I am literally much too exhausted to think of a proper introduction. So instead I'll just tell you all that I saw Les Mis this week, it was incredible, and you should take some time out of one of your days this week to go see it, if you haven't already. All I can think about is how and when I can go again.

Anyway, enjoy Chapter 29.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nada. Rien. Ingenting. Ei mitään. Niente. Niets. Nihil.

(That was the word nothing in the following languages, respectively: English, Spanish (and Portuguese), French, Swedish, Finnish, Italian, Dutch, Latin.)


"I feel sick," I gasped as we sat in the waiting room of Ootori Hospital, holding my head in my hands as I trembled. My back was to the door that led to the hallway that led to examining rooms; I tried not to think too hard about that. Tamaki and I had taken one of the three seats in the waiting room that could fit two people, and the feel of my hand in his was the only thing keeping me from making a break for it. I was clutching Nimblefoot so tightly to my chest that I was almost afraid I would force all the stuffing out of him.

He wrapped his arm around me, keeping my hand tightly in his. "I know you do, Samayu," he said soothingly. "It'll be okay."

"No, you don't understand," I whispered tremulously. "I mean sick, Tamaki. Like, scared out of my mind sick. Nothing to do with the cold."

He squeezed my hand. "Don't think about it. Talk to me. Tell me about your house."

I breathed in deeply. "It's smaller than any place I've ever lived in. Big by commoner standards, I guess, but it seems small to me. It has a loft I'm going to use as my art studio. It has a lot of windows. My art is all there but still boxed up. The only room I've set up completely is my library. I have 374 books. I counted them when I was putting them in the shelves. I have books in both English and Japanese. They're arranged by language and then alphabetically by title."

"What's your favorite one?" Tamaki interrupted me. I knew he was just trying to keep me talking. I was grateful for that.

"It's in English," I told him. "It's about a girl with lung cancer who falls in love with a boy with osteosarcoma. Bone cancer," I elaborated when he stared blankly at me. "The girl is always very up front and morbidly hilarious about her cancer and the characters are all so relatable. I've never laughed or cried so hard at a book before."

Tamaki smiled. "Are there any translations? French or Japanese? I think I'd like to read this book."

"Not yet, I don't think," I replied. "But maybe I could—"

"Samayu Yojin?" a nurse called from behind us. I froze.

Tamaki stood up but didn't let go of my hand. He tried pulling me up, but I was like dead weight. I couldn't move. Tamaki looked up at the person who had called my name – I didn't turn my head to look – and said, "Just give us a second."

He knelt in front of me. I stared down at my lap, tears of fright welling up in my eyes. It was coming. A doctor – a doctor like Raito was, oh, God – would be touching me when I didn't want them to. "Samayu," Tamaki said softly. "Samayu, look at me."

When I didn't, he cupped my chin in his fingers and lifted my face. "It's all okay. Trust me. You're going to be fine, it's all going to be fine. Samayu."

I swallowed hard. "I… I'm really… scared," I whispered at last.

"And I am not going to let anything hurt you. Remember?" Tamaki reminded me. "It's just a checkup. That's it. You can do that, can't you?"

My heart was going to explode. "I…"

He leaned in until our lips were a mere inch apart. "If you don't get up, I'll have to carry you there," he smiled.

I blushed. "You're being mean."

"Come on," he said, pulling me to my feet. He put his arm around my waist and led me to the door, held ajar by the nurse who had called my name. She smiled at us as we went through it to the hall. "You'll be in room six, dear."

"Thank you," Tamaki said. My voice didn't seem to be working anymore, and I just stared at her. He kept me moving, pulling me forward with him until we reached an open door and crossed into it.


Diary Excerpt

The first thing I took note of was that the room was much, much too white. Would painting a room blue or green or something kill them? It's not like having a room that wasn't white would be unsterile or anything. It would make me feel a Hell of a lot better.

