A/N: Got bit by an idea that wouldn't leave me alone, and so I wrote a thing. For anyone not familiar, Hanahaki Disease is a fictional illness which causes flowers to grow in the sufferer's lungs or stomach, and for them to cough or vomit up flower petals, as a consequence of their unrequited love for someone. The disease is terminal unless the love interest is found to genuinely return the patient's feelings (they usually don't/can't), with the flowers growing in the lungs or stomach until the patient either suffocates or suffers acute organ failure (I will forever love Japanese culture's mixing of the beautiful and the horrific when it comes to tragedy and horror).

Norman is 26 here, Ethan 32. I started my first Northan fic with those ages and they seem to have stuck lol.


Norman hacked out a cough, gagging, kept his eyes squeezed shut for several moments once his breathing had returned to normal, not wanting to look. A handful of lilies lay at the bottom of the toilet bowl, spattered with blood, an electric cerulean blue against the white ceramic. He'd looked up the meaning once, years ago, back when this had started when he was 15 and all it had been was a couple of flower petals and some spit. Tranquillity, hope, and inspiration: three things that had been absent from his life for about as long as he could remember, or at any rate had never been anything like frequent or long-lasting. The whole thing felt like some kind of cruel cosmic joke.

He swallowed thickly and leaned back against the wall, rubbing at his breastbone. His chest ached dully all the time nowadays, whether he coughed or not; the Triptocaine wouldn't be helping, neither would the shitty take-out food or sleepless nights or countless hours spent in ARI. Norman quirked a sad smile and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head back against the wall. He'd never really expected to make it to 30; couldn't picture himself settling down into domesticity even if he'd had the option to. He'd always been alone — sometimes by choice, usually through circumstance or his own carelessness — ever since he could remember, and that wasn't likely to change any time soon. Norman thought idly about what he'd leave behind after the inevitable happened, swallowed tightly at the realisation that there wasn't really anything. A brilliant college degree, an impressive case closure record, and a handful of people around the country who he'd hopefully made a little less miserable by catching the person responsible for their suffering. That was it, the sum total of his achievements in 26 years.

He sighed heavily and pushed away from the wall, already feeling the burning itch in his chest that signalled the beginnings of another fit as he made his way back to his office. It was definitely getting worse. When he'd spoken to the doctor about it the first time, all those years ago, the man had told him that his type of Hanahaki Disease could last anywhere between two and forty years, fifty if he was lucky. Various solutions had been suggested, mostly revolving around 'putting yourself out there and speaking to as many people as possible' — painfully ironic, considering the disease itself was in part a product of being unable to do those things. Kind of like trying to change a lightbulb in a pitch-black room. The only thing anyone could tell him for certain was that it was terminal. Whether in two or fifty years, the lilies blooming in his lungs would grow thick enough to kill him eventually, it was just a matter of time.

Norman sighed and shook the thoughts away, sitting back down at his desk and slipping ARI on. His next case was out in Philadelphia, some sick fuck drowning kids for kicks. Norman frowned and pulled up the information the bureau had compiled so far, taking a sip of his coffee. It was going to be a long night.


He hacked out another violent cough, groaning, feeling slightly sick at the amount of blood coating the flowers at the bottom of the toilet bowl. It never really got easier, seeing himself cough up blood, no matter how often it happened. Tripto had helped to ease the pain if nothing else, until he'd been forced to kick it on the alarmed advice of the last doctor he'd seen, but the attacks were getting more frequent, his breathing having begun to rattle even when he wasn't coughing. Maybe Blake's belligerence during the case had hastened the disease's progress. Norman chuckled humourlessly at the thought, rested his forehead on the cool plastic of the toilet for a moment as the laughter threatened to become a sob. Vaguely he remembered his mother lecturing him, back when he was an awkward, shy 16-year-old far more given to studying and writing music and playing video games than socialising. Something about if he wanted to be alone, speed up the disease's progress until he was coughing himself to death aged 20, he was going the right way about it.

How'd ya like that, Ma? Made it six whole years longer than you figured, you old bitch.

