Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Possession ❯ One-Shot

Author's Notes: Hm… just a little glimpse into the night of Hatori's accident. ^^ Enjoy.

I wish I could be
Every little thing you wanted
All the time I wish I could be
Every little thing you wanted
All the time
Some times

Don't give me up
Don't give me up tonight
Or soon nothing will be right at all
-- Dishwalla, "Every Little Thing"

The words reverberated in his ears, but their meaning never changed. 'We're thinking of getting married.' He had smiled. It was all he could do. Smile, offer his congratulations, hopes of a good future and happiness through their years. The words sounded almost true to his own ears as he spoke them. 'I'm happy for you.'

But it was all a lie.

He was happy for his friend. Had he not been, he would not have been a friend at all. If it meant that Hatori would be happy, then he was glad. Yet it worried him, worried him so much that he sat now alone, outside of the office Hatori called home at the Souma compound, watching the snow fall in soft, white sheets, and draining a cigarette of its nicotine. He remembered that he and Hatori had picked up the habit almost simultaneously; each to relax his own harried nerves. He joked often that as a doctor, Hatori should have known better to take up the habit. Hatori always replied living with impressionable children, as Shigure so often served as their sanctuary from the Souma house, a home away from home, that he should not pick up such a loathsome addiction. But neither gave up his attraction to the habit.

He wondered. Maybe Kana-chan would convince him to stop. He had never seen his friend the way he was since Kana had come into his life. A smile graced his all too stern, tightened features often; he took a greater pleasure in the smaller, barely perceptible things in life. Kana had opened his eyes to a world he had only ever seen through the windows of his small, secluded hospital office. She had shown him what more there was to have and to hold. He had never seen Hatori open so easily, so willingly. Not for him, not for Aya; not for anyone.

It may have been a pang of jealousy, then, he thought musingly, that his feelings were conflicted on the announcement of an engagement. He, who had known Hatori since they were both barely able to walk, and had never been able to bring out Hatori any further than what was surface deep. He watched him, understood his movements, his mannerisms, his speech; he knew everything, but Hatori had never given it to him willingly. All of it he had taken, in some form or another. But Hatori had all of him in the palm of his hand, if he only knew.

But he would never know, Shigure thought, and he smiled, a slight, faint smile of resentment. It was a position he had placed himself willing into, one he could not have backed out even if he had wanted. Because he never would want to. He would never want to sever himself from Hatori. It was a pain he bared, a dedication, an obligation to a friend who had given him nothing. It was a resentment he harbored deep enough it bothered him, startled him from his silent reverie, and he wondered from where it was born.

Kana? She had given to Hatori something that no one had been able to before, something that lit him up in a way Shigure had never seen. Something that made him smile and laugh in a way he had never shared with Shigure and Ayame.

Love maybe, he thought. Was that what it did? He had never known what it meant to love someone. Lust he had known, but never love. He thought that what Hatori felt was love, a powerful love that neither he, nor Ayame, nor anyone else could comprehend. It was their own, theirs to cherish. It was not for anyone else.

It was not so much a feeling of abandonment that he felt that caused such a disturbing reel of thoughts to circulate his mind, but a feeling that Hatori was drifting further and further away. Further and further Hatori moved, and he remained behind, unable to stop him, unable to follow. It was the feeling that Hatori would disappear, and he would never have his friend again. Kana would have taken him.

He snorted, softly, disdainfully, tossing his cigarette to the garden. Hatori would scold him for littering what he considered one of the few virtues of the Souma compound, and one of the even fewer tranquil places where one could gather thoughts and feel at peace. He might have made a move to pick it up, throw it somewhere else where it would decompose and be forgotten, but he did not move. His eyes focused in and out on the dying amber glow of the cigarette, watching its embers crack and pop. Snow drifted down to cool the hot tip until one by one, the embers died away.

It would be forgotten, he thought, well before Hatori returned from his audience with Akito.

Perhaps he would be forgotten then, too.

