I felt inspired after reading a few Hanahaki fics in other fandoms and decided to have some fun with my humanized version of the tpom crew. Mainly I just really love juxtaposition of beauty and tragedy or beauty and death, hence the title and thought that some of you might enjoy these stories too.

Scar

"You didn't have to step in like that," Hans panted as he shouldered Skipper's weight and lead the man through narrow streets to a well-hidden safe house. "I had everything under control."

"Yeah, that's why it looked like you were about to get gutted like a fish," Skipper hissed through his teeth as Hans shoved him up a flight of steps, further irritating the still bleeding gash in his side. He should have known that going after Hans would bite him in the ass in one way or another.

"When will you learn that looks can be deceiving?" Hans asked, irritated that Skipper had felt the need to intervene. "I swear one day your hero-complex is going to get you killed or more importantly get me killed."

"When will you learn to thank me for saving your ass?" Skipper asked leaning against the wall as Hans opened the door, wincing at the sensation of blood running down his side.

"Yes, thank you for blowing my cover and nearly getting gutted." Hans rolled his eyes his eyes and maneuvered Skipper in the direction of the small bed in the corner of the cramped room before taking a few minutes to secure the door. He was certain that no one had followed them, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Hans turned at the sound of the soft thump followed by several creaks that he assumed was Skipper hitting the mattress and winced. The springs were shot, and it was far from comfortable, he had even been tempted to go out and find a nice one-night stand, just so his back could get a break from that insufferable bed. It wasn't the most luxurious safe house CENTRAAL had lent him by a long shot, but it also wasn't the worst. Shaking away thoughts of 5 five-star hotels and down pillows Hans went to a closet and retrieved the first aid kit along with a suture kit.

He frowned as he looked at Skipper for the first time since their escape and saw that the dark wet stain was still spreading across the material of the man's shirt. At least it's a slow bleed, Hans thought as he stood and went to the kitchen area to find the first aid kit.

Skipper propped himself up on his elbows as Hans returned. The adrenaline from their mad-dash escape had started to wear-off and the effort to hold himself up was straining. He knew that he had more damage than the laceration across his abdomen, but that one was the most concerning now.

"You know," Hans started as took a pair of scissors and began to cut Skipper's shirt away. The drying blood acting as an adhesive between flesh and fabric, "I always thought that if someone was going to stab you it'd be me."

"Funny, because I thought you already stabbed me in the back when we were in Denmark," Skipper snapped and shifted uncomfortably as the scissors reached his chest.

"Hans, wait."

The plea caught Hans off guard and he paused curious, "since when did you become shy?"

"Just cut what you need off. You don't have to take my whole shirt." Skipper tried to move away from Hans before he could start cutting again, earning an eyeroll from the other man.

"Honestly, Skipper, it's nothing I haven't seen before. The shirt is ruined anyway. There's no need for you to make this so difficult." He had just snipped the collar when he noticed the thick line of raised tissue running down Skipper's sternum. Scars weren't unusual in their line of work, all active field agents had them from missions both successful and unsuccessful. However, that type of scar wasn't typical of being on the frontlines.

"Skipper…." Hans trailed off tracing the scar with his fingers now understanding why Skipper had been reluctant to be so exposed in front of him. Hanahaki was a cruel and intimate disease and to know that Skipper had loved someone so deeply and yet was not loved the same in return stung.

"Unrequited love is a bitch." Skipper said choosing to look at the water stains on the wall under the window. Any direction that wasn't Hans, although the man had fallen oddly silent and buried himself in the task of cleaning the wound on his abdomen.

"I'm sorry," Hans spoke softly as he rummaged through the first aid kit and set everything up he needed.

"For getting me stabbed? That guy must have got me worse than I thought."

Hans shook his head and grabbed a bottle of saline and a towel that he had thrown on the floor earlier that day. "That is all on you and your big mouth. No, I'm sorry that you had to have the surgery."

"Don't be," Skipper replied through clenched teeth as the cold saline hit the wound, "it was a long time ago."

"Still, it's a horrible thing to have to go through." Hans lied. He had never experienced Hanahaki disease, had no true understanding of what it felt like. It made him more than a little fascinated by the disease and how it worked, how even the strongest of people could succumb to it.

Once the blood was cleared away he could see that it was still bleeding, but slowly and it was clear that the knife hadn't gone as deep as he had initially thought. He pushed at the edges earning a hiss of pain from Skipper, while the gap was wide, almost two inches it looked like a straight forward stitch job. "Would you like the bad news or good news first?" Hans asked as he opened the suture kit and frowned.

"Is there ever any good news?"

"Fortunately, you're not dying and will just need a few stitches. Unfortunately, there is no lidocaine in the suture kit."

"Fuck me," Skipper wished he had Kowalski with him, his lieutenant was a far better field medic than Hans. Of course, even the gentlest of hands couldn't prevent the process from being painless without lidocaine.

"Maybe later and only if you're good." Hans winked, but even his joking tone sounded flat to his ears. His eyes once again fell on the scar running down Skipper's sternum. On one hand the scar was a sign of relief, a reminder that Hanahaki wasn't what it used and could be. Yet, it showed how close Skipper must have come to death. "Did you tell whoever it was how you felt before you went through with it?" Hans finally asked.

A bitter laugh escaped Skipper at the thought. Years ago, he had fallen for someone who was incapable of love although he hadn't realized that at first. Back then he'd been young, naïve, and painfully optimistic that he'd be enough to change that. He caught Hans' soft gaze and could feel his chest and throat tightening along with a phantom brush of petals against his tongue. Now he knew better and refused to let himself fall back into playing a game that nearly killed him. Finally, he answered with a bittersweet smile, "no, I would have been wasting my breath."

"How could you know that?" Hans asked wanting to know who could have made a man like Skipper fall so hard.

"They made it clear how they felt about me when they left me to take the fall."