And the smell almost made me vomit. Formaldehyde and antiseptic. And latex. Three of the most nauseating smells in the whole fucking world all dwelling together in harmonious chaos inside a room that nauseated me. I felt like I was going to be tangibly sick all over the floor. The smell made the room taste like metal in the back of my mouth.

The room was eerily quiet. The atmosphere made me feel like someone had died just down the hall, like we were supposed to be totally quiet out of respect for the dead, or something. It just made me feel worse.

It was cold. I don't know why hospitals are always so cold. They need carpets to generate some heat of friction or something, and desperately to crank down the air conditioning and turn up the heat. I mean, I had a fever and I was shivering. That says something.


I took one look at the examination table and gagged, sitting down in one of the chairs instead and burying my face in my knees. "I've seriously changed my mind. Take me home."

"Samayu, it's okay," Tamaki tried to reassure me. I felt his arm wrap around me again.

"No, Tamaki. I am sick and terrified and I want to go home. I will do whatever you want, okay? I will sleep until next week. I will inhale an entire pot of chicken noodle soup. I will do anything just as long as you get me out of here now. It's a cold—" I paused when a coughing fit overtook me, and then finished feebly, "There is no cure for a cold."

"I'm not so sure about that," Tamaki muttered.

I lifted my head just enough to look at him. "Why do you say that?" I knew what I was talking about when I said there was no cure for a cold. If it existed, I'd have gotten it by now, believe me.

He elaborated for me, "Colds don't usually involve coughing or nausea. And your fever should have subsided at least a little by now. I'm worried you might have the flu again. Does your head hurt?"

"Um, yes?" I said, looking at him like I couldn't believe he'd just asked that. Of course my head hurt. Since when was he qualified to diagnose what I had, anyway?

Tamaki smiled, knowing he had my attention. He indicated Nimblefoot, still clutched tightly in my hands. "Where did you get that stuffed horse, anyway?"

It took a while to remember exactly when. "It was a birthday present from my dad for my twelfth birthday. I've always loved horses. But ever since Maika… you know," I swallowed back a lump in my throat, unable to say the word died, even though that's exactly what my little sister had done. "I can't be around real ones. It reminds me too much of the ranch it happened on. We sold it and the horses after it happened of course, but still… so, Dad got me this one, and I named him after a horse in an old American book about two horses. It was either the name Nimblefoot or Gypsy."

Tamaki chuckled. "Nimblefoot does have a nice ring to it," he agreed. "Do you ever paint horses?"

"I used to. It got monotonous."

"What do you paint now?"

"People, mostly. I can't get the proportions right most of the time, but there's an eerie sort of quality to them when they're asymmetrical that I like. I like scenery a lot. Dark, light, a maze or a room, a garden or a beach. Everything's important in a painting." I stopped to clear my throat and cough a little.

"I want to see more of your pieces. You really sound like you know what you're talking about," Tamaki smiled, taking my hand and tracing the lines on my palm. It set my skin to tingling. "I had the portrait you did of me framed. I don't quite know where to hang it, though. I thought I might even give it to my father for his birthday."

My turn to laugh. "You think he'd want it?"

"You don't know my father," Tamaki said seriously. "His goal in life is to dote on me and make me as uncomfortable as is humanly possible. He'd love any gift I gave him, even socks."

"Don't knock the socks," I grinned, laughing a bit more. "Socks are a very practical gift." I smiled nostalgically. "But I get it. My dad was like that, too. I loved all the attention."

"Oh, shoot! Sorry, I didn't mean to—!"

"I know," I said. "It's okay. I like talking about him like this. The good stuff that nobody mentions because it wasn't part of his legacy or other crap like that. That was all anyone talked about after he died. His legacy and his contribution to the world and oh, what a tragedy, he died too young and had so much potential. Not that it wasn't a tragedy, because it definitely was, but nobody talked about what an awesome father he was or how much he loved bowling and raspberry iced tea. Nobody talked about him, you know? It made me so mad. I didn't want to remember the great businessman, the CEO and owner of Yojin Oil Company; I wanted to remember my dad."