But he held no resentment for Kana. No, none at all. She had done nothing. She was no villain in this scheme, no demon that had come and stolen Hatori away, warped his mind and forced him into her own mold. She only loved him. In doing that, she did the one thing Hatori needed, the one thing he most wanted, the one thing he deserved most of all. He could not possibly fathom, even dream to hold her in contempt for only loving a man.

He thought that it was Hatori he held in contempt, and he did not know why.

A hand slipped into the coat pocket of the suit he wore, a ridiculous thing it was felt was necessary to wear when greeting Akito. It was all a matter of customs and appearance, but he would have given anything to be dressed in a warm yukata, sipping tea and not watching the cold, wet snow fall. He reached into the pocket and withdrew the pack of cigarettes there, preparing to tap out another. He paused, setting the pack down a moment, and lifting a hand to loosen the tie around his neck. Damned if he was going to sit there and be uncomfortable when there was no telling when Hatori would return, much less if he would need to see Akito after their audience.

Sighing, comfortable to have the noose around his neck loosened, he reached for his cigarettes again, and that was when he heard the crash.

He paused, a frown appearing as his eyes narrowed in, listening again to see if it were only his imagination. No sound came for a moment, and he dismissed it as nothing. But then he heard screaming, furious, accusing screaming, and he knew it was Akito.

On his feet, he barreled inside the small apartment and down the hall, bare feet thumping hard and rapidly against the ground. The screaming grew louder as he approached, and through his own gasps for air as he rushed to the room, he could make out the words.

"It's your fault!"

He flung open the door and saw it all in a brief, quick flash.

Akito, standing over Hatori, his long, pale arm pointing an accusing finger at Kana. Kana frozen in place other than the shudders that racked her body and the small, quick gasps of fright that escaped her. And Hatori, on his knees, a hand clutched to his face.

And blood. Everywhere, blood.

"Akito!" No, not Akito. "Hatori!" Ha-san!

"Can you get rid of the curse on the Souma family?!" Akito screamed, infuriated. "Can you?!"

He lunged forward, not knowing what it was that even willed his body to move. His arms slipped around Akito as easily as they always did; Akito was barely a child in his arms, his health deteriorating him and diminishing him away as rapidly as it did. But still, lithe and delicate as he was, Akito fought him, screaming and struggling against the restraints around him.

"Kana-san!" he snapped. "Hurry, get Hatori!"

But she did not hear him. Her hands pressed to her ears, eyes wide and filled with terror, she did not hear him.

"Let me go!" Akito struggled, jerking in his arms, doing everything in his power to escape him. "I said let me go!" And even still, fighting violently against Shigure, he screamed, "You can't do anything! You're useless! It's your fault, it's your fault!"

And then he fell limp, sagged bonelessly in Shigure's arms, as though all the life had been sucked from him dry.

Everything moved in such a pantomime then that Shigure did not believe he was seeing what he was. Hatori, clutching his face, blood seeping through his fingers, reached for Kana, reached to touch the woman he loved, and she flinched away. She jerked back, away from him, pulling so quick that it seemed almost that his touch was poison.

How they even moved at all, Shigure did not know. Hatori rose, stumbling to his feet, and he longed to release Akito and reach for his friend, but a feeling of obligation, a dedication unlike that to Hatori to the Souma clan head, limp in his arms, kept him from even moving at all. But then Kana moved, painstakingly in the beginning, and went to his side. She took his arm and lead him, bleeding, from the room.

Shigure held Akito in his arms and did not know what to do.

Akito shifted, just a bare twitch of movement. Shigure rearranged the younger man in almost a gentle hold, sinking down to his own knees. A slender arm slid around his neck and held him tight.

"... better off without her," Akito murmured, voice muffled against his chest. But Shigure could still hear the smirk in his voice, that disgusting self-satisfaction he felt for what he had done. Once he had thought that Akito fed on the pain of others, that it was the only thing that brought him true joy. And he thought again, maybe it was true.

