Shattered
by Regatto

Disclaimer: Yes, no one belongs to me. (Boo hoo!)

Notes: Comments and thank you bouquets at the end.

4. Confrontation

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Fuji stood stunned. He stared at Tezuka speechlessly, eyes wide with disbelief as his brain struggled to process Tezuka’s words. A match? Tezuka wanted a tennis match with him? There was a strange clarion-like ringing in his ears; he felt lightheaded, as though all the blood had suddenly rushed from his head. Tennis. Even the mere thought of the word sent an involuntary shudder through his body.



I can’t play tennis anymore! Thought Fuji frantically. For a moment, he contemplated flight. Then as the absurdity of what Tezuka had said struck him, he started laughing. Softly at first, then loudly, hysterically as his body shook with unsuppressed mirth. “Neh Tezuka, what a great joke! You almost got me there! I’ve always known that you have a sense of humor, albeit a laconic one. But, but this time you have truly surpassed yourself!” Beaming, Fuji breathlessly continued as he dabbed at his tearing eyes with unsteady fingers: “This is just priceless!”



Tezuka stood, detached from Fuji’s laughter. Face unreadable, like a sphinx; eyes infinitely patient and intent , like a predator sizing up his prey before he made the fatal lunge.



Gradually, cold realization filtered into Fuji’s consciousness: Tezuka is not laughing with me...he’s serious! What he said was not a jest! The paroxysm of laughter that had seized Fuji seeped from his body; his limbs suddenly felt as if they were filled with lead and he became deathly still. Head bent, with locks of his silken fringe tumbling down to obscure his face and shadow his eyes, Fuji stared resolutely at the ground. “Neh Tezuka, I would really like my hand back.” Receiving no response, Fuji requested pleasantly once again: “Tezuka, please let go of me.”



The grip on his wrist remained unloosened. What is Tezuka trying to do? Why won’t he let go of me? He can’t...he can’t think to force me to play tennis! I won’t, damn it! Fuji jerked his hand, trying to shake off Tezuka’s hold, but Tezuka only responded by tightening his fingers. I can’t free myself! Fuji’s heart pounded with rising panic as he felt Tezuka’s grip encircling him like a spider’s web. 



He manipulated me! Bile rose in Fuji’s stomach as he realized that he had fallen into Tezuka’s trap. He began to struggle in earnest: swinging his arm and digging his fingernails into Tezuka’s hand. But his attempts were futile. Panting heavily, Fuji silently admonished himself: Why are you letting him provoke you, Fuji Syusuke? Calm down! Otherwise, you’ll only be doing exactly what he wants! Calm down! Abruptly halting his struggles, Fuji lifted his face and smiled serenely at Tezuka. “Ano, this is enough, Tezuka. Just let go of me now.”



“Not until we have a match, Fuji.” Tezuka said calmly, ignoring the livid, crescent-shaped indentations that had been inflicted upon his flesh.



“I am sorry, Tezuka. I am just not interested in tennis! I have no wish to play at all.” There was no inflection in Fuji’s voice, and his eyes were emotionless. But twin spots of color stained his cheeks. He is angry! Tezuka suddenly realized. The tensai’s mask was starting to crack.



“This is juvenile - you can’t force me to play. So stop wasting your time and effort like this when it’s your last night here, neh? ” Fuji cajoled softly.



But Tezuka Kunimitsu was a relentless opponent: he had seen the fault lines in Fuji’s mask. Allowing Fuji to build up his defenses again was not an option. Provocation, however cruel, was necessary.



“Running away, Fuji? You don’t want to play tennis because you are scared, not because you have lost interest in it.” Gazing intently into Fuji’s eyes, Tezuka continued, “It’s time to confront your feelings, Fuji. Time to stop trying to escape from reality.”



“Reality?” Raising his imprisoned right hand in front of their faces, Fuji grounded out the word through clenched teeth. “Look at my hand, Tezuka. The nerves and muscles of my hands were severed, and the bones broken. I can’t even hold a pen to write, let alone grip a racket and play!” Eyes flashing, Fuji tersely continued. “Even if I want to play tennis, which I don’t---you, of all people, should know how devastating an injury like this is! Any attempts to strain my hand will only exacerbate the injury. I can never play tennis again. Or will you only be satisfied if I am permanently crippled?”



Releasing Fuji’s hand, Tezuka answered simply. “Play with your left hand, Fuji.”



Incredulity swept over Fuji’s gaunt features before he laughed. The sound harsh and biting, like a thousand sharp-edged leaves cutting into Tezuka’s flesh: barely drawing blood, but stinging like wildfire. “Sorry to disappoint you, Tezuka-sama. Unlike you and Echizen, not everyone is a Nitoryuu. I can’t, just with a snap of my fingers, switch to playing with my left hand when I am right-handed.”



