I was cleaning out my hard drive and happened across this story. It's part of a sick!fic drabble challenge I wrote with the darling featheredxrequiem. BTW, her story is called 'Puzzle' and you can find it on her profile.

I don't think I like this story very much, now that I think about it.

Akari's not sure how it came to this. Despite the wealth of properly-trained, medically-trained staff at Research Tower, his attending is none other than Circus' Second Captain.

The events precipitating his broken wrist and femur are a nebulous blur of movement and noise. What he can recall involves boxes of old field reports stacked impossibly high, an unsteady (but convenient) ladder, and a skittish straw-haired lieutenant whose preternatural swiftness managed to topple him but not break his fall. Even so, it's unfair to levy all blame upon the youth. He realizes this somewhere in the nether regions of his cognizance, but he's entirely too frustrated to submit his own thoughts to their customary rigor.

Surprisingly, Akari was a rather complacent patient as Ryoushi-sensei stitched his cuts and casted his fractured limbs. Then again, that was before Hirato arrived to spend the day. If the incapacitated genius harbored any proclivities towards foolishness, he might be moved by the gesture. But Akari is not, nor has he ever been, a fool, or any variant thereof. So when his breathtakingly beautiful paramour saunters through the door, he knows with unerring accuracy that the day's gone to Hell.

This is confirmed immediately. Leveling bedroom eyes at Akari's assigned nurse, Hirato plucks a tiny cup of pills from her fingers. "You must have many matters to attend. Why not leave this to me?"

"I-I-I couldn't do that. Ozaki-sensei said to deliver these to Akari-sensei myself," the poor thing stammers.

The captain inches closer to the besotted girl, settling a gloved hand on her shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. "Did he now? Could it be that he knows Akari-sensei is a difficult patient?" He laughs softly, tossing a playful wink at the difficult patient in question.

Akari huffs and crosses his arms, making mental note to fire this disrespectful tittering idiot of a nurse and murder that Ozaki in his sleep—to say nothing of the fate that awaits the Second Commander.

"Sensei isn't difficult, Hirato-sama. He just works too hard and needs to rest." She simpers at an impassive strawberry blond. 'Sensei' opens his mouth to spew a few choice insults, but he's circumvented by a black-haired devil who has the uncanny ability to draw attention like a flame draws moths.

"Ah, then isn't it time you took your own advice, my dear?" Hirato says while showing her out. "I assure you, your director is perfectly safe in my care."

Hirato then rounds on his captive, holding the pills before narrowed ruby eyes. "Take these," he orders, all trace of gentlemanly politesse abandoned.

"I'm not taking opiates. I have work to do." The researcher may be immobilized at present, but he is still the head of this facility, and they are squarely in his territory.

"Yes," the brunet says in a tone that brooks no argument, "you are."

"Listen to me you protozoan brute, you can issue all the directives you want on your ow—"

In one fluid motion, Hirato tips the pills into his own mouth and crushes his lips against Akari's, insistent tongue demanding entry. In response, the physician snaps his teeth together, leaving a frustrated commander to lick against them ineffectually. Having been thwarted, Hirato essays another tactic, winding graceful fingers through silken hair and tugging in exactly the manner Akari likes. The blond gasps... and then chides himself for being so easily bested.

Somehow, codeine tastes more bitter than ever.

Afterwards, and clearly by way of apology, the captain is uncommonly careful with his companion. Exceedingly reserved lips slant across the doctor's in a manner nothing like before. Akari accepts the kiss and closes his eyes, forgetting completely his fury.

He wakes to a dull but severe pain thrumming through his limbs. Alert violet irises scan for any indication of discomfort. His pained grimace betrays, and before another word is exchanged, Hirato goes off in search of assistance. When he returns, he's wielding an evil leer and a syringe. Morphine, the blond recognizes, and he knows too what it will mean. His mind drifts to the data monopolizing his desk. Cradle cell experiments are long overdue. Hearty's cage hasn't been cleaned in a week. He raises a stalling hand. "Don't even think about it. I'll get by on codeine."

"Is that why you're holding your breath?"

Akari hadn't noticed. "Irrelevant. I refuse."

"This is getting old," Hirato sighs. It's not often that he's the exasperated one. In fact, the researcher has never seen annoyance manifest on that mask-like visage.

And in that instant, Akari recognizes that it is getting old. Truly. As a result, he can only nod in resignation and hope for a speedy recovery. "Call the nurse. I don't trust you with sharp objects."

Hirato grins; clearly, the amoebic fool believes he's been challenged. "What an awful thing to say. I'll have to prove my trustworthiness then."

Air embolism, Akari thinks, consigning himself to an ignoble death. An illustrious life, over because of a series of freak accidents caused by the inepts who crew Airship Two.

While the scientist considers his lingering regrets, said inept takes his arm and uncurls it, exposing the underside. Akari smothers an urge to snatch it back. And if he's never been thoroughly convinced that Hirato can read the tenor of his every heartbeat and discern the hesitation in his every breath, his opinion changes when the irresistible rake leans down to kiss the injection site with unreserved tenderness. "I don't want to hurt you, Akari. Please relax."

"How am I supposed to relax with you trying to stick me?"

"You make it sound as if I've never stuck you before."

Akari sputters. Such coarseness is unlike Circus' Second Commander, but it's certainly distracting enough to disregard how badly he hurts, even momentarily. "Get on with it."

"Characteristically impatient, are we?"

"Hirato—" It's growled in warning and received as intended.

"Later, I promise. You can murder me later." Gentle fingers swab the crook of the physician's elbow before administering the drug with more caution than even he would employ. Hirato's just placed the bandage when a loud, metallic crash startles both of them. Alarmed voices echo down the hallway; hurried footsteps follow.

"What was that?" Akari inquires, bolting upright and preparing to save his research institution from catastrophe.

He's stalled by an outstretched arm. "Probably Yogi," the airship captain explains, mischief dancing across his features.

"What is he doing here?"

"I volunteered him to clean bedpans and laboratory cages." Hirato's smirk lengthens in dark delight. "As punishment."