind of feeling.

'The boy is nearby. He’s looking for you.' He told Tsuzuki.

'I know, I feel him too. It must be a curse thing, or maybe this body remembers him.’ A wanton chuckle that made Muraki’s nerves jangle. ‘Took him long enough to find me.' Silly of him to come out on his own, but then there was no reason for him to think Tsuzuki might be anyone different from who Hisoka thought he was.

'We can't expect too much of him. He isn't very clever.' Muraki pointed out.

Tsuzuki leaned over the girl's body. 'We should kill him.' He said, conspiratorially.

'Again? That would make three times, between us. Besides, he's a shinigami.' What do you mean, we should kill him? Just like that? That boy...he needs to be savoured. You probably didn’t even care how he felt when you killed him..your version of him, did you? You probably didn’t pay attention to his pain, didn’t feel it, savour it. He was just a toy to you. Not even a doll, something you can care for, something with humanity in it. You don’t feel any more, do you? You don’t even acknowledge the existence of feelings beyond amusement and pleasure. When I make you angry, you’re not angry with me, you’re angry that you’re angry.

'Third time lucky, and so am I. Make him bleed enough and we can kill him.' Tsuzuki said.

I know that, you fool. Muraki mentally snapped, but said nothing.

However, it was tempting, very tempting. Remove the thorn in his side. 'All right. He's very close now.'

And despite it all, he was just trying to keep up. Trying to keep up with a killer he was beginning to think could be worse than him.

'I'll be the bait.' Tsuzuki said.

You could never be that helpless, Muraki thought.

~~~

Tsuzuki sadly regarded the body of the girl in the room where he had first appeared, the synchronicity lost on him. Just another body. He stood in the centre of the circle of kanjis whilst reversal spells were said around him. Thank goodness he was (hopefully) going home. There had been far too many shocks today, and who knew what his other self was doing in his body, He was also a little fazed by what the this-world Hisoka had said. It was embarassing, as if he'd accidentally confessed his love to Watari thinking he was Hisoka, or something along those lines.

Purple sparks began to flash across his vision.

He waved sadly at Hisoka and Muraki and mouthed ‘Thank you.’ They waved back. It was sad to leave them, after they’d been so kind. If only there was something he could do in return..

~~~

Muraki, it seemed had found himself in that irritating situation where you find you are enjoying yourself immensely, but are doing it with someone you find grates on your nerves a little. Killing was not a game for Muraki. It was a serious undertaking, a marriage of art and pleasure. This Tsuzuki killed as he ate. With little thought and less appreciation for the life he was ending. His killing was soulless, frivolous and empty, like him, and over too quickly. He clawed and was impolite and did atrocious things with confectionery. If it wasn’t for the traits he shared with this world’s Tsuzuki, Muraki thought he probably would have left hours ago. Or maybe throttled him. He wasn’t sure.

Muraki lay in wait in the shadows, wondering why he was still here. They were going to kill the boy, were they? It would be easy would it, without either version of either one of them protecting him? And would it be over with all too quickly and forgotten, like the girl? No, that was not fitting, not for the boy. Or would the shadow master follow, and the other shinigami? The boy was both an irritant and a source of pleasure, but only for torturing a Tsuzuki who wasn’t here now, and might not even return. What was the point of killing him (again) like this Tsuzuki would, wasting a thing that should be done in far more fitting and better planned circumstances. No, he didn’t want to play. If possible, he would stop Tsuzuki at the last minute. Somehow. Why keep up with someone when you can halt them in their tracks?

Muraki noticed that he was actually contemplating sparing someone’s life and almost laughed. He wanted his own Tsuzuki back. This one was fast becoming singularly uninteresting.

Green eyes in the darkness.

‘Tsuzuki?’

'Hiya Hisoka!' Tsuzuki said, brightly. Interesting how easily he wore the guise of the childish idiot. It was the outer persona for both Tsuzukis. Only on the inside did they differ. Pain or resentment. Guilt and self-hatred or anger and hatred of humanity.

'Baka! Where did you disappear off to?? I've been looking for you for hours, after you acted strange and went off like that! Tatsumi is going insane.' Hisoka stopped. Something felt terribly, terribly wrong. He was getting nothing from Tsuzuki, but that was normal when his shields were up. Then his scars began to burn, and someone took hold of his hands from behind, clamping a hand down over his mouth. Green eyes widened in fear. He knew the feel of that mind, dark, empty, and sickening deep-rooted pain. But when Tsuzuki, a completely unfamiliar smile on his face, his eyes amethyst ice, took hold of his face, everything became so much more wrong. This was not Tsuzuki. This was a mind full of furious, raging, firey hatred. Trapped between empty ice and searing heat, writhing in agony, he didn't even notice the thin fingers wrapping round his throat, and the knife rising to join them.

And a pale arm turning aside and knocking hands away from his throat. Angry purple eyes as Muraki pulled the boy away from them.

