damned_institute | Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

Most days, fish and chips (and a cold beer or three) was pretty goddamned high on S.T.'s list of perfect expense-account lunches. Today, the idea of picking at greasy hunks of unidentified bottom-feeder odds-and-ends (politely known as scrod, to the delight of teenagers all across the Northeast) didn't appeal.

He begged off and collapsed into his bed, after using his damp shirt as an excuse to surreptiously check the contents of his closet. Bingo. His nurse watched his little show, unimpressed but (more importantly) unsuspicious. Not that his hairy chest was much of a catch today, pale and sweating from fever. At least she didn't tuck him in.

The intercom woke up up right on schedule, and pulling the sheets back over his head almost won. But a handful of unanswered missives and a vague sense of duty dragged him out to the bulletin, and from there it was easier to stagger over to the greenhouse.

It was warm inside -- a deep, humid warmth that actually penetrated to the aches in more joints and muscles than he could remember the names of. Like a sauna, without the hassle of finding someplace to look that wasn't a mound of pasty middle-management cellulite. Or a sweat lodge, without the opposite hassle of being conscious that he was the only white guy in the room. In fact, besides the nurses in holding patterns, he was the only person in the room.

He located a tray of tomato seedlings going rootbound in their tiny six-packs, and a potting bench whose location was a quick-and-dirty approximation of equidistantly far from anything blooming. He assured his nurse he knew what he was doing, and after a couple of successful repottings, gently sliding the little seedlings out and loosening the tangled roots, she seemed to agree and backed off. It was, by far, the most fucking theraputic thing he'd found in this hellhole so far, and he let himself sink into the rhythm of the task.

[Free!]

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The sound of footsteps was enough to bring Homura out of his reverie, though he didn't look at the person approaching just yet. Instead he smiled when he heard the familiar voice, still looking at the flowers, and holding on to the last of those lingering memories. "I don't often pass up opportunities to go outside of the building, when I can." He couldn't always focus on business over pleasure, a sentiment that both Kenren and Okita certainly would agree with.

"Do you like flowers, Nataku?" Homura reached out, running his fingers along one of the petals. Though it was the boy who had asked to speak to him, the demi-god was curious. Even the war princes of the Heavens had their indulgences, and he remembered quite well Shien's annual journey down to the mortal world, inspired by the boy standing next to him now.

Since Homura didn't demand his attention, Nataku let it slip back to the flowers. His nurse had mentioned that he could plant one if he wanted. He'd tried both in Heaven and the world below but he must have done something wrong because they never grew.

He tilted the stem aside carefully, wondering if the greenhouse flowers housed insects as well. "Yeah, I do. It's even better in the mortal world. All sorts of different ones grow together. Even in a field with lots of the same flowers sometimes there are patches of... I think they're weeds, but I still like them." Nataku paused, his hands returning to cup the flower itself when the hunt for bugs looked fruitless. "You do too, right?"

"I do." Homura watched Nataku's gentle search, though he didn't know what the boy was looking for, or even if he had found it by the time his hands returned to the bloom. Regardless, he was glad that the other war god had such appreciation for the flowers. "I used to go out in the fields in the Heavens often...with someone I care for quite deeply."

Nataku knew nothing of Homura's past, of course, and the demi-god would tell him if he cared to know. Yet while he wished to show the boy all the answers he'd learned over the long years he'd been alive, Homura refused to force them onto Nataku. He had to be the one to ask, and to decide what he would do with his life now, apart from the Heavens. Just as Okita had to do.

Homura smirked to himself. This impatience he felt, and the trepidation: was he so anxious because of the change he'd undergone that night in the experimentation room? He'd remembered so much of who he had become, and yet at the same time, he was still so close to that person he had been before. Homura could hide it, except in moments like these, when he was so directly confronted with those worries over things he couldn't know.

"You wanted to speak with me about something?"

Nataku fell silent, studying the flower in his hands. There were a lot of things he wanted to speak to Homura about, and he hadn't really given much thought as to where he should begin.

When he'd asked it had been with the vague intention of joining the History Club. Last night had gone just fine, all things considered but he was aware of his goal for the night existing only because Homura had pointed out a place to find weapons. He hadn't asked or ordered, and Nataku hadn't felt obliged just...directionless.

He'd never had to think about the future before. He was trying now, but he couldn't say he wanted much of anything in the long run. Homura was very different.

"...Will you tell me more about yourself?"

Part of Homura thought that he should have expected the request from Nataku; five-hundred years was an almost impossible time to be a Toushin Taishi, and showed the strength not only of the demi-god's sword, but of his spirit. Yet he was still a bit surprised, for some reason. Perhaps he'd simply been too distracted by his own thoughts.

