Disclaimer: Worship Kouta Hirano-sensei, worship him now.

Author's Notes: Methinks Captain and Doc own all. This is for all you people who wanted more Millennium stories. Weird Ichigo sends her love.

Wie Uns

By Ichigo Morino (12.18.03)

"Aren't you supposed to be at the Major's side?"

Captain didn't say anything. Doc briefly glanced back at him. But of course he didn't say anything. He never did.

The lab was illuminated by only the dim glow of a burner. It served more as a candle. Various jars with dubious contents gleamed with the sickly yellow of the flame. Once, it had burned orange-red, but after being put through so many chemicals, it had turned yellow-green.

"Should I converse for the both of us?" Doc offhandedly inquired, clicking a new lens into place and peering into a petri dish. Something gave a light slosh inside.

"Or maybe," he began, clicking yet another lens of his glasses to observe through, "I'll be silent with you."

Captain, eternally silent, appeared to be watching the dish with mild interest. He always watched.

The petri dish's innards gave another, brusquer jerk.

"But it's late. He's brooding to himself, hm?" Captain nodded in response and Doc didn't have to turn to perceive it.

A few moments passed in silence. With Doc observing the dish and Captain standing still, silent, and somewhat attentive.

"Hand me that, will you?" Doc didn't specify what that was, nor did he turn to point Captain in the right direction. There was no need. A gloved hand emerged from beneath the heavy material of a uniform sleeve and grasped onto a gleaming scalpel.

Doc took it from the extended hand and continued his work. Captain had been there for at least twenty minutes, Doc reckoned – though he tended to lose track of time in the lab – and he'd more than likely stay there for at least twenty more. Maybe until Doc finished, whether dawn came in the process or not.

Captain happened around every so often. And as much as Doc liked shutting himself up and working under the burner's light, he hardly minded Captain's company. He never spoke, so one could say it was like being alone. But it wasn't quite. His presence, announced or not, was always strongly felt. Doc grew so aquatinted with it on some long nights, he would forget Captain's presence. Sometimes he forgot everything, immersed in the often-writhing item at hand.

On times like those, he would sometimes turn, to pick a scalpel or other up, and be taken by slight surprise when it was being held out for him by Captain's gloved hand. It was good like that. Captain always knew what he needed without Doc having to tell him.

Time passed like that. Seconds, minutes, hours, Doc didn't bother trying to tell the difference. It didn't matter.

Captain's eyes suddenly darted into a corner. Something gave a weak click and after a few seconds of strained scratching, the soft, somewhat broken sound of a 40's song began to play.

"That old gramophone, I'll throw it out one of these days." Doc said, but it was doubtful that he'd ever go through with it. "Begins to play every night at the same time, unnatural as that is." But he had told Captain this every night he happened by. Neither of the men knew why he continued to.

"It really is broken, it should've died years ago." And even though he had said the exact same thing for weeks without another thought, it was only this once that Doc paused, scalpel raised halfway in the air.

His many-lens, bespectacled eyes turned to Captain.

Like us.

But neither said it.

Doc returned to his work and Captain remained as he was. And the gramophone continued playing its broken, never-ending tune.

Like us.

~ Ende ~

Translations:

wie uns – like us / like ourselves