Yo~!! And Welcome to My Little World of Weirdness!

I state for the record that, despite the fact I really, really wish I did, I don't own any of the official characters that will grace this story; the wonderful creator of Fruits Basket, how I love thee! How can I show my appreciation? By borrowing your characters and putting them in weird situations, of course!! Oh, oh!! I do own the small poem that is in this though . . . it's dedicated to a close friend. [Laughs] Also I don't pretend to have any Mastery over the language of Japanese or any clue as to correct grammatical structure. I put it in and hope it gets across the point I'm trying to make! And I don't pretend to be able to write any sort of accents so please don't hate me!!

"Speaking"

*Stress/emphasis*

//Thinking//

++Titles – timewise ++

Poem

~ Just a Little Something ~

By Doctor Megalomania

Part Two: Revisited

When I awoke . . .

What? You thought I died already? No, no such *luck* yet.

Anyway, when I awoke, it was already nighttime and I found that even the ever genki-Tooru had deserted me. Brilliant. Not even she won't be here when I –

A slight rustle, a movement out of the corner of my eye.

There is someone in my room.

If it's an idiot outsider I'll kill them, I'll KILL them. I will not die in front of an idiot outsider, I won't. I won't die with such scum watching over me!! How dare they make me suffer this!?

I blinked my good eye open, as I hear a quiet voice.

"Akito-sama?"

It sounded familiar; I glance over at the small woman. "Who are you?"

The figure moved closer, she was slim, with long hair delicately piled atop her head with two traditional hair chopsticks placed gracefully there. She seemed like a fine porcelain figurine, the kind my auntie used to collect. She loved them, even though she often ended up breaking them, my auntie was insufferably clumsy, she broke almost everything and anything, she was the proverbial bull in a china shop.

This woman, though engulfed in the shadows, moved with grace and elegance . . . I could see it. I could see it just in the way she stood. Do I sound intense? It must be the drugs they keep me on . . . I've been finding lately my focus drifts, until I find something of interest . . . something like . . . her . . .

The woman made a startled noise, a quiet choking sound deep in her throat, before she whispered, "Akito-sama . . ." She murmured sadly, she reached out, and for once, her hand strayed into the path of some light. My fine porcelain doll had fine porcelain skin, milky and gentle looking. She softly - so softly I barely believed it was happening - traced my eyebrow, and I felt my frown smooth out. She was so soft with me, I felt almost as if someone was forgiving me.

Incredible, it was an incredible feeling.

You can't possibly understand what this feels like. Just staring up at this china-doll, her fine milky, gentle fingers slowly, softly tracing my eyebrow . . . it was so soft! My fingertips tingled, I wanted to reach up and grab her wrist tightly so she couldn't run away. I want her to stay here. I don't care if she has to leave . . . I don't care if the world is falling down . . . I want her to stay. I don't think anyone has touched my face so softly since my mother died.

"I'm sorry . . ." My china-doll breathes, more to herself than to me. "I shouldn't have come."

Without waiting for word from me, she slips back into the darkness, and across the room. I strain myself just to turn my good eye toward the door, as warm yellow light from outside briefly lights her features. The pain comes again, familiar and raw, making me lie back again, and squeeze my eyes shut. My lungs struggle to breathe, and for a moment my mind panics. It's overwhelming, the sensation of fear . . . it's overwhelming, but calming . . . in the same brief moment, as I stared at her, her delicate eyelashes resting demurely against her cheek, the way her lips – pale but for the lightest touch of lipstick – parted as she breathed, yes . . . the calm I felt as I saw her. It all lasted for less than a second . . . But it was enough, the pain I feel from my wounds is enough payment for the glimpse I got of my china doll.

She wore a purple kimono.

My mother favoured those.

She is a beautiful china doll.

Waking hurts.

