The Nurse

For a room full of people who had banded together and plunged the world into anarchy, it was remarkably tense. Kuzuryu seemed to be taking the turn of events personally and was off sulking in a corner, Pekoyama hovering uncertainly at his shoulder. Tsumiki had her cheek against the screen where the bear had reached off-screen, but she was glaring at Komaeda over Naegi's head. The two seemed to be having some kind of standoff, and he didn't know why. Kamukura was in the back of the room, looking at nothing. The other members of Despair stood around awkwardly, acting like they wanted to say something.

The Coach finally made a move. Rubbing the back of his neck, he wore what was a clearly forced smile, and said, "Well, we were upset about being down a member before. Guess there's no more need to despair over that."

"Urk. Such a nice source of despair gone like that." For a moment, Soda looked like he was tearing up. "But hey, I guess that in itself is despair, too!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. We still got to decide how we're going to handle Junior over there!" Owari pointed dramatically at Naegi –

And Tsumiki gasped and knocked her arm away. "His name isn't Junior! Isn't that right, sweetie?"

. . . Did she just . . . did she really . . . why was she looking at him like that?

"His name is Naegi Makoto," Komaeda said proudly, puffing up like a father watching his child on stage. "Our own little beacon of hope."

Several members of Despair made disgusted faces.

"That," Hanamura declared, "will have to be the first thing to go. We can't let a revolting ingredient like that interfere with such a delectable dish. Might I recommend we start with the opening course she gave to the Reserve students?"

Owari protested, "Hey, we don't want him to end up like them!"

From his corner, Kuzuryu piped up. "We're not stupid. We'll be careful –"

Komaeda sighed. Loudly. So loudly, that it was nothing more than a means to grab attention, and it worked. Both Kuzuryu and Tsumiki were united in how intensely they glared at the Luckster. Trapped in place by Komaeda's body, Naegi found himself in the middle of the feuding sides, even if neither were glaring directly at him.

"Do I really need to step up again?" Komaeda said. "It's drilled into trash like me that I need to listen closely to my betters, but you guys tried to listen too, didn't you? Enoshima-san asked us to raise him with her love."

"Duh. That's why we need him to take over Despair," Owari said, cracking her knuckles. "We gotta show him the beauty of her work."

Taking . . . over? That's what they were talking about?! They couldn't . . . they couldn't possibly believe he could ever be like Enoshima, could they? He. . . he couldn't! It was wrong. He would never be like her! Even thinking about it made him dizzy.

And Komaeda thought so, too. He shook his head. He smirked at the other Ultimates; Naegi would have never imagined Komaeda giving such an expression to his beloved classmates.

"If it was anyone else, I would agree completely," Komaeda said. "But, Owari-san, can I ask you something. How did your mother raise you?"

"My . . . mother?" Owari appeared gobsmacked, as did most of the other Ultimates. Naegi wasn't sure why.

And it wasn't her that answered.

"Mama was a very kind woman," Hanamura murmured. He rocked back and forth on his heels. "But she was so sick towards the end . . . always tried to pretend she wasn't. I didn't want to leave her, but she insisted. She was so happy. I told her when I came back, she wouldn't have to work anymore. And I was right. I came back . . ."

The knife slipped from his hand. Was that laughter Naegi heard? Or something much more sinister.

"The look on her face when I . . . the despair . . . it was beautiful. So beautiful."

"She taught you how to cook," Komaeda said. His hands ran up and down Naegi's arms. Naegi, stricken with a sudden nervousness, looked up at the older boy. That gleam in Komaeda's eyes, it was almost predatory.

"Mama taught me everything," Hanamura said.

"So, she developed your talent, right?"

Everyone stared.

"What are you getting at?" Soda asked.

"You haven't figured it out yet?"

For the first time since they'd entered the room, Komaeda left Naegi's side. Naegi curled up a little, disliking how the cool air brushed his now-vulnerable back. Komaeda stepped toward the other Ultimates spreading his arms wide, as if to show he meant no harm.

"There's no doubt you guys were born different than the regular, untalented crowd," Komaeda said, "but I don't think any of you came out the womb knowing enough about your talent to be an Ultimate. You had to be nurtured into it, didn't you? And I'm willing to bet your parents were the ones who took responsibility."

Pekoyama's eyes widened. "Then you are saying . . ."

"If we're going to really raise Naegi-kun with a mother's love, then we're obliged to cultivate his talent, not hers."

A long silence followed as the room absorbed Komaeda's logic. Could this work? Naegi, still hunched over a little, shuffled toward Komaeda. Komaeda stretched his arm out toward him, and tucked him against his side protectively.

"That can't be right," Soda said. Owari and Nidai nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I'm not buying it," Kuzuryu said. "We –"

"Komaeda is right."

