thenearshore | Terrible Idea Theater proudly presents...

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Terrible Idea Theater proudly presents...

Who: Gojyo and Hakkai
What: Drinking. Telling secrets. Fighting?
When: the 5th of November
Where: Kinyobi Bar
Warnings: Almost certainly there will be self-harm talk, xenophobic slurs, and discussion of murder.

Sharak's gone. Sharak's gone, and Tsuzuki and Ayumu are probably not speaking to him anymore (probably: he doesn't want to call them to confirm it), and Hakkai's not who he thought he was.

He may have been wrong about everything. But without Sharak here, and still on the fence about Dokugakuji, that just leaves Hakkai to answer his questions.

Hakkai might lie to him again, but Gojyo's pretty sure he's found a solution to that problem.

Ring ring, Hakkai.

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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?"

"I don't think anyone chooses what we remember. I think..." His gaze is still lingering on Gojyo's hands, where they're tangled loosely together on his knees, but he glances up at last to meet Gojyo's eyes.

"I think there's something affecting our memory. All of us, gods and shinki alike. And I think it fails for shinki, sometimes, and lets memories slip through."

After a moment, his gaze slides away from Gojyo's again.

"I remembered everything about you a few days after you disappeared."

Hakkai really thinks they're the people they remember being, doesn't he? It's a nice thought, Gojyo won't deny that, but it can't be real. It just doesn't make any sense.

"Everything?" Knowing now what his... what Sha Gojyo and Hakkai's relationship had been, he understands just how cruel a punishment that was. He chuckles, without much humor, and shakes his head. "Fuck. You must have really pissed 'em off." It's a horribly cruel punishment -- he can't even imagine it. What if he woke up tomorrow and Hakkai was gone, but he remembered more of those little intimate moments? No, more than that, what if he remembered everything, how they met, how they grew to love each other, their stupid fights and their undoubtedly hot making up... His heart lurches painfully in his chest, and he tightens his twisted fingers together before he can do something stupid like reach for Hakkai. That was just an implanted memory, he snarls at himself. That wasn't you.

It's so hard to remember that, though. "How long was I gone?"

"I thought at the time that it might be that you'd been my god when you disappeared," Hakkai says. There's a stand of young ginger near the edge of the fish pond, glossy green leaves bending with the breeze and catching glints of sunset orange; he watches it as though it holds some secret. "That something about the bond had disturbed whatever was repressing my memories. I don't know, though."

He hadn't remembered anything about Ukoku when that god disappeared, and even if their connection had been much shorter and less meaningful, it had been memorable.

But who knew? He doesn't even know if Gojyo believes what Hakkai's saying: my memories, when he's speaking of a time when he was a shinki himself. When Gojyo thinks he's some kind of revenant stealing a dead man's face.

Asshole may fit that description, but Gojyo doesn't, and Hakkai hadn't either.

"It was only about a month," he answers, at last.

Gojyo just nods at the timeframe, still mostly thinking about the returned memories issue instead. A month isn't so long. He lost his arm about a month ago.

"I didn't remember anything when Genjo disappeared. He was only my god for a few days, though." A few days, and really, they'd only spoken the once. He'd been a rude, violent, chainsmoking asshole, Gojyo recalls. He thinks they might have been friends. "But the same night they sent me to him to be his shinki, they gave me a memory of him, chantin' a prayer." He looks up, at Hakkai. "You were there. Do you remember that, too?"

"I might." The old familiar terror rises in his throat; half of it is atavistic reflex, and the other half very personal. What would be saying too much? There's a particular place that he remembers Sanzo chanting a prayer, with both himself and Gojyo there; a particular time, when the prayer mattered more than it ever had since.

But it's not the only time he's prayed around them. It's happened dozens of times, for eager devotees in small towns, for the temple he'd run; he is a priest, after all.

Carefully, he continues, picking his way across the thin ice of memory. "Where were we? Do you remember what the ground looked like, and the time of day?"

Judging from Gojyo's feelings, it's a safe memory. In fact, he feels unusually calm thinking about it. Something about the steady drone of Genjo's voice had just been... soothing.

"It was late afternoon," he says, searching the memory for clues. "Or maybe early morning? I don't know. I think it was gettin' late." What else? He gazes off into middle distance in the direction of the far wall. "We were outside, on a hill, grassy hill, and there was smoke in the air." He snorts, remembering. "I had to tell that asshole to do his damn job. Can you beleive that? A priest who didn't want to pray!"

