Shion leaves his window open all the time, and Nezumi wants to believe that maybe that’s for him. Shion sits by the window when he reads, or sometimes while he’s writing letters. Sometimes he just stares out the window, and Nezumi wonders what he’s thinking.
But he looks good. That’s the important thing, Nezumi figures. Shion looks alive and healthy and well-fed, and all things considered, like he’s doing just fine.
If he sometimes looks sad, Nezumi tries not to think too much about that.
Another robotic mouse would have been too recognizable, even if it would have been the easier thing to make. Shion would probably be expecting another robotic mouse. So Nezumi makes a small snake instead. In a fit of generalized stupidity, he makes the snake red, and only later realizes how noticeable that would be, out in the wild. But it is a dull red, and small enough to hide in cracks and secret places; perfect for spying, which is what it is designed for.
Nezumi doesn’t name it, because that was Shion’s thing. He thought it was stupid when Shion did it and he’s certainly not going to start being sentimental now. He just calls it Hebi and tells it to watch Shion. It records Shion’s activities and avoids the mice and keeps Nezumi up to date on all things Shion.
It makes perfect sense to keep track of Shion. After all, the last time he left Shion alone, he ended up nearly getting killed by accidentally stumbling upon a government conspiracy. Who knows what Shion will do if left unsupervised this time. So Nezumi might be gone from Shion’s life, but he’s not really gone, even if Shion doesn’t know that.
There’s just things he has to do. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He had to leave. It was good for him and Shion both.
“It’s not like we could have had happily ever after,” he tells the snake. “Shakespeare’s comedies ended with a marriage and his tragedies ended with death. We had a lot of death. If I stayed, we probably would have had more.”
The snake raises its body and tilts its head.
“It’s not cowardly,” Nezumi informs it. “There was never violence in his life before I entered it, and there would have been nothing but violence if I stayed.”
The snake tilts its head the other way.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re not allowed to judge me. I made you.”
He’s talking to a robotic snake he built to spy on Shion. He is aware of the levels of ridiculousness that are going on right now. But then, Hamlet talked to a skull, so perhaps he’s not so bad off. (Although, considering what happened to Hamlet, probably Nezumi shouldn’t be relieved by the comparison.)
He ends up calling the snake Yorick and feels slightly appalled.
And it’s not like it will be forever. Even when he was ten years old and they separated the first time, Nezumi knew it wasn’t going to be forever. There was something that bound them together. Like a prophecy in a Shakespeare play. They were entwined now, and it doesn’t matter how much time or distance is between them.
He really needs to stop looking at the recorded video of Shion so much, though. It’s probably a little pathetic.
One day Yorick returns with a piece of paper tied around his—its—neck. It takes Nezumi a full two days before he finally reads it.
The snake is cute but I miss you.
Nezumi looks down at the red snake and says, “You’re supposed to be more discreet.”
The snake looks remarkably like it’s feigning innocence. Which is rather impressive, for a snake.
Nezumi tucks the piece of paper in his pocket. He looks down at the snake and says, “Yes, alright.” It probably is time to go—
He pauses, taken aback by his own thought. But then shrugs. It probably is time to go home. And that’s probably not such a strange thought after all.
Shion was always home.
A/N: A long time ago a couple people wondered if I’d ever write No. 6 fic. I didn’t think I would, but this certainly was fun to try out! This one is for you, long time ago anon-friends =D And for the anon-friend who wondered about it more recently. Also, I haven’t watched/read No. 6 in awhile, so I might be misremembering things.