Those three words from Kamukura was all it took to silence the gangster. To silence everyone, even though he was lying. Naegi knew Kamukura wasn't telling the whole truth, yet nobody seemed able to refute the former Ultimate Hope's words, or look him in the eye for that matter. It occurred to Naegi then that the casual, semi-friendly interactions between Kamukura and Komaeda were not the norm. Instead, the default seemed to be yielding before Kamukura like a pack of dogs before their master.

"We got to bend to his hope." Hanamura's eyes went wide.

"It's terrible, I know." Komaeda's body shook with the beginning of laughter, but it wasn't long before he flinched in pain and forced himself to stop. "Ultimate Despair is forbidden from harming the brightest light of them all. Instead, we're forced to coexist alongside him while he feeds off us like a parasite. It's like constantly being followed by a mosquito you can't swat. How despairing is that? Besides, wouldn't Enoshima-san find it the most despairful if we raised him to be the brightest hope there could ever be?"

That last line seemed to smooth over some of Despair's ruffled feathers. Owari, Nidai and Soda relaxed and nodded to themselves. Hanamura had recovered, and was busy picking up the knife he had dropped. Kuzuryu mumbled something to Pekoyama; the swordswoman herself had no reaction.

"I'll take full responsibility for him," Komaeda said. "Hope is my area of expertise, after all."

Tsumiki was creeping closer, no longer staring at her classmate, but at Naegi himself.

"He's injured," she said. "I should look at him."

It was the logical answer, wasn't it? For the Ultimate Nurse to examine him. That's why Naegi was surprised when Komaeda placed himself between them. The Luckster's smile tapered off into a hard line.

"It's nothing serious," Komaeda said. "I can handle it."

But the Nurse didn't budge. "He could easily have a concussion. That wound needs to be cleaned too, or it could become infected!"

Komaeda exhaled heavily, recognizing a losing battle. ". . . You're right, you're right. It was foolish of me to believe my mediocre skills fell in the same ballpark as yours."

"I'll get the medical center ready." Tsumiki smiled and it was almost a kind, normal smile, if it weren't for her reaching forward and pinching Naegi's cheek. "We'll see each other again soon!"

Once she was out of sight, Naegi touched the place she had touched. It felt dirty, somehow. He wanted to take a handful of soap and wipe it clean.

"So, we're all on the same page, right?" When no one said otherwise, Komaeda clearly interpreted that as a yes. "Me and Naegi-kun will be going then."

They moved slowly, like they were sneaking past a sleeping bear. Komaeda guided him firmly out of the room, hand on his back. Naegi was only too eager to follow, to get away from the students who had almost been his executioners. The dark shadows of the hall outside the TV room were calming, like they existed for the sole purpose of hiding him.

"You don't need to be scared, Naegi-kun," Komaeda said. "I don't think Tsumiki-san is going to hurt you. I'll be there anyways. I'll make sure she doesn't do anything weird."

Naegi didn't say much. He didn't want to have this conversation right now, or any at all. Just being next to, touching someone he knew was safe was all he could handle.

Their steps echoed in the hall. Only . . . it wasn't just them. He and Komaeda were walking in sync, but he could hear footsteps that did not match theirs. Komaeda noticed too, and glanced over his shoulder, but whomever he saw, it didn't bother him.

Naegi jumped when Kamukura spoke. "Your manipulations are usually less targeted."

"I was motivated," Komaeda said softly. "I figured getting at least one of them on my side was our best option."

Naegi had a sudden urge to pull his hood over his head. He still didn't want to talk, but there was one thing that bothered him, one thing that he needed to know . . .

"Kamukura-kun, why did you lie for me?"

Komaeda chuckled nervously. "It doesn't really matter, does it? That's all in the past."

But Naegi wasn't going to be dissuaded so easily, and he looked backwards straight into Kamukura's red eyes. "Kamukura-kun?"

The former Ultimate Hope appraised him.

". . . This way is more interesting," Kamukura said. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked away into the darkness.

A beat followed.

" . . . Did you hear that, Naegi-kun? I think he might like you!"

Naegi sighed, figuring it was easier not to argue.

The medical center had a sharp, chemical-like smell that made his nose hairs bristle. When he first ran into that miasma, it was almost like inhaling a cloud of weak acid; his eyes watered, his lungs rejected the air. Tsumiki, waiting just as she had promised, took the coughing as a sign of poor health and rushed right over.

"Shh . . . shh . . . It's okay. Auntie Mikan's here to make it better!"

Mikan? Was. . . was that permission to use her first name? Honestly, Naegi wasn't sure he wanted to – he certainly didn't think they were close enough for that – but he was afraid of her reaction if he refused. So, to compromise, he kept his mouth shut and nodded. Tsumiki giggled. She grabbed his hand, tearing him away from Komaeda, and he stumbled after her as she led him into the room. There was an examination table tucked against the far wall, much like the table in the desolate room Ultimate Despair had thrown him into not long ago. In fact, this table had even more restraints. Beds stuck out from the two adjacent walls, thankfully empty. Although that one over there had a blanket pulled over it, and was that . . . was that a hand sticking out?

