Warning: brief discussion of miscarriage.
D
"Doctor Tachibana!"
She hums in acknowledgement but doesn't look up from her patient's folder; none of the medications she prescribed are working, and she does not want to risk a higher dosage or else—
"Doctor Tachibana! Please, a moment of your time, ma'am!"
Lifting her gaze, she regards the resident. He's one of the new ones, she thinks, because she doesn't remember his name.
Walters, maybe?
"I have the files you requested, doctor; they came in just a few minutes ago," he says, waving a bundle of papers. "Should I drop them off at your office?"
Ah?
She doesn't remember asking for supplementary files, but perhaps this has something to do with her difficult patient's diagnosis. Particularly difficult, and growing more concerning by the minute.
"No, I will take them, thank you."
He hands her the papers, bows, and scurries off to whatever other tasks he has to complete.
She skims the first few pages as she continues on her way to the cafeteria—idly, she half-wishes she were still a resident. Maybe then….
It looks like the paper is a photocopy of a chapter on pneumothorax. Pneumothorax, an uncoupling of the lung from the chest wall due to abnormal air or gas collection in the pleural space. In some extreme cases, tension pneumothorax arises and puts the patient's life in danger.
Brow furrowing, she comes to a stop in the hallway, thinking: pneumothorax. Lung cavity. Chest pains. Breathlessness—
Her patient!
She turns on her heel, hurrying to the floor secretary.
Yes, her patient, who was caught in the blast radius of a detonation. Of course it makes sense that he would suffer from this, of course!
"Ah, Doctor Tachibana."
"Not now," she snaps and quickens her pace; she is nearly there and can ill afford distractions.
Moments later, she is setting her patient's folder on the secretary's counter. "Please—" does her voice betray her inner trembling?—"schedule a CT scan and an appointment with the surgeon on the closest date available."
"Certainly, ma'am," the secretary replies.
If only she were allowed, then she would perform the surgery on her patient herself. Her hands itch to take up the scalpel once again….
"The record has been updated, ma'am," the secretary tells her, pushing the folder back to her.
"Thank you."
She turns back the way she came.
Where was she going in the first place?
"Back to the land of the living, I see," a voice cuts in.
Her head snaps up, for it cannot be—but it is.
It's Kiriko, standing casually in the middle of the hallway as if the board of directors hadn't banned him from the premises just last month.
"What are you doing here," she hisses; she bristles even further when Kiriko has the audacity to smirk and shrug.
"Do not fret. I am here strictly as a poison expert—saving lives, as you see." He raises his empty hands to show his customary case is absent. "And I am on my best behavior, at the personal request of your darling father."
At that, she side steps him, intent on going to the cafeteria for a moment of peace; it's just her blasted luck that he would add insult to injury.
But he follows her, as relentless as the angry pulsing in her temple. "I recommend today's tomato soup," he says.
It's petty of her, but she grabs a turkey sandwich to spite him. It doesn't really matter to her, after all. She doesn't have much of an appetite.
Several colleagues wave to her, with particular enthusiasm from her residents Dr. Rose and Dr. Schnee; she returns the greetings, but she chooses a table for two in one of the back corners.
Of course, Kiriko takes the seat across her, forcing her to scrunch her lunch and her papers side by side.
"Performed any miraculous surgeries lately?" he asks, his one eye slipping half-closed.
Don't tell me you don't know, she wants to retort, but doesn't. This is a public space, and her father no doubt has someone keeping tabs on her, because goodness forbid he actually help her for once.
"Well?" Kiriko prods.
She picks at the wrapping of her sandwich.
"No," she scowls, "the board is still dithering over whether I am ready for such responsibility yet." Her hands clench; she doesn't want to say aloud that it's her father's work. "I have only three patients under my care, and even then, all surgeries are performed by Dr. Port."
Humming pseudo-thoughtfully, Kiriko leans forward to disclose, "I know of someone who might need a little help, if you are willing to… do some side jobs."
"I would get my license revoked," she grumbles—even if the offer is tempting, she's not about to risk her career even further. Not while her father is so adamant about wearing her down.
