[18 July 2013] Edited, because I notice people are still reading this old, old story, and I'm horrified at the grammar of my old self. -_- Also taken the opportunity to straighten out warnings in Author Notes.

Author Notes:

This is another sidestory centering on Muraki-Hisoka, a more light-hearted one, told from an anonymous POV. Definitely with some shounen-ai... and written just because I suddenly imagined Hisoka walking in with Muraki into my class. (Gah, still need to quickly work out the next chapter! ^^0) Sorry that I don't write enough of Tsuzuki, this fic is Hisoka-centric after all… and I'm not too fond of Muraki-Tsuzuki.

A Wing Short of Flying

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You see, I don't wanna do good things. I wanna do great things.

- Lex Luthor, "Smallville: Hourglass"

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Sidestory Two: The Doctor

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The kid started coming with him exactly six days ago.

It is so like him to pick up an orphan, that friendly doctor. He has a very charming smile, and shares it with anybody anytime. Well… his kindness cost me a little heartbreak some years ago, as I was a foolish young woman at that time, thinking that his charms were for me alone.

Even so, I'm still fond of him today. I am no longer under his care; a younger doctor has taken over my case as he apparently needs to concentrate on patients with worse conditions. "It doesn't mean we're not taking your case seriously," he assured me when he told me that news. "After all, I'll only hand over a patient when I'm assured that she'll get well in no time."

I'm definitely getting better, though my disease sure takes its own sweet time to heal. It's been four months now, and he still checks on me from time to time. I tell everybody that no one is as suited to be a doctor as he. That gentleness. That sincerity. And I hear talks that he is a genius, too.

That boy arouses my curiosity. He seems to be a timid one, always walking slightly behind the doctor at his side. I often see the doctor hugging and playing with the children staying in this hospital, so I wonder about this unusual sight. But if he really is one of those street kids, it makes sense. They are always pretending to be cold and independent and never want to show any soft spot to anyone.

With nothing much to do to spend my time, my imagination is very active. Not to mention that I'm good at it, too. Is he a tramp who met the doctor on his way and decided to follow him around? Or has the doctor let him stay in his house out of compassion? At first I was concerned because I really like the doctor, and I was worried that the kid might have mischievous intentions towards him. Who knows if he has a gang of friends waiting somewhere for the kid to lure the doctor to them, then beat him and take his money?

But it's been a peaceful week, and somehow I cannot imagine the boy doing any malice. He is, in truth, a beautiful one. His youthful face can't be more than ten years old. If he'd been properly fed and dressed, he would be a very handsome boy. He even has some grace about him, but that may just be a result of his reservedness.

So I conclude that he must have once belonged to a rich family who suddenly fell into poverty (perhaps with the complication of a few suicides in the family), and is left alone living off the street.

I am ready to test this conclusion this morning. I have the habit of moving my wheelchair to the window every morning, to enjoy the early sunlight and to wait for the doctor's arrival. He always appears from the far end of the road that faces my window, walking calmly as is characteristic of him. When he sees me he will wave and smile widely, and on the mornings when he is not in a hurry to attend to one of his patients he will stop by and chat with me.

These few days he didn't, because he had that kid with him. I saw them walking together from the end of the road, without talking. This is another weird thing about them. Only occasionally, I observed, the doctor said something to him, and he nodded in response. Nothing more.

This morning, as I see them approaching, I quickly call out. "Doctor!"

Both of them look up. The doctor smiles and waves back at me, as usual. The boy just looks at me with his big green eyes, and I look back at him with interest. He shrinks slightly and looks nervous, but keeps glancing at me. I'm not the only one with a cat's curiosity.

"Doctor," I ask, "he is…?"

The doctor seems thoughtful for a while. "You can say he's… my assistant," he answered with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Assistant?" This doesn't fit in any scenario I have come up with. "But not a nurse?"

"Oh, not in that area, though sometimes he does help… He mostly helps me with my research."

He told me about his researches before, mostly on human immune system, along the line of his medical profession.

"Oh, but he is still so young..."

"Not too young, not too young," the doctor says good-humouredly, tapping the boy's shoulder. It seems to jolt him.

That fits. The doctor tries to get close to him, but the boy keeps his distance. Most problematic kids do.

"So… what do you do as an assistant?" I ask the boy. My sole purpose is actually just to hear him speak.

"Uh…" He glances at the doctor hesitantly. I raise an eyebrow. According to my character analysis, he may hesitate in answering me, a stranger, but he should not be concerned with the doctor's approval, being an aloof child that he must be.

"Observing," the doctor answers for him, and winks at me. "Kids have sharp eyes, and their curiosity often leads them to learn much more things than adults do. Don't you think so?"

"Aa," I answer absently, still wondering at the anomaly in the behavior I just saw.

The doctor takes over the conversation then, inquiring about my health. I'm fine, of course. Just very, very curious.

I itch to ask how they met, but if my guess about the boy's origins is any good, that question is simply inappropriate. People have labeled me a busybody, but no one ever calls me heartless. There are things you just cannot ask. I'll have to find out more about that myself.

