Kiseki
Disclaimer: The only one … I don't own Tenipuri, never have and never will!
Summary: Miracle Sometimes, miracles happen. All you have to do is hope. TezukaxFuji
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Kiseki: Miracle
By Relinquished
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It happened in the winter of their junior year in senior high, just before the Kantou Regional finals. It was Tezuka, as the newly instated captain, who found him in the clubroom, trying to force out the pills from the container with violently trembling hands.
He didn't stop him from swallowing them dry, wincing as they went down without the usual water to ease their way. He stood in the doorway, silent and impassive as always, watching his trembling cease gradually as he took deep breaths, manoeuvring himself towards the bench under the window. He stood there, still watching, for several moments, before making his presence known.
"How long did you plan to keep playing like this?"
A smile fixed itself in its place, but this time it was thin-lipped, slightly tensed, in pain. The sight of it made the captain frown as if it displeased him.
"It's just a headache, Tezuka."
"Don't lie to me." Crossing the room in three strides, he stood in front of his team mate, the cold fury evident in his eyes. "These aren't headache pills"
They're extra-strong, specially prescribed painkillers, he finished silently, glaring at the small cylindrical container in the other's hand. Fuji smiled at him still, seemingly unfazed by this accusation. He tucked the pills out of sight with one hand, the other he used as leverage off the bench as he stood.
"I'm fine, I can still play."
"You can't." Tezuka directed his gaze at Fuji's sleeve-covered arm. "I saw it shaking just then. You cannot possibly hope to play with it like this."
"I have so far, haven't I?"
Fuji brushed past him towards the clubroom door, looking no worse for wear.
0o0
A week later, Fuji excused himself from practice to go to the clinic. A moment after he left, Tezuka excused himself to go to the bathroom, swiftly and silently following his team mate through the corridors of the school. He watched as Fuji made a detour on his way, ducking into an empty classroom and closing the door.
He leaned against the window furthest away from where Fuji had propped himself against the door, watching intently. The other teen took out the pills again, shaking out its contents onto his palm.
Two pills.
Frowning, Tezuka watched as he downed those pills dry.
0o0
Despite these occasional interruptions, practice on the whole ran quite smoothly. Kikumaru would laugh and flitter between Fuji and Oishi, brightening up the atmosphere that had settled over the whole team unknowingly. Everyone else was tense about the upcoming monthly ranking matches that would decide the Regulars for the Nationals.
Fuji would seem normal at those practices, doing the same training and playing matches against the other Regulars as he used to. The only difference was, as Inui pointed out, that his reaction time had decreased by 5 percent, while his speed and accuracy by a startling 20. Oishi beat him in a three-game set almost easily, leaving him exhausted on the coach's bench, a towel draped over his head.
"Are you okay, Fuji?" Oishi asked worriedly. "You seem a bit off lately."
"It's nothing," he reassured the vice-captain. "Just didn't sleep well."
"Ah, okay then. Take care of yourself, though."
Practice was dismissed then, Tezuka not able to bear seeing him force himself anymore. While everyone went to get changed – and the freshmen to clean up – the captain remained behind to keep a close eye on Fuji, who still hadn't moved.
"What are you staring at, Tezuka?"
The simple question was quiet and spoken with a slightly harsh lilt due to Fuji's ragged breathing. No longer having any reason to keep to the background any longer, Tezuka came forward and stood beside the slouched boy, arms folded.
"You've been taking more of them, haven't you?"
"Only when necessary."
"Just last night, you took four. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
"That was only once."
"And the other times too. You've been taking more and more every single time. There's something seriously wrong here, Fuji."
"Nothing wrong, Tezuka," Fuji countered calmly. "Just a leaking blood vessel in my brain that's formed a blood clot. I'm otherwise perfectly healthy."
Anger surged in the captain at this offhanded statement. His frown deepened and his voice became icier and more dangerous.
"Don't joke at a time like this."
"Hey, Tezuka . . . let me take you to a place."