Tamaki was staring at me with his mouth hanging partially open. I waited for him to say something meaningful, half-expected another completely unrelated question, but finally he simply breathed, "Damn."

"What?"

He smiled and shook his head, squeezing my hand in his. "You are by far the most down to earth person I have ever met."

"Well, considering your club lives about ten miles above the clouds, I'd say that's not much of an accomplishment," I joked, though I did appreciate the compliment.

The door opened and I jumped a mile high. I had almost forgotten where I was and what was about to happen; Tamaki had done a damn good job of keeping me distracted. The realization hit me with the impact of a speeding car and knocked the wind out of me. I struggled to start breathing again. That sent me to coughing horribly, each one rattling in my throat and hurting my chest. Tamaki rubbed my back, unable to do anything more.

The doctor was a middle aged woman with brown hair in a long braid and bright blue eyes framed by thinly rimmed glasses, holding a clipboard with my medical information on it. I was almost compelled to ask how they'd gotten it, since I hadn't filled out any forms or anything, but I supposed it wouldn't have been too terribly hard to retrieve the information from my physical at Ouran, which seemed like it had been several years ago, though it had really only been a few weeks before.

She sat down in a chair before a desk that appeared to be attached to the wall and watched me and Tamaki as I slowly remembered how to breathe. "So," she smiled and asked ironically – and I knew she was being ironic intentionally – "How are you today, Miss Yojin?"

I cleared my throat, which hurt, and replied feebly. "I could be doing a lot better." Was I shaking already? Damn. Tamaki wrapped his arm around me again.

"I'm Dr. Usui, but you feel free to call me Midori. You're in for a cold, right? How many days have you had it?" she asked. I wasn't sure I liked the informality of it all, but I supposed it was a whole lot better than the alternative.

"Three days," I mumbled, shifting my weight in the chair uncomfortably.

Dr. Usui… Midori took note. "All right. Well, I know colds are pretty miserable, but usually I wouldn't advise coming in until you've had one at least a week."

"Midori," Tamaki said almost at once, just when I was about to nudge him in the ribs as if to say see? "I'm not sure what Samayu has is a cold."

"All right, then. What are your symptoms, Samayu?" she asked me directly. I guessed she wasn't going to let Tamaki do all the talking for me.

I cleared my throat and grimaced. "Sore throat," I said first. "Fever, runny nose, coughing…" I trailed off.

"Nausea," Tamaki added. I wanted to scream. Sure, I felt sick, but I was blaming the terror for the way my nausea had come up all at once inside the car on the way to the hospital.

"Coughing and nausea? That's not good," Midori said casually, and I winced. I didn't want to hear what I had wasn't a cold. That would mean a more extensive examination, and I just wanted to get the hell out of here. "And how bad would you say your sore throat is?" she asked.

"Not bad," I mumbled. "It only hurts when I try to swallow or clear my throat."

"And of course, your coughing has irritated it further," Midori stated matter-of-factly. "Has your chest been hurting at all?"

I stared into my lap. Of course it had. But wasn't that because of Tamaki? Still… "Yes," I admitted, wincing.

"What about fatigue? Are you unusually tired?"

"Well… yes," I mumbled, curling one knee into my chest and burying my face in Nimblefoot's back.

"Okay, then," Midori said, scrawling my list of symptoms onto her clipboard. When she stood up my entire body stiffened instinctually. She noticed this. "It's all right, dear," she said soothingly, pulling something long and white out of the pocket of her white doctor's coat. I recognized the instrument as a thermometer. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I relaxed, much to my surprise. That had certainly never happened before. There was just something I… trusted about this woman. Next to me, Tamaki flipped my hand over and began to trace the lines on my palm again. I don't know why he kept doing that. Unless he was a palm reader, I really didn't think he'd find the lines all that interesting.

