Born to Fly

Mamoru stared at the pale doctor in front of him. His head was still throbbing, still beating against his skull with agonizing regularity, and it was taking all his self control not to start twitching or screaming, anything to help alleviate the pain.

He could see something foreign in the other man's eyes, something he saw in too many people's faces these days, and decided he'd hate the other man if he said anything like, "I'm sorry."

"Do you have anything for me, Doctor?" He asked after a period of extended silence. The sound of his own voice against his ears was harsh, and he winced. The feel of the cigarette in his hands made him want to light it, and his fingers twitched in the direction of his lighter before he remembered that the good doctor was telekinetic, and would ruin another of his smokes if he tried.

"I don't know what to prescribe you," Naoe said at last. "Give me a list of your allergies, and I'll see what I can do." He didn't sound very convincing.

I know, you bastard, you'd just as soon see me rot in hell. As long as you take the pain away before I go, we'll be square. Mamoru leaned back in his chair, his fingers twitching around the cigarette in time with the pounding in his head.

"Doxylamine, dog dander, and peanuts. Doxylamine sends me into anaphylactic shock, and the other two are just mild irritants. No one's ever been able to figure out why doxylamine causes anaphylaxis." Naoe wrote them down carefully, ever attentive to his charge.

Mamoru took a deep breath, and let it out quickly when he realized that the room had started spinning dangerously around him. His headache had doubled in intensity, the throbbing turning into a pounding that felt like Thor was inside his head, pounding to get out. Or was that Athena and Zeus?

This was no time for piddling jokes like that, he told himself, and watched as the cigarette dropped from nerveless fingers. I'm going to be sick, he realized, and gasped in a short breath. "Doc... Na...Nagi.."

He had time to witness Naoe's head jerk up to look at him just as the spinning turned into darkness and he collapsed forward.

*

He opened his eyes to a vast and bright white light. It stabbed into his eyes with all the mercy of the morning sun, and he flinched backwards, his head pushing against something soft. He turned his face away from the horrific light, and blinked to adjust his eyes. A machine next to the bed blinked evenly, proclaiming his heart-rate to be normal.

I'm still alive? Mamoru sat up slowly, testing his headache. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton balls and old laundry, but the pain was gone. It was just gone. The sudden absence of pain was almost as frightening as the onset itself, and he wondered what that mad doctor had done to him this time.

"It's not Nagi's doing," came a familiar voice, and Mamoru jerked his eyes over to the source of it, still in awe at being able to move without pain. He almost passed over the person in the chair without recognizing them; they'd been so different the last time he'd seen them.

"You were different too. Black hair suits you, you know. Makes you look like less of a child porn-star and more like the adult celebrity you actually are."

Mamoru focused on him, and then sneered, taking in the short-cropped red hair and lime-green shirt. "Schuldig," he said conversationally. "I can't say it's nice to see you again, but how've you been? I see you've managed to stay alive."

"Can't say the same for you," came the amused rejoinder. "And be nice to me, it's on my say so that Jei's taking away your pain."

Mamoru frowned at him. "Jei?" Schuldig pointed, smirking the old smirk, and Mamoru followed his gesture with his eyes. A familiar white-haired figure sat on the chair nearby, looking peaceful. Mamoru didn't even have the energy to be surprised. "Ah," he said.

Jei unfolded himself from the chair. "You probably remember me by another name," he said. "But I assure you, those days are long past. My powers have fully matured now, and I assure you, I am more than capable of taking care of you."

Mamoru gaped at him. "Powers?" He asked, and the door opened. Naoe and Crawford stepped in, and Mamoru pressed his hands into his eyes. "This is just fan-fucking-tastic." The four former members of Schwarz shared a look, and telepathic communication.

Naoe stepped forward. "Jei is a very capable empath," he said by way of explanation. "He's the one keeping your headache at bay while we figure out what the hell you did to yourself to get into such shoddy condition."

"Lived," Mamoru said bitterly, eyeing the grey streaks in Crawford's hair. It didn't make him look old; instead it gave him a dignified air. It wasn't unattractive, especially since the horrid cream suits of years gone past had been discarded, and he now settled himself in the chair next to Schuldig's wearing a pair of loose jeans and a buttoned-down shirt.

He took a better look at the people around him. Naoe was dressed in a long white coat and a pale brown shirt and tie, a small pair of glasses perched on his nose. Jei was also in a white coat, though he had blue on underneath it instead of brown. They'd all moved on as people, living their lives. The two strongest had become doctors, and who knew what the telepathic freak and the precog did.

"I'm a writer," Schuldig piped in cheerfully, replying to his thoughts.

Christ, Mamoru thought. Two doctors, a writer, an actor, and what the hell does Crawford do? ... No answer?

"I am an actor, as well," Crawford said mildly by way of answer. Mamoru stared at him. "You may recognize the name Brad Tremain?"

His thoughts whirled as he tried to place the name, and then blinked in surprise. "That's you?" he asked stupidly. "Why acting?"

"One can ask the same of you," the other man said, still projecting an air of being non-threatening. "Why acting?"

Mamoru stared angrily down at his hands clenched into fists in his lap, and considered the question. Why acting? "It's the furthest thing from ... Weiss... as I could get," he said after a long pause. Naoe stood to leave in response to a page over the intercom.

"Jei," he said, pausing beside the former madman. Something passed between them non-verbally, though Mamoru didn't have the energy to wonder if they'd spoken telepathically. He wanted a cigarette so badly he could taste the nicotine on his tongue already.

"I'm going downstairs to smoke," he said, and began to gingerly climb out of the bed. Jei glared balefully at him, and when he continued undaunted, stood to help him.

"If you've got to pander to that disgusting habit, you should at least not kill yourself on the way down," he said and fetched a wheelchair.

Mamoru glared at him. "If you think I'm going to sit in that thing you've got another thing com-aAHh!" He crumpled to the ground as the fuzzy thickness around his head lifted, and the pain returned full-force. Dizzy and sick, he curled around himself in an effort to will the pain from his body. When the blanket of soothing stuffiness settled again, he refused to uncurl.

"Are you going to sit in the wheel-chair?" Jei asked calmly, as though he hadn't just tortured his patient into agreeing. Mamoru nodded, and stood shakily.

"Bastard," he said quietly, sitting down in the hated chair. Schuldig waggled his fingers in farewell.


(TBC)