[closed]

[moonlighttag]

Characters: You Haibara, Choushiro Kirishima
Location:Horrorspital
Rating: R for Really Fucking Creepy
Time: December 18
Description: Choushiro got a stabbing, and needs a few stitches. if only it were that simple.

Comments

all of my tags are long. what is my life.

[forcingrituals]

[ there was no one else, in the end, that haibara could possibly allow to tend to this particular case- and given the constant chaos, it was an easy thing to arrange. the clinic had been busy since the very first patient had been wheeled through it's doors- and while some injuries were, yes, more severe than others, it left no shortage of work to be done

[moonlighttag]

[it's unfortunate how much time Choushiro has spent in hospitals, whether as a patient or otherwise, to understand the goings on. he isn't the worst case- thanks to that girl- but by no means is he so well off.

eventually, after a span of time he can't quite comprehend around beeping monitors and nurses calling and distressed patients, the rattle of the tray meets his ears and he looks up--

to see Haibara.]

You. [and the struggle begins; where he should lay back and take this professionally, the threat from before lingers and wells up enough to have him reaching for the edge of his gurney with the intention to rise.]

[forcingrituals]

If you do not restrain yourself, I have supplies that will do so for you.

[ bait as the comment may be, it isn't said with the deliberate intention to provoke. there would be, after all, time enough for something like that after the man was well. the detective would be no use, no source of curiosity or entertainment if he were to die now. and over so simple a thing.

he doesn't spare the man's face so much as a glance he he prepares the monitors, and draws the detective's hand away from the gurney's ridge- to place an iv there. ]

Your body has lost enough blood without you attempting to assist it.

[moonlighttag]

[his body wins that struggle for him, though. maybe he'd miscalculated just how weak he was; but Choushiro's lean body sinks back onto the cot, brow beaded with sweat even as he catches his breath.

not once do his dark eyes leave the doctor's form, though they dart to the fingers on his wrist. delicate and deft and the hands of a murderer. it's strange, and unsettling, because the last time they were this close Haibara was the one putting the knife in his gut.]

[forcingrituals]

[ impeccable bedside manner notwithstanding, it isn't something the doctor feels necessary to draw upon. for the visitors, yes. and for conscious, frightened patients. but given the opportunity to refrain from such pleasantries, he seizes it with ease. he has always preferred to work in silence, after all.

his attention leaves the iv only once he's certain he's finished the task, and the pain medication should take effect in a matter of moments, really. the man would likely be conscious for only a handful of minutes, though he would be entirely unsurprised to find the stubborn nature of his personality extended to this as well.

there is no preamble before he moves again, and a beat later, the doctor's gloved hands are on bloodied fabric. delicately unbuttoning the man's shirt, and folding the cloth aside. ]

[moonlighttag]

[the iv makes sense, it's probably some kind of pain relief which he wouldn't really reject, all things considered. be it his stubborn personality or something else entirely, though, these things always took a little longer with him.

his stomach jumps under the doctor's hands when he reaches to start pulling open his shirt; and Choushiro's brow creases with annoyance and the disquieting sense of vulnerability. this is not a position he had ever wanted to be in: entirely at Haibara's mercy.

the man could just as soon have put poison in that iv. and now he was undoubtedly going to be the one to stitch him up.]

You didn't answer- my question. [he says haltingly, maybe to distract himself from how unnerving the entire situation was, and the cool of sterilized air hitting his heated bare chest.]

[forcingrituals]

[ there is no pause, however momentary, as he works, and no sooner is the shirt moved away than his hands shift, drop to unclasp the man's belt and trousers. though he replies, his voice is clinical and distant- as though he is somehow disconnected from his own body. ]

And what question was that?

[moonlighttag]

[he thinks that this doesn't seem right, somewhat distantly. that the time in taking to undress him should have been done faster; what if this wound had been as bad as when it had first happened? the medication must be taking effect. he was feeling a little numb around the edges.

he takes a breath.] Your confession.

[forcingrituals]

[ he stops so abruptly, that the doctor actually startles himself. not for the words that reach him, practically a breath for combination of bloodloss, exhaustion, and medication that carry the words to his ears- but for the sight.

just there, beneath his fingers.
three inches across, and in the center, blood that wells so dark, it looks like ink.

and on the opposite side, nearly a direct parallel on the detective's stomach, is it's twin. the ghost of a wound. the scar that haibara himself had placed- one meant to pull the man into death. ]

Beautiful.

