Games in the Dark

Rating: PG

Summary: Hazel and Nii, and chess. Dark.

The dreamer stirs. Eyes move rapidly beneath closed lids. A hand reaches out, grasping uselessly at thin air. Falls.

Fingers curl around sheets, clenching. Nostrils twitch, sucking greedily at air.

Breath is faster, words are mumbled.

A shriek. The dreamer snaps awake, the echoes of his strangled cry still reaching back to him.

Gasps slow to normal, if ragged breaths. The heart thuds in his ears, cycling down. He wipes his brow with a trembling hand, pushing himself upright into a sitting position. Recalls a name. Two.

Ah.

He is alone, a figure in navy blue in a white room. The walls are bare, the room empty save for a table, two chairs, a bed. He tugs at white sheets, freeing himself of their constraints, and pauses to brush sweat dampened silver hair out of his eyes.

Thinks: Gato.

He wonders what has happened to his companion. A cold stone settles in his stomach; call it concern worry fear. He ignores it, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and trying to recall. There is pain, and the memory of pain, his throat sore under the burning mark where he was garroted. His gloves are ripped and his fingers welted from where he grasped at the wire, his shoulders bruised from his fall into the earth. The pendant's familiar weight is missing.

He pulls off his ruined gloves and runs a finger along his chin, tracing the fine cuts left by youkai claws.

Again, he thinks: Gato.

He remembers, through a fading black haze, agonized yellow eyes meeting his. He remembers the thud of two heavy guns falling to the floor, even as he struggled and failed to draw breath to order the shikigami to fight on. Darkness overwhelms memory after that, and he wonders why the youkai spared his life. He hopes that they spared Gato's as well.

Another kind of pain starts in his heart at that thought, a pain which he ruthlessly suppresses. Pushing himself to his feet -- the cold of the floor seeps through his thin socks, and his boots are missing as well -- he makes his slow way to the door.

The handle refuses to move under his hand, and a close inspection of the room reveals no conveniently situated escape routes. He searches under the bed, and is vaguely troubled to find that there is absolutely nothing there, not even dust. Briefly, he considers breaking off a chair leg to fashion a weapon. A few vain attempts convince him otherwise and leave him drained. Physical strength has never been his prowess, he reflects, with a trace of regret, and would likely be the worse option against the physically superior youkai.

There is nothing to do but wait. He takes a seat, turning his attention inwards, and sends a quiet prayer up to God.

--

"Good evening."

Hazel opens his eyes to regard the figure standing in the doorway. To his surprise, it is human. Shabbily dressed in a long white laboratory coat, complete with bedroom slippers and, of all things, a rabbit plushy tucked under one arm... but most definitely human.

There is something wrong about the man, Hazel feels, even as he notes the scruffy, uncombed hair and the traces of stubble; a cloud of darkness that shrouds him. As evil as any monster, he thinks, straightening. More, a voice says quietly at the back of his head. He is instantly on his guard.

Light reflects off the stranger's glasses, as he absently props them up. "Hazel Glosse, I presume?"

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Hazel replies. His voice is hoarse, but the rasp hides the slight tremor.

"What's in a name?" the stranger smiles. "May I join you?" he gestures at a chair.

Hazel makes no reply, but the other pulls up the chair and sits anyway. He produces a pack of cigarettes from a pocket somewhere in the coat, and shakes one out. This close, Hazel can see that his fingers are stained with nicotine and ink. Unconsciously, his own bloodstained ones curl inwards, away. The stranger smiles, and offers him a cigarette. His smile broadens when Hazel turns down the offer.

"Mind if I smoke?"

Hazel ignores it for the rhetorical question that he knows it is, and tries to study his opponent. Deep black eyes gleam back at him from behind their glass barrier, fathomless. For a brief moment they reflect the light of a lighter's flame, then a wisp of smoke curls past.

"Ah," says the stranger, breaking eye contact to look around. "So much better. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

Hazel wonders if he can tackle the stranger. Taller. Wider of shoulder. He wonders whether the coat conceals weapons or wirey muscle. He wonders how many youkai there are outside the door, waiting for him to make the first move. Meanwhile, his throat burns, desperate for water. The stranger's eyes return from their contemplation of the room to meet his gaze, and the small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Water?" the stranger asks, all polite courtesy.

"Where is Gato?" Hazel asks.

The other leans forward, and the smell of cigarette smoke is acrid. Hazel restrains the urge to lean back in response. Only human, he reminds himself.

