Chapter Text
Wato knows that this isn’t his brightest idea. Far from it actually. He also knows that, since he’s even standing here, he is more than living up to his title of “Incompetent Detective.” And yet, here he is anyway. Standing in the hallway, a nervous energy buzzing under his skin as he stares at the door in front of him.
Wato takes a breath, running a quick hand through his raven hair, as he tries to convince himself to work up the courage, take a chance, and open the door. To reach out and take the opportunity to prove the other detectives–to prove himself–wrong. He can do this. He needs to.
Well, that's not entirely true. Wato was explicitly told not to come down here at all, so it's really more that he wants to do this. Wato wants answers. He wants to be sure that they’re all doing the right thing. More than anything, though, Wato wants to be right. He needs to know that he's still going down the right path. The justified path.
He needs to know that doing this–that taking him in–is the only way to bring justice to the victims and work toward fixing the world. Wato needs proof, without a shadow of a doubt, that Doleful and his world view is completely wrong. Because he is wrong. Wato knows he is. He has to be. Because if, by some small chance, Doleful isn’t wrong, then-
Wato shakes his head. He can’t afford to think like that. Doleful’s wrong and that’s the end of it. He’s going to walk in the room, get his answers, make his case and finally–finally–get the boy to admit he's wrong. To get him to actually believe it.
Wato looks at the door again, his determination rising steady as the final hurdle between him and ultimate clarity stares back. Incompetent or not, Wato’s going to do this. He has to. He wants to.
He reaches out and, carefully, turns the handle. Taking another deep steadying breath, Wato presses against the door and opens it, keeping his eyeline toward the ground as he creeps into the holding cell room. Wato leans his back against the door, bracing the wood to close it as softly as he can. He takes a minute to adjust to the dimly lit space, his eyes glued to the floor.
The room is small, kind of dank, and oddly quiet. Almost too quiet. Like Doleful’s not even here. Wato freezes. Is he here? Could Doleful have-
Wato’s head jerks up, his blue eyes wide and searching. His breath catches in his throat as, in his hunt, he finds a pair of haze-grey eyes fixed on him from across the room.
Doleful. He’s still here after all, sitting on a small bed, twin chains around his wrists and attached to the wall. And he’s obviously irate–who wouldn’t be?–but, nevertheless, he’s still here. He’s here.
Good, Wato thinks. That's good.
Taking a breath–and willing his heart to stop beating so hard in his chest–Wato places a small, kind smile on his face and says, "Doleful. It's been awhile."
Wato's smile falters as the piercing grey rolls and, pointedly, looks away from him. Wato’s not too discouraged, though. After all, he expected this. Gourmet’s already briefed the Detectives on Doleful’s status for the day. And it’s the same as it’s been since leaving Morgue. He hasn’t said a word since he was taken into custody and locked down here. They’ve spent three days on the boat and Doleful hasn’t so much as sighed in Gourmet’s presence. No matter how… Persuasive, she’s alluded to being. And she is terribly persuasive.
Shaking the thought from his head, Wato stands a little straighter against the door, and tries again. "You haven’t said anything since we left the island. Are you…? Are you okay?"
Still nothing. Doleful gives barely a notion of acknowledgement or a whisper of a response. The only sign that the boy’s not been replaced with some lifeless thing is the slow rise and fall of his chest and the displeased pinch between his eyes. Wato shakes his head, pushing away from the door and taking a few steps toward the detached blond.
"Doleful," Wato starts, "you know you can talk to me. I'm not out to get you."
Doleful scoffs, grey darting to blue for a fleeting moment before racing back to the floor. Wato takes it as the little victory that it is and moves a small bit closer to the boy.
"I… I just want to help you. Don't you see that?" Wato asks, his eyes wide and imploring.
And Wato isn’t lying. He wants nothing more than to help this poor, lost boy in front of him. To find a way to free Doleful from his chains. And not just the physical ones around his wrists, but also the ones in his mind. The chains that have, no doubt, held him down from birth and made him the Quartering Duke in the first place.
The ones that made him a monster.
Because Wato doesn’t think that Doleful’s a monster. Not at his core, at least. And while, yes, to be right Wato needs to prove that Doleful is one, there’s this… Feeling that Wato has.
