Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Decay
A/N: With all these short summaries, I feel like I'm writing tag lines for movies.
It was shocking how often things, subjects, if one wanted to put it kindly, died in such a dark place. These rooms, those that had been constructed below the ground and out of the sun's warm embrace, were more like a harrowing graveyard, what with corpses littering the counters and tables, ever surrounded by uncleaned tools and instruments. She had seen as much in the morgue of her own division, where the bodies of the dead were stored before being transferred here, but this was just too much to handle.
Familiar faces, those of patients she'd treated, stared at her, almost as if they were being strangled with horror and pain. A grim sight to behold, and a miracle that anyone could spend so much time in this place. Had she even the slightest hope that he would listen to her advice, perhaps she would have said something. But with him, being the obsessive, power-wielding character he was, there was no bothering with things so "petty" as words. They would only fall to the floor, the remnants of wasted time and breath.
On some evenings, when she arrived to pick up the weekly doses of medication for her patients, Akon would lead her into the darkened basements where she would find him, hovering obsessively over a corpse or, on occasion, some creature without the energy to scream, let alone move. Surgery, mending broken bones, removing dying tissue, was one thing. But these actions, that which he dared to call a practice, were just too much. She would turn away, cringing each time the sound of cracking bone or dripping fluid assaulted her ears.
According to his subordinates, he would leave for a few hours, only to return with the gears in his head turning with enough force to power a steam engine. Instances such as this were the reason she was afraid to leave him alone for too long. It was unhealthy, this urge, this unbending desire, to delve into and solve the mysteries that remained. There was little doubt in her own mind that his worked overtime, often leading to actions that wouldn't otherwise exist. And, every now and again, when he had coerced himself to wait until morning, she would find him on her veranda, muttering to himself about various methods that could be applied once he got his hands dirty again.
Even so, she'd grown used to his insane antics, hoping that her own nature would somehow balance him out. Of course, there was always the other side of the equation to consider. What with all the time she spent around him, it was equally likely that his obsessive, self-serving attitude would rub off on her, starting the process of corruption that she feared. But it wasn't nearly enough to keep her away.