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It was oddly quiet in HQ, which - to Haruichi's mind and experience - meant either everybody was gone or everybody was dead. Since he hadn't heard much calamity in the past hour he was all for assuming that many of the agents had absented the scene, but just to make sure there wasn't some utterly unhilarious practical joke being played on someone (namely, him) Haruichi had strode up out the basement and was busy wandering the halls and passages of Headquarters - glad of the chance to stretch his legs if nothing else.
About thirty seconds into his reconnoiter a whumping, aching cough seemed to crash in the air. Haruichi paused mid-step, hands shoved into his lab coat's pockets, blinked his eyes once - and then narrowed them and set off at a veritable trot for the location of that sound.
There wasn't much trouble with that, the size and depth and sheer sound of those coughs acted like pings on a radar screen and about twenty seconds after he'd started the woebegotten source of those coughs found himself saddled with the kind of company he'd likely not appreciate.
"What in the name of all that's holy are you choking on?" he demanded, roughly toeing open the Rec Room door and pacing through its debris towards the dark haired rookie coughing into his hand.
Hayate had been a ninja too long to jump outright in surprise, but he got a good shot of adrenaline through his system at the unexpected voice. He looked up quickly, and choked the last cough down into silence, hastily clearing his throat. The Hyuuga--he had to be, with those eerie eyes--was looking rather stern and annoyed.
"I'm not choking. I'm fine," Hayate told him, wincing at how raspy his voice was. He cleared his throat again, knowing it probably wouldn't help.
Hayate took in the lab coat the other was wearing, and wryly decided the Hyuuga probably was not going to be put off by his assurances. Hayate smiled a little, polite smile for appearances, and reached around to dig through the back pockets of his jeans one-handed. If he was going to talk again, possibly argue about the state of his health, he wanted a non-scratchy voice to do it with. He fished out a piece of hard candy and slowly unwrapped it, keeping his eyes on the Hyuuga.
Hands still shoved deep into his pockets, Haruichi angled his head in unconscious curiosity as he eyed the young man in his mutedly slovenly jeans and sweatshirt, who was in turn watching him right back. The medic sped through his own little mental bingo book of agents and did not come across anything that suggested a male, mid-teens, with a look about his general health that all but screamed 'I am ill, are you a doctor or what?' ought to be in HQ. He wasn't on any roster Haruichi had seen from last week and in all true seriousness, nobody in their right mind would refer a patient to Haruichi.
New blood in the service, it seemed. And this time Haruichi was here in time to see to the medical priorities before anything got in the way (like, for instance, the rookie working out who he was and fleeing) so that was what was about to happen.
Haruichi didn't smile back, but he didn't scowl either. "You don't look particularly healthy, nor do you sound it. I'm the medic here: Hyuuga Haruichi. When did you sign on?"
Hayate popped the candy into his mouth and shoved the wrapper into a front pocket. The honey-candy was sweet and he tucked it into his cheek before he spoke.
The man--Haruichi, he had said his name was--was of a height with Hayate. He looked rather determined. Part of that was the neatness of his clothes, Hayate thought, and the thrust of his hands in his pockets. "Oh, a medic," Hayate thought, with a resigned mental sigh. Well, medical-type people weren't quite as annoying as regular concerned people. At least the medics had a reason to ask.
"I'm fine," he repeated, which was the complete truth. "It's just allergies. I, um, signed up a few days ago. I'm Hayate, Gekkou Hayate." His voice was only a little scratchy now, but that was normal.
Most people generally smiled back when Hayate smiled at them. Haruichi did not. Undeterred, Hayate kept the little polite smile fixed on his face. Hayate doubted that he was going to get away with a brief explanation like that--not with a medic--but there was always hope.
Hayate liked to think he was an optimist.
"What are you allergic to, Hayate?" Haruichi asked, thinking about what there might be in the room to cause a reaction and coming up with a list as long as his arm. His white eyes didn't shift from Hayate's dark ones as he waited to see if he was going to get an answer, and furthermore, if said answer was going to be a lie. Haruichi might have been unceremoniously ousted from their ranks but he was still a Hyuuga and like any of them he'd spend his formative years learning how to read a person's eyes for the truth, and he was going to get it.
Hayate flinched a little. "Trees," he answered, after a moment. He fully expected a blank stare or an incredulous laugh. That was the usual response. "Um, but it's aggravated by other stuff, like cigarette smoke."
And dry air, going from cold air to warm or vice versa, too much exercise, any strong smell from cigarette smoke to perfume to incense....the list was extensive. Hayate clacked his candy absently against his teeth and sighed a very careful sigh.
"Trees and smoke," Haruichi repeated, his voice flat as a pancake. "And you've lived in the Hidden Village in the Leaves in the Country of Fire for how long, Gekkou Hayate?" Haruichi wasn't even vaguely satisfied by this explanation, and logically - if this kid wanted to have any confidence in his medic in ANBU - nor should Hayate want him to be.
One of Haruichi's sneakered feet tapped quietly on the dirty carpet.