When you are very badly hurt, sick - or in pain like I am - you don't wake up like you do normally. You awaken enough to realise that your body is still asleep; your mind quietly takes inventory of what still hurts, where it still hurts, and realises that your body is still asleep. The nerves that were sedated enough to keep your body asleep begin to awaken too, the biological painkillers that your body made ebb away, leaving you as if in the waking hours you can manage without them. I suppose as a survival mechanism it keeps you sharp, when you're out in the wilderness or something like that . . .

I wake to Hatori fussing over me. I stare at him silently.

He didn't just leave me to die alone.

I'd smile, and thank him gratefully, if it didn't make me realise how close to tears I am. That makes me angry; it's his duty to take care of me like this . . . why should I feel anything just because he is doing his job?

And yet, his silent contemplation of my statistics warms me. Hatori is a good doctor, quiet, dependable, and a very good doctor. I'm glad he was the doctor and not Shigure. Can you imagine . . .?

Doctor Shigure will see you now . . . Please leave your underwear at the door!!

It brings a snort from me, and Hatori looks up. I meet his gaze, all mirth disappearing from my face. It wouldn't do if he commits me to a mental institution just because I've refused to even smile happily after my mother's death. What? I was in a prolonged state of mourning. You try being chipper when the only people who ever loved you, ever treated you like you weren't some sort of god, who treated you like . . . like you were just a child with a future ahead of you . . . when those people are gone, I'd like to see you be all so very happy!

He looks down at the clipboard again, before pulling a seat to my bedside.

"You are very ill, Akito. I don't know if you will live."

Never one to pull the punches, I remember that much about Hatori. Hatori always tells me everything in the same manner. No matter how trivial, he always delivers it with the same look of collected calmness. My death sentence even comes without a sympathetic look, without hesitancy . . . I don't know whether to hate him or thank him, I think I'd rather hate him. I'd love to hurt him again . . . I know he is so happy that I'm finally going. I'm never going to be able to hurt him again, not like this, not while I'm lying in bed like this . . . but still, his face never changes. If it were Shigure, he probably would have made up some funny story, then messed about for a moment or two, hinting that he'd heard about a man in this position . . . I don't think he'd ever tell me I was about to die straight to my face like that.

Another snort wiggles its way from me.

"So?"

Hatori regards me quietly, and then nods. He's not sad to see me die, I broke his heart, I broke his lover's heart. . . I broke his eye. He stood, and walked over to the small desk on the other side of the room. I watched him as he prepares some pills. I watched him as he poured a glass of water, and brought them over to my bedside. "Take these . . ." he motioned the pills; two pain killers and a sedative, "When you feel any pain."

He turns to leave. I watched him do that.

And then I did something very strange.

"I'm sorry, Hatori."

He jerked – actually jerked – and stared at me coolly. I stared at him; his dark green eyes were blank. I suppose they had always been very blank, but since I blinded him, they were even more so. "I don't know why . . ." I muttered. Then thought about it.

"No . . ." I murmured, "I lie . . . I've always lied . . ." I swallowed and spoke louder, so he could hear me clearly. "I'm sorry Hatori, I know why . . . and so do you . . ."

He stood there, still staring at me.

I think he knows. I think he knows that I want to hurt him, anything to provoke an emotion from him. If I could, I'd stand, walk across the room and smack him. Smack him hard. Make him bleed. Make him cry. Make him curse. Make him do something other than stand there and tell me I'm dying so soon. Make him fetch my china doll. Bring her to me now.

Well. I can't get up. So I can't smack him. I can't make him do anything . . . but maybe . . . 

"It will be over . . ." I found myself smiling, ever so slightly, as I assured him, "It will all be over soon . . ."

It was a strange sort of lightness I was left with as he blinked and stared at me, shock actually flickering within those blank eyes. It was so strange, I'd always thought I had accepted my oncoming death . . . but this new level of acceptance made my previous attitude seem terrible. It was terrible, no illusions about that.

I turned my head slightly to see past Hatori.

