harajukuharuspex:
The light disappeared. Saguru blinked against the harsh fluorescence, the white of the walls, the pale grey of his bedsheets. With some difficulty, he focused on the middle-aged man before him. His brown hair was flecked with grey and hazel eyes warm. He pocketed the flashlight. “I’m afraid she has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury,” the doctor murmured, in the tone of someone who had delivered this line many times before, weary, soft. He sighed, resting a hand on Hakuba’s tense shoulder.
“She is comatose.”
Comatose. In a coma. Akira may, quite possibly, never wake up again. Or lapse into a permanent vegetative state. Both of which could take anywhere from mere days to several years to determine. She could wake up too, of course; two days from 18:33:12 or nineteen years.
“We’ve yet to test the Vestibulo-ocular reflex, but I have high hopes for her.” He offered the injured detective a thin smile and a pat on the shoulder. “A coma induced by a traumatic injury has the second-highest rate of recovery, after overdose-induced comas.”
He pulled aside the curtain Saguru hadn’t registered – the concussion, of course – to reveal his friend.
There are so many wires. An intravenous line in her hand, but more wires to deliver other drugs, a liquid diet, and the terrifying apparatus over her mouth and jammed down her throat, breathing for her.
“She also fractured three ribs and broke one clavicle – ah, a collarbone, the left one,” the doctor amended, unsure of Saguru’s experience with medical terminology.
“But she’ll be okay.”
She’ll be okay.
Hakuba blinked again at the doctor, lips parting in disbelief at the words that he’d just spoken. Severe trauma to the brain, comatose, broken bones – and yes, he did know what a clavicle was – and she was going to be okay? The detective couldn’t hold back the snort of disbelief, then a grimace as the pain in his head pressed harder.
“Have her parents been notified?” he instead asked.
The doctor nodded.
“When will they arrive?”
“They can’t; they’re overseas.”
The detective looked to Akira again, wincing at the light in the room. It made him nauseous. Really, really ill. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. “What’s the post-care going to be? What sort of procedures and watch?”
“That all depends on how her condition progresses, Saguru-kun. Arrangements will be made.”
“You will inform me when she’s awake, yes?” Hakuba left his eyes closed as he spoke, focusing what little energy he had into giving his words an authoritative tone. “And any other updates, of course, as would be relevant…”
“You’re not exactly the girl’s guardian, Saguru-kun, and besides, you really must rest…”
“I’m not going to be spoken to like I’m a child-”
“Saguru-kun…”
“I take full responsibility and-”
The door opened and a nurse came in, bringing with her supplies.
“Oh, good,” the doctor said, nodding to her. “Get him something for the pain, would you? Poor boy has himself all worked up.”
Hakuba frowned, brows furrowed at the audacity. “I’m just fine, excuse me… In fact, I-”
The nurse put a hand on his shoulder to keep him lying against the bed. “It’s all right, Saguru-kun… just listen to the doctor.”
He let out a shuddering breath, but spared a glare for her and the doctor, who only sighed back at him.
“Your family has been informed, as well, and your Baaya is on her way. Unfortunately, your father is unable to leave the office at present.” The doctor flipped through charts at Akira’s side, glancing at Saguru over his shoulder after a moment. “You’re to stay overnight so that we can observe the severity of your concussion. Fortunately, most of the lacerations weren’t as bad as we’d feared and have been sutured and dressed already.”
Hakuba blinked again, shifting as he could to look down at himself. His forearms were bandaged, as was his neck, he realized, when he moved. The nurse, once again, gently guided him back to full resting position while the doctor, having observed him, reacted accordingly.
“You were this close to a severed artery,” the doctor explained, holding up pinched fingers. “Very fortunate that the shrapnel didn’t get that far.”
The half-brit thought to argue with the doctor’s definition of ‘fortunate’ and instead let out a ragged sigh. “Have the… police reports been filed, yet?”
“An officer came by while you were unconscious. You lost quite a bit of blood, son.”
“That’s what I understand…” Actually, Hakuba didn’t understand a great deal about it. The painkillers given had kept him from really feeling what was wrong, and the poor way that his body responded to commands made him nervous. And his head – god, his head!
It was that pain that got him to stop fighting. Painkillers and fluids through IV. They asked him questions, as did the police officer that lingered to fill out his report. For once, Hakuba was very little help in that regard, but they were professional enough.
Somewhere through the evening, Baaya arrived, and waited on the sidelines while the others conversed. Hakuba had various cuts from the twisted metal wreckage that was now his totaled BMW, some deeper than others, most requiring some kind of care. Whiplash, concussion, various bruises, etc. The worst were the head trauma and the blood loss, the latter of which was remedied by time spent in bed.
The officer thanked Hakuba for his cooperation and left, while the staff went to make their rounds about the hospital, promising (and warning) that they’d be back to check up on them soon. This left Hakuba alone,watching Akira on the bed across the room, listening to her breathing and the machines that kept her stable. The mechanical noise that echoed in the room pounded the truth of the matter. Akira could die, and it had been Hakuba behind the wheel when it had happened.
He couldn’t have known that the other car would lose control and hit them. That hadn’t been their fault. But maybe if he hadn’t been speeding… maybe if he’d done something differently, they’d be in better shape. As it was, Hakuba could only remember snippets of the crash. Could he have prevented her from getting so injured if he’d braced her himself? Had bracing at all done any good, or had it made their injuries worse? He didn’t know. There was no way to know. But lying there, watching, he couldn’t ignore the guilt that clenched at him, that gnawed at his heart.
Hakuba had ignored all of the doctor’s assurances that there was nothing he could have done. Ignored the policeman when he said the same thing. No one had known how fast they’d been going. Perhaps if they’d gone just a bit slower, they wouldn’t have been hit at all. He grimaced, forcing himself to keep his gaze steadily on her. What would Emi think? How was his father going to react?
Baaya came back into the room a short while later and sat on the edge of his bed, reaching out to stroke the side of his face. “The doctor thinks we’ll be able to take you home in the morning, young master…”
The detective didn’t respond with anything more than a nod, not looking at her.
“She’ll be all right.”
Hakuba grimaced.
“Stay strong, Saguru-kun… it’s not so bad…”
He shuddered, breath hitched. "Baaya…“ came a sort of strangled squeak.
She touched his forehead, he shifted to wrap his arms around her, pressing his face against her leg. Baaya instead rubbed his back and shoulders, feeling every tremble as he wept. The old woman sighed, wondering how many times they’d been like this. How many times would she have to watch him suffer? Of course she knew that he blamed himself, that he hated himself. That’s how it always was. But things were in the hands of their maker, now, and all that they could do was wait.
And wait they did. Baaya sighed again once she was certain that Hakuba had fallen asleep once more, and stroked his back gently. "Happy birthday, Saguru… things will turn out right."
