thenearshore | Terrible Idea Theater proudly presents...

It looks like he's got all the blight. Gojyo's not sure whether he's relieved or disappointed that Hakki didn't need a hand. The uncomfortable warmth that -ahem- pops up every time he thinks about touching Hakkai is thankfully derailed (at least in part) by Hakkai's comment about karma... a comment that earns a snort.

"I'm not surprised by that, Mister Just Grow Your Hair Long To Hide It." Yeah, yeah, it was a joke, poor taste but not serious, yadda yadda. It hadn't felt like a joke at the time and it still doesn't, not really. "You got it all, by the way. You're clean."

A sarcastic snort is a little like a laugh. Hakkai's eyebrows quirk, acknowledging the point, and he steps back with a wave at the bucket.

"Your turn, then." And, more dryly, he adds, "Scarves and high collars work well, too, now that it's winter. Since it'll take you a while for the hair."

He's not at all convinced that Gojyo is actually amused by that comment, not when it's something Gojyo had brought up to condemn him, when they'd spoken in that bar before dawn and before it was stained with blood. Gojyo, though, can't feel the way that reminder aches.

It's better that way. Hakkai would rather not bring up that conversation.

Gojyo can, he thinks, just get used to his morbid sense of humor, if they're going to get to know one another again.

It doesn't feel right to laugh, not yet, but an unamused snort is safe enough. Gojyo steps forward, leaning way over next to the bucket to try and avoid getting water down his back, and he scoops up a palmful of ice water.

Chikusa brought ice water on purpose, didn't he?

"The hair's getting cut off as soon as I can find a pair of clippers," he promises; the water is freezing, dripping down his chin and into his ears. He swears, spits, and swears again, then goes for a second palmful. "I look like some kid's rag doll with this fuzz."

And, you know, it's that bastard red that he doesn't like looking at. When it's short, he can at least pretend it's some other color.

"It looks better grown out," Hakkai admits, considering the fuzz, half-matted with the cold water from his fountain. "If you're willing to take the time. -- There's a little on the right side of your neck you've missed."

He's not going to offer to help; that feels like stepping too far out onto the uncertain ground between them, but Gojyo had played spotter for his own blight, and he can return the favor.

It doesn't take a genius to hear it. That's twice in under a minute Hakkai's made a reference to him growing his hair out... and his reaction months ago when Gojyo first suggested cutting it off left a mark, too.

He likes it long? Okay. "I've got nothing but time," he drawls, rubbing the water into the spot Hakkai had pointed out, then checking his fingers for residual purple crap. "Better hope I look good in hats though, because I'm coverin' this shit up until it's long enough." It's an easy thing to give in on, and it feels good -- better than he would have expected -- to have a decision taken out of his hands.

"But either of those kids gives me shit for it, and I'm shavin' their heads, fair warning."

Some people deal better with change than Hakkai does. Hakkai... well.

At least, he thinks, he can admit that half the shock of Gojyo's buzzed-short hair is the constant reminder of how different things are between them. Growing it out won't change that, but it'll take long enough to grow out that, perhaps, some of it can be repaired in the meantime.

Or perhaps they'll find a way home, and it'll all be moot. He half-smiles, focusing on Gojyo's nape, and not any other questions, just yet.

(There are the tattoos on Gojyo's new arm, too. Those won't fade as easily as hair grows out; Hakkai can't ever pretend this hasn't happened. He knows that.)

"I think that's most of it," he says, after a moment. It's all that he can see above the collar of his shirt, at least. There's likely more below it. "--and if they tease you, they're asking for it, aren't they? So long as no one ends up maimed.

"Which -- speaking of..." He nods to the bite mark on Gojyo's arm. "That could use washing out, too. I keep a salve against infection in the bathroom cabinet; I can show you where it is."

Gojyo may as well know where he keeps all of the necessary first aid supplies. If Gojyo's going to stay. Is Gojyo going to stay?

He shakes his head, a little water spattering from his own hair with the movement. "That is, if you want. I would rather you stay, and I'd rather you keep that name, if it's that or no name, but it is your choice."

If there's a little blight left on his back, that's no big deal. He can live with a little pain for now. So long as Hakkai's neck is clear, then Gojyo's not too worried about himself. He's sturdy. He'll be fine.

For a given definition of fine.

He knew the question was coming, but it still catches him off guard. "I don't know what I want," he admits, rubbing warmth back into the back of his neck. "Sorry, I know that's not the answer you wanted." But it's the truth, and it's not like he's got any pride left to stop him from admitting when he's uncertain. He should probably go in, bandage his arm, maybe see about cleaning up the disaster in the dining room (if Hakkai will let him back in there)... but instead he sits down on the nearest step and runs a hand through his fuzzy cloud of hair.