Of course it was. Of course there had been smoke in the air; Hakkai's a little pale as he watches the ginger dip and bend in the breeze. The tips of the leaves trail, at a particularly strong gust, across the water, and leave tiny ripples in their wake.

"I remember," he agrees. "For a man who recites the sutras with such conviction, he doesn't like doing it very much."

He doesn't think he can answer questions like What was he praying for? -- he doesn't know if it's safe, firstly, but beyond that, he's busy closing his eyes against the memory. There's no lingering odor of old ash here, or burnt-out buildings; the cooked meat he can smell is their dinner, and the blood is from a careless bite on Gojyo's arm and not from his freshly empty eyesocket.

He can't ask anything about the memory -- he can barely even want to ask -- but Hakkai's reaction provides answers nonetheless. It was somebody Hakkai cared for, then, or... or kids. Maybe it was kids.

There's a warning ache at the back of his mind that steers him away from following that train of thought any further. Kids then. Okay. That's hard to put aside, but okay. "I don't know how long he chanted," he continues, trying to stick just with the content of the memory and not let him wonder about anything that had been happening just out of the corner of his eye. "Five minutes? An hour? Time just kinda, I dunno. Stopped." And so did the memory. He shrugs, pretending not to notice Hakkai's pallor. "That's where it ended." It's hard to even tell where the memory ends, because Genjo's voice seemed to just drag it out. That was real magic, Gojyo's sure. With all the time he's spent ducking in an out of temples, he's never heard anything like it, before or after. Genjo was a different kind of priest.

He's pretty sure Sharak was, too.

"It had to be awhile ago," he says after a moment, his mind whirling, sliding details together that he'd never bothered to think about before. "Because he wasn't burned." He glances up at Hakkai. "Unless you healed him?" There's an immediate sharp pang of warning at that question, and Gojyo swears, rubbing his palm roughly against his temple to ease away the ache. "Fuck, fuck, I take it back, ow."

The dart of pain startles him out of memory, and Hakkai jolts, looking up, and then, carefully, getting to his feet and dusting imaginary dirt from his slacks.

"Please don't ask," he says, softly, and holds out a hand to help Gojyo up. "Or think about it too hard. I know--"

He grimaces, leaving his hand outstretched.

"I know how difficult that is, but you can't."

Hakkai stands, and Gojyo frowns. Are they done already? He's not done! He has questions, things he wants to know, things he wants to verify...!

...Ugh, fine. With a sigh he waves off Hakkai's offered hand (one arm's got a hole in it, and the other's hand is bloody. He can stand up on his own, thanks) and hauls himself to his feet.

"I know, Ma," he drawls, "I'll be careful." They aren't his memories anyway -- he wants to learn more, but at the end of the day, all that matters is what happens here. And that's a whole other set of questions, and things he wants to know and verify.

He's swaying a little as he turns and looks back into the temple, at the warmth and stability it offers. Or maybe he's just tired. "So what happens now?" he asks, more quietly than he'd intended.

"I don't know," Hakkai says, and lets his hand fall back to his side.

That's the real answer, the one he gives before he looks away and offers the easier ones.

"I'll show you the first-aid kit, and you can clean out that bite. As long as you want to, you're welcome to stay here, and we'll see if we can divert attention to let you reopen the bar."

The only other place he has to go right now is the bar... and he can't go there. He can't sleep another night in the dust and the filth with the stink of Ayumu's blood in the air. Hakkai's temple is comfortable, and more or less safe. Chikusa may still try to murder him in his sleep and he won't be surprised if Ken shits in his shoes, but he's a named shinki now. He can cast borderlines again. Hakkai's offering him a place to sleep, to wash, good food, and all he has to do in return is obey.

He thinks he can do that. Besides, if he can't and decides instead to burn this place to the ground and salt the earth, all he has to do is find Asshole.

"Okay." Not that he'd do anything that drastic, not really. If he really truly can't handle being Hakkai's shinki, if he can't stop fucking up, if anyone else gets hurt because of him, then he'll just disappear. The thought's a weight off his shoulders, and he turns to face Hakkai feeling pounds lighter. "I'll stay. For now."

An ache tightens, momentarily, into a knot behind Hakkai's sternum before it eases. The feeling is a little like relief at one remove.

He could drive himself crazy, he reflects, trying to guess what the patterns of emotion really mean. It's still hard not to relax as he feels Gojyo relaxing, and feels some of the shattering misery slip away.

"Okay," he echoes back, smile so small and careful that it's almost invisible, and bends over to splash another handful of the still-cold water over the new blight marring his neck.

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CW: suicidal ideation

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