I let Midori take my temperature, and she whistled when she read the display. "102 degrees," she told me, jotting that down on her clipboard. "Quite a fever. And you've had it for three days?"

I nodded, not sure if her question should worry me or not.

Midori made a noise of assent and patted the examination table on the other end of the room. "Have a seat, Samayu." She smiled invitingly and added, "Bring Mr. Suoh along, if you feel like it."

I did feel like it.


Diary Excerpt

Midori didn't say a word about my very obvious discomfort with the entire situation. Of course, I'm sure she was informed that I'm terrified of doctors. Even so, that did put me somewhat at ease. People who act nervous around frightened people only make them more frightened. She was completely calm, which made me calm.

I was subject to a light being shined in my eyes, which I didn't like in the slightest. It made them water terribly and I had to deal with an overprotective Tamaki, who thought I was crying when I began to wipe at my eyes. My throat was looked at and a strep test administered, which made me gag and cough and made my throat burn. The test was pointless anyway. I didn't have strep.

She determined I had the flu after I nearly vomited when she probed my stomach (which, in my opinion, was the worst part of the exam), and I hated Tamaki for being right. He sat there with his smug little grin, rubbing my back as I coughed and spluttered, trying to recover from the burst of nausea. I supposed it wasn't just the fear after all. She prescribed some antiviral drug to me, and Tamaki had her fax the prescription to someone who he assured me would pick it up for me. By that time, I honestly just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep forever.


As Tamaki and I were heading out the door, I felt Midori's hand on my shoulder. Amazingly, I didn't freak out. I turned around and asked in a muffled voice, "What?"

She sighed and turned my arm over, displaying the scars that had begun to fade with two weeks of not slicing them open. "You've had a rough time of it," she said, gently pulling Nimblefoot out of my hand and giving him to Tamaki, who looked about as confused as I felt. Why had she taken away my horse?

I pulled my arm back at once, remembering what Tamaki had said about Midori being a cutter, too. I just stared at her. I didn't seem to be able to speak.

"Hang in there," she said. "It always gets better. Trust me, I know." She pressed a slip of paper into my hand. "This is my phone number. Call me if you want to talk. Although…" she leaned in and whispered, so I only I could hear her, "I'm sure a friend like Mr. Suoh makes things seem a whole lot brighter, huh?"

I blushed. She'd hit the nail on the head there. "Th-thank you," I stammered, astounded by the sudden encouragement.

"Feel better soon," she said, winking at me, before she turned back to the desk and her clipboard.

I probably would have stood there staring at her open-mouthed like an idiot for a solid two minutes more if Tamaki hadn't tugged at my hand. "Come on, Samayu," he urged me, and I took a few steps forward. He gave Nimblefoot back to me, and I tucked my stuffed horse under my arm as we went down the hall. "Let's go home."

"Home?" I asked. There were two possible meanings. "Mine or yours?"

"Whichever one you want."

My house was a disaster. Tamaki would probably fall over a box and break his arm. And I had Nimblefoot, so I was pretty much good. "Yours, then, I guess," I said distantly. I still couldn't get over Midori and her phone number, still clutched in my hand.

I wanted to pay for my own damn doctor's appointment, but Tamaki wouldn't allow it. Something about how a father pays his daughter's medical bills or some other crap like that. I was a little mad and still too fazed to really pay attention to his excuse. I kind of wanted to hit him for keeping up the daddy thing, which I still didn't get. My daddy is dead; I don't want a new one. I just want Tamaki to… well, like me the way I like him, at the very least. I'm not so audacious as to hope he can love me.

But I guess I do, anyway.


Fin! Sorry this is short and stupid, but I'm tired and haven't had sugar for three days and am basically running on caffeine. I had three cups of coffee this morning and I don't ever drink coffee. Also, I'm sorry for missing last week's update. The Christmas season was just too hectic to write another chapter for this. Drop me a line? Review!

Love you all; thanks for reading!

Phantom, out!