"I don't want a god, but I want to fight ayakashi with you." That's one. "I don't want to blight you again, but you're right: if I don't have a god, I might get assigned one, and that'd be a whole pile of worse." What else? He glances warily back toward the temple, but they seem to be alone. Still, he drops his voice. "I don't want to see that guy around..." ...but... "...but this is his home, for what's left of him, anyway." It's not a choice he has any idea how to make.

None of what Gojyo says should come as a surprise, but somehow, it does; Hakkai's eye is dark as he listens, and, after a moment, he unbends, and sits down himself on one of the pretty ornamental rocks. The shape has a deep meaning. The placement makes it a convenient bench, and it's spent more time being sat on than contemplated, so far.

He clasps his hands together on his knees, his gaze slipping away from Gojyo's face at last to focus somewhere in the middle distance.

"I'd like to fight ayakashi with you. We haven't done that enough." His smile is lopsided, but there's a note of sincerity in it, for the moment before it fades. "I'd like you to be on better terms with Ken and Chikusa, but that's on them as much as it is on you, isn't it?"

And Chikusa does have a tendency to hold grudges and take petty revenge. It's one of the things he and Hakkai have in common, unfortunately; and Gojyo's in no shape to deal with pettiness. Or, frankly, poisoning.

None of that really comes close to the heart of what he wants, though, does it? It's all peripheral. All things he'd like. What he wants...

"I'd rather be your friend than your god," he says, at last. "I want to trust you."

He opens his mouth to correct Hakkai -- he wasn't talking about Chikusa and Ken (although they're both assholes in their own rights). He was talking about the other Asshole -- but then Hakkai does that thing where he pulls the metaphorical rug out from under Gojyo with a simple sentence, and Gojyo can only nod.

"I want to trust me, too." His arm really hurts -- Ken's teeth are too damn sharp -- but he's not ready to go inside yet. Instead, he clamps his palm tight over the seeping wound, and breathes through the discomfort. This conversation is more important. "I don't know how I can, though. How you can." It's cool out, the air crisp with the promise of snow - not today, not tomorrow, but soon. It sears his nose and chest when he draws it in, chilling him all the way through.

If he's dead, why does he still have to breathe? Just one more thing that doesn't make sense about this place.

"I've got, what, six months here? And a handful of memories about..." Hakkai doesn't like it when he talks about Sha Gojyo being someone else, but, sorry, he's going to. "...about another life." Sorry. "And it's not enough. I think I know something, but then it turns out I'm wrong, and I can't ask about it, I can't even think about it!" He rubs at his mouth unconsciously, two fingers against his lips like he's holding a cigarette. "You shouldn't trust me. I don't know how I'm gonna react half the time, and the other half..." His voice trails off, and he frowns hard at the ground. Inside, he's a mess, confusion and frustration and fear. "Whenever I make choices, people get hurt."

Gojyo's unconscious gesture makes Hakkai want to hand him a cigarette (they are calming, he'd discovered during his brief attempt at becoming a smoker; it's just that they also leave a taste in his mouth he had no desire to get used to.) He looks away, instead, eyebrows crimping.

It was another life, before. That, he won't question; that's a different issue from whether Gojyo is himself. It might be a life they can go back to someday, but it was different from this.

"You're not the only one who's made bad choices," he says instead. "I've hurt people, too. Ayumu. You."

He unclasps his hands, shifts his grip, reclasps them; it's a meaningless little gesture, but it makes him feel better, not to be entirely still as he speaks. Entirely still is for when he's holding things back, and he doesn't want to, not beyond the things he has to, because Gojyo can't hear them and live.

"I don't trust myself, but this place thinks I'm a god, so I have to be trustworthy enough for those two."

Those two, and Ken's sama, and his this-is-what-a-family-should-be. He hadn't been fit to be human; he's certainly not fit to be a father. He just doesn't have a choice.

He shakes his head. "... And I still want to trust you. But I have to get to know you, first. In this life."

A thousand women and children. He regrets the thought immediately (although he doesn't regret it enough to bring on more blight)... but it's true, isn't it? Hakkai's got the memories of somebody who killed a lot of people. Gojyo looks at him again, as though seeing him in a new light. As bad as his pieced-together memories and assumptions are, how much worse much it be to remember something like that?

By Gojyo's count, he's killed about thirty people. Maybe a few more -- certainly less than fifty. Hakkai has the memories of murdering a thousand.

His expression softens at the thought, and he nods again, this time leaning forward, his arms folded on his knees.

"Okay," he agrees, because it really is a good point. They both have all these memories that get in the way, but they're also the people (more or less) that the heavens created. They still exist. So why not start there? "What do you want to know?"

