I'm surprised people still read Karnevalesque. I expected you all to be bored by now. It's kind of staggering and humbling that you're not. Anyway, this is for Reina Ariadne, who set a prompt so tricky only her namesake could navigate it with any success. Nevertheless, I offer my meager attempt.

Prompt: Hirato in a fever-delirium and Akari all manner of pissed before getting all dere dere and doctorly. Guys, I didn't know so many of you liked hurt/comfort fics. Good thing Akari's a doctor, huh?

I feel like this could be crack depending on how OOC you think Hirato is. But requi assures me a delirious Hirato is bound to be somewhat OOC. My aim was to take some of his trademark characteristics and exaggerate them. You can decide if I've succeeded.


Akari's doing it again. Mission debriefing be damned, all Hirato's plum-hued eyes can see is the thoughtful tapping of the doctor's pen against pale lips. The blond moves it away occasionally, twirling it around nimble fingers before jotting down a few hurried notes. Ever since Circus' Second Captain finally experienced the dexterousness of those hands personally, Round Table has been a slow torture. Every. Single. Time.

Typically, he's sufficiently focused to manage a modicum of deference toward his invariably tiresome superiors. He's the very picture of dutiful, after all. Tonight, however, his concentration seems in short supply. Actually, everything is… well… off. Not only is his attentiveness waning, but so too is his energy. He's spent, and unusually so. A restless hand rubs the back of his neck where a stubborn ache has settled upon his return from Mariyama Province. Perhaps his bedmate might be persuaded to put those expert fingers to good use later. The very image makes him impatient for their dismissal. It's enough that the generally frigid room is stifling this evening; when Akari moistens his lips, however, something snaps. Hirato can practically feel that tongue licking fire along his skin, searing a path from neck to navel and downward from there. Fever builds beneath his clothes, its incandescence rushing from the small of his back to his fingertips and further clouding his judgment. His palms sweat under cotton gloves, prompting their hasty removal. This small action draws Akari's gaze.

Oh, is that a challenge? In a moderately addled state, he doesn't surmise that his ever-observant partner's look is one of concern, not solicitation.

Shifting closer, he rests an elbow on the table, chin in hand, stare fixed unwaveringly on his target's clever mouth. The researcher is made instantly uncomfortable at the increased scrutiny, but he continues his report sans interruption. It's adorable, Hirato thinks, that Akari initiates these little games of seduction only to retreat on account of bashfulness. So very cute. And so irresistible.

Irresistible—like the way untidy strawberry blond hair keeps falling into his eyes. He must have rushed out the door this morning. Hirato has always enjoyed seeing the SSS-ranked official in a state of disarray, particularly when said state is achieved through his own schemes. But now, a troubling notion surfaces, tugging the corners of his lips into a tight line. What if the others find him enticing like this too? Keen eyes sweep the room, and while he cannot discern if his holographic interrogators are leveling greedy glances at his Akari, he does detect a hint of lecherousness in the first captain's bronze stare.

Were he in fuller control of his cognitive faculties, he'd apprehend that Tsukitachi looks far more bemused than covetous.

Without thinking (or perhaps because he was thinking too intently), he reaches forth to groom the offending strand. Akari stiffens at the contact and slaps him away so forcefully that echoes resound in the largely empty chamber. Adorable. Simply adorable, Hirato concludes, admiring the other's perseverance. Akari continues speaking without missing a beat, clearly inured to his paramour's more infuriating proclivities.

So too is the rest of Round Table. Apparently, they're determined to pretend that the second commander is not at all uncharacteristically effusive. This is expected, naturally. Tokitatsu excepted, Circus' administrators are far too prudish to acknowledge such things as playfulness or frivolity. They care only for results, and while Hirato produces exceptional ones, his more bothersome tendencies go largely un-interrogated. Why else would they give such an insufferable bastard command of an airship?

Unsatisfied by proximity alone, he leans to whisper. "You're so alluring when you're working. I'm a hair's breadth from shoving you against this table and fu—"

"As you can see, Bizante-sama, there's no need for drastic measures." Akari's now-raised voice drowns out a round of Hirato's delighted chuckles. Above, Tokitatsu convulses in silent laughter, no doubt having a shrewd idea of what his incorrigible sibling has just murmured to the agitated blond.

Akari is livid; the chill that settles around him indicates thus. His fingernails scratch against the table, tiny tremors betraying the considerable effort he's exerting just to maintain his composure. But he's also blushing furiously, compelling Hirato to trace the burgeoning flush of color staining porcelain cheeks. So refined, even when you're enraged. Light-colored brows knit together, but apart from that he's ostensibly unmoved. In truth, he's very much moved, the brunet guesses, but he'll subsume wrath for duty's sake.