It grows more persistent–more pleading–every day and Wato, for the life of him, can't figure out why. There’s something deep within him that needs to prove to himself–prove to Doleful–that the boy’s not a monster. But to even begin to find a way to do that, Wato needs Doleful to start talking and-
"Help?" Doleful murmurs. "How can you help me?"
Wato is so caught off guard that, for a moment, he thinks that he's imagined the whisper of a question. It's only when Doleful turns back to him, a single eyebrow raised in impatience, that Wato realizes the boy actually has spoken to him.
"I-I… Well, I…" Wato tries–and fails–to force his mouth to catch up with his brain and respond to the obvious inch that the boy is so generously giving him. "I… I want to talk."
"Talk?" Doeful snorts, looking at the space where his chains meet the cold concrete wall. "Haven't we talked enough?"
Wato swallows as the boy turns his eyes back to him with an unimpressed glare. Steeling his nerves, Wato shakes his head, and asserts, “No.”
“No?”
“No,” Wato nods. "I don't think that we've talked nearly enough."
Wato forces his eyes to stay locked with Doleful’s as the boy shifts to face Wato head on. A question swims in Doleful's eyes as he seems intent to look for something–an answer?–somewhere deep inside of Wato. But to what? Wato can’t begin to guess.
After more than a minute of searching, Doleful sits back, appearing to have found what he’s looking for. Or maybe not, if the frown that cuts across his face is any indication.
Doleful turns up his chin and shifts away from Wato once more. "No. I don’t want to talk. Keep your pity, Incompetent. I don't need your help."
"Doleful, you-"
"I don't," the boy insists. "I don't."
Wato sighs. This is going to be harder than he thought. The cards are stacked against him. Gourmet’s going to throw every charge at him that she can when they get back home. For even the slightest hint at mercy, Doleful has to work with him. But, of course, that’s the last thing Doleful wants to do. He’s stubborn–so stubborn–but he has to listen. He just has to.
But how can Wato begin to get him to do so? How can he get Doleful to understand? Wato doesn’t know. And he’s running out of time to figure it out. He has to come up with something, and quickly. Because, for as much as Wato wants to be right, as much as he wants Doleful to accept and answer for his crimes, the fact still remains. Something deep inside him can’t bear the idea of seeing Doleful hurt.
He can’t accept the possibility of seeing Doleful dead.
"If you don’t talk to us then they… They might-" Wato takes a shaky breath. "They might kill you when we get back. You know that, don't you?"
Wato shivers as a small–hopeful–smile blooms across Doleful's face.
"Yes. In fact, I'm counting on it."
Dread crashes over Wato in waves. Doleful’s counting on it? He wants to die that badly? He’s all but begging for it? No. No way. He can't mean it. Surely-
"You're joking," Wato offers. "You're messing with me. You… Doleful, you don't really want to die."
The glare that Doleful gives him is sharp and hateful. Bitterness bleeds into each word as he snarls, "I want to die more than a single person on this Earth could possibly want for anything. If I had the ability to kill myself now, I would. But you and I both know that's not possible."
The tension weighing on Doleful's brow eases ever so slightly before he sighs and continues with a definite, "Yes, Incompetent. I do want to die. And, truly, I hope that someone back home finally found a way to kill me. I hope that someone at least finds it within them to try."
Wato doesn't know what to say to that. Nothing seems good enough. He wants to say that this is coming from nowhere–that he has no idea why Doleful is talking like this–but, if Wato's being honest, that isn’t true at all. Doleful's craving for death is, ultimately, the reason he's locked down here in the first place.
After all, Doleful is the Quartering Duke. He’s a murder. A serial killer. The Invincible Detective. The danger magnet that can never die. And Wato has to remember that. But standing here, looking at the small beaten boy before him, Wato has more than a little trouble doing so. Because Doleful is… He’s incredible.
He’s delicate but undeniably resilient, apathetic yet dogged in his misguided devotion. He’s doleful yet burning with fire, shattered but still living and breathing and sitting right here. And it’s hard–it’s so hard–for Wato to see anything but that beautiful boy back on Morgue. The boy that he trusted. The boy that he thought was his friend. The boy that was helpful, and thoughtful, and considerate, and kind. The boy that Wato can’t help but feel drawn to. The boy that undoubtedly was calling out to Wato for help. The boy that still is… The boy that was-
"Reo…"
The overwhelming shock and fury that floods into Doleful's entire being is almost enough to make Wato laugh. Almost.
