Disclaimer - still dont own the boys.

Well, instead of working on term papers i am writing fics. seemed like a better idea at the time... as always, reviews make me oh so happy and encourage me to get my arse in gear and write more faster! hope you all are enjoying!!!
-fireun

There is something about the atmosphere of a sick room that smothers the optimism out of anyone who chances in. The infirmary of Meifu was no exception. Tsuzuki lay still and pale on his bed, seeming for all the world to be some sort of poorly done wax model of the real thing, missing the animated lines and tightly curled energy. Hisoka stared, completely at a loss, realizing to his chagrin after a few moments that he was crying. Tsuzuki…protective, caring, beautiful Tsuzuki looked so small and broken laying in that bed. The predictability he depended on, the jokes, the smiles, the little shows of affection, all of that lay motionless on an infirmary bed.

He could feel his legs give, too late to save himself with any sort of grace. Not that there was anyone in the room that needed impressing. The only other individual was so far gone on mental trauma and calming drugs he was questionable if he was able to recognize the fact that he was a uniquely sentient being. Hisoka fell against the bed with a thump, slamming his kneecap against its metal frame. Pain shot to his toes, and he fell into an undignified pile half on and half off the bed, crying in frustration as well as unhappiness.

Tsuzuki didn't so much as twitch.

Hisoka glared at his partner, wanting so badly to be angry, to fall comfortably into his usual mode of coping. The knowledge that Tsuzuki wasn't going to stare up at him with endearingly wide eyes, lower lip quivering slightly as he tried to beg for forgiveness…it made the posturing of being irate pointless. It was an attempt towards acting in a play where the other participants were incapacitated. The spark of Hisoka's anger burned itself out in a burst of realization; Tsuzuki was not there. Frantic he touched a slack cheek, furrowed forehead…trying to urge some sort of response from his partner. He even resorted to running a finger along Tsuzuki's ear; something he knew drove the other man into fits of twitching giggles at the most inappropriate times. Nothing. Any other time Hisoka would have been appalled at the desperate whimper that emerged from his throat as he pressed his face against Tsuzuki's, hauling himself completely onto the bed in the process.

He curled up there, spooning against his partner, silently sobbing with his eyes pressed shut. He must have fallen asleep at some point, for when Watari peeked in an hour later the interior of the infirmary made his heart twitch in a warm sort of grief. Hisoka was curled against Tsuzuki's lean form, hands clenched in the mans white dress shirt, face pressed into his chest. Tsuzuki's eyes were closed, which was a welcome change, but Watari could see them tracking unsettled dreams behind eyelids. The most encouraging part of scene was that Tsuzuki had apparently managed, at some point, to wrap an arm tight around Hisoka's smaller form, as if to make sure his partner didn't wander off.

Feeling oddly like he was intruding upon something rather private Watari made a decision. He capped the syringe and quietly closed the door. Sedatives were not what Tsuzuki needed most. Unless he threatened to destroy the building or himself in another fit of self loathing, Watari was going to leave the calming to Hisoka.

Hisoka woke, sometime later to feeling something warm on his face, something tight around his middle, and waves of unhappiness beating at his head like a migraine. Warm and wet…unhappiness…Tsuzuki must have started crying, consciously or still caught up in his own self hatred. He twisted a bit, finding it hard to move in what proved to be a rather desperate embrace on Tsuzuki's part, and attempted to see his partners face. Purple eyes were open, and most definitely aware and quite obviously unhappy with that development. Tears looked like a permanent addition to Tsuzuki's face at this point, as well as lines that should never mar such a caring individual.

"I'm sorry." Tsuzuki whispered in a raspy voice, and something in the back of Hisoka's mind suggested that this was not the first or even tenth time Tsuzuki had uttered those words in the past half hour.

"Ass." Hisoka growled. "Let me go a bit, and stop apologizing already. You didn't do anything worth it that I am aware of."

Chagrin flavored like bile shocked off of Tsuzuki as he jerked his arm off of Hisoka. "I'm sor…"

Able, finally, to seek some sort of comfort in irritability, Hisoka cuffed Tsuzuki gently on the shoulder. "Didn't I say stop apologizing?" Tsuzuki was so warm next to him, and Hisoka's still half-asleep mind wanted nothing more than to curl back up and bask in that comforting warmth. Unthinking, that warm and happy part of his brain apparently in charge, Hisoka leaned his head back against Tsuzuki's shoulder, huffing out a quiet sigh. A tense sort of stillness quivered in Tsuzuki's every muscle, and his emotions were swamped with indecision, confusion, and a hesitant sort of happiness, all tinged with that destructive guilt.

"If Tatsumi hadn't killed the bastard, I would beat the living shit out of him." Hisoka muttered, feeling Tsuzuki trying to decide whether or not to flee. "I am not moving. If you want to dump me onto the ground, go ahead. But somewhere outside that door is a Watari determined to play doctor." Tsuzuki twitched. "Choose- a nice nap, or Dr. Watari." When Tsuzuki presented no further inclination to move, Hisoka let his eyes slide back shut. "Get some sleep, idiot. You could use it."