Leaning back, Kiriko shrugs.
She glances at her papers, then at her food. She's not feeling particularly hungry, but she knows she has to do this. For Hibiki.
"Eat," she orders, shoving a half at Kiriko. "You look emaciated enough as it is." She nibbles at her own half of the sandwich.
"Old age is nothing fun, I assure you," he responds, inspecting the turkey and vegetables before taking a bite.
Despite the sudden lethargy in her arms, she brings her sandwich to her mouth to eat.
It's for Hibiki, she tells herself.
For Hibiki, she's enduring. She's trying her best—not for herself, it's too soon for that, but for Hibiki.
Kiriko finishes first, and as soon as he does, he demands, "Out with it, then. How has the adjustment been treating you?"
The tomato in her mouth tastes like bile.
Rinsing out the taste with a drink of water, she pretends not to hear him; she goes so far as to reach for her papers—which are in Kiriko's hands now.
"Ah-ah-ah." He waves a finger at her, "there is no getting away from this, Miku. Death is not something we can disregard."
"I hate death." She absolutely hates it, whether it be the inevitable death of her patients or the unexpected death of—of her. It would drive her to tears if she were a weaker person, which she isn't.
Miku Tachibana is a strong person.
"I am a doctor, Miku," Kiriko whispers.
Gripping the table by the pads of her fingers, she swallows down the lump in her throat.
"I have a therapist for this."
"So?"
He's not going to leave her alone. No one is. Everyone who knows will always be thinking about it when the see her. Everyone. Especially Hibiki.
"Why?" It's all she can say, because her voice cracks and she doesn't want to break down in the hospital's cafeteria, because she doesn't want them to think she's weak, doesn't want her father to have any more reason to keep her on the sidelines with nothing to do. Nothing to do except think about her dead—
"Do you have any appointments after this?"
She shakes her head.
"Then," he leans forward, "would you be opposed to taking a walk with me?"
Her immediate impulse is to decline. She's not in any fit frame of mind to keep anyone company, and she's not in the mood to let Kiriko psychoanalyze her.
Mostly, she's not in the mood for tears. She knows what he's going to ask.
Does it make her a coward, wanting to deny the truth for as long as possible? She knows it's not a sustainable frame of mind—countless people have told her that, but…
She sighs.
"Alright," she says.
"Wonderful." Kiriko sweeps up the remains of their lunch and nods for her to precede him.
Her knees seem to creak as she stands, but it's just her imagination. Ah, that is to say, it's just her depression.
Her jaw trembles.
"Let us go, Miku," Kiriko gently reminds her.
Right. This isn't the place for tears, for weakness. It's already bad enough that Kiriko knows.
When she steps outside the hospital, she takes a deep breath of cool air. Maybe it's her imagination again that a burden seems to be lifted from her shoulders.
As they walk, Kiriko begins whistling—off-tune and more cheerful than Kiriko usually is.
It's when they pass under some late cherry blossoms that Kiriko finally asks, "What happened?"
"Miscarriage." She wants to leave it at that. He already knows, anyway. They all know, and that's all they ever think about when they see her now.
"Indeed."
Without meaning to, she snaps, "Don't 'indeed' me, Kiriko!"
His eye and his tired, gaunt face show empathy she doesn't want.
She buries her face in her hands, hunching her shoulders and wishing futilely that Hibiki were here with her.
Above all: she wishes her daughter had lived. That's all she wants.
"Do you know, Miku, that it is not your fault?"
Her shoulders tense.
"Miscarriage is quite common, and many of the women who—"
"—I know," she interrupts. "That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, Kiriko."
"Define 'hurt,'" is Kiriko's answer, and she doesn't have an answer to that.
a/n:
For the record, Miku is my favorite character. Maybe that's why it's so easy to write her (and make her suffer). Do tell me if I'm being insensitive though - I have to be told these things to notice, I'm afraid.
Does anyone know where Kiriko is from? He's from a certain anime I really, really recommend.
Please review!