Either way, before he could answer, a quiet cough came from a nearby area pulled Homura's attention away from his own conversation. He frowned in concern as he quickly spotted the source: Okita. It was easy to forget sometimes just what the man had inside of him, or at least, to want to. Homura found it difficult not to go over, especially when there seemed to be some frustration coming from both men. But Homura knew the interference wouldn't be appreciated, so he remained. For now.

"Of course." Returning at least most of his attention to Nataku, Homura's expression relaxed. "I'd be willing to tell you anything you'd like. And in return, I'd like to hear about you. Shien told me much, but I think hearing it from you directly would also be interesting."

Nataku looked up at Homura again during the short silence that followed his question. He followed the man's gauze, wondering why a cough should catch his attention. He didn't recognise either of the people there.

When Homura spoke again, he returned all of his attention to their conversation. He was a little surprised that Homura wanted to hear about him, especially when Shien had already told him the story. He nodded, "Ok. But first... I didn't get to ask when we were having breakfast. How is Shien?"

It was obvious that he'd lived, but Nataku wondered if 500 years with Homura had helped the man understand a little more of what he'd been trying to show him.

Nataku hadn't asked about Homura's interest in the distant situation, and the demi-god offered no explanation. As close and protective as he did feel of the boy, those same things could be said of Homura towards Okita. He had promised not to let word of his disease spread, and he meant to keep that promise.

As tempted as he was to try and seek some form of help.

Of course, the question Nataku had asked him was hardly any easier to answer. Shien had a great fondness for the former Taishi; indeed, it was what had driven the man forward as he followed Homura. For Nataku to be concerned likely meant that the caring was mutual. It made what he had to say rather difficult.

"Shien died recently." He refused to lie to Nataku, or to himself. He'd forced himself onward after the man's words reached him, the surging of power that signified that he was about to make the ultimate act for his dream. And it had been a good dream. "He was fighting with me for something we both wished to achieve. But unfortunately, our opponents were stronger."

How would Nataku respond to that? There was a mild curiosity that Homura simply couldn't help as he looked toward the younger god. "At the end, however, he was glad he could die as he did. Fighting for something that he believed it, and could hope for."

Nataku's eyes widened slightly as he stared at Homura, and his hands fell away from the flower, to his sides where they grasped uselessly at the material of his pants.

"Shien..." Nataku pressed his lips together. He'd known Shien for what felt like a very long time. He'd been an invaluable companion, someone who didn't look on Nataku with disgust or ambition. He'd thought there was potential for something better than the gods in Shien. Was this the realization of who he truly was? What ambition was so powerful that he would die to preserve it?

"What were you fighting for?" Nataku held his composure for the most part. "Why did he die?" There was an undercurrent of anger, irrational as it might be, but for the most part the question sounded like the plea it was.

"Freedom." The answer came easily, if only because Homura was better at maintaining his control than the boy before him. He understood Nataku's grief, and wouldn't have blamed him if the hands that gripped at his pants had lashed out in rage instead. Perhaps it would have been better if they had.

"We rebelled against the Heavens: myself, Shien, and another god named Zenon. We used our strength to attempt to recreate the Heavens and the Earth, without the pious gods who had corrupted what should have been pure." Would telling Nataku all of this do any good? Perhaps not. But Homura spoke the words all the same, giving the once prince the chance to judge for himself what had happened half a millenium after his time. "As I said, in the process, we came up against a set of strong opponents who defeated us. A group of mortals--the reincarnations of Son Goku's friends, along with Son Goku himself."

Homura's eyes grew distant then, for that moment as he remembered the battles. "They fought just as hard for what they believed. It was magnificent."

Freedom.

He didn't care one way or another what happened to the gods. He'd hated them, but he had never dreamed of lifting a single finger against his father, and by extension he had never caused the gods any harm beyond some childish pranks - and that, too, had been in line with Li Touten's goals because his father had no love for gods he wished to surpass. Still, Nataku had done it for his own sake. It was where his rebellion had begun and ended.

He didn't think Goku held real hate for anyone. Was that why he'd stopped Homura, why he and his friends had killed Shien? Homura thought it was glorious. Nataku only saw two people he cared about on opposite sides of the battlefield. He shook his head slowly, regaining more of his composure though he still felt shaky and cold and angry.

"Tell me the whole story from the beginning. I want to understand how your belief became so strong you would try to recreate the world - and how you planned to do it. I don't believe Goku would... stop you simply for the sake of the gods he doesn't remember."

