Having to regulate the rules of a universe that does not exist and that you cannot check is difficult.

0o0o0o

No doctor had been willing to take the man with the metal replacing his chest even here. Nobody had come to check on him, and Ivan had been glad. He had soothed his nerves with the scarf he'd hidden and waited. Until now, with the doctors he recognized adjusting his IV drip with downcast eyes. Tino worked silently. Berwald had disappeared. But Emil watched him with wide purple eyes that did not shy away when he met them.

There was no way to speak to them, no way to ask about the fleets. Ivan waited in silence, frustration clouding his thoughts.

They woke him up during the bustle of lunchtime. There was a new glint in the Finn's eyes, assuring, steady.

'We found a way to help you,' Tino whispered.

'How?'

'We'll get the scarf to Yao.' Tino handed him his food, pretending to talk to Emil as he did. 'Don't do anything rash.'

'Alright.'

They walked away, leaving Ivan with his thoughts again, but at least he had something to anticipate instead of sketching patterns on the bedsheets with the waxy ends of the medical instruments. The hours passed, and he dozed fitfully.

When he woke, it was dark. The lights were off.

'Get up,' Berwald whispered. His voice was strange through the medical mask. Ivan stood. 'Change 'nto these.' His eyes were steely as he held out an identical outfit to what Ivan was wearing. Ivan accepted them.

'Thank you.'

Berwald inclined his head.

Ivan wrapped the scarf in the clothes and handed them over. Berwald accepted them without reaction.

'Thank you,' Ivan said again.

'We try our best.'

0o0o0o

There was a simple glass, sitting on his bedside table. The water inside rippled every time Yao threw something.

He grabbed a book and hurled it at the wall. It bounced off with a satisfying thump, and he roared out all his pain and confusion and fury at fate and Ivan and himself. Another book. Another. He glanced at the cover and remembered it dimly, crushing a letter so long ago-

The book thudded against the wall and left marks. He strode over and picked it up again, sighting the glass on his bedside table. A shriveled yellow petal lay beneath the water.

The glass shattered into stars and the water spread out over the wood and Yao ran for it, scrabbling through the broken clear pieces for the petal. He found it and clutched it in his bleeding palm-who cared if the sunflowers were artificially engineered? They lasted longer. They were a memory in physical form.

'Yao!' Kiku yelled. Yao's head shot up and he struggled, shouted, but all that came out was an inhuman cry as Kiku dragged him onto the bed.

'Kiku…'

'Yao, what are you doing?' Kiku grabbed his hand and Yao yanked it back. 'I need to clean your hands, Yao.'

'Impossible, from all I've done,' Yao said without thinking of anything but the blood that must be on his hands. Leon, Ivan, who else?

'I know.' Kiku looked infinitely sad for a second. 'Let me at least do this.'

His hand uncurled as if controlled by someone else, and the petal fell onto the bed. Kiku looked down at it, and a flicker of anger showed through the worry. And sadness, Yao thought as Kiku wiped off the blood and examined the cut.

'You make bad decisions, Yao,' he said. Yao tried to laugh. It came out flat.

'I do.'

'Why do you keep making them, then?' Kiku asked. His hands were callused and gentle, medical. Yao didn't know how to explain that it was all he could do.

'To keep people safe,' he said. Kiku's hands paused. He looked up, then, and his eyes were dull with pain.

'You're not doing very well.'

A deep part inside of him cracked away. 'I know,' he said. He sounded small and childish. Kiku wiped away the last of the blood and they sat in silence.

'I'm sorry, Kiku,' he said. His voice was weak and pleading and he was suddenly terrified of what he would see in his prodigy's eyes.

'I know,' Kiku said quietly. 'I know.'

Yao reached out on impulse and Kiku made a small, broken sound in the back of his throat, barely a whisper. Yao held him tightly and told himself that he had to be stronger now. Kiku's eyes shone strangely.

'You're…'

'I know,' Kiku said with a hint of a smile. They stayed motionless in the gray hours of early morning and Yao repeated be stronger now to himself.

'What happened?' Kiku asked after pulling away. Yao took a shaky breath, assuring himself that voicing the words would change nothing. It would not kill him. He was already dead.

'Ivan is dead.'

Kiku's grip was a burning hold on his forearms and released. 'How do you know?' he hissed.

'On his files. It says he's dead.' The words throbbed in his mind. Repeating, over and over.

'Do you know how he died?' Kiku asked firmly. Yao shook himself out of the daze.

'I think I might.'

'You know?' Kiku asked. 'How?'

'Coughing virus,' Yao said, hoping and hoping again that he'd put the pieces together right.

'I...I thought he was immune,' Kiku said slowly. Yao shook his head.

'He is. People know he cheated the virus, but I think I am one of few to be aware that he cannot get it again. But he was falsely detained under the accusation and now he is dead-'

'Listen to me, Yao.' Kiku's hands grasped his. 'Someone like Ivan does not get transported without notice. We can at least look for him.'

'Do not give me false hope, Kiku,' he commanded. Kiku pressed his lips together.

'I am not trying to.'

'I cannot hope,' Yao said. 'I cannot.'

'You used to,' Kiku said, sounding small. Yao bowed his head.

'I used to. No more.' His voice finally shattered on the last word and he bent into himself, crying with the pain and not the tears; he felt wrung out.

They sat together and waited for morning light and better times.

