A short story about Hatori. He seems to be one of the few manga/anime doctors who follow their chosen profession with a pure heart. Or so we think...
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It was early. The room was lit only by the cool grey morning light of yet to be born winter dawn as he entered, the shoji door sliding shut with a soft clack behind him. Socked feet carried him quietly over the tatami to the bed that stood up against the far wall, where the room's only occupant was sleeping peacefully. The man stood still for a moment, watching the slumbering boy before him.
He was unusually pale, even in the poor light, black hair concealing most of his face. He was covered by an uchitake, a comforter, and sheets, well prepared to fight off the cold drafts that plagued his room by the end of the year. A fist was clenched loosely around a handful of the sheets, as if the child didn't want something to leave him.
The mattress creaked as the young man sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a hand of the boy's shoulder. He could tell immediately, even through the kosode and juban, that the sleeping child had a fever, probably a high one. He rocked the boy gently, calling his name softly.
The boy whimpered and stirred, blinking his eyes open. He frowned, looking confused as he tried to focus on the person in front of him.
"Kureno?" he mumbled, voice heavily with sleep.
"No," the man responded. "Hatori." Kureno had be diagnosed with Strep throat and so had been forbidden to see Akito in order to lesson his chances of fall ill. Although it hadn't seemed to have done much good…
"Oh." Akito shut his eyes briefly, then pushed himself up off the bed. He swayed dangerously, and Hatori steadied him.
"It's time for your medication," the doctor informed the god, who merely gazed blankly at him before making a small noise similar to that of a kitten, confirming that he heard.
"I'm going to take your temperature first, okay?" Not waiting for a response, he quickly did so, the read out on the instant thermometer flashing 40.1ºC. Oh, yes; a high fever, even for Akito's standards. Akito leaned against the wall and drew the blankets up around him as Hatori prepared his medication, a few pills and two injections.
"Here."
Akito blearily opened his eyes and accepted the out-stretched glass of water and the half a dozen pills. Hatori watched as the god sat forward and took them all with a nonchalance that suggested routine and years of practice. Rather than struggle with rolling up the kosode and juban sleeves (which wouldn't have worked well anyways), the Dragon simply slipped them off the god's arm; he shivered in the cool morning's air.
The first syringe slipped in without complaint, only the clenching of teeth suggesting its entry; it supplied much needed medication into Akito's failing body. The second hypodermic Akito had been receiving for only a few months. Just before Hatori delivered it, Akito looked up at him.
"This will help me feel better?" he asked, a hint of hope slipping in and making him sound much younger than his twenty-three years.
If he had been more awake, he might have noticed the cold, resolved glint in Hatori's dark eyes.
"Yes," the doctor said, steadily holding his patient's gaze. "This will help."
With a look of complete trust, Akito watched Hatori as the latter slid the second needle into the crook of the god's arm, placing directly into the blood stream a small dose of arsenic.
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Rain poured down from the grey sky onto the group of people assembled in the Sohma cemetery. All dressed in black, they came forward one at a time to place a small token in front of the fresh grave. Scrolls wrapped in plastic, tiny carved animals, pieces of jade, and other such things were added to the slowly growing collection of mementos. As a gift was left, the giver drifted away and went home.
Shigure walked forward last and set a granite dog statuette carefully on the black marble headstone. He paused for a moment, and it almost appeared that he would say something, but he shook his head in sadness, turning to walk away. But something made him stop. Looking back he saw Hatori still standing there, staring at the name 'Sohma Akito' set in the cold marble.
Shigure approached his friend and stood next to him. There was silence for a second, broken only by the patter of rain against the umbrella.
"He made it to his thirtieth birthday," Shigure stated, staring at the grave as well. "Who would have thought?" he murmured sadly, glancing at the doctor.
Hatori didn't answer, just gazed out at some distant point with dead eyes.
"Are you alright?" Shigure asked worriedly, placing a hand on the Dragon's shoulder.
"I killed God," Hatori said in a detached voice.
"What?"
Hatori blinked and the hollow look left his eyes. "Nothing," he told the concerned-looking Shigure. He stared at the grave a moment more and the distant look flickered back.
"Just something I had dreamt about, a long time ago."
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An evil Hatori! Not really... More like a confused one. Tell me what you think.