Homura calmly looked at Nataku after the boy made his demand, recognizing well the shell that they'd both apparently learned to act within. Though both Taishi seemed outwardly distant, Homura had little doubt that the emotions were still very much there, and very volatile. He'd have to tread carefully.

"They didn't fight for the sake of the gods. They fought for themselves, and that's why I can think fondly of that battle." The difference was critical, and it was important that Nataku understand that if he were to truly understand what Homura had become over the course of his long life. "But I will tell you, as you wish. I'd intended to all along."

Homura again turned to the flowers he so appreciated, and began recalling his history with a detachment that defied his true feelings. "Unlike you, because I was related to the Jade Emperor of the time, I wasn't immediately trained to be a War Prince. Instead, the gods kept me in prison--completely in the dark, except for a small bit of light that came from under a door, and the voices of the guards on their patrols. There was nothing in that world, and the only comfort I ever found was in learning that one day, I would die. For me, there was nothing else to put hope in.

But my death didn't come soon enough for the gods, and one day I was released. The Jade Emperor granted me my freedom, or at least, as much as they grant any being that they deem unclean." Nataku would know well what Homura meant by that. "In a clear voice, he asked me, 'How long do you intend to live?'

Yet I wasn't alive in any significant sense of the word. I still lacked a purpose, or desire. The only thing that had changed was my housing. The prison was still within me, and just as real. I was just as dead as I had always been."

Homura paused then, not for Nataku, but for himself, and a smile crossed his face. This was the part of his story he would always have fond memories of, regardless of how the gods had ruined its outcome. "Then I met someone. She was a god, a woman named Rinrei. But unlike the others, she didn't look at me with disdain. She didn't see me as a heresy, and eventually, we fell in love. Yet she knew my fate was to die someday, and it troubled her so much. That was when I finally found it: the desire to live, for the purpose of protecting the happiness of the woman I loved.

But no one knows better than the heretical beings just how cruel the gods can be." The happiness that was found in a memory was just as brief as the time he'd had with Rinrei. Now, anger marked Homura's expression, and his features grew tighter as he continued. "Taking a lover is something also forbidden to us, and the gods punished both Rinrei and I. She was taken into custody while I was left free, until another rebellion happened. In the wake of the then Toushin Taishi's suicide, and the uproar caused by three gods in their attempt to flee with a heretical boy to the Lower World, I was again put into that prison. I can't tell you how much time passed, but it was enough. And the next time I saw the outside, I was informed that the woman I loved was to be reincarnated to the Lower World as a human, and that I was to take on the title of Toushin Taishi."

Meeting Homura's mismatched eyes, for a moment Nataku felt as if he'd overstepped his bounds. He was aware of demanding something that he had no real right to know, but he didn't look away. He nodded slowly.

He didn't doubt that it was another matter entirely to fight for goals that belonged only to oneself, but had only ever seen it manifested in petty manipulation, stupid arguments, senseless battles. The gods had only their goals in mind and they used each other as much as they used him to accomplish them. But not Homura and not Shien. They had the same goal, and they'd given everything of themselves for it. If he really didn't want to become like the gods, he would have to make that choice too, wouldn't he?

As Nataku listened his eyes grew distant. Though Homura held his full attention, a part of him was shutting in the pain the words caused both him and the Taishi before him. He wasn't bringing up Homura's memories for nothing. He would listen carefully and think and learn something of the man.

He was almost surprised that their pasts weren't so different after all. Homura had met a god, and he had met another heretical being, but they had both loved and been loved by those people only to be torn apart by the gods. Nataku's expression darkened but he said nothing, just listening.

He didn't feel guilty for making it necessary that another war prince be chosen. He'd always known that it would happen after he died, and he had no more control over it than he did over the gods themselves... But he knew the pain of being Toushin Taishi, and he regretted that Homura had been forced to endure it. The man had a strong heart.

When Homura didn't continue, Nataku tried to decide between remaining patiently silent and disrupting the flow of Homura's words. In the end, he took a hesitant step closer and reached out to wrap both of his hands around one of Homura's.

Homura hadn't been expecting the gesture of comfort; in telling his story, he'd given himself over to the memories, reliving in his mind those small details. For a moment he was surprised to feel the smaller hands around his, but then he offered Nataku a thankful smile, placing his free hand over the other god's.

"I met Shien shortly after that. He immediately fascinated me, with how he moved and how he spoke. Then some time later, I recruited another god, Zenon. He too had been punished by the gods for actions considered taboo." Coupling with a youkai woman, giving her a child--but this was his story, not Zenon's. "We served Heaven for a time, but all of us found the gods corrupt and contemptible. So we decided to rebel against them...and to destroy them."