He lifted his head stiffly to lean back against the wall, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, blinked as his phone chimed somewhere out in the bedroom. He was still holed up at the Maple Leaf Hotel in Philly, frittering away the meagre severance package the bureau had given him after his resignation and trying to decide what to do with…well. Trying to decide if he even had a future to worry about anymore, the way his lungs had started trying to escape his body every half hour. He'd handed ARI in during his resignation, and had used up the last of the Tripto in a gruelling if ultimately successful attempt to taper off the stuff. Hell, he'd almost started to see himself being able to start over, until a coughing fit had laid him out flat on the bathroom floor, spitting blood and struggling to breathe. It felt like the endgame, even with no objective evidence to indicate as such; something cold in his bones whispered that he didn't have much time left. There was freedom in that, maybe, some relief in not having to worry about anything anymore. His one regret would be not devoting more time to his piano, finishing the countless half-thought-out compositions he'd started as a kid and always promised himself he'd get back to.

Norman dropped onto the bed with a sigh and picked up his phone, smiled lop-sidedly despite himself to see a text from Ethan Mars. They'd struck up a sort-of-friendship in the months since the Origami Killer case had been closed, bonding over good beer and shared experiences and Shaun Mars' newfound fascination with police work. He didn't expect the association to last beyond a couple more weeks, the Mars family now back to some semblance of normality after months of therapy and hard work, but it was nice all the same. A small bright spot to remember, to hold onto when the inevitable happened.

Hi Norman. I know it's short notice, but Shaun and me are going ice-skating at the carnival that's opened in Dilworth Park. D'you want to come?

He smiled lop-sidedly again, shaking his head, and tapped out a response, felt the smile slip as the ever-present ache in his chest flared painfully. Ethan was apparently the sociable type when not frantic with worry for his kid, and had asked Norman to accompany Shaun and himself on various outings during the time they'd known each other. The other's effusiveness had made him uncomfortable at first, before he'd realised that Ethan was still recovering from a hellish experience and would likely take any company over being alone. This happened occasionally with people he helped: a kind of benign stockholm-syndrome deal that ended with them drifting out of his life once they'd gotten their own back together. Not unlike the string of boyfriends he'd had; there was a pattern there, one he didn't want to think too much about with how shitty he was feeling.

Not really up for skating right now sorry. Think I've got a cold coming on.

There was a pause, before a reply pinged through.

That's too bad. No problem though, it's more important you get better. Are you free sometime next week?

Norman found himself smiling again, realised he hadn't done so for a long time the way his cheeks hurt with it. His lungs whistled faintly on his next in-breath, chest burning as though he'd been shot, and he felt the smile slip, swallowed tightly at the thought that by next week he might be unavailable permanently.

Actually, tonight is great! Can't promise I'll come skating, but I can swing by and hang out for a bit if you want.

Another long pause. He swallowed hard, starting to type out an addendum.

I understand if not, you —

He froze as another text pinged through.

That's okay, it'd be great to see you anyway. Shaun's desperate to tell you about his science project, so we won't be stuck for things to talk about.

Norman chuckled despite himself, warmth blooming in his chest as he tapped out a reply.

Great! Looking forward to hearing about it. What time'll I meet you?

7:30, up by City Hall? The park is out back. I can come pick you up if that's easier.

No problem Mars, I don't want you going out your way. I'll be there at 7:30.

He smiled and pushed himself to his feet, collecting up his coat and wallet before heading out. It was a long walk to City Hall from here, but it was something to do, and the cold November air would help to clear his head. He doubled back only once, to grab the packet of tissues on his nightstand.


"Agent Jayden!" He smiled as Shaun Mars raced over through the snow, barrelling into him hard enough to almost knock him flat.
"Oof! Hey, buddy." Norman hugged the kid back, ruffling his hair as bright brown eyes looked up at him. "How are ya?"
"I'm good! Can you skate, Agent Jayden?"
"Uh…" He smiled crookedly, Ethan throwing him an apologetic look as the other man joined them, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. Both Marses were bundled up warmly against the weather; looking at them made him keenly aware of how cold he was. "I mean yeah, but I might skip it this time, bud. Ain't feelin' too great right now." The kid blinked, worry clouding his eyes.
"Are you sick?" He forced his best, brightest smile and shook his head, shrugging.
"S'just a cold; nothin' I can't handle. Just figure I shouldn't overdo it, y'know? I'll look after your stuff while you an' your dad skate, yeah?" The boy frowned, considering that, before nodding, a fresh smile breaking over his face as they started to head towards the carnival ground.
"Dad, they've got cotton candy!"
"Okay, just stay close —" Ethan sighed harriedly as the kid dashed off towards the entrance, the adults following more slowly through the snow.
"Seems like he's recoverin' okay." The other man smiled wryly and shrugged, meeting his gaze.
"He's definitely bounced back faster than me. Dr Dupre said it's important I let him do things for himself, don't hover like some overprotective bird. Don't know how well I'm managing, but…" Norman smiled lop-sidedly as the kid stopped well within sprinting distance of them, waiting dutifully by the entrance to the fairground.
"I'd say you're doin' okay."