‘Why?’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’ Not like this. Things have to be done properly. Or else we’re no better than animals.

‘You capricious bastard...’

‘So speaks the pot to the kettle. Go home. You’re not wanted here.’

‘Every time! Every time you stop me from hurting him..I thought it would be different.’

‘What can I say? Truthfully, I find you quite as obnoxious as I’m sure my counterpart does.’ Oh, that felt sooo good

to say. You irritating fool, go away. You understand nothing about anything. Bring back _my_Tsuzuki, a hundred times better than you could ever be, you century-old child.

‘What has that whining idiot got that I don’t have?’ Tsuzuki cried, furious. In Muraki’s grip, Hisoka flinched as the anger seared through him. ‘Why does he have the power, and the love, and you when he doesn’t even want them?’

‘Taste.’ Muraki said.

Fury. Betrayal. Stubborn refusal. Tsuzuki opened his mouth to spit another insult. A strong wind began to whirl around Muraki and Hisoka, the product of his anger. Muraki wondered for a second or two if he was actually going to have to protect the boy, which was quite absurdly funny. Then Tsuzuki froze.

~~~

It was dark, but the garden of white roses that represented Tsuzuki’s psyche glowed with it's own inexplicable illumination, a floating white mist of light, meandering around at waist height. There was only one person there, stood among the roses, but at the same time there was two. Tsuzuki faced his own mirror image, his dark self. So this was the person who had done so much damage. This was the person he could have been, the person he sometimes feared he was. Around the feet of the other Tsuzuki, the roses were dying. Not just pruned, but wilting and twisting and turning dead-brown and burnt-black. The ground was barren and dusty. Around his own feet, clipped off blooms lay in pools of blood, soaking into the black earth, making it fertile for the few that still grew, healthy and tall. Hopeful.

'You can't have it back.' Evil Tsuzuki said, petulantly, admiring the destruction spreading around him. 'It's _mine_ now.'

Good Tsuzuki summoned up the courage to speak and shook his head. 'No it isn't.'

'Interesting, isn't it?' Evil Tsuzuki changed the subject, and held up his right wrist. 'How one tiny action can make things so very different. Just a few simple cuts that separate you from me.' He glared at Good Tsuzuki. 'You should thank me, Asato. I've given you back your life. Isn't it better there? You're alive there.' He spoke with the conspiratorial manner of a salesman suggesting a great deal but implying it was for the customer only.

No, it wasn’t better there. Nothing grows where you live. ' Too many people are dead in your world who should have lived. I won't let you hurt my friends.'

'How do you know I haven't already?' Evil Tsuzuki asked, riled by Good Tsuzuki’s stubborn refusal to be swayed. ‘How do you know your friends aren’t already dying?’

'I'd know.' If Hisoka died, I’d know if I was a thousand miles away in another universe.

'So? They're just humans. They aren't worth anything. Not like you and me.'

‘Only to you. You can’t see what’s beautiful about them. You’re blind.’ The smallest baby is worth a thousand of you.

‘You’re the blind one!’ All pretence of persuasion was gone from Evil Tsuzuki now. Hurricane-force winds whipped through the roses, tearing at their blackened, diseased roots. ‘How can you love them, how can you weep for them after what they did to us!’

'I don’t care what they did to us!’ Tsuzuki wrapped his coat around himself and covered his face against the blaze of fury. Behind and around him, protected by him, the roses grew strong and tall, their roots proof against the wind. ‘They were stupid, they didn’t know. It’s not their fault. They don’t live long enough to understand things.’ He bowed his head. ‘I just want to see Hisoka again.'

'There's a Hisoka in my world!' Evil Tsuzuki snapped, his face a mask of disbelief and fury, unable to understand how Good Tsuzuki could forgive so easily. The wind blew stronger.

'I want to see -my- Hisoka again.’ Tsuzuki protested. ‘I live for him. I stayed on earth for him. Without him, I don’t have a reason to exist.'

'All for him? You weak fool.’ The roses around Evil Tsuzuki were devastated, strewn on the ground. His anger had weakened him. ‘Then take your body back, if you can.'

'I will.' Good Tsuzuki replied.

'You think you're strong enough?’ Was that a trace of worry? The wind dropped a little. ‘There are no shikigamis in here to help you.'

'I'm strong enough. I know I am.' Good Tsuzuki said. Then he stopped. Why do I know? I feel it...but.... uncertainty. I took my body back from Sagadalius because of Hisoka and Hijiri. I left the fire for Hisoka. I’m taking my body back for Hisoka. But why does that make me stronger than this other me? We’re the same, we have the same name, the same parents, the same childhood. Why is it my scars make me strong enough to protect people instead of hating them?

‘Why is that?’ As if Evil Tsuzuki could read his mind, he echoed the internal question. ‘You've tried to kill yourself more than once. The cowards’s way out. You can't stop Muraki from hurting the people you love. What makes you think you deserve this perfect, immortal body?'

Good Tsuzuki hesitated, panicking as he tried to think. The white roses began to wilt. Evil Tsuzuki contemplated gloating. Then good Tsuzuki smiled, slightly disbelievingly, and shouted into the wind;

‘I was the one who had the courage to pick up the knife. That’s why this world is my world, my right. It doesn’t matter what happened to you, or where you come from. It’s your decisions, your actions that make you who are. '

Evil Tsuzuki's face clouded over as realisation dawned.

The train of reality suddenly jolted back onto the right track. It was as if a floodgate had opened. Unnatural white light flowed out of Good Tsuzuki’s body, his skin glowing ethereal-pale as his rightful power was returned to him. The wind spun around and hit Evil Tsuzuki head on. His form began to dissolve at the edges, chunks of his existence being battered off in the blast. A rain of blood spiralled out of the sky and fell on the parched ground, filling it with life and causing new roses to sprout, crimson now instead of white.

Good Tsuzuki laughed, both grim and joyful. 'Look at your wrist, Asato.'

The scars had reopened. Blood was running underneath his shirt sleeve, and spots of it were flying away. ‘No....these are yours, not mine. These are yours!’

Tsuzuki held up his own arm, where the scars were reappearing, validating his existence in his own world. ‘No, these are mine, they’ve healed! But you wanted to be dead. You took my scars from me. So here, have some of your own.’

‘What have you done to me!?’

'You stole the power of a shinigami. EnmaOhCho demands retribution.'

Evil Tsuzuki's face finally dissolved into a mask of horror and then into nothing as the gates of hell opened before him and dragged him down into the fire that mirrored his soul.

In the other world, a candle went out.

