Chapter Text
- wasn’t quite me, wasn’t quite you (i think we made something entirely new)
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to come to a conclusion which should , by all means, have been clear to him in the beginning. It’s only when he’s ducking into the bathroom for the third time in two hours to empty his stomach that he finally realizes it, recognizes what’s been upsetting his routine today:
Ougai Mori is sick. Specifically, he’s physically sick, not sick in the “you just murdered a dozen people with no remorse” type way most would be referring to when calling him sick, but sick in the “there is quite possibly a disease in me” type way. He has to admit, while he’s far more used to the former, the latter isn’t all that unknown to him, either. It’s just that… well…
It’s not the problem that’s the problem here. That sounds strange, he knows, but it’s the truth. No…
Truly, the problem here is why the problem began. And also the fact that the problem might not be the thing he keeps desperately trying to convince himself it is. The fact he keeps trying to convince himself of — that he has a simple disease, and nothing more — is probably far more complicated than he’s willing to admit. In fact, this particular disease might not actually be a disease at all. And that scares him more than anything.
Being scared is almost more than he can take, so he thinks. Almost more so than the hour-long wait at the clinic ( I could have just done this myself he keeps thinking, sitting there, looking at all the pamphlets filled with things he already knows and learned a long time ago, trying to ignore the fact that he’s easily the oldest person in the waiting room and also, to his eyes anyway, the only man as well).
What’s apparently actually more than he can take, however, is when the clinic physician returns from the hallway, and Mori catches a glimpse of the paper attached to his clipboard and sees “positive” written on it.
And then he really doesn’t see or hear much else. He knows that there’s things going on around him, logically, because of course there are, there have to be, but none of it registers in his mind. Not to him, anyway. He hasn’t dissociated this badly in years , nearly a decade now, not since he murdered the old boss, and while a part of him regrets making Elise stay behind, a bigger part of him is glad she isn’t here and can’t see him right now. At least whoever is fronting right now will fill him in on what he’s missing later. Elise is sure to have done the exact opposite, had she been the one to deal with this… problem instead of anyone else in the system.
He’s glad, for whatever member of the system took over when he couldn’t any longer. The retreat provides him with the ability to simply… sit back, and think about what this means. For him, for his life, for his organization, for the father of his — their — the Thing He Doesn’t Want To Actually Say Right Now, taking up residence inside of him. Up until finding out about the… well, That, both he and Yukichi Fukuzawa had been one-hundred percent sure that, as long as they kept quiet, no one would ever know about the scandalous relationship between them, and how deep it truly ran.
But… now Mori has so much more to consider than a reputation, so much more to worry about than quashing rumors among his ranks. Yes, he’s been responsible for young lives before (responsible both for taking care of them, and also, taking them when given no other choice, he tells himself, if only for this moment when logic has taken a rare backseat), but none as small and fragile and precious as a newborn.
And certainly not a young life that means so, so much to him already, even after only knowing it for a little over an hour. Truly, his own life seems insignificant when compared to the potential of what’s inside of him.
When he gets home — stumbles home, more like it — Mori himself finally comes back fully into front, and it’s… fuzzy, at first, like it always is, but the first thing he registers is…
A very small person has her arms wrapped around his midsection and her face in his lower chest. When Mori reaches down to gently squeeze her shoulders, he recognizes Elise (of course it’s her, of course, who else would it be, there are no other small children who live in his house, none that are born right now anyway or old enough to hug him), and that alone is enough to shock him. Despite the affection he gives Elise at all hours of the day (regardless of whether she demands it or not at times, because there are more often than not times where a hug from Mori is met with Elise wiggling and hissing at him like an angry feral blonde kitten), getting it in return from her is rare.
But, right now, it’s certainly not unwelcome. And… if he’s being honest, desperately needed.
His arms tremble as he wraps them around her, but his eyes are dry and his lips have yet to quiver. She knows. Of course she does. For a long time, she quite literally lived within him. In a way, she still does.
God. She knows Mori better than he knows himself. That’s something he’s known for a long time (she does, after all, hold all of his memories from age eight and the years previous to that), but it’s never been more clear to him before now.
“What’re you gonna do?” She finally asks, in an unusually soft, but still unmistakeably-Elise tone.
Mori’s shoulders start to shake, the tremble moving from his arms slowly-but-surely into the rest of his body. “... I don’t know,” he admits quietly after a moment. His next words are far more strained, more of his fear and uncertainty shining through as he rasps, “Please, Elise. Tell me what to do. Please. I just need - someone else’s voice, from outside of my own head, to tell me what needs to happen.”
It’s not a plea he makes often. Ougai Mori is not a follower, he is a leader , and he’s never been too good at taking commands. But everything is all mixed up now, so he might as well look for any solution he can.