The doctor looks at his watch. "Ah, I'm afraid we have to leave now," he says, smiling apologetically. "I have to report in before eight."

"Oh, that's okay," I say. I want time to process this new information. "We'll talk again next time?"

"Next time," he promises. "Take good care, okay?"

I nod. My gaze falls on the boy, who happens to be looking at me. He quickly averts his eyes downward, then follows the doctor.

Very interesting.

I have another opportunity to observe him in the late afternoon, when nurses take patients out to the garden for a walk or just fresh air. I wheel myself under the shades of a tree with my novel in my lap. I've been flipping stories over in my mind to fit my observation of the doctor and his assistant, but have not found a satisfying theory. Reading will help to clear my mind.

But my novel is soon forgotten as I catch the sight of them, walking towards the group of children who are listening to a story read by one of the nurses. I watch with interest.

The doctor spreads his smile for all the kids and the nurse, who is as charmed by the doctor as I am. He sits down at the end of the semi-circle row, and though I can't hear what he says, I can guess that he's asking the nurse to continue the story.

Usually some of the younger children will compete for a place on the doctor's lap, and they will end up crawling all over him, so fond they are of him. Today, though, all of them are watching the new boy curiously.

I can see the boy's nervousness clearly. He seems to overcome himself though, and kneels down quietly next to the doctor in a formal sitting position.

The doctor says something, and the cheerfulness resumes. The nurse laughs joyfully and resumes her story-telling. I envy her, but I quickly put that aside to observe the objects of my attention.

I am disappointed, though. The doctor plays, jokes, laughs with the children as usual, but the boy is quiet all the time. If there's a new thing I learn, it's that he pays a close attention to the story being read. The studious type. What exactly is the doctor asking him to observe?

The session ends. The doctor utters a few words, undoubtedly goodbyes, which earn him some whining and coat-pulling from the children. He laughs and skillfully 'removes' them with, I know, promises and affectionate threats, as he used to give me. The boy stands up with him, nodding slightly towards the nurse. She seems surprised by the unexpected courtesy. So do I.

But that fits with the rich family conjecture, so all's fine.

They walk away. On a whim, I stir my wheelchair to follow them. I think of calling out to them for a chat, but my instincts speak against it. I may find out more by watching from a distance.

After a few turns, I know for sure the doctor is heading to his lab. He often spends his free time there, working on his experiments instead of refreshing himself like most doctors do. He said once that he felt refreshed while doing his research. He enjoys it immensely. I admire his dedication, of course, but sometimes I can't help worrying if he gets enough rest.

They enter the lab. I wheel myself closer, slowly and carefully.

"… did you feel?" I hear the doctor saying. The door is closed, but there is a window at the other side. I turn towards that direction.

"… mixed up… strong… happiness," is all I manage to catch. His voice is soft, careful. A trained child.

"… better… next time."

Silence follows. If they have said anything, I don't catch it. I continue my way towards the window, and peek inside.

My heartbeat pauses.

The boy is kissing him.

Well, the doctor is the one who is leaning forward with his hand on the wall, but it must be the boy who started the kiss, because the doctor is calm and cool as ever while the boy seems to be… melting. And the doctor can't possibly want to do that to a boy of that age, right? He might be a homosexual, but not a pedophile. Definitely not. If he had done something to the children in the hospital – whom he is so close to – I would have heard about it.

My heart resumes beating at a high pace, and I hastily turn my wheelchair away as I see them getting beyond kissing. Even in twenty-over years of womanhood I've never seen two males making out.

Well, there are things you just cannot ask about.

My mind races with a hundred questions as I hurriedly wheel away from that place. How could I have missed the signs? The boy is clearly worshiping the doctor. Those nervous, quiet glances… I should have read it all in his eyes.

I startle a nurse as I whirl past her, paying very little attention to my surroundings. I only stop when I reach my reading spot earlier. Then I am slowly aware of my breathing again, of the wild pulse in my arteries, of the mild ache in my chest. Then only I remember my weak heart.

Given the extent of shock, I'm lucky that I didn't get a seizure. Maybe it is my instincts that have subconsciously warned me.

The boy is lucky, I suppose. At least the doctor returns his feelings. I do feel sorry for him for all the misfortune he's been through – what else can explain such unstable, blind devotion towards his perceived savior? Still, it horrifies me that a child of such tender age has known such lust, such… immorality.

Feeling blood returning to my face, I slowly move towards my room. A nurse sees me, and I thankfully let her take over the control of the wheelchair.

There's nothing to be horrified of. The doctor is still a nice man, a great doctor, no matter what his preferences may be. I have yet to sort my feelings out, but I am quite convinced that he will still be my favorite doctor, that I'll still be fond of his smiles and his small talks. It remains a fact that he is the best a doctor can be.

And in a strange way, I am slightly glad to know that the doctor is a gay. It means that there is no other woman.

Perhaps I never do get over that little heartbreak of mine.

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