Well, at least he wasn't laughing. Not outright anyway. Hayate smiled again, a little wryly. "All my life. Though I did think about moving to Suna. I hear there's no trees there."
Hayate shifted on his feet, and resigned himself to answering whatever else Haruichi asked. In Hayate's experience, medics asked plenty of questions, but at least they had reasons to ask. And if Haruichi was the medic here at ANBU--he said he was, and Hayate had no reason to doubt him--then it was probably in Hayate's best interest that Haruichi know about his particular afflictions.
"It's just chronic hay-fever, is all. I just cough, it's nothing too bad." Hayate shrugged. "I actually sound better in the winter."
Which was the truth. He really did sound like he was choking in the spring, when the trees came out with leaves.
Haruichi's eyes narrowed quietly and he shook his head slightly. There was chronic and then there was catastrophic. Hayate looked like a strong breeze would take him off his feet after all that coughing.
Well, there was nothing for it.
"I'm sure you'd actually sound better if a porcupine had taken up residence in your lungs," Haruichi allowed, pulling his hands from his pockets and pointing one pale finger at the door. "Come on, you're getting your recruitment physical. You've left a last will and testament someplace, I suppose?"
Erk. Last will and testament? That didn't sound reassuring. Unless it was a prod at his cough. Hayate knew he didn't sound that bad. His smile dropped a notch, but stayed polite.
"After you," he said, softly. "I don't know my way around yet."
It was the truth, and it also let him keep an eye on Haruichi. Hayate wasn't sure if he trusted the man or not. Medic he might be, but trustworthy? Well, time would tell.
Hayate waited for the man to lead off.
Lead off Haruichi did, setting off at a soft-footed and strident pace for the basement and the Infirmary within. Time was, he'd have seriously considered tattooing the directions onto a rookie's palm so that there was no possibility they'd have an excuse to forget where their healthcare support was to be found - but in the years he'd been gone HQ had apparently broken the bank on a series of arrow-shaped signs attached to the walls. It was probably for the best.
"This is the Infirmary," Haruichi announced, pushing open the door and pointing imperilously at the examination table. "If you are sick, injured, suicidal, poisoned, in fear of your life, in fear of your death or indeed, have a headache, you will come to this place and be taken care of. It's important you understand this fact, knowing how to get here is more important than knowing how to find the front door. Go take a seat."
Hayate was somewhat less than impressed by Haruichi's speech, but he did take careful note of how to get down to the Infirmary, orienting it with the rest of the mental map he was building. It was information likely to come in handy, though he honestly did not expect to visit here often.
He was neither accident- nor illness-prone, despite his allergies.
"Go take a seat," Haruichi ordered, and the look on his face brooked no arguments.
Hayate's battered kick-off shoes made no noise at all on the linoleum flooring. He was fairly resigned to his fate: encounters with medics generally followed the same lines. Questions, disbelief, proddings, and the conclusion that yes, the only thing really wrong with him was that he had persistent allergies. Which Hayate had usually told them from the start.
The exam table was, sadly enough, metal. Hayate turned his back to it and hopped up, wincing as the chill instantly seeped through his jeans. There were definite problems with being skinny--lack of proper insulation was a big one.
Perhaps it was an indication of the icy, wicked nature of Haruichi's very bones but he'd never found the exam table (frigid, solid metal that it was) uncomfortable - and he was merciless in his dealings with those who complained.
Hayate did not complain in a noisy way, and it was his first day, so Haruichi let him be. Call it generosity. Also call it the limit therof. He fished a stethoscope out one deep white pocket and hooked it around his neck as he found a blank file in which to start recording Gekkou Hayate's details in the only hand to be trusted - his own.
"This will be painless for the most part," Haruichi said over his shoulder, tossing the file onto the cart and pulling it along to the exam table. "Lift up your shirt." He listened to Hayate's heart and then to his lungs, keeping time with the clock on the wall and shifting sums in his head. "Alright, now hold out your arm. This is the non-painless part."
Hayate really, really hated cold things. The table was cold, the stethoscope was cold, and Haruichi's hands were like ice! He was certainly not high on Hayate's "likeable people" list.
He pricked up, though, when Haruchi started laying out items for drawing blood. Hayate wasn't terribly fond of needles, but the process of blood-drawing was always interesting. He rolled his sleeve up without protest. Haruichi's hands might have been cold, but they were deft and sure about their motions. Hayate watched closely, especially when Haruichi angled the needle above a good vein and slipped it in.
It stung a little, but not that bad. The blood that filled the syringe was dark and thick. It was a beautiful shade of deep crimson, swirling beneath the clear plastic in fascinating whorls and currents.
Hayate knew most people didn't like to watch themselves get poked with needles, nor see their own blood, and was unsurprised when Haruichi spoke up.