For a moment, Elise is silent, and Mori wonders if she intends on answering. Then, finally, she speaks, in a far more familiar and usual tone of voice:
“Well, Rintarou… what you should do, is if it’s a girl, you should name her Elise.”
The dam doesn’t break so much as it shatters, and Mori wraps his arms tightly around Elise, holding her close enough to his chest that she can hear his stuttering heartbeat as he cries uncertain tears (though a smile creeps out from his teeth even so).
- give your all to me (i’ll give my all to you)
For a week, Mori self-isolates, keeping this development within the system and Elise. It’s not because he wants to keep this secret, no. In reality, it’s tearing him apart from the inside, threatening to burn him up and leave him as nothing more than a hollow skeletal shell that was once a man, if he doesn’t tell sooner rather than later.
But this is something that needs to be told to Fukuzawa face to face, not through a screen or over the phone. He deserves that much, at least, if only because Mori respects him as a human being (not something that could be said for just everyone in his life, but to him, Fukuzawa has never been just anyone anyway). That said, every time Mori tries saying the words out loud, his throat turns to sandpaper, and his words shrivel into dust on his dry tongue and die before they ever make it past his teeth. He fears splitting now more than anything else, and it takes most of his energy focusing on keeping himself in the few whole pieces he already has left. The last thing he wants are more fragments of half-personalities lurking in the back of his mind, making it louder than it already is.
And then, finally, it comes to him, suddenly, and all at once, and Mori knows there’s no room for hesitation. If he hesitates, if he falters now, he may not be able to get back up again. And, at this point, he’s really not sure if that’s something this poor faulty vessel can handle in its current state. Besides…
Regardless of the outcome of this meeting, he’s made his decision regarding the little life he protects within him now. There’s many possible logical explanations for what he feels towards this little light of his, many of them revolving around him, and to most people (even those he considers close enough to allow within his inner circle) they’d choose to believe those reasons over his true motivation in this case, which is fairly simple:
Mori himself was a child conceived and born without love, into a home with no love, to a mother who feared and hated him and to a father who never truly existed, replaced instead by dozens of faceless men who came only for business and nothing more. In time, he became — at least, on the outside — the girl his mother had wanted to be.
(At least, then, until he demanded recognition of who he was, his real self, and upon realizing it would never be something his mother was capable of giving, he abandoned her, as she had abandoned him long before he was born.)
And to spite his past life, he became a monster.
But… this is proof that even monsters can grow miracles if the right conditions are met. Mori knows there is no redemption for him, and he gave up on that a long time ago. No, truly, his reasoning for sheltering this growing flame have nothing to do with him. Because, with this life, he can do something he could never have done previously, not with Elise, and not with anyone else, either.
Incomprehensible though it may be, this life was made from love, from two people who had to choose to love and care for the other, from two people who learned to do so even when it seemed impossible, improbable, sinful. And as it was made from love, so then Mori will ensure that it is raised in it, too. Perhaps, if he cannot escape the damnation he has wrought upon himself, he can help this life escape from it.
Above all else, though… this is a piece of the man he loves, the only man in the world he loves, even including himself. No, Fukuzawa and this flame are not the same, but they share a thread, and as Mori can never bear the thought of inflicting his suffering upon Fukuzawa, so too does the thought of this life they made together suffering as he has push him to do what he does.
Mori’s sent message reads find me where you know I’ll be, thirty minutes, and by the time he arrives thirty minutes later, Fukuzawa is standing there, and there will be no turning back.
- i’ll be good, i’ll be good (for all of the time that i never could)
Every step he’s ever taken has been calculated. The ones Mori takes towards Fukuzawa today are not different in that regard, but his expression — the darkness of the bags under his eyes, the slight frown on his lips, his eyes half-closed — betrays him just a bit. At least, it betrays him just enough in this case, because anyone else he knows wouldn’t dare to point out anything about a perceived weakness in him for fear of a painful death.
But Fukuzawa, once again, has never been just anyone else in his life.
He doesn’t say anything until Mori steps right up to him, presses the length of his body against his like he does when inviting him to dance, puts his arms around Fukuzawa’s midsection and presses his face into his shoulder.
“You look unwell,” he finally says. Only Mori manages to catch the little hints of worry in his voice, and it gives him pause for just a moment. “Are you?”
“Not really.” Silence stretches between them for a little bit, just a few seconds, before Mori speaks again. “Move with me, here, just for a moment. Like before.” A warm hand slides into place on his hip in response, and he gives a heavy sigh of slight relief.