"Ah..."

He hadn't expected to have to ask. Getting to know Gojyo slowly, through proximity, without question-and-answer: that's more what he'd imagined, but, confronted with the question, he can't turn it down.

He's still speechless for a few seconds while he tries to come up with a proper response. At last, he gives in, and chooses the easy answer with a self-deprecating smile.

"... what do you like to do? Besides fight ayakashi?"

Oh. Oh, he didn't have a couple questions in mind? Well that's a little embarrassing. There's an awkward moment where Gojyo considers telling Hakkai to just forget it, but then Hakkai smiles a strange smile at him and plays along. He's not the only one this is hard for, Goyjo realizes. Hakkai's trying, too.

That makes this a little easier. It's not an easy question, though. What does he like to do? He thinks about it for a moment, visibly thinking hard, and then the answer comes to him in a rush of conflicting emotions.

"I like pouring drinks." There's satisfaction there, and regret, a pang of heartbreak, and a deep longing for something lost. "Not just pouring them. Everything about bein' a bartender, I guess." And now the bar is covered in his friend's blood, his dog is dead, and the mob is undoubtedly watching the place. It was his home, for awhile, and now it's gone. Tsu might think they're going to clean it up tomorrow, but what's the point? They can't reopen. And Ayumu...

Guilt, then, and lots of it. He lifts his head and meets Hakkai's eye, jaw tight and ready for more bad news. "Have you seen Ayumu? Since she was hurt, I mean." Hurt because of him. The blight bubbles up from deep beneath his skin, obscuring the curves of his youkai mark once more. "How is she?" he raises his hands in a half-shrug, then lets them fall heavily back into his lap. "I tried calling, but..."

Hakkai winces, not because of the blight that lances his own spine, although that makes a good excuse. Ayumu. Gojyo's good friend, Ayumu, who of course he'd be worrying about. She hasn't said anything to Hakkai since she'd bolted out the door two mornings ago in a rumpled sweaterdress.

At least he can reassure Gojyo about her health.

"I treated her wounds," he says, and lifts a hand as though to rub his neck before he thinks about the gesture and puts it back on his knee. "She's healed well." In fact, he's had a recent close look at both scars, and while still angry, they hadn't seemed to be causing her any pain.

He hesitates, then adds, "Chikusa and I have been talking about the best way to divert attention from your bar. If there's a way to blame another organization, and let them deal with each other...."

She's healed well, Hakkai says, and Gojyo melts with relief. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't have been welcome in Hakkai's temple if Ayumu hadn't been recovering -- both the brats seem to really care for her, and she for them. He's honestly a little surprised that neither of them stabbed him in his sleep -- but if Hakkai treated her, then she'll be fine. Hakkai's a good healer. His hand steals up to the spot on his bicep where one arm becomes another (not that he can feel the difference: Mikan did good work. There's barely even a scar). Maybe if Gojyo had come to him when his arm had been...

...but no, this isn't the time to pity himself. Everything that's happened to him, he's deserved. His hand falls back against his leg and he leans forward, pushing all thoughts of scars and bullet wounds out of his mind.

"I thought about that too, about making then think it was the Matsuba or something," Gojyo agrees, mind racing. "Too many of 'em saw me, though, and I'm kinda distinctive." And, unfortunately, even though shinki are usually forgotten immediately, a tall man with red hair and eyes killing all their friends tends to be something that superstitious gangsters remember.

"You're also a shinki," Hakkai points out, leaning forward. "Some of them might remember, if it was a strong enough memory, but that should be a manageable number."

Chikusa has been eager to kill some organized criminals, after all, and murdering the same targets is a bonding experience.

"We'd have to lay low for a while, trail them, and find out who still remembers you and who's focused on the bar. If we can stage their deaths as accidents or blame them on the Matsuba, that might let you reopen safely."

It's not a plan that would ever work without a shinki's ability to be forgotten. Everyone focused on one particular threat turning up dead is a clear red flag... if that threat isn't something that the survivors have trouble remembering exists.

Trailing people who may or may not remember who he is sounds like a good way to get his bar blown up into tiny pieces, Gojyo thinks, folding his arms and frowning. "I'm no good at bein' stealthy," he confesses. Ayumu could certainly attest to that -- ninja class had been, in Gojyo's opinion, a resounding failure. "I could ID the guys who got away, but I think that's all I'd be good for."

Part of that is self-pity, yes, but a lot of it is just the plain honest truth. He made a big mess, and he's useless when it comes to cleaning it up. "I think the best think I could do is stay out of your way."

It might be true. Especially if Gojyo's made enough of an impression on some of those men that they do remember him and his bar, it might be better to keep him, and his bright red fuzz of hair, and his tattooed arm and facial scars, away from their targets. He's very memorable.

