This is a sequel of sorts to my fic, Again. It would be good to have read that first, but I guess this can be understood without it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yami no Matsuei. I am making no profit off of this work of serious parody.

Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Yaoi, OOC probably, and fluff. Later. Much later ^^

Pairings: Tatsumi/Tsuzuki, Tsuzuki/Hisoka ^^

AN: Well. Since I noticed the distinct lack of Tsuzuki/Hisoka fluff being produced recently… I took my sadness out on Hisoka and wrote angst. Angst angst angst.  ^^; Go me.

I have an odd writing style. Most of these sentences are fragmented, and that is intentional. This doesn't really read like anything else.  I have a hard time keeping things in the proper tense, so if you notice any mistakes please tell me and I'll correct them.

Tribute to the Broken

It isn't particularly loud. You really have to be listening, to hear it. Sharp, indrawn breaths. Soft, choked cries that are muffled even further by the pillow.  Even in sleep, he keeps his pain hidden.

The blankets rustle as he tosses and turns. Not violently.  The dreams are routine, now, and can no longer get the reaction they used to.

Awake now. Staring at his rumpled pillow. A blue pillow. He likes blue, always has. It reminds him of the sky. When he was a child, he used to daydream about growing wings and flying up in the air. Flying away from his house, higher and higher, getting further and further away from the pressing of others' emotions…

Almost all of the things in his sparse apartment are blue. He supposes some other colors wouldn't hurt. Maybe he can get something purple. He thinks that purple is a very beautiful color. It reminds him of Tsuzuki's eyes-

The alarm clock is ringing. Time to get up. 

Ignoring the aches that tell him he should still be sleeping, Hisoka gets out of bed quietly. Last night was probably the most sleep he has gotten in... God, he doesn't remember how long it has been. He averages maybe two hours a night, if he's lucky. Last night he enjoyed a whole five hours of repose.

Stumbling into the bathroom takes more effort than it should.  A glimpse of himself in the mirror shows a pale boy with prominent dark circles under both eyes.

As far as he knows, Shinigami cannot die of exhaustion. He turns away from the mirror and gets himself ready for another day at Juohcho.

The walk there is uneventful. He could've teleported, probably should've, but he simply feels too tired. The walk will do him some good, he reasons. Maybe he can gain some sort of strength out of it.

A quick look at the board as he enters the building reveals that there is no meeting this morning. Things have been quiet lately; a blessing for the worn empath.

There isn't much paperwork to be done, because of the recent lull in disturbances. The young Shinigami settles into his desk chair and stares at his folded hands.

Tsuzuki hasn't arrived yet.

He almost wishes he did have some paper work. It would give him something to do. When he doesn't have anything to do, he has to think. And that always leads to bad things.

Tsuzuki still has paperwork left, of course. He is notoriously slow with it. Hisoka reasons that after seventy years, it must get too tedious to bear.

The young Shinigami gets up and takes some of the papers from the top of Tsuzuki's 'In' pile. It gives him something to do, he reasons, and it'll be worth it to see Tsuzuki's smile when he finds out-

He has to stop doing that.

With neat print he begins to write a summary of a recent case. Tsuzuki walks in about halfway through. Hisoka could tell he was coming as soon as he entered the building, of course. He is projecting happiness in waves. Apparently there is some sort of sale at a favored sweet shop.

Happiness is flowing into the room. Hisoka scowls a little. "You're late."

"Good morning, Hisoka!" The violet eyed man greets cheerfully, choosing to ignore Hisoka's (greeting? Statement?). Affection joins the happiness already filling the room, and Hisoka holds his hand to his forehead. The emotions are almost unbearably strong, however warm they are. They're making his head ache.

His empathy has been unusually sensitive, lately.  He attributes it to lack of sleep.

"I thought you were already done with your paperwork..." Tsuzuki says as he leans over the blonde's shoulders. When he gets a good look at what Hisoka's writing, his grin gets bigger, as do the emotions he's projecting. "Sankyuu, Hisoka!"

"It's nothing." He says faintly. All the emotions so close are doing odd things with his head. The pain intensifies.  Hisoka reaches up and pulls his hair, harshly, to help center himself.

Now there's concern floating throughout the already crowded room, and that's enough to make him choke.

"Hisoka? Are you ok? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine!" He manages get out, strained, as the world blurs.  He fights to stay conscious. It doesn't help that Tsuzuki's there, so close… He shuts his eyes.