Opposite, Tsukitachi's bewilderment causes his own eyebrows to nearly disappear under his hat. He types out a hurried message to his colleague. [What the hell is wrong with you? Are you drunk?]

Hirato essays a witty quip in response to the insinuation, but his mind is a nebulous mass of incessant humming occasionally punctuated by the deep rumble of Akari's voice. Neon green lights fade in and out of his vision, making the executives look like misshapen auras floating in a nighttime sky. He shakes his head to dispel the murkiness, but it's of no avail. Thus, he offers the most astute retort he can contrive. [Not drunk.]

[Then stop. It's not funny when Akari-chan gets this upset.]

[But he's so sexy when he's angry.]

[I know, but don't you think you've teased enough?]

Indigo irises alight upon his companion, who is indeed furtively attempting to wriggle out of his vice-like grasp. Hirato shifts his glare from a resisting bedmate to a watchful Tsukitachi whose demeanor is far too appetent for innocence. And then something incredibly urgent occurs to him: [What do you mean you know he's sexy?]

Having received the accusatory message, the first commander trades worried glances with Akari. Hirato's fingers curl around his cane in response to the exchange. His best friend making eyes at his lover? How dare he? That Tsukitachi isn't given to disloyalty never registers. He only feels quiet rage creeping through his limbs.

"The organisms recovered by the Second Ship in Mariyama Province display unbelievable resistance to Var—" the doctor is cut off as he's veritably attacked by Hirato, who's determined that the best way to discourage Tsuckitachi's (non-existent) advances is to plainly mark his territory.

Several things happen in succession immediately afterwards. Akari—thoroughly unprepared for an assault on his person—topples off his chair, taking a too-eager second captain with him. Tsukitachi shoots to his feet, concern etched in every line of his face. Tokitatsu stops laughing abruptly, intuiting that the situation has gone horribly awry, and other members of Round Table gasp in shock, finally reacting to their subordinate's peculiar behavior.

Akari pushes against Hirato's chest and struggles to escape. "Get off me, you brute!" But when their eyes meet, he swallows any further invective. Instead, alert nectarines go wide with panic. The next thing Hirato notes are quick, skilled hands pulling his tie loose and working at his buttons.

He smirks in victory and nuzzles his prey, inhaling the heady mix of tea, ginger, and antiseptic that's been driving him mad with longing for years. "That's more like it, doctor."

"Shut up." The tone is cold, clinical. Icy fingers pause at the base of Hirato's throat while Akari studies his wristwatch. He mutters a differential checklist under his breath and pointedly disregards the brunet's roving hands. "Pulse elevated. Very high fever. Pupils dilated. Disorientation. Sluggishness. Delirium."

Delirium? "Who are you calling delirious, hmm?" the captain scoffs, nipping at a tense jaw. "You'll be delirious when I'm done with you."

"I said shut up," Akari drones, impervious to the rasp of tongue against his neck. "And stop that." Hirato frowns; it's unlike the other man to be so unresponsive to his touch.

In the meantime, Tsukitachi has circled the table. "Akari-chan, are you okay?" He surveys the scene with anything but amusement, apprehension evident in the taughtness of his spine. Even the holograms stand as though they might make sense of the goings-on by so doing.

"Yes, but Hirato isn't." Maybe what the commander's unconscious required was outside confirmation, or perhaps it's that he trusts his partner absolutely; in either case, he acquiesces to the diagnosis with minimal fuss, acknowledging in a detached way how truly ill he must be. Akari wouldn't look like that otherwise. He conducts a quick bodily inventory and corroborates. No, I'm not okay. Something is really wrong. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm and once more his wits are taken hostage by a dulling haze. Before he's hauled up by Tsukitachi, a cautious palm cups his cheek. Later, this modest show of Akari's affection is the only sensation he'll recall with any clarity.

"What's happening?" Anxiety manifests in Tokitatsu's tenor.

"Infection. It's serious. Given he's just returned from Mariyama, it's likely a strain of bacterial meningitis." Akari rights himself and gathers his things.

"Will he be okay?"

The ensuing conversation comes to Hirato in fragments while he rests limply against his colleague. He catches terse reassurances that all will be well if they leave for Research Tower immediately. Tokitatsu says something about meeting there. Finally—and he hears this distinctly, because he's as stunned as all present parties—Bizante's authoritative baritone emerges from the chaos. "Akari, send Hirato to Research Tower with Tsukitachi and finish your report."

"I will do no such thing. This is an emergency. If you disapprove, then by all means have me replaced," Akari growls in indignation, a thinly-veiled warning undergirding his words.

Before losing consciousness, Hirato reaffirms his earlier assessment: Akari is fucking mesmerizing when incensed.