Dipping his body into a low bow, a placid smile back on his face, Fuji said politely: “I really do not want to play tennis again, Tezuka. I am sorry that you went through all this trouble for naught. Have a safe trip back to Germany. Sayonara.” Then he turned to walk away. 



“Physical challenges have never hampered your tennis before, Fuji! You have always reveled in overcoming your disadvantages. You will find a way to play with your left hand.” Fuji continued walking. Watching Fuji’s retreating back, Tezuka hurled his last weapon, shouting: “What about Yuuta?” As though impaled, Fuji froze in mid stride.



Bending down and pausing to unzip his racket bag, Tezuka spoke carefully, voice softer this time but just as clear as before. “You are no longer interested in tennis anymore, Fuji. But what about Yuuta? He has always been passionate about tennis. Even if he’s in a coma now, I am sure he still loves tennis. But we don’t know if he’ll ever wake up.” A small whimper escaped from Fuji.



Steeling his heart, Tezuka held up a racket and pointed it at Fuji. “ Fuji Yuuta has been known as the left-hand killer, and I know he has always wanted to play a match against me. He can’t play right now... He may never play again. Play against me, Fuji Syusuke. Play on your brother’s behalf so that he will have no regrets.”



Fuji turned around and flinched when he recognized the racket held in front of his face like a gauntlet. Yuuta’s racket! The racket that he had held during the match at St Rudolph where he had been defeated by Fuji. The one that he had thrown on the ground with fury before he ran across the street and a car...Fuji stared blindly at the racket, a burning sensation prickling his eyes, his mind caught up in a whirl of turmoil and confusion. I can’t do this! I can’t play tennis! I don’t deserve to play, not when it’s my fault that Yuuta got hurt! Fuji thought in anguish. His blood are on my hands!



“ For Yuuta.” Tezuka said quietly, still holding up the racket.



Yuuta. My young, impetuous brother. Fuji suddenly recalled the bitterness and anger on Yuuta’s face as he shoved Fuji onto the ground. He remembered the numerous occasions where Yuuta loudly proclaimed to him, fists clenched and his face full of determination: “Aniki! I will defeat you! I will defeat Tezuka! Then everyone will acknowledge me as Fuji Yuuta, the left-hand killer instead of Fuji Yuuta, Fuji Syusuke’s younger brother!” 



“Play against me, Fuji Syusuke. Play on your brother’s behalf so that he will have no regrets. For Yuuta.” Tezuka’s words reverberated in Fuji’s ears.



Slowly, as if he was moving underwater, Fuji reached out to take the racket from Tezuka’s outstretched hand. As his fingers grasped the cool metal, he gave a painful gasp. The metal felt like liquid fire: burning his fingers, sending acute streams of pain to the nerves of his palm, paralyzing his arm and engulfing his heart. Breathing heavily, Fuji tightened his grip on the racket, welcoming the agony brought forth by the contact. He would play tennis for one last time. Not for himself, but for Yuuta so that his wish would be fulfilled. For you, Yuuta. Fuji swore silently. After this, I will never play tennis again.



“I accept the match Tezuka.” The vacant smile was gone as Fuji’s steady eyes stared unwaveringly at Tezuka.



For a moment, both stood unmoving as they considered each other cautiously. Then, for the second time that night, Tezuka said: “Let’s go then.”



It was time for battle.



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Eto, I know there’s supposed to be a match in this chapter! Instead you get a lot of talk, and not much action! *sweat drops* Gomen ne! But trying to get Fuji out of what I like to call “Hikaru denial-mode” took much longer that I expected.



The next chapter will definitely feature the showdown between Fuji and Tezuka, and some action (finally!) between the both of them that *cough, cough* does not involve tennis. ^_^



Thank you bouquets:



Wadeva: Thank you for sticking with this story! Your support brings much joy to my heart. ^^ A big bouquet of flowers for you!



Suke-san: *wah! breaks into tears.* You are so kind to me! I was on Cloud 9 after reading your review! Sob, you have really made me very, very happy. Thank you so much for your unstinting support, and your lovely, lovely fan-fictions that keep me so entertained!



Hikaruchi: *Hugs!* Thank you! Xie-xie! Arigatou! for your warm review! I am very grateful for your support and encouragement. ^^ You have made me quite ecstatic! (dances around, swinging arms madly.) 



Ryoma-sama fan: Thank you so much for your very poetic review! I felt so happy after reading it. *Glomps!* Thank you! Thank you!



Tsubame Gaeshi (great name!!!), Yukuro, Angel72, and Simply_Kim: Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. Not much angst this chapter—but the next one will be definitely be high on the angst-o-meter. ^^ Thank you once again!



Magician of Black Chaos: Oh mighty one! (do not curse me or anything!) Thank you for your review. Eto, about Yuuta. Hmmm...I like him too! He’s a cutie. But I don’t know yet whether he’ll actually wake up from his coma. *sweatdrops* ^^