Mori lets Fukuzawa lead — a rarity — and this time the previous seconds-long silence stretches further into several minutes. When it’s over, Fukuzawa’s other hand has become gently threaded with his silky black hair (tangled slightly, more so than usual when he sometimes neglects to comb it, because he lacks the energy recently to do it), though the one on his hip remains.
“I have something I need to tell you,” Mori sighs into his shoulder still, before pulling his face away and tilting it up to let his eyes meet the electric blue of Fukuzawa’s. As much as it scares him, the prospect of watching him react to what he’s going to show him, he is far more afraid of never having closure for this moment than anything else.
Carefully, he reaches down to take the hand still placed on his hip, gently guiding the other man’s hand to press flat against his stomach, then holds his hand there, his fingertips resting just on top of Fukuzawa’s. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say the words out loud, because he doesn’t have to. Mori can see the recognition flash in Fukuzawa’s eyes as soon as he lets his hand rest there, can see the shock slowly unfolding on the rest of his face. He braces for impact, for what he thinks he knows is coming, but even so, never shuts his eyes.
Not until their foreheads are gently pressed together and, suddenly, his lips are caught in a kiss, and he feels as though he can taste the love blooming on his beloved’s mouth.
Mori doesn’t know how to react — can’t make himself really react, anyway — as he feels Fukuzawa’s free hand reach over to cup his face, tenderly and sweetly, more gently than anyone’s ever touched him before. He manages to stifle back tears, but he does end up shaking slightly, unable to stop it in time. He’s… he’s not used to this, to showing weakness, even after knowing Fukuzawa for over a decade. Well… he has difficulty even showing his true feelings around Elise, and she’s quite literally a part of him. Problems with communicating his feelings are par for the course for him.
And yet, without saying a word, he’s told his love so much.
When they pull apart, Fukuzawa stays with his forehead pressed to Mori’s, their noses just barely brushing together, too. “... how long?” He barely breathes out, now using his other hand Mori is no longer holding to cup his face fully in his hands. “How long - have you known?”
“About a week or so,” Mori responds. He leans into the touch, craving the comfort, knowing that the words he has to say are only going to get more painful. “I suspected this was the case for a little longer, though. I… I’ve - I’ve been - like this, before, but - I’m not quite ready to talk about that.” His tone is anything but firm now, but despite the way his voice wavers, Fukuzawa doesn’t point it out.
Instead, he gently scrubs his thumbs along Mori’s cheeks to soothe him. “Oh, Mourning Dove. You don’t have to. I trust you know best for yourself, in this situation.”
For that, at least, Mori is grateful. Even so…
“Yukichi,” he sighs softly. “This is the most important part of this message: I understand if you - if this… if you don’t want to continue being us. But if that is the case, then I want…” The words feel trapped in his throat. Mori swallows, as if to loosen them, and it works if only for a moment.
“If we can’t do this together, then once - once they’re born, I want you to raise them. There is - I have no doubt, they would be safer with you than me. It is far more sound - logical - to have them raised under the safety of the Agency's care than anything the Port Mafia could offer them.”
Mori thinks another long stretch of silence may just kill him, if it’s to happen again anyway, that is. Luckily for him, Fukuzawa’s reply is quick, and far steadier, stronger, more solid, than his own words:
“I do not know how long thoughts of that sort have tortured you, but please, put them to rest.” Fukuzawa pauses, but only to gently tilt Mori’s head so that he can look at him, into his eyes, so that his full intentions are on display for Mori (his whole world, if only for right now, and maybe for forever) to see. “I am not going anywhere. For this child, and more importantly, for you , I would do anything but leave.”
And, God , as hard as he tries, there’s no way Mori would ever be able to stay stoic in the face of words so true. He wonders, for a moment, if he’s only lost his edge temporarily because of Fukuzawa himself, or because of the situation they’re in, or if it’s both, or if he’s just losing it and getting soft or sentimental from age. Oh well. None of that matters.
With a soft little sob, he puts his face into Fukuzawa’s chest, feels it when his hand gently presses against the back of his head to keep him there. When he can finally speak again, outside of simply crying and trying to breathe at the same time, Mori lifts his head a bit, enough to look Fukuzawa in the eyes without having to be prompted. He gives the tiniest of tiny smiles, his grip on the front of Fukuzawa’s clothes finally loosening.
“I love you, Yukichi,” he says, softly, but both of them know very well that he’s serious.
Fukuzawa returns the tiny smile with one of his own. “I love you, too, Ougai.”
Of course, the only words that go unspoken are still shared between them through their eyes: and I love our child, too.
The roads they travel have never been easy, but even though it may seem on the outside that they walk different ones, in truth they’ve always been on a collision course. And they’ll thank whatever God or gods might exist for that simple fact.