How long he sat there, Akito curled in his arms, he did not know. He only knew that after a long time, a painfully long time as Akito lied there, breathing softly and sounding almost as though there were a ring of joy to him, the young man fell silent as sleep overtook him.

He moved him to his bed, moving through the motions as though a man possessed. How long, he wondered, had he tried to see what humanity was left in the bitter, jaded Souma clan head? How easy now, he thought, it would be to give all that up.

But he was bound. He, too, was cursed by the vengeful spirit that flowed through all their veins, and so long as he was alive, he was bound to them and to Akito.

Or we are all bound to Akito.

He stood alone in the now empty room, the shards of the vase scattered across the floor, amid fresh spots of blood. Moments before, he had sat outside the office, watching the snow fall peacefully, and resenting his friend for his happiness. Now he stood, eyes passing over the stains of blood, and he felt responsible. A voice of logic told him that there was nothing he could have done, nothing to prevent what had happened, but the voice of guilt nagged and accused him, the same voice that accused Kana.

It's your fault!

He knelt on one knee, picking up the scattered remains of the vase piece by piece. The mats, he thought distantly, they would have to be replaced. Blood would not come out so easily.

A piece slit his thumb as he reached for it. He flinched, just barely, and then watched in an empty, blank daze as the blood beaded and dripped. That he felt anything at all reminded him it was not a dream, though he longed for it to be one and to wake up knowing that Hatori was not hurt, that Hatori could see, and Hatori was happy with Kana. Even if it meant his own suffering, he wanted that. If Hatori was happy, then he would be.

But no such luck, he thought grimly, and he put the thumb to his mouth, sucking on it till the blood flow seemed to have diminished.

He tossed away the broken shards, out of sight and out of mind, where none of the kids would find them. They would not be told what had happened, but they would piece it together on their own. Yuki, Kyou, Kagura, Momiji, Hatsuharu, Kisa -- they all knew Akito, they knew his abuse in their own separate, painful way. They would know who had hurt Hatori even if he was not to say a word.

He walked down the wide, dark halls of the Souma compound, each footfall seeming to echo twice its natural sound. He felt completely alone. In a way, it was eerie, discomforting, but in another it was a strange calm that settled over him. He did not know that he would have been able to face anyone, not now.

His footfalls fell silent suddenly. He inclined his head, listening, and heard distantly from the room at the end of the hall the strangled, gasping sobs of Kana. A soft voice told him he should have pitied her, felt badly for her suffering, and he knew he should. But he felt nothing. What he felt was a sudden contempt, as though those feelings for Hatori only a brief time before had suddenly been transferred in full to Kana. He thought that he should empathize with her pain and sorrow, but all he could see was Hatori reaching for her, and her pulling away from him. All he could see was the pain he knew his friend suffered.

He had only so much sympathy, and none of it was for Kana.

He walked past the room, hands thrust into the pockets of his dark slacks, and did not so much as feel a prick of anything for Kana even as he listened to her sobs. For her, he felt nothing.

Drops of blood staining the floor greeted him when he returned to the office. He paused, a hand pressed to the sliding door, eyes lowered and staring at the dark spots. Kana had come this far with Hatori, but then she had left him, unable to cope, too hysterical to be with him for even a moment longer. Hatori was alone.

He slid open the door. The day had seemed to darken almost drastically in those few moments. The office was covered in shadows, only the bare light filtering in through the screens allowing any sort of illumination. Even that was dull and bleak; thick, gray clouds in the sky, pregnant with falling snow, blocked the sun away. His eyes skimmed the room, over the flecks of blood scattered almost everywhere. Or perhaps that was just his imagination.

Hatori sat at his desk, hand pressed tight against his face. Blood stains marred what had been a pristine white, perfectly pressed dress shirt. Shigure wondered how long he had sat there, bleeding, doing nothing for his wound, not even thinking of the pain. He knew his friend, and he knew Hatori would had never thought of it. Hatori was only thinking of Kana.