And now came the part of his past that Nataku had been trying to understand. Whether or not the boy approved, Homura felt no guilt over his actions. The gods had taken everything from him, and in turn, he tried to do the same. Shien and Zenon had their own reasons for following him, but whatever the cause, the choice had been theirs to freely make. "Five hundred years after your rebellion, Son Goku was freed from his prison by Genjo Sanzo, the reincarnation of Konzen Douji. They were joined by the reincarnations of Tenpou Gensui and Kenren Taisho, and the four were traveling to India to reclaim a possession of Sanzo's: one of the Founding Scriptures of Heaven and Earth. Sanzo also possessed the Maten Sutra, which I needed for my plan. So I stole that sutra, and eventually, Son Goku as well."

Would Nataku pull away from him, now that he was hearing the true extent of Homura's roll? Regardless, the demi-god continued, wanting Nataku to hear the truth through to the end. "They fought to reclaim what was theirs, and also to protect their mortal existence. We fought for a universe free of the taboos that had brought us such pain. In the end, they defeated us completely, and each of us died."

Some might have spoken of such a loss with bitterness, but for Homura, there was only satisfaction in the memory. He didn't resent the four for what they had done; to the contrary, he respected them for it. That they were able to fight with such strength and conviction was why he chose them in the first place.

Now Homura could only hope that Nataku would choose to do the same for himself. "And that is the whole of it, Nataku."

He'd been afraid at first that his touch would be rejected, but then Homura placed a hand over his and Nataku tightened his grip just a little bit, standing close enough to feel a little of the god's warmth. Or maybe he was imaging that. He just liked being close.

He knew what Homura meant about Shien. It was impossible not to notice the graceful flow of his movement, the way he spoke... Nataku remembered. He didn't think he would ever forget now that memories were all he would have. Shien had not died as a slave to the gods, but as a free man fighting for what he believed in, and he deserved the kind of fierce pride that Homura had when speaking of his death.

Now Homura came to the part of the story he'd asked to hear. He didn't release the hand clutched between both of his but he had to make a conscious effort to keep from tightening his grip. He felt he had no right to judge Homura's actions one way or another and he doubted the other god would care if he did. However, given the choice between Goku's happiness and the restored balance of heaven and earth... without thinking, he would choose Goku, because those places didn't matter without him.

If you hurt him... He didn't let himself finish the thought. He didn't want to hurt Homura. Goku had fought against him and won - had killed him, in fact. Though Nataku doubted he'd done so without pain... He was still happy and free. His friends would have been there to comfort him. He didn't have to worry about Goku.

When he squeezed Homura's hand, injury was the furthest thing from his mind. He shook his head and looked up at the other Taishi after a while, voice soft with contemplation. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course." Homura almost chuckled when Nataku thanked him for the honesty. How could he offer anything else to the boy, when his goal was to help him come to terms with this new life they'd been given? Yet at the same time, Homura could understand better than any one how important that honesty was. The gods who had condemned them both often didn't think twice of lying for the sake of their ambition. Certainly they'd rarely tell a heretic something he didn't want to hear, and then leave him free to make his own choices afterward.

Homura didn't release Nataku's hands, letting the younger god take whatever time he needed to come to his own decision. Regardless, he'd already put in for Nataku to have a sword made; it was one of the rare instances when he would ask for nothing in return, or make no bargains. The similarities in their past and of their origins bonded Homura and Nataku in a way that few could understand. Even Son Goku, their heretical brother, had had his memories sealed away by the gods. He would know the pain of his own imprisonment, certainly. But Son Goku couldn't understand the true suffering he'd been caused by the Heavens.

Nataku didn't look away from Homura but his features softened, belaying his uncertainty and the tangle of thoughts and emotions he'd kept to himself while Homura spoke.

"I don't know what to do yet." He admitted. It was only fair to trade honesty for honesty, even if the other Taishi thought less of him for it.

"In Heaven it was enough to want freedom for the sake of freedom. I never thought..." That he would outlive his father. That his death would have meaning to anyone, even himself. "I never thought ahead until I met Goku, and even then I only wanted to be by his side for a little while longer.

"So I'm not sure what I should do here." Nataku frowned, unconsciously setting his jaw with almost childish stubbornness, as if he expected his next request to be argued. "But I want to do something. It just feels useless wondering around, and I don't have any interest in the other clubs." Well aware that he'd waited until the very last minute, Nataku pressed on regardless. "Is it too late to sign up for the History Club tonight?"

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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