0o0
The riverside where they had made a pact to play each other when Tezuka's shoulder had healed was where the boy had decided to take him. It was early evening and the sun had just begun to set, casting a crimson light over the still waters. Fuji climbed down onto the grass and sat, pulling his knees up to his chin. He motioned for Tezuka to join him.
"How long has it been?" Tezuka asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
"About a month, a little more."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to worry."
"You made me worry more by not telling me and having me try to find out what was the matter." In an uncharacteristic show of gentleness, the captain reached over for the other's hand. "On top of all this, seeing you take more and more pills every single day, hiding the action from me so I wouldn't worry . . . it pains me."
Fuji gripped his captain's hand in both his, eyes open and melancholy.
"I know you had noticed, but after the first time, you just pretended not to. You didn't want me to worry either, did you? I'm sorry."
They sat in silence for a while; the sound of the river running soothed the tension between them. Neither had thought to let go of the other's hands. It had been a long time since they had last shared a comfortable moment in each other's presence.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"Mm . . . the success rate of the operation is about 20 percent." Fuji leaned his head against his captain's shoulder. "I'm not going to do it."
Why not? Was the silent question that hung between them. Tezuka lifted an arm to rest around the other's shoulders in a half-embrace. Why not?
"I don't want to take the risk," Fuji murmured. His grip on Tezuka's hands tightened. "If the success rate is only 20 percent, then I'll have to risk failure – and I might . . . never . . ."
The captain said nothing, but he stiffened and tensed slightly. They both knew how to finish the sentence, without it being finished. It settled between them in a discomforting manner, like a thick and heavy blanket that suffocated them. I might never wake up, might never play tennis, might never . . . see you again.
"Do you believe in miracles, Fuji?"
Miracles?
"Sometimes . . . not often . . . why?"
"I do." Ignoring Fuji's surprised look, Tezuka stared out at the water in front of them. "Because a miracle was what brought us into this world. If there weren't any miracles, we wouldn't be here."
And I wouldn't have met you.
I believe in miracles, Fuji.
I believe that miracles exist.
Do you?
0o0
The following week, Fuji was admitted into Seishun General Hospital in preparation for surgery. Tezuka went to see him every day before the operation, before and after school – the first person he saw waking up and the last before he went to sleep. They told the others what was going on and they visited in twos and threes, bringing news of practice and school.
"Nya, Fuji, isn't it going to be dangerous?"
"All surgeries are dangerous, Eiji."
He didn't tell them the success rate. They didn't need to know. Tezuka sat beside him, holding his hand, and he smiled firmly, confidently. They were going to get through this together. But as the nurses and doctors came in to prepare him for the operation, his smile wavered. His hands shook in Tezuka's own.
"Tezuka . . ." I'm scared.
"Be strong." I'm here for you.
And the last image in Fuji's mind as he was wheeled into the operation room was of Tezuka's smile, bringing him warmth and security.
0o0
Life went on. At Seishun Gakuen Tennis Club, practice was held before and after school every Monday to Friday, without fail, and classes went on as normal. Students laughed, talked, walked and ran. Nothing seemed to have changed.
In a sunlit room of Seishun General Hospital, the rays of sunlight warmed the body of a teenage boy whose hair had been shaved off and whose eyes were closed. The swelling on one side of the head had died down, leaving only a faint scar. Beside him, holding his hand and watching over him faithfully, was a taller boy, dressed in school uniform.
It's been a month, Fuji.
He traced the contours of the other's palm with his other hand, lightly running his fingers over the other's, turning them over to stroke the back of his hand. He had kept vigil, day and night, whenever he could, over Fuji. He had promised to be the first person the other saw when he woke up.
I'm still waiting for you.
Because I believe in miracles.
I believe they exist.
I believe in you, Fuji.
Do you?
Fingers twitched slightly in his hands and eyelids fluttered. Moments later, sleepy blue eyes focused on him lovingly, adoringly.
I believe Tezuka, because you helped me to.
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End
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