"Such unusual eyes," the stranger comments, his tone almost mocking. "Not quite the colour of the sky, not quite the colour of the sea, hm? And..." he reaches up. A finger brushes Hazel's jaw, tracing a line. Despite himself, Hazel flinches. "We must make sure that this doesn't get infected. Youkai claws can get so sharp."

"Indeed," Hazel agrees, leaning back and putting himself out of reach.

The stranger chuckles, and lifts the rabbit off his lap to place it on the table. Beady eyes continue to regard Hazel in their master's stead as the other pushes back his chair and stands. There is the soft slap of slippers against the tiled floor as he paces.

"And how have you found our magnificant Tougenkyou so far?" the stranger asks cheerfully. "It must be terribly different from your own far west, Shikyou-sama."

"On the surface, yes," Hazel replies levelly. "Some things, however, do not change from place to place." He bites his tongue at the veiled insult, irritated at himself for slipping up so early. It is a delicate battle of words, but open war has not yet been declared. There is no point taking useless shots at the opponent before he reveals himself to be an enemy, no matter how gratifying.

Shuffling footsteps pause somewhere behind him. Fingers toy lightly with his hair, but this time Hazel does not recoil from the sudden contact. "An unusual color too," the stranger says. Hazel levels his stare at the rabbit, and wills himself not to respond. It is a test, it is a feint, a game, and Hazel will not oblige this man by playing along. He restrains motion even when the fingers trace their way around his left ear, down to the welt around his throat.

"This must smart," the other's voice, low and breathy beside him.

What do you want? Hazel wants to ask. But there is no point, and that is the other's script. Questions that he obviously wants the answers to will go ignored. Perhaps oblique questions will work.

"You work for youkai?" he keeps his tone casual, almost careless. Difficult to do, with coarse digits tracing a painful line along his neck.

"Perhaps," the other says, chuckling again. The sound grates a little on Hazel's nerves, faintly annoying. "I work with youkai, certainly."

A small concession. A shred of information that Hazel hoards, and he wonders again how many youkai stand guard outside this door. The man's fingers are cold, and they make his skin tingle. The pressure disappears abruptly, and Hazel has to resist the urge to scratch at the invisible trail.

"So, Shikyou-sama. Do you play chess?" The voice still hovers uncomfortably close to his ear, and the breath of that last syllable tickles his cheek. He sends a mental command to tingling nerves to shut up, and wills his hairs not to stand.

"Perhaps," he replies.

"A good answer." The stranger is amused, and draws back in a rustle of fabric. "Surely you are a man of games, Bishop Hazel." Abruptly, he is standing in front of Hazel again, lounging against the edge of the table as if he has been there all the time. Hazel is vaguely surprised at how much his cigarette has burned down in the meantime.

"You are a man who dances with words," the other continues, regarding him out of the corner of his eyes. "A man who would rather fight with them than fight with strength. A good choice." A pause. "You should smile more. It lights up your face."

Hazel raises an eyebrow.

"Like when you're around Genjo Sanzo, mm? Such a fake smile, but so sunny. A rather effective mask for your thoughts, you must find it." The man has produced a chess piece -- an ivory bishop -- out of another pocket. Idly, he tosses it into the air and catches it. Once, twice. "Would you play a few games with me?"

"A few games, doctor?" Hazel asks, guessing at the man's title. "I don't see a set."

"Oh, it's in my office. Just down the corridor." The piece sails into the air again.

"I'm afraid that I don't play against anyone whose name I don't know," Hazel replies thinly.

Fingers close around the bishop as it falls. Again the low chuckle, as the man adjusts his glasses. "Nii Jieni." The chess piece disappears into a pocket of the coat as the doctor pushes himself away from the table, idly scooping up the bunny. He pauses to smile at Hazel. "You're welcomed to drop by any time, Shikyou-sama."

As Hazel ponders the implication of his words, Nii saunters towards the door. "At your convenience, of course," he says, a parting shot. "It must get terribly dull here, after all."

"Thank you for the invitation, Nii Hakase," Hazel returns. The other pauses, a shadow in the light of the corridor, and the rabbit gives him a cheery goodbye wave.

The door clicks shut.

Alone, Hazel finally lets the pent up shudder run through him. As he stares at the door, he finds himself scrubbing at his throat, at the remembered cold of that lingering touch.

--x--