~~~

.....and then snatched Hisoka away from Muraki.

'Don't touch him.' Tsuzuki said, furiously, shielding Hisoka with his arms.

‘Ah, just in time.' Muraki said, and vanished in a flurry of white feathers.

Tsuzuki frowned. ‘What?’

'Are you all right?' Tsuzuki asked Hisoka, who was clinging to him.

'It's like your entire mind just changed in an instant...' It was as if someone had turned a blazing furnace down to a warm living room fire.

'It did.'

'You're covered in blood.' Hisoka said.

'Oh...no...I am, aren't I. He was going to hurt you. Thank goodness you're all right.'

Hisoka still seemed slightly dazed. 'How are we going to explain this to everyone? What happened, anyway?' Hisoka frowned. He couldn’t remember much but a blur of fire and hate, but for a minute he could have sworn he felt safe, felt Muraki protecting him.

No, that couldn’t be right. It was too incongruous for words.

'I'll just have to tell the truth.' Tsuzuki said. 'My evil twin stole my body and...augh...goodness only knows what he did, and with Muraki too.' He wiped at his mouth, disgustedly. ‘I need to have six showers and wash my mouth out with bleach.’

Hisoka resisted the urge to retch. He’d had far too much wrongness for one night. 'We need to get back, right away.'

'Hisoka, wait.'

Hisoka turned to look at Tsuzuki.

'What?'

Tsuzuki took a deep breath. What to say? Thank you for helping me find myself again? Thank you for being the person I come back from despair for? Did he feel the same as the other Hisoka did, grateful to be loved? 'I missed you.' He blurted out, and kissed the surprised Hisoka, quickly.

Hisoka broke into a rare smile, suprised and joyful, slightly overwhelmed by the contact and Tsuzuki’s feelings. 'I love you too, baka. Now come on.'

'Ok.' Tsuzuki nodded, blissfully happy as a puppy with a new chew-toy.

'You have chocolate all over your face, by the way.'

‘Again???’

~~~

‘Is he dead?’ Hisoka asked. ‘I don’t feel anything from him, but then I don’t usually. There’s just..less of nothing, if you get my drift.’

Whether he got it or not, Muraki knelt down by the body of Tsuzuki Asato, the eyes staring, mindlessly open, the empty purple of dead violets, and checked his pulse.

‘Yes. But I don’t know which him is dead. I don’t think we ever will.’

‘Let’s just hope it’s the right one.’ Hisoka said. You pissed off one too many people this time, Tsuzuki...

Muraki lifted up the right hand, the irony again, lost on him. Blood from the grid of scars stained his white glove. There was a sense of completion in the empty, broken body before him. As if something had been re-balanced and now things were back the way they should be.

~~~

High above the city, Muraki sat on a hillside and contemplated a world where he was good, Tsuzuki was evil, Saki lived and Oriya and Ukyo did not. A world he had touched on, for a few utterly incongruous moments when he found himself hating Tsuzuki and protecting the boy...Hisoka. The name seemed strange, as if merely by saying to himself he had given Hisoka life.

It was too weird.

He went home.

Owari