"Hisoka…" there isn't any annoyance in his voice, but Hisoka can feel it with his empathy. Not much aggravation, but the emotion is still there. Tsuzuki wishes Hisoka would just trust him, and doesn't like being lied to.

Hisoka usually can't feel such things through the older Shinigami's shields, though. So it must be a very strong emotion.

Tsuzuki has every right to be angry with him. He's given the empath every reason to trust him, and has gotten nothing but suspicion and anger in return.

Brat.

He wobbles slightly, and the older Shinigami puts out a friendly hand to steady him.

'I can't take this anymore…' the blonde thinks bleakly, as so many more emotions flow in at the touch, and is unconscious quickly despite his fierce struggle against it.

~@~@~@~

"What's wrong with him?" The dark haired man hovers worriedly over his bedridden partner, looking anxiously to the blonde scientist for a response. He carried Hisoka here right after his collapse.

"Well… It's not a physical illness, I know that much…" Watari says, looking with a puzzled frown over the most recent test results.  There didn't appear to be any disease, or any sign of a magical curse (other than his original one). That left only his mental state. "I'll have to do some research, but I think it has to do with his empathy."

Since a Shinigami is pretty much just a soul, the mind is critical to their health. Shinigami's physical selves are incredibly resilient, but that means that their minds are very vulnerable. Especially vulnerable with a strong empath like Hisoka.  Mental hurts transfer into physical hurts, but he couldn't think of anything recently that would push Hisoka into a depression. Everything around the Meifu has been almost eerily calm.

"Well," he begins again, "if it is his empathy, like I think, the best thing we can do right now is get him away from other people's minds. His house would probably work the best for that, as long as we ward it, but I don't know how we're going to get him there..."

"Why can't we just carry him?" Tsuzuki asks, confused, "He's very light…"

"Yes, but I don't want to risk skin on skin contact… I don't think he we should risk him syncing with others emotions, while we're still unsure what's wrong with him." Watari replies, pondering what should be done.

The violet-eyed man thinks for a moment, slightly annoyed with himself for forgetting about that part of Hisoka's empathy. "We could wrap him in a blanket…" he offers, lamely, and Watari disregards him.

"I know!" the scientist says triumphantly, after a minute,  "Tatsumi! He's so strongly shielded, he's practically an emotional void! Could you ask him to come help?"

Tsuzuki brightens despite himself at the mention of his lover's name. "Of course! I'll go get him."

-

The first thing Tatsumi notices as he picks the boy up is how painfully thin he is. He is aware, of course, that the boy had a very hard life, like all Shinigami, but to actually feel the results of a lifetime of abuse and neglect in his arms is a very different thing than just knowing it in his mind.  The shadow master makes a mental note to monitor the empath's eating habits more carefully in the future. Even though he is dead, and thus incapable of gaining any more weight, Tatsumi reasons it would only be right to look out for him. 

More food would probably help keep him conscious more often, as well, and help increase productivity… Tatsumi mentally berates himself for slipping into common thought patterns of figures and expenses. It seems cruel to do so, especially now.

Hisoka's small house is already warded.  Unwanted thoughts are kept out, and in case of the boy's accidental projection, his own powers are kept inside. The weight in his arms shifts, muscles relaxing a bit, as they arrive. The boy appears to have settled a bit more, now that he doesn't  have to deal with any input to his empathy.  Tatsumi mentally sends thanks to Watari for putting the wards up before. They appear to be helping, at least a little.

The empath's house is very utilitarian, Tatsumi notices, having never seen the inside before. It is bare, and what few items he does have are extremely neat and ordered.  Something seems off about it. No teen, no matter how reserved, should have a room like Hisoka does, in the Secretary's opinion.

He sets his burden carefully down on the blue comforter.  The boy does not stir.

The bed isn't very large, but Hisoka still is dwarfed by it. In this bare, vacant place, Tatsumi is reminded more of a cell than a bedroom.

He carefully dresses the prone form in the loose-fitting white shirt and pants from the infirmary. All the white clothing combined with his pale skin makes him look washed out. Faded.

Feeling strangely paternal, Tatsumi tucks Hisoka in up to his chin with the blue sheets. It does nothing to make him look healthier. Just younger.

Disturbed by the sad picture, the secretary turns away. There is work that must be done. The healing would be left with those who had the skill.

-

TBC? *is very nervous about this fic*