Ethan smiled lop-sidedly himself and nodded, the expression dissolving into a frown where he looked Norman over.
"Uh, I don't mean to pry, but…are you sure you're okay? You don't look well."
"I'm fine." He shook his head and forced another smile, smothering a cough into his fist. "Probably looks worse than it is, all these florescent lights."
"We can go somewhere indoors, if —"
"Nah, s'okay. The kid wants to skate, I ain't gonna ruin that." Norman smiled tightly, ignoring the ripping burn in his chest as they passed under a string of coloured lights and into the fairground proper.
"Okay." Ethan still looked uncertain, blue eyes concerned where the other looked him over again. "Just, let me know, if you need us to finish up early or anything." He smiled lop-sidedly and shook his head, returning Shaun's grin as the kid bounded back over to them clutching three sticks of cotton candy.
"I'm alright."


An improvised dinner of cotton candy, hotdogs, and nachos later, and himself and Ethan were sitting on a bench at the edge of a pop-up ice rink, well within sprinting distance of Shaun where the boy had gotten involved in a racing competition with a bunch of other kids his age. Norman smiled lop-sidedly at their antics, before attempting to swallow a cough, breath hitching in the freezing air. Triptocaine had helped supress the spasms in public on account of its mild muscle-relaxant properties; he'd forgotten how hard it was to hide the coughing without it. Trying to supress the stinging itch only made it worse; he coughed discreetly into his fist, found himself bent double seconds later, hacking his lungs out.
"Norman?! Jesus — are you okay?!" He nodded wordlessly, clenching the bloodied lilies in one hand and fumbling for his tissues with the other. Ethan was staring panickedly at him, one hand gripping his shoulder.
"It ain't contagious." He hung his head, panting, throat raw and chest aching like he'd broken a rib. His friend only frowned and shook his head, blue eyes filled with worry.
"You look awful, and you sound worse! Are you sure you —" He cut the other off with a shake of his head, waving a hand.
"S'nothing, jus' a cold. I, uh, I used to smoke, back in college, along with, er, some other stuff. Probably fucked up my lungs." His voice sounded weak and scratchy even to his ears, and he forced a smile, shrugging. "Sounds worse than it is."

Ethan only frowned, blue eyes scanning him attentively again, before shifting closer, resting an arm along the back of the bench and clearly prepared to grab him if he passed out or something without warning. Norman sighed quietly and swallowed, tasting blood, scrunched the lilies tightly into a tissue and dropped them in the trash can at his elbow. Shaun was racing back over, cheeks red from the cold and grinning delightedly; he pushed himself up straight on the bench and forced a smile, swallowing against the biting itch in his throat.

Norman managed to conceal the coughing reasonably well for the rest of their time at the fairground, alternating between taking near-constant sips of the slushie he'd bought himself and making some excuse to disappear for a few minutes when he felt a fit coming on. He wasn't exactly being the best company, could feel it in Shaun's confused expression and the worried looks Ethan threw him from time to time as well as his own mounting exhaustion, but it was a nice night out, if absolutely freezing, and he wanted to make the most of the last time he'd see the family.

Guess I've given 'em a pretty shitty way to remember me by. Hell, I guess it doesn't matter; they ain't gonna remember me in a couple months anyways.

"Norman?"
"Huh?" He blinked, realised with a rush of embarrassment that he was being spoken to. Ethan frowned, speaking slowly as though repeating his question.
"D'you want to come back for some coffee?"

The sensible thing to do would be to decline, he knew that, but it was so damn nice just being with people, and he didn't want the evening to end just yet.
"Oh. Uh, yeah? Sure. That'd be —" He broke off, wincing with the effort of supressing another cough. "That'd be great."