"W-What the- What are you-" Doleful sputters, glaring sharply at Wato. "You can’t just- What are you trying to do?"
"I told you," Wato says with a smile, "I just want to talk to you."
“And provoking me with my name is the way to do so?” Doleful asks, looking Wato up and down, unconvinced. "I already told you no."
"Doleful…" Wato insists.
"No."
Doleful shakes his head, turning away from Wato to face the wall instead. His conviction is as unwavering as ever. And still, Wato can’t say he’s surprised. The boy wouldn’t have gotten this far without a good deal of spite. Wato looks at Doleful with a frown and sighs. What to do now?
With Doleful’s attention firmly locked on the boring brick wall, Wato decides to–selfishly–spend some time and investigate him. He wants to see if, after everything that's happened, Doleful still has traces of the boy that Wato knew. To see if, with those traces, Doleful could be that boy again.
And Wato doesn’t know if it’s for the better or worse that Doleful looks exactly the same.
Since first stepping foot in Gormenghast, Wato’s been captivated by Doleful. Whether he wants it or not, he has a soft spot for the sweet, selfless, Doleful Detective. That’s the whole reason he’s down here trying to appeal to the boy in the first place.
Gourmet’s gotten nowhere with her interrogation of him so, as a final–secret–hail mary, Wato decided to throw his own metaphorical hat in the ring. Maybe Doleful had a similar, lingering softness for Wato and would want to open up and speak to him? And when Doleful did speak to him and renounce his sins, the other Detectives would be so impressed that they wouldn’t think twice about the fact that Wato deliberately went behind their backs to get the information.
And, really, when you boil it down, Wato was right to go forward with his hairbrained scheme. In a way. Because Doleful is talking. He's just not saying anything of importance to the case. And, honestly, Wato doesn't think that he will. Not today at least. Not when Doleful, even with an obvious persistent fondness, doesn't actually trust Wato. And nor should he. After all, it is Wato's fault that he's locked down here in the first place.
Wato frowns, his eyes roaming Doleful for another, lingering moment before he sighs, turns, and starts to make his way to the door. He only stops when he hears the wavering call of:
"Incompetent?"
Wato turns to find grey eyes locked on him once again. He softens at the uncertainty swimming in the other boy’s eyes, then shakes his head. "Doleful, if you don't want to talk, I won't make you."
The blond's brows press together, pulling a smile from Wato. The confusion is a welcome change. It makes Doleful look younger than he is. It makes him look lighter. Innocent. And here, in this small dark place, looking at Doleful, Wato can’t help but feel…
Something.
Something unknown but etched deep in his very being. Something intrinsic to who and what Wato is and all that he can and will be. Something… Something that Wato really does not want to dwell on and unpack right now.
"I'll come back tomorrow," Wato promises, turning and placing his hand on the doorknob. "Maybe then you’ll want to talk. We'll be home any day now.”
“Don’t bother,” Doleful spits out. “You’re wasting your time trying to get me to confess. I’ve done nothing wrong. If a person wants to die… Then they should be allowed to do so. They have the right to do so.”
“They have the right?” Wato asks, turning to the boy once more. “But you… You don’t.”
Doleful glares in response.
Wato runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, “Doleful… If you just talk to me I might be able to help you. I want to help you. More than anything, I… I don't want you to have to suffer for this."
"Suffer?" Doleful asks with a sneer. "No. You won’t have to worry about a thing like that. I'm certain of it."
But before Wato can even begin to respond to that particular–concerning–thought, the ground moves out from under him and he’s flung backward into the door. He cringes as Doleful’s tossed forward and he hits the ground. Hard. Before Wato can reach out and open the cell to help the boy, he’s distracted by the ship's emergency lights beginning to flash while the warning siren blares to life.
Slowly, incredulously, Wato turns to look at Doleful. The small sullen boy can only stare back, a dark resignation clear on his face.
"Better go see what that's about. Huh?"