"I'd like my bed to be moved, please."

". . . Where?"

"To the window."

Hatori thought about it, looking at the various drips and machinery I was hooked into, "It will take some time . . . so we can wait until you are strong enough to survive for long enough without the bulk of these machines, but . . ." He glanced at the window, "I see no reason why it will not be allowed." He nodded once and stepped back.

"Hatori?"

He stopped at the door.

"Thank you."

He stared at me, as I stared out the window, I just stared, ignoring his searching gaze. He looked for my usual smirk, my usual hatred . . . he could find none, I simply wasn't angry enough anymore. Of all the feelings you can feel, anger is perhaps the most human like. Anger burns, anger can turn cold. . . and anger can just bleed right out of you. Like the blood that poured out of my wrist as I lay on the road, my anger bled from me. And it was all because of one thing . . . one instance of time. Then again, an instance of time can bring many things. You can die, you can be born, you can love, you can hate, you can laugh, you can cry . . . all in an instance, a moment of time. For me that instance brought something to me.

I'd realised something . . . I missed my mother . . .

I was soon going to see her again.

My china-doll didn't appear the next night, nor the night after that, or indeed for the rest of the week . . . or the month . . . and I . . .

I didn't die.

I didn't get miraculously better no, but I didn't die either. They moved my bed to the window, where I lay until summer came. I continued to stare out all day, stare at the sky, the clouds, the blue, the purple, the greys, the stars, even the birds. Hatori visited regularly, keeping an eye on me. There was a nurse occasionally, a cleaner, once another doctor, whom Hatori brought in to look at my broken legs. He hmphed and tutted, and made funny sighing noises, before waddling out the room. Once or twice Tooru came.

I think guilt made her come more than anything.

I never saw any of the others from my family.

And my china-doll still remained elusive . . . until one summer night.

I awoke to see her sitting daringly on the end of my bed, she sat with her back to the window, and so her front was swallowed up in the darkness. She wore a darker kimono, and her hair was loosely gathered over one shoulder. One of her soft hands was clasped lightly over mine. She had larger hands than I thought; they were strong, slightly calloused, and warm. I liked that.

I liked the feel of her hand, it was not too heavy on my hand, she was being mindful of the drips I had in there. I was grateful for that. I wished that I could squeeze her hand back, tell her that I was awake, but I didn't want to startle my china doll, didn't want her to take flight and leave me again.

Everything about her posture spoke of a life lead in the most humbling of positions, her family weren't very wealthy. Her family were used to serving the whims of others, I could tell that by the unconsciously attentive way she sat, as if I had her at my beck and call. She breathed so quietly, that if I couldn't feel the faint pulse of heart beat in her wrist against my fingertips, I would have called her a ghost.

She'd been brought up in the tradition of being unseen, and unheard. A hidden girl servant. How this humble being had managed to come into my private hospital room, in the middle of the Souma household was a subject yet to be raised, and yet, despite the fact she might have been a idiot outsider . . . I found myself enjoying her silent company.

What made her come to me?

What made her sit with me?

What made her accept me for who I am . . .?

Her distance from me, the way she was so delicately perched on my bed, made me think that she was aware of my personality, had heard things about me, and yet she appeared to accept this.

Maybe she was a masochist.

Maybe she'd let me be her master.

The warmth of her hand lulled me. The smell of her delicate perfume made me slow. I could easily fall asleep, as she sat by me . . . watching over me patiently.

My little china doll . . . a maid all to my own.

I'd fall over, I'd walk into walls, I'd humiliate myself

Just for that little smile

You'll have to put up with my loud voice, my bad jokes, my awful singing

Just to make those tears stop

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And Now It's Time to LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!!!
DrM: Konnichiwa!! [waves] I'm Doctor Megalomania, and this is my first 'Fruits Basket' fanfiction . . . is it good? Do you think I should continue? [big chibi-watery eyes] Please tell me!! Please press the review button!!