"Ha-san," he murmured. He closed the distance between them and reached out to touch his friend, but hesitated, not sure if Hatori would accept nor want his comfort. Shaking his head, he knew he didn't care one way or another what Hatori wanted. It was not because he wanted it, but because he felt he had to do something, anything at all to show Hatori he was there. He dropped his hand to Hatori's shoulder.

"Kana," Hatori said, automatically. He lifted his head, glancing to Shigure, and Shigure wondered if he could even see him at all.

"Don't worry," Shigure said softly, though what he longed to say was something entirely different. Don't concern yourself with her right now. You're the one that's hurt. But it was not his place to say anything.

"Your eye..." Shigure fumbled for the words. "You're hurt."

Hatori was the family doctor; there was no one else that had the expertise to handle this but Kana herself, and Shigure knew he could not bring her to care for Hatori.

"Tell me what to do."

Hatori told him, speaking in a low voice, words coming to him automatically and spoken as though he did not even realize he was saying them. Clean the wounded area, apply anti-infection medicine, insure that the wound would not reopen and continue bleeding. He made the mention of stitches, and Shigure felt ill at the sound of the words, knowing that it was nothing he could do. But Hatori dismissed it, claiming as long as necessary pressure was applied, the bleeding would stop.

"Go see a doctor tomorrow," Shigure said softly, and it was not a request, but a command. He sat before Hatori, wrapping his eye in gauze. He felt that what he was doing was not enough, but Hatori said it was the best that could be done at the moment, with their limited means.

Hatori nodded vaguely, and Shigure wondered if he had even heard him. Reaching up, he gripped Hatori's chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Tomorrow," he said firmly. "I'll take you there myself."

"You can't drive," Hatori said automatically, dryly. Shigure allowed a small smile to soften his features.

"Better me than Aya," he murmured.

Hatori said nothing, and Shigure finished wrapping the eye. He wondered if it was damaged beyond repair. It would be the fault of Akito if Hatori lost his sight, but it would be Kana that blamed herself and felt that it was her own doing. That, Shigure did not think Hatori would be able to live with. Kana had always been vibrant, full of life. But if she continued to blame herself, she would spiral further and further down. Her love for Hatori would be the end of her.

"Ha-san," he began, but Hatori spoke before he could say anything at all.

"You were right."

Shigure drew back, confused. "I was right?" he repeated. "About what?"

"I could see in your eyes. You thought this marriage was a mistake."

It amazed him how much Hatori saw, how easy it was for him to read others. He may not say anything at all, but he absorbed and took in everything. Shigure had not even known himself that he had been showing apprehension for the engagement of Kana and Hatori, but Hatori had seen. He suddenly felt guilty for those feelings. He had said that he was happy for his friend, but even Hatori had been able to see that he was not.

He opened his mouth, as though hoping to apologize, but Hatori spoke again.

"Or maybe you knew what Akito would do."

Shigure shook his head. "This," he said, gesturing vaguely, "I wouldn't have predicted." He paused. "But Akito-san not accepting it..."

Akito suffered and wanted others to suffer with him. As long as he was pained, as long as he was hurt, others had to feel what he did. Shigure did what he could to appease him, but it was all for naught. Akito was never truly appeased unless others were suffering by his side.

"But Kana," Hatori murmured again, helplessly. Shigure said nothing. In the end, Hatori would be the one to decide the fate of Kana.

Hatori took his hand from his face and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, but it was an apology without inflection or meaning. Shigure did not know why he bothered, and he doubted Hatori even knew. It was simply something to say at all to fill a void.

"Get some sleep," Shigure commanded, without feeling. He stood. "Tomorrow, we'll go to the hospital. From there you can decide what you have to do."

Hatori nodded, though Shigure knew he would not sleep. But exhausted, his energy sapped, his own body crying for rest, he could not put forth an effort to force him.

"Thank you," Hatori said as he moved to leave. After a moment he added, softly, "You're a good friend, Shigure."

And Shigure smiled, although it was strained. "I'm the best there is," he replied, and he slid closed the door behind him.

The best, he thought, smiling sadly, but always a friend.

Always a friend, and never anything more.