Killing time to make us stay....
Title: Timepiece (p2) (p1)
Author: smokexscribbles
Rating: PG, will probably go up to PG-15 at the most.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I am not CLAMP.
Summary: I was trying to capture the creepiness that is Holic. This is an AU mystery which takes place in a ballroom. It isn't songfic, but I got the idea from "Holiday" by The Birthday Massacre.


“Hello?” Watanuki calls. He’s surprised at the sound of his own voice, blinking startlingly blue eyes as it echoes around the endless room. It wasn’t what he expected it to sound like. He realizes that he can’t quite remember what he thought he sounded like. He can’t quite remember where he was before now.

Nobody responds. Of course not, he scolds himself. Who would call back? I’m the only one here who isn’t… under a spell, or whatever is going on.

The clock’s loud heartbeat-tick is unsettling. He wishes it would stop.

He realizes, with a creeping, awful certainity, that there is someone or something behind him. He is expecting something dreadful, and thus is surprised and slightly put out when it turns out to be a perfectly normal man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Who are you?” he asks.

“I could ask you the same question,” the man says, “I’m Doumeki Shizuka.”

“Watanuki Kimihiro…” he says, and listening to the way Doumeki talks he decides they are probably about the same age. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Doumeki says. “How would I know something like that?”

“I was just asking, you could at least try to be helpful,” Watanuki’s temper flares up – He’s scared, confused, and this strange, impassive man is being sensible at him. It isn’t fair. “Don’t you at least remember how we got here? Anything before now?”

“No,” Doumeki tells him. “The last thing I remember is you blundering into me and waking me up.”

“I didn’t blunder. I was- I wanted to wake someone up!”

“That’s another thing,” Doumeki stops him. “I tried to wake these people up. It didn’t work.”

“Why’d it work on you, then?” Watanuki asks.

Doumeki shrugs. “Dunno.”

Watanuki would be angry, but he’s got the feeling that someone-or-something is behind him again, and this time he’s totally sure it isn’t friendly. He slowly turns around.

Doumeki does not seem to notice the Thing. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I- One or two things,” Watnuki is slightly distracted. He takes calm, deep, slow breaths. He can see it. How can Doumeki not notice? It’s right there, right damn there.

He says, too calm, “We have to run away now.”

“What?” Doumeki is surprised.

“There is something horrible coming and we have got to run away,” Watanuki can’t quite keep the rising note of panic out of his voice, because he remembers these things alright. This one is black and semitransparent, shaped like a sock full of pennies. It’s covered in eyes. The smell coming off of it makes him want to vomit.

It’s got teeth. Steak-knife-shining and stained red. He whispers, “Do you not believe me? It’s right there.”

But he can remember that nobody believed him before, either. He’s the only one who can see them, and everyone he tried to warn thought he was insane. Now Doumeki will think so too, and he’ll be left alone in here with the monsters. And they are both going to die.

He is shocked beyond measure when Doumeki grabs his arm and takes off running as fast as he can. “Am I going the right way?” the man asks, and when Watanuki doesn’t answer he snaps, “I can’t see them, you have to tell me where to go!”

His eyes are an intense, burning gold.

“It’s following us,” he manages to say. “But it’s slow.”

Doumeki mutters something about small blessings and idiots, but keeps going until heis informed that the monster is well out of sight. “Okay,” he sighs, sitting down. “What was that?”

“A monster,” Watanuki is paler than usual. “A ghost. They follow me. They try to kill me, sometimes.”

“Not always?” Doumeki sounds interested, against all odds.

“No. Some of them, the ones that look like people, they try to help me.”

“Hell,” Doumeki says.

“Um,” Watanuki falters, “Why do you believe me? About the monsters?”

“Are you lying?” Doumeki seems not to care one way or the other.

“Of course not!”

“Are you imagining it?”

Watanuki thinks about this. “How would I know?”

“Have they ever actually hurt you?” Doumeki asks.

“A few times,” Watanuki admits.

“Then they’re real, I guess,” Doumeki says. “How do we get out of here?”

Watanuki plays with his glasses and looks around. They’ve left the dancers behind, somehow, and everything looks the same here. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where we are now. How do we get back?”

“What’s there you want to get back to?” the other points out, and Watanuki has to agree. You can’t be lost if you don’t know where you got lost from.

They walk; their patent leather shoes are loud against the marble. It echoes, and Doumeki asks something he’s been wondering – “How can it echo if this place is as endless as it looks? It needs something to echo off.”

“The floor?” Watanuki suggests halfheartedly. He knows it isn’t true. This s worrying because it means they aren’t quite as disenchanted as they had hoped. Something else is going on, besides the dancers.

They walk for a long time, in silence. Far, far away, they can hear the clock tick-tocking. They never really get used to it or manage to tune it out.

Watanuki sees more ghost-things, dripping black ectoplasm and blinking electric-green eyes at him. They run, at first, but the spirits seem less willing to offer chase than he remembers. He wonders why, and why the man walking next to him seems so familiar.