In the corner by the medical table, there was a clump of medical stands, IVs, and catheters, some of which were filled with oddly coloured liquids that looked dangerous. Against the wall on the other side of the table were shelves and cabinets filled with medical supplies. He hardly got to look at it before Tsumiki was pushing him into the table. He sat on the edge, acting as though this was a regular check-up.

She checked for a concussion first. He followed her instructions dutifully, keeping his eyes on her so that he didn't have to look at the rest of the room and especially that one bed that may have been occupied. Once she was satisfied, she pushed him onto the table until he was lying down. It gave him an unfortunately good view of a particular leather strap that must have been intended for a neck; if Komaeda hadn't sensed his distress and grabbed his hand, his nervousness would have exploded into a full-out panic attack. But he did, and he was there and no matter what warnings Kamukura gave him, he knew Komaeda wouldn't let her hurt him. He squeezed the hand, and waited for the comfort of a reciprocating gesture.

Tsumiki cleaned and stitched his temple. Afterwards, she insisted on a full check-up. Her subtle glares and tone of voice made it obvious that she didn't trust that Komaeda had taken good care of him . . . and at the same time, Komaeda didn't seem to entirely trust her either. He kept asking questions, questions that one shouldn't need to ask the Ultimate Nurse – especially questions about her intentions. Tsumiki's sharp responses made it clear that she knew that, too.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Tsumiki declared him to be in good health. Good. He wanted to get out of here. Komaeda may have been crazy, but it was a crazy Naegi understood and could adapt to. Tsumiki was a different kind of crazy; a kind that made his insides shrivel and coated the back of his mouth with stress. She kept touching. Yes, yes, she was a nurse given him a check-up, but she hadn't needed to be that intimate about it. And yes, Komaeda liked to touch too, but he tended to use big, obvious gestures like hugs. Tsumiki's touches were caresses and swipes against skin; things Naegi couldn't see coming.

And right now, her thumb was tracing a circle on his cheek while her other hand lay on his neck's pulse point. She murmured, "I'm sorry, you don't have to spend time with me in here yet."

Naegi shifted his eyes, trying to look at Komaeda without turning his head.

"I usually give my patients a lollypop now. . ." She giggled, and leaned in until their foreheads touched. "But they're all poisoned."

Komaeda ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, Tsumiki-san, I hate to bother you with my incessant questions, but shouldn't Naegi-kun and I get going? You said yourself that he needs rest."

She gave Komaeda a look of annoyance, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Naegi-kun. You sh-should get some rest."

For one shining moment, he thought he was free. Then it became obvious that Tsumiki intended to hold his hand and walk him to the door.

Whatever. At least he was achieving his goal of getting out of here.

Komaeda walked behind the pair, hands in his pocket. Tsumiki led the way, happier than she ought to be. About halfway to the door, she started to talk.

"I always dreamed about it: having children with my beloved. It didn't matter that we were both girls. . . But now she's g-gone. But you're here. My beloved had a baby boy in the end. Can I call you Makoto?"

This time, he would be required to answer. He swallowed, licked his dry lips, and mumbled, "S-sure."

"Thank you, Makoto." Tsumiki bent over suddenly, so that they were at eyelevel. "Now, Makoto . . . can you call me Mommy?"

No. No, no, no. No no no no no no no no no no –

"Think about it. For me, okay?" Tsumiki pressed her lips to his forehead, and then backed off. "Mommy needs to go back to work now!"

That was Komaeda's signal. He swept in quickly, ushering Naegi out the door while keeping up an impressive string of gratitude and compliments. When the medical center's door shut behind them, he stared at it for a good few seconds.

"I didn't expect her to take to that idea that much," he said. "Guess I overdid it. Come on, let's get back to your room."

Naegi didn't move, even when Komaeda tugged at his arm.

"Do you want me to carry you?" Komaeda asked.

Naegi shook his head.

"Komaeda-kun, after everything that's happened today . . . do you really think I'm safe here?"

The emotion he saw on Komaeda's face wasn't the one he was hoping to get. "I know that was some rather bad luck, but it was all good in the end. We don't need to hide anymore; we have the approval of our goddess herself! It's all uphill from here."

Yeah. Now instead of dealing with one crazy person and his apathetic companion, he was dealing with a group of them. It said a lot that he viewed the manipulative, insane kidnapper as the most trustworthy of the bunch. And that the person that seemed to help him the most was the unfeeling, dead-eyed science experiment.

What had he gotten himself into?

(How was he going to get himself out of it?)