He checked in on all his clinic patients at least a couple of times each day, before and after his time at the hospital if he was working both locations. Today he had no surgeries, just an office consult quickly finished before lunch and only two patients to follow up with at the hospital. Usually that meant some extra time at home, even if Orihime was working. But today he stayed at the clinic, catching up on patient files among other things.
The clinic was welcoming, knowing that the support of family could be critical to recovery. Yuzu counseled every family member and friend on positive behaviors before they were granted permission to visit, and she worked tirelessly to keep patients free of the stress that family can bring along with comfort. But his newest patient had no visitors. He found himself popping his head in frequently, and visiting any time the man was awake. He noticed Yuzu doing the same thing.
The head of medicine owed him a few favors, and he called to cash one in to get a loan. One CNS two days a week, and Yuzu was certain that Kobayashi would apply to join the clinic team full time. The hospital would get over losing Kobayashi, with a few return favors owed in compensation. It would give the lone man one more familiar face starting tomorrow, and the nurse seemed like she would fit in.
The entire team was coached in how to handle the newest patient. Yuzu selected those that would have direct contact, and made sure to introduce them to the young man. They each conversed, and made sure he had time to see their faces. For the next several days, they would handle the routine of cleaning, changing sheets, emptying the catheter and such while the patient was asleep, with a little extra sedative added in advance. But the goal would be to work on small contact daily, simple things like the necessary stretches, putting on compression devices, checking IV lines. Each time they would explain what they were doing as they went, and watch for any signs that they needed to stop.
Ichigo was feeling positive about the treatment plans. With this team, the young man would recover more quickly and less painfully. The hospital would have tried their best, but they just were not equipped or staffed to handle the lack of memory, and especially not the haphephobia and whatever underlying issues caused it. Who knows what else might come up? That afternoon, with Yuzu beside him, Ichigo went in to fulfill the one and only request the young man had made.
As Yuzu watched the patient's reactions intently, Ichigo held the three-fold mirror and considered what this must be like, to not know your own face until a virtual stranger revealed the truth. The man was surprisingly calm, his eyes almost analytical. Ichigo was surprised for more reasons than just expecting a stronger reaction. It wasn't the first time he had noted the fierce intelligence. Despite the medication, the patient had made some conclusions and followed conversations that revealed an impressively sharp mind.
The young man was seeing now what Ichigo had first seen on the operating table . . . unusual beauty. He had noticed this right away, of course, almost hesitant to touch, let alone cut such a work of art. The eyes had not been visible then. If they had been, he may not have been able to force himself to go through with it. He watched those eyes as they slowly moved back and forth, pausing to examine themselves before moving on. When he first saw them, he had double checked for contacts, certain they were not natural. He had never seen eyes that color, somewhere between sapphire and emerald, so bright they seemed to give off their own light.
Until a couple of days had passed, he would not have believed that the hair color was natural, either. The long lashes framing his eyes were black, after all, even if his eyebrows were bleached. Yet no other color but stark white showed at the roots as time went by. Pure white down began to grow where the patch of hair on the left side of his head had been shaved away before surgery. Even the light stubble that was shaved daily from his chin, nothing but the finest hints of snow.
As if the unusual coloring wasn't enough, the features were refined and pleasing, to say the least. This man could have walked off the cover of any fashion magazine, or stepped out of the silver screen. The livid bruising stretching to his left cheek would fade, leaving flawless skin, paleness returning as a golden tan continued to fade. But the skin on his body was anything but flawless. The scar from his left shoulder down to the bottom of his ribs was only the most startling of many. There were a multitude of scars small and large, oddly smooth considering the size and depth that was required to make such marks. Almost all of them were on his front, the back marred only a few times. His legs were not spared, though there were fewer. One wound must have opened his right thigh almost to the bone.
It had all been carefully documented. The police detective that discussed the scarring with him to get a medical perspective shared her own expertise. She didn't believe it was abuse, or any kind of voluntary torture like BDSM. She found it consistent with fighting with edged weapons, specifically swords and knives. Some marks likely had other causes, but that explained most of them, along with the thick calluses on his palms and fingers, the smaller cuts along wrist and forearm. They discussed martial arts, underground fighting rings, but still it was highly unusual. And no records that any of these wounds had been treated at an honest medical facility, at least not in Japan.