[ his hands remain, splayed over ashen skin, like marble. unmoving. and haibara is unaware that he's spoken at all. ]

[moonlighttag]

[it isn't quite what he was expecting. but maybe that in itself is telling enough. Choushiro firmly tells himself it isn't fear, he's feeling; and maybe it isn't. but he can't quite put a name to the tightening he feels inwardly.

that expression on Haibara's face- it's almost disturbing for the sheer wonder, that whatever he's seeing, he really does think is beautiful and it only cements anything Choushiro thought of him. this man was ill. as ill as his patients had been.

his vision swims alarmingly in that moment, and his gaze narrows. why was he feeling so exhausted? stitches didn't require him to be put under sedation.

oh. sedation.]

What did you-

[forcingrituals]

[ when the doctor finally pulls away, it is with deliberate slowness. an intentional, conscious movement apart from wound, not the man, that he is devoting his attention to. one step, and then another, carries him to the tray at the edge of his vision, and he pulls it closer- a gentle clanking as it rolls along the tile.

the needle lifts only a moment later, and haibara's attention remains, fixedly, there. safely away from his patient's features. ]

Surely you did not believe you would remain still of your own volition.

[moonlighttag]

[his intuition had been correct again; a drug he didn't need and it only made him more vulnerable. he wouldn't be awake to know what this man would do to him, laying there bleeding with his shirt and trousers open. he'd seen what this man had done to his patients, behind closed doors. and while he should probably have taken some serenity in the fact that this was a public forum, the images of what he'd found flashed so quickly through his head that it was difficult not to panic.

his breath hitched, and he twitched on the bed- but his limbs all felt as heavy as his eyelids.]

Haibara... [the insistence slurred.

but in the chaos of the room, in the wake of the doctor's remarkable calm, there was no way anyone would notice.]

[forcingrituals]

There is no sense in fighting it.

[ the words are a detached observation, an easy statement of fact instead of an attempt to provoke, the proof of which lies in every inch of his demeanor. there is no hint of concern. no tension to his limbs that would suggest wariness, or the familiar game of tag that settles, unresolved between them.

instead, haibara is unmoving at the bedside, gloved hands, still at his sides. a single needle resting between finger and thumb. ]

You may think of her. If it will bring you peace.

[moonlighttag]

[he fights it, despite those words, half distant. he doesn't want to go under, he doesn't want to miss anything- but whatever he'd been injected with burns into his blood seductively and he can't win this fight.

his eyes flutter, once, twice, before rolling back and unconsciousness takes him, leaving him flat and pliant on the table.]

[forcingrituals]

[ haibara does not move again until several moments after the detective has finally lost his battle- and he uses to pretense of work as a distraction. instead of busing himself with alternate tasks, the doctor remains, like a ghost, haunting the man's bedside. as if, impossibly, expecting him to move- to sit up, at any moment.

he does not realize that he moves, when he does. much less, that his hands have already set themselves to the injury. sterilizing the area, and wiping away excess, mottled blood with practiced, thoughtless ease. it is once the needle is ready- hovering over the man's skin however- that he hesitates.

for one minute. and then another.

how close he'd come. the first time, and then now, again. in such a poetically similar way- at someone else's hand. what a talent you have, he muses, and a single, gloved finger- presses itself into the wound. dips beneath the punctured flesh, as though haibara himself were the knife- and the warmth he finds, of a still warm body, clinging violently to life around his touch- is a

[moonlighttag]

[choushiro rouses with a start two hours later, from the sensation of falling. his eyes flutter open and don't focus directly, which leaves him with the disorienting sensation of being in the hopsital, of a knife in his stomach and of the ground rushing up to meet him.]

Haibara- [he jolts, and nearly cries out when his bruised stomach reacts just as violently to his awakening. his hand comes up to his stomach, covering the gauze on the left side of his body; and the reality of the situation hits him full force.

it's a few moments of recollecting his stabbing by that clown, his rescue by Sakura and his subsequent bandaging by that he's able to calm his mind fractionally.

he has every intention of getting up directly, but sleep drags him under minutes later, and he doesn't rise again for another hour after that. and only then does he climb gingerly out of bed and rebutton his bloody shirt to make his way out of the hospital to find someone working on this case.]