And, besides, Hakkai doesn't want to argue with him on the subject. Instead, he nods.

"Picking out the ones who got away would help," he says, instead. "And I'll need your advice to help me set up the Matsuba for any deaths we can't make look accidental."

Maybe his depression (and lack of faith in himself) will improve with time. Maybe once he's able to help kill off the remaining yakuza and nobody else dies, he'll start to trust himself a little more. For now, though... for now, he barely trusts that he'll be able to finish this conversation without anyone getting hurt.

Still. As long as he's the one getting hurt... A thought occurs to him, and he scratches the back of his head contemplatively as he works through it.

"What if I'm with the Matsuba?" No no no, hear him out. "What if they see me runnin' around with some of their crew, wearing their colors?" If they're looking for him, why not let them find him?

"I'm not sure I like the idea of using you as bait." His desire not to argue only goes so far. Hakkai flicks a dry glance at Gojyo.

It's not necessarily a bad idea, but Hakkai's not sure that Gojyo is in the right kind of mood to take care of himself as a decoy. Sometimes, yes, he can fight back. Sometimes he'll just let a bunch of criminals tie him to a chair and beat him almost to death for the sake of a friend.

And he should remember that particular problem of his, too, considering what else he remembers now.

"Perhaps we could convince some of the Matsuba to dye their hair red," he adds.

He wouldn't be bait, per se. More like a lure. A red herring.

But maybe they need a different kind of red herring?

"Maybe I turn up dead," he says, slowly. No, but if it's just one body and then he's still alive at the bar, that'll raise suspicion. Not one body, then. "Maybe we get a couple Matsuba guys, color their hair, ink up their arms, and leave 'em lying around town." That would certainly be confusing for anybody look for a red-haired man with a partial sleeve, right? "And then I could dye my hair, wear long sleeves..."

But even as he says the words, doubt creeps in and his eager smile dims. "It's probably a terrible idea, though." His idea are always terrible, why would this one be any different? "Forget I said anything. You'll think of something."

"It's not a bad idea." There are the scars on Gojyo's face, too, but there are ways to make sure a corpse's face is hard to recognize -- and the death of a man associated with Matsuba might encourage them to take their own action. "Just one, though, I think. And we may as well pick a man who already has tattoos."

They still might have to kill the people who are most certain they remember Gojyo, but there's nothing wrong with misdirection.

Hakkai's being kind, and it warms Gojyo's heart. "I should still dye it," he says at last, running a hair through his grown-out stubble. "I'm too visible like this." A nice solid black should work just fine -- too bad he can't do the same for his arm. What the hell was he thinking, getting such a distinctive one?

(He was thinking that the guy was his build, more or less, and he was in a hurry. It had been a choice made of necessity, although in retrospect he really wishes he'd waited another day or two and found somebody more suitable.)

"What about these?" His hand moves down to his cheek, tracing the two deep scars set there. "They're probably too old to heal, huh?"

Gojyo's not wrong about dying his own hair, either. Still, between that, and the way his hand's tracing his cheek scars, Hakkai can't shake the feeling that part of this is about wiping away Sha Gojyo, too. He hadn't suggested a change for his new arm.

Perhaps it's just him, thinking that way, and not Gojyo.

"There's nothing I can do about scars," he agrees, his gaze lingering on Gojyo's cheek, on his hand tracing his scars. "But when you're ready to reopen the bar, I think you're right about the hair dye."

Hakkai's a smart guy.

"Why wait?" The scars are so deep, the edges so calloused, that isn't almost like they aren't real. He doesn't touch them much -- why would he? -- but he can't help exploring their shape now. And he can't help thinking about the memory he'd been given that claimed to explain them. "I'll pick some up tomorrow. I'm going into town anyway."

Why did heaven want him to know who Shitty Garbage was? Why him, and Hakkai, and even that Genjo guy, and Banri, but not Sharak? (His expression goes briefly blank as his memory helpfully supplies a blow by blow of him telling her to fuck off and disappear. That's a guilt that's going to stick with him for a long time to come.) Why go to all the trouble to make him hate and fear his brother, respect and admit Genjo, resent Banri, and desire Hakkai?

Finally, he drops his hand from his face and knots his fingers together in unconscious imitation of Hakkai's posture. "Hey," he says, "when you were a shinki and they gave you memories, did it feel like there was some reason behind them?" He licks his lips, considering. "I mean, I don't remember anything about fighting... I remember how to fight, but I don't have any memories of actually punching anyone. You'd think if they were gonna have us remember things, they'd be things that would make us more effective against ayakashi, right?"

Terrible Idea Theater proudly presents...

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CW: suicidal ideation

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