"Mr. Yamada, where do you think you're going?" Akira had collected his things neatly. The cup of coffee, and black tea had been properly discarded in the trash can. Natsuki's journal was in his grasp, along with his jacket.

"I can't do this anymore." Akira was on the verge of crying. The once quiet and solitary hospital room had recently been flooded with nurses, surgeons and all different types of hospital personnel.

"You don't understand, this is... this is a miracle!" The nurse proclaimed, smile present and everything. But this wasn't a miracle for Akira. It wasn't what he'd asked for. Yuki, hadn't pulled through for him.

"He's sustaining without the respiratory breather...for longer than expected. He should have gone by now." Akira dully repeated words he'd heard whispered or even in some cases shouted in the room within the last four hours.

"That's amazing! Don't you see we could revive him possibly? His brain function is increasing, even though it's just a bit that's good! We've given him medication and-"

"Don't you see?" Akira pulled a broken smile. "I'm done. I'm not going to sit around while you play doctor...and nothing comes of it. I've done that for five months now. I'm leaving, I'm not coming back. I'm the one paying for the hospital bills, get him out of your room, now."

Her face turned pale, seeing the man that had gone by every day loving and hoping had finally lost every last bit of hope there was to have.

"If you get a stretcher, I have a vehicle large enough to transport him somewhere. Get the papers for me to sign, damn it. I can take him even if he's in a coma, he's not on the fucking machine anymore."

"Yes, Mr. Yamada." Her response was less chipper that time. She turned her back to return to the room, and her news was brought by a hush of all the other doctors.

"Mr. Yamada, wait!" The head doctor ran back out. "We'll pay you, this could be a new leap in medical discovery. This could save people."

"This isn't a miracle. This is just my luck." Akira turned back to the doctor, eyes shallow. "The papers, get them now."

...

After an hour Akira was allowed to leave, and in his own protests the doctor packed a med kit with him if Natsuki needed to be resuscitated. What am I doing? Akira rounded the corner of the hotel lot that he'd permanently booked for the last five months. Natsuki was taken out of the back of the van gently, and Akira caught his own breath to see Natsuki still breathing. How much longer?

Maybe it was pointless to bring him there, knowing that he'd have to bring him back to the morgue in that hospital so soon. But if Natsuki could be here for a little while without the machine Akira wanted to take his chance and be away from all those doctors trying to pick and prod at Natsuki. If he was going to leave, it was going to be in peace... like Akira wanted it to be.

Akira's fingers fiddled with Natsuki's journal, thumbing through the pages till he found the one.

"Last night I snuck into Akira's room while he was sleeping. I don't know why I did it. That's a lie," Akira smiled, reading it aloud like Natsuki could hear, and become embarrassed. "Well, I just wanted to see him with the turban off. The entire time we've been here he hasn't slipped up at all. Always awake before me, always with that damn thing on." Akira didn't read the last sentence in that entry. In fact, it was too embarrassing for him to read out loud, even though he knew Natsuki couldn't hear. His hair is really... cute.

"Do you really think so?" Akira asked the boy, still comfortably in his coma. Then Akira began to unravel his turban, something he'd been unwilling to do at the hospital in front of everyone there.

"Is it still cute?" Akira laid his head on the bed, even though they weren't at the hospital anymore they assumed the same position. Natsuki took up the entirety of the queen sized bed in the hotel room, and Akira was sitting next to him with a chair he'd pulled from the desk. "It needs to be trimmed...a turban is a really great excuse to not fix it. It's like...wearing a hat almost."

Akira lay there for a while, enjoying the closeness they couldn't have in the hospital room. His head lay on Natsuki's chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull him into sleep. Maybe I won't wake up...maybe I'll find where he's gone. Maybe after he's dead I could see him like he saw Yuki...but maybe...he'll go find Yuki instead.

"No use thinking like that, huh?" Akira asked him again, but this time something was different. His head shot up from its position to look at Natsuki, to really look. The room was quieter. He's stopped breathing. For a moment Akira was able to deny what was happening, but then the panic set in. No, please. Don't go. Akira was about to cry when he remembered the med kit strapped onto the stretcher. Suddenly it was a race for time, and a spark of terror, not hope struck Akira as he ran to fish out the cardiac defibrillator from the bag.

"Natsuki, please." Akira's voice cracked, removing Natsuki's shirt as the defibrillator charged.

"Say, Akira. Are you a doctor?" Akira recalled the times when Natsuki's bandages had to be changed at the house in India. "No, I have medical training."

"What a cocky ass answer, huh?" Akira halfheartedly laughed at himself, trying to distract his thoughts. The machine made contact with Natsuki's chest, and Akira held the position, adjusting to the recoil. He'd done this before. In the field there was a mission where Akira was unable to return to the field. They kept saying they needed more doctors, but Akira certainly wasn't one. You can learn. A nurse put the defibrillator in his hands as a patient lay dying on the table. "I can't do this." Akira swallowed his stomach, feeling as if he was going to become sick. He knew the man on the table. In fact, he'd already watched more than a few of his comrades fall. He didn't want to be responsible for their deaths. "Do it now," Akira obeyed, and with that one sloppily done shock the man burst back to life. Eventually, he learned where to press, and how to use other sorts of resuscitation for certain types of emergencies. The defibrillators were most commonly used for cardiac arrest. Akira was no doctor, but for several months he did have 'medical training.'

"Natsuki, please." This was the third time the defibrillator had struck his chest without luck or signs of hope. "Please." He knew it was over. The fourth time came with tears and shaky hands, Akira's left hand accidentally hit the boys shoulder.

"Fuck." He threw the machine off the bed. Akira was over his body, sitting in his lap as he'd been trying to bring him back. "Natsuki." He looked at the boy, face peaceful. I can't give up. But the truth was Akira had given up a while ago, but he never knew how scary this was going to be. That the actual reality of loosing him made him fight even more. Akira leaned his head back, and held the boys nose. He finally let their lips meet, breathing in and out into his mouth. A hand on his chest made sure it rose and fell, letting the oxygen stimulate his lungs. When he removed himself his hands assumed the position to continue CPR, thrusting his chest a couple of times before Akira collapsed into tears for the final time.

I doubt there are meds in the bag to help... or a fucking breathing machine. I-I should have stayed at the hospital. Akira told this to himself, but the outcome would have been the same. Nothing was going to bring back Natsuki.