0o0o0o

Yao told Im Yong Soo to attend to the observatory. He could not bear to be inside that space of glass and stars and cold. He pulled a rough coat over his silks and found himself in the medical bay again.

Nobody recognized him with the hood down low on his face. Yao kept near the walls, not knowing what he was looking for. Perhaps a boy with long brown hair and not enough years to grow into the lankiness of his body quite yet. If only he could turn back the clock to when the wars hadn't started yet and he could see Earth. If only he could just turn back the clock a few weeks to the beginning of the alliance and avoid a man with violet-blue eyes who introduced himself as Braginsky and maybe he would be happier.

'The volunteer?' someone asked. Yao looked up in shock and met eyes with Tino. The Finn shook his head minutely.

'Yes,' Yao said, trying to keep his voice low and deeper than it would be. Tino nodded and placed a bundle of clothes in his arms.

'Take these to disposal, please. It's important.' Then he turned away, and Yao forced himself to not tear through the pile at once for a note, an explanation-an obituary, his mind said, but he ignored it.

As soon as he was locked into his rooms, he scrabbled at the bundle, registering quarantine clothes and a scarf; Ivan's scarf-

He pulled it out and held it like gold, relief and exhaustion and oh god oh god welling in his chest and up through his throat, this sign of him was everything.

But there was nothing else. Just the clothes. Yao swore and grabbed the clothes, looping the scarf around his neck. It still smelled of metal, the flowers were faint. Quarantine clothes. Had Ivan really been put in quarantine? Wouldn't it be easier to-his mind choked on the words-just kill him?

Yao found himself pulling at the scarf in his hands and turned it over gingerly. Small writing, waxy blue and flaking and nearly illegible. He gasped in relief, tears stinging his eyes. He was alive, he was alive.

Yao

In quarantine

Nordic doctors can contact me

Do not know what will happen in three days

Stay safe

He was in quarantine. Yao dropped his head to his hands and laughed or sobbed or something between the two, feeling the puzzle pieces fall together too perfectly. The bill, the monitored calls. In three days, the ruse of Ivan having the coughing virus would be blown, and something would happen. Yao carefully unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. The blue waxy writing had felt odd against his skin. The lethargy that had overtaken him since his rage fell away, and he set off to find Kiku. Having hope felt good. Better than he remembered.

0o0o0o

'Ivan is alive and in quarantine,' Yao said, the words spilling forth and tasting sweet. Kiku glanced around and looked back, frightened to accept it.

'How do you know?' he whispered.

'His scarf. The Nordic doctors got it to me and it has a note inside. 'Yao, in quarantine, Nordic doctors can contact me, do not know what will happen in three days'.' The final words hovered on his tongue, and he kept them close, imagining them in Ivan's voice.

'So he is alive.' Kiku took a deep breath. 'In three days, the ruse of having the disease will fail.'

'So we have to get him out.'

'We have to locate him first. And then we have to consider,' Kiku reminded him. The dark shadows in his eyes pulled back a bit when he smiled. 'You're hoping again.'

'I am,' Yao confessed, smiling back. The hope consumed him, warming where the cold of the observatory had stolen away.

0o0o0o

Kiku led them through a maze of soaring hallways. The designs on the walls were old and stylized, and Yao ran a finger along one as they walked.

'Here.' Kiku knocked on the door. After a moment, it swung open.

'Hello, Kiku Honda.'

'Hello, Heracles.' Kiku nodded, walking inside. The man let him through and watched Yao follow with the same sort of strange intensity.

'You must be Yao.'

'You know about Ivan Braginsky,' Kiku interrupted, striding across the length of Heracles' room. Heracles nodded.

'Enough.'

'Where have you seen him?' Kiku asked. Heracles raises an eyebrow.

'You haven't heard he's sick?'

'We've heard,' Yao managed. 'We need to know if you've seen him.'

'The quarantine by the Pacific gates,' Heracles said slowly. 'But you're too late. He will be dead soon.'

'He's immune to the coughing virus,' Yao said. Heracles' eyes met his, unreadable and green as the sea.

'May I use your device?' Kiku asked. Heracles nodded.

'It's on the table.'

Kiku disappeared into a different room. Yao broke their gaze.

'You're looking for Ivan,' Heracles mused. 'That's more trouble than it's worth.'

'I need to,' Yao said. Something in Heracles' eyes changed.

'I believe you,' he said.

'We have to go, Yao.' Kiku looked better than he had before. 'Heracles, what do I owe you?'

Heracles' eyes softened. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Yao needs it.'

Kiku looked between them. Yao stood. 'Thank you,' Kiku said softly. Heracles stood as well.

'Take the device. It sounds like you'll need it,' he said. 'And Kiku?'

'Yes?'

'Take care.'

Yao caught a flash of raw emotion in his prodigy's eyes, longing and scared. What the currents of the fleets must have taken from them, Yao thought with a pang. What they could have been if Kiku didn't have to fill the roles he was too childish to do, if they had had better chances. If him and Ivan had better chances.

'Take care as well, Heracles.' Kiku smiled slightly. 'May the stars come together for you.'

The door shut. Kiku took a deep breath and started to walk again. Yao walked beside him.

'Who did you contact?'

'The pilot.'

0o0o0o

Controlling said universe is a rather finicky task at best. I rather enjoy it.

:: Old lamps in old houses with steady glow and frosted glass, faintly remembered