Call him untrusting (seriously, he'd prefer it if you did) but Haruichi had decided around week two of his first stint as a medic for ANBU that there was need for a subtle gauging of the tendencies of his patients. Of course, it was always a good idea to know how they handled things like needles, but for more reasons than the obvious. The ones who liked watching themselves get stabbed and such, or who were overtly fond of the sight of blood, were oftentimes the ones you had to keep an eye on. Matsudaira Ranmaru, for instance, had outright terrified Haruichi during his physical by cheerfully sticking himself with the needle in his brachial artery. Good gods, the mess on the ceiling....
At any rate, when Hayate's eyes shifted to examine the blood drawing process, Haruichi noticed and spoke up. "Interesting?" he inquired neutrally, drawing off one snap-tube, pinching the draw and attaching another for the next sample from the same flow.
Hayate's gaze flicked up to the other's face, and back down. Haruichi's expression had been oddly blank. Hayate very gently shrugged one shoulder--so as not to dislodge the needle in his other arm, because that always stung something awful.
"Well, a little," he answered softly.
Had he any idea Haruchi was pondering how insane he might be, Hayate likely would have laughed outright, and assured the medic he was quite fine. While he had a passing fondness for the way blood tasted, Hayate was perfectly content to leave it where it was--inside his skin.
But blood drawn for medicinal purposes was safe and interesting. And blood not exposed to the open air was a captivating colour--instead of the vivid, almost obscene shade of spilt blood, it was a somber crimson, shadowed almost black. Rather pretty, all things considered.
He said none of his thoughts, and merely watched as Haruichi laid aside the little tubes of blood.
A nod was his reply to that as Haruichi finished the procedure, putting pressure, gauze and then tape over the needle-prick. "Most people find it unnerving," he commented, reasonably satisfied that Hayate was less bloodthirsty and more interested in medical procedures. Of course, he couldn't guarantee anything - but what the hell, he had more than a few additional check-ups and procedures to be taking care of before he let him go anywhere anyway. Especially regarding that cough.
"But then, you're in ANBU. You aren't 'most people' any longer." Haruichi labelled the tubes with a black pen and then picked up the clipboard again, his voice perfectly idle as he spoke. "Alright, do you know if the hospital have your dental x-rays?"
...that he did not. Hayate scowled and rolled his sleeve back down. "No. But I'm sure if you talk to Megumi-sensei at the hospital, she can get you all my files."
The lady doctor had taken it upon herself to keep an eye out for him. Hayate did not really know why, but he was grateful all the same. He liked her--she was a kind lady, if a tad on the mildly sarcastic side.
Hayate shifted on the metal table. "Is that all?" he asked softly. His behind was freezing, and the rest of him was getting just as cold. Another minute and he might start shivering. "The disadvantages of being built like a twig," he thought with mild annoyance.
The door to the infirmary was open, and it sounded like there was a disturbance somewhere out in the hall. Faintly, someone could be heard cursing.
Haruichi turned around, stethoscope slung around his neck, scalpel-case sticking out his pocket, plastic gloves dangling out the other, clipboard in one hand an the other resting on the handle of the medical cart. Prominent on the cart was a length of plastic hose and a breather mask that he'd just been giving highly speculative looks.
"No, that is not all," he informed Hayate, somewhat superfluously he thought. There was a mighty battery of tests and examinations Haruichi planned to initiate, undertake and write-out for before he'd consider this exam anywhere close to done. He wasn't pleased with this 'allergy' business causing that cough and, in the way of all doctors with egos, was positive he could find out something about it once he had his turn.
"Now that the basics are done I intend to do some tests to get more detailed information about that cough of yours," Haruichi extracted a positively ungodly looking plastic instrument from the cart and eyed Hayate, then the proboscis of it, in a way which suggested he was wondering if it would fit.
At that precise moment, the doorframe of the Infirmary was run into at full-tilt by not one but two ANBU chuunin. One of whom - as was custom - promptly vomited all over the Infirmary floor.
"Seennnseeiii!" wailed the other one, positively pathetically through a snot-choked nose. "We've got a sit-situation here! Kobe-kun and me were sparring and then suddenly I guess I didn't realize the senbon had some poison on it and--"
"Blarghfgle!"
"--now Kobe's poisoned and throwing up and I've got this stupid kunai still in my rib and I already had the flu and--"
"I want to -blarflgh!- die!"
Haruichi would never know where it came from, nevertheless, he gathered the internal fortitude not to kill both of them right then, right there. His hands were emptied, his stethoscope went into his ears (as much to block out Kisuke's blathering as to be of use) and he picked his way around a slathering of vomit on his clean and pristine floor to hoist Kobe by the scruff of his neck and haul him onto the exam table.
The empty exam table.
When sudden miraculous avenues of escape became available, one did not question them or the methods involved. One took one's chances and fled--with or without dignity intact.
Some distance down the hall, Hayate paused to look over his shoulder. The commotion in the infirmary was likely to continue for a while. Sastisfied his escape was assured, Hayate tucked his hands into his pockets, and gave the hallway a considering look.
He hadn't yet explored the basements.
"No time like the present," he thought cheerfully, and set off down the hall. | |
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