The intercom clicked on without any of the usual fanfare.

"This is Head Nurse Lydia," said the subtly tense voice on the other side of the speakers. "The Head Doctor is feeling a bit... ill, so I will be taking over his duties momentarily.

"I hope that you all enjoyed your meal. Now, the adults may be escorted to the showers while children can partake in Arts & Crafts activities.

"Thank you."

The intercom clicked off.

The sting of the water on Momo's wounds reminded her exactly where each and every burn was. Between that and the clear plastic wrapping the nurse placed around the long cut up her arm to her shoulder, she decided as little time in the actual spray would be wise. Sitting on a stool out of the direct stream, she went about scrubbing the grit and grime.

It almost felt weird to be alive with her throat intact, but Momo was not about to wish it was otherwise. In the past, maybe, but she remembered who she was and could not allow herself to become what she had been prior to her encounter with the undead knight. Wincing a bit with the pain of washing, she turned her thoughts to her upcoming meeting with Shikamaru. Or rather, she tried to. She still had to see Hitsugaya once she finished her shower.

[closed]

[from here]

He really had beat the rush. Suzaku found a chair as close to the corner and as far from the bulletin as he could, and turned it to face the wall before curling up in it. His nurse frowned at him again, but she was still being cooperative, and frankly he didn't care what she had to say in the slightest. He didn't care even if he got sedated. All he cared about was finally having a few moments to himself, to sort out what Euphie's love meant and what the hell Lelouch's problem was.

It felt like he had all the pieces of a puzzle and was just too stupid to figure out how they fit together. What Lelouch had said about Shirley at breakfast and the tone he'd taken with Euphie on the board, Lelouch asking how Suzaku was, Lelouch dying. . . "All we can do is move forward and look out for the ones we care about." Euphie struggling to get out her last words, pain overtaking Suzaku's consciousness while he fought pathetically to carry out Lelouch's order. . . The last couple days, when he'd felt like he was finally figuring this out, seemed so far away now.

There were a couple things that were certain, at least: he hated what Lelouch had done, he always would. But he -- he didn't hate Lelouch, and he hadn't for a while now, and that wasn't going to change. And he didn't have much time, because everyone but Suzaku was terrifyingly mortal. And Lelouch was an idiot, but he still wasn't sure about the how and why of that one yet.

[for the Saucinator]

Astor hadn't talked much after introducing himself, which hadn't bothered Terry. With all the crap their little hospital of horrors piled on the patients, he couldn't blame a guy for not wanting to open up to some stranger. Plus, not talking meant he could get a decent meal in, and then check out the bulletin for the latest in Landel's news and gossip. Turned out to be a good thing he did. He'd have missed a lot otherwise: how many people had apparently gotten slagged last night, Spider-boy's unsurprising guilt trip, a note for a too cheery someone named Harley, and another one signed by a lightening bolt that looked a lot like one he'd seen in Wayne's Justice League files. It was pretty hard to know exactly where to start--especially since so far, Terry hadn't seen any sign of the old man in all that mess. Unless that one guy had meant him by the "you-know-who" that made someone else shake in their boots. Inspiring that kind of reaction wasn't exactly a stretch for Bruce.

Terry would've been perfectly content to stay there and watch the developing news, despite the lack of vid screens making the process almost painfully slow. But his dear sweet nurse had other plans for him apparently. Ones that involved crayons and construction paper.

"Oh come on. You can't be serious."

Needless to say, Terry was less than impressed by the offerings. His nurse didn't exactly care about his opinion though, instead firmly asserting her belief that first grade arts and crafts was the key to mental stability. It made Terry eager to get home all over again, just so he could tell the officials at Gotham's mental wards how'd they'd been doing it wrong for all these years. Apparently Batman could retire in peace, just as soon as a bunch of gangsters got their paper mache on.

And they thought he was the insane one. Obviously because he hadn't made enough popsicle houses in his childhood.

Sitting down at least got the woman to stop her preaching, for what that was worth. Of course, now Terry was left with half a glue stick, cheap paper, and scissors that probably couldn't cut air reliably. Terry couldn't say he was pleased. Oh, but they had glitter too! Well, didn't that just make everything perfect? He could make his own Bat signal that would shine with all the colors of the rainbow.

"This is just slagging great."


[Free as a bird bat!]

Okita had woken with a start, his breath coming back to him in a rush. Toward the end of the night, he had sworn he'd seen someone in the shadows - someone no taller than a boy of nine, a mask covering his face, blood running down his front. He'd seen him. There was no way of mistaking that outfit or that mask; and Okita didn't need to see the face behind it to know who it was. The man didn't have a name and he likely never would, but Okita could never forget him. No one ever forgot their first kill.

When his breathing returned to normal, he realized that Guy was gone and worse, that the shift was nearly over. The nurses came in, fussing over him, saying he'd had a fever or some other nonsense that morning and thus they had left him to rest. Now they were asking how he was feeling, touching his forehead and trying to get him to put some metal tube in his mouth. That? Was a big no. Okita politely and firmly refused their repeated requests and they finally gave in, allowing him to get up and get dressed before informing him that today was--

"Now, the adults may be escorted to the showers while children can partake in Arts & Crafts activities."

The intercom cut in and Okita smiled. Finally. A shower. He put up little resistance when the nurses led him to the shower room, quickly undressing before touching his shoulder and ribs. Fully healed now, not a trace of his former injuries. Without further hesitation, Okita went to the closest stall and turned on the water, closing his eyes as the heat washed over him, clearing his head of the previous night's illusions. There was no way that demon man was still alive, and no way that he could have returned to taunt him yet again. It was merely a trick of the mind; something easily dismissed. That was exactly it. With that decided, Okita began to shampoo his hair, marveling again at the conveniences of the modern day.

[free~!]