While Ichigo had been lost in theories of yakuza, secret agents, and ninja assassins, the young man had looked away from his reflection with a scowl and narrowed eyes. How could anyone look in the mirror and be disappointed with that reflection? He folded and moved the mirror aside. Yuzu was watching with concern, and the unusual eyes slid to her as she stepped closer.
"Are you okay?" Such an open-ended question, rather unlike her when dealing with patients.
The man took a slow, deep breath. "Not possible."
"What isn't possible?"
"No one . . ." the words were a struggle. It was a thought he couldn't shake, either. Once seen, this man could not be ignored or forgotten.
"Someone knows you," he interrupted. "They just haven't found you yet."
"We know you," Yuzu reached across the bed, taking his hand and holding it in hers where the young man could see. He smiled at her, so proud of his little sister that he could barely contain it. She turned her kind eyes back to the patient. "We're here, and we are your family for as long as you need us."
ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo
She couldn't even say exactly why she was upset. Angry, not upset, she decided. She always downplayed her emotions, suppressing her true feelings to be the supportive one, the kind one, the one others looked at and wondered how anyone could stay so positive. She wasn't positive, she was a jumble of conflicting desires just like everyone else. They looked and saw what they expected, Orihime was sweet and you could count on her to do as you asked with a cheerful smile.
It was exhausting. It didn't used to be. It used to be its own reward, her efforts repaid by the happiness of her friends, and her love. Ichigo had always been there, and her eyes had always followed his light. It had never felt like a sacrifice when she ignored what she wanted to try to give him what he wanted. Until now.
Until now? Until last year, or the year before, or was it just yesterday? It had been building for so long, and she could no longer tell when she started to break. All she knew was that the reward no longer seemed worth the effort. When she had been honest, and told him what she really thought, her husband had been silent and then within an hour her advice had been discarded. Or worse, never heard in the first place. Had he ever listened to her? What sacrifices had he made? When was the last time he changed himself to please her?
She had been waiting at home for two hours now. She knew he was at the clinic. His schedule had been light today, and he should have come home. On her way home she had been nervous and happy, ready to kiss and make up, have a nice night in, and reaffirm her commitment to her husband and the life they had planned. When she arrived to an empty home, she had swallowed her disappointment and checked for any messages, sure that he had called or left a note that he would be home soon.
Two hours later all she felt was tired. Tired of trying not to admit that she was mad at him. Tired of pretended she did not regret the choices she had made for him. But it could not end so simply. Ichigo and Orihime had never even had a serious fight, never. Ichigo and Orihime were the perfect professional couple, and someday they would be the perfect parents.
Right. And she was always cheerful and selfless. She began to see that it was all layers and layers of half-truths. It was her fault as much as his. She had not just allowed this to happen, she had sought it, pursued him and showed him that she was nothing but what he wanted her to be.
The sound of the front door opening, the alarm code being entered, shoes slipping off, agile, balanced steps. Her husband's image appeared behind her in the mirror, where she had been considering her reflection for the past half hour. Concern showed in his face as she looked at him, really looked at him, and wondered. The girl she had been had given everything, her personality and her wishes for her future to secure his love. But the woman she had become to please him was stronger, more independent. She was not a woman who would accept a partner who did not want to consider or even discuss her opinions. And she wondered, had that woman ever loved this man?
His hands, large but graceful, the hands of a surgeon, had settled on her shoulders. The warmth of him was still a comfort as he stepped close behind her, watching her eyes in the mirror. Would she simply give up at the first sign of trouble? After all she had done to be by his side, would she now let him leave her behind? Whatever these doubts were, wherever this anger came from, it was new. It had not been here before, which meant it could go away, right?
She placed her left hand on her right shoulder, his fingers weaving with hers automatically. The corners of her mouth lifted, causing a complete transformation of his face. Oh, how she had always loved his wide smile, the lines around his eyes and mouth that were evidence of a happy life, a life she had provided for him. She watched in the mirror a few moments longer, watched the relief in both of their faces, watched his head tuck close to kiss their joined hands. Then she turned, lifting her chin and letting those dear lips come to hers.