Title: Safe

Series: Ouran High School Host Club
Pairing: Mori/Haruhi
Rating: M (adult content, violence)
Summary: Mori comes to a realization much too quickly, but entirely too late. All that's left is to piece together the aftermath and reassure her that she's...

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

..Safe : Chapter 1..

"Mo-...Mori-senpai."

Her voice was weak, thready even. Its pitch was tremulous against the deafening silence that - out of less than a handful of instances in his life - was entirely unwelcome and terrifying in it's absoluteness. Haruhi was rarely frightened, never concerned with her own welfare. So the sick feeling that welled at her terror made the bleak situation that was unfolding before him that much worse. Haruhi was strong, fiercely independent, and constantly forgetting to rely on others no matter how close by. Hearing her cry for help, to him, the perennial bodyguard, set his teeth on edge.

Because there was nothing he could do about that underlying fear in her voice; not one single thing.

He cursed himself as he watched the naked edge of the blade caress the tender skin of her exposed throat. Haruhi inched her body away from the knife, and Mori inwardly flinched as the man holding her wrenched her hair tighter in response before dragging her indecently against his body. She stiffened, wide eyes distant with shock. The man rifling through the register snickered. The unsettling laughter broke Mori's silent contemplation of how to disarm the assailant who held Haruhi hostage. The primary obstacle lay in attempting the maneuver without harming her in the process, and with the way the man held Haruhi for the time being, it was nearly impossible. He'd have to bide his time and wait for an opening.

"Takashi..." Hani's eyes were sharp; his body rigid and drawn up to full height as he clenched his fists, chest heaving. All softness from the little host was lost as he fell into his darker persona, readying himself for whatever violence might take shape due to the situation at hand.

"No, Mitsukuni." Mori dropped his shoulders back in a silent rebuke, tilting his chin downwards to emphasize his assessment of the situation without letting his gaze leave Haruhi's. If the thief made a definitive move to eliminate her, he wouldn't hesitate to act. But the risk for the time being was too great, so he restrained his muscles urging to reach across the counter and throttle the man. He'd managed with great effort to wall up his emotions, tramping them down as he watched the scene play out with the near clinical detachment he'd been trained to adhere to since birth. He let the rage he felt at her obvious discomfort lick at his throat from deep within his belly, knowing that it wouldn't do to act rashly, however much he'd like to. That anger further swelled as Haruhi flinched, the man's grip on her hair tightening sadistically. Mori's vision tunneled.

"Shut up, the both of you." The shorter, dark haired man at the cash register stopped stuffing bills into a duffel bag, rapping his baseball bat against the floor menacingly with a growl. Their only advantage against the men was their lack of firearms. The two petty thieves couldn't possibly have afforded black market weapons.

The whole situation could have been so easily avoided, if only he hadn't given in to Hani's predisposition for after dinner indulgence. It was a rather pedantic and uncharacteristically spiteful thought, but the resentment he currently felt towards his cousin was something that Mori couldn't help but ruminate over while he sized the two men up. This had been meant to be a happy occasion, a carefree and extravagant day out with their otherwise exceedingly frugal friend. Now the remains of the previously lighthearted day were long scattered to the wind while he stood idly by, helpless to do anything other than watch.

It had been an impulsive stop, and yet somewhat expected due to present company as they'd driven home from yet another host club outing. The two cousins had insisted on driving Haruhi home on the grounds of propriety due to the weather, and she'd surprisingly relented. Hani had pointed out a local confectionery on the way, a small upscale parlor that catered to discriminating tastes and expensive clientele, and insisted on making one last stop before the night was officially over. The small, tucked away location with few employees and over stuffed coffers must have made it stand out like the motherload of all hold-ups to these two petty thieves.

They might have resembled them, but they were obviously not yakuza. True Japanese mafia wouldn't operate with this much lack of sophistication; their execution of the crime was sloppy and they'd simply gotten lucky by catching them all off guard. Yakuza wouldn't operate a heist like this in broad daylight; the cafe, he suspected, was more apt to be pressured into paying protection money than to be held up at knifepoint. Their actions merely proved that these men were of the lowest order: honorless opportunists. The lowest ranking yanki at best, hangers on with little association to the more organized and powerful underworld that shaped Japan's rigidly ranked network of criminals, if his friendship with Kasanoda had taught him anything.

The first thing they'd done was grab Satsuma-san, the ever familiar clerk who Hani adored, and demand that she open the cash register. It had felt entirely without warning. One second the two impeccably dressed salarymen were purchasing several decadent boxes of truffles, the next they had an eight-months pregnant Nasuti Satsuma shoved against the back countertop with a knife in her face, her shrieking muffled by hands as one of the men frantically attempted to cover her mouth with duct tape.

His heart had stopped when Haruhi rushed forward to put her arm's around the other woman, begging to replace her as a hostage. She'd acted so quickly and he'd been so focused on the men themselves, as well as Hani's whereabouts, that his fingertips merely grazed her dress as she'd darted out of his arms reach and into danger. Too worried for Satsuma-san, neither man had immediately moved to act as the thief's knife swung dangerously around the two vulnerable women.

He damned himself for that moment. Despite his overprotectiveness, he was more than well aware that his cousin was able to protect himself. Hani overpowered him by far in their private sparring matches in both judo and karate. He relied heavily on his kendo in comparison to his much shorter cousin, making him more strongly suited to fighting with a weapon rather than hand to hand combat. Haruhi, by stark contrast, had no formal training in karate other than what she had learned in grade school. She was utterly defenseless. Instead of protecting the true innocent, he'd given in to years of honed instinct, zeroing in on Hani's whereabouts while filtering out all other surroundings.

The man snickered when Hani growled at his tightened grasp, playfully planting an open-mouthed kiss on Haruhi's cheek. She had gone stock still, face stoney at the man's taunting. Mori clenched his teeth harder, grinding them against eachother silently, unwilling to react and give the man more reason to continue. Behind them, Nasuti whimpered and covered her face.

"Cut that shit out. No need to piss them off any more'n necessary." The spiky haired man at the cash register grimaced back at his accomplice, no longer amused. "Just in case."

He had no idea.

"I've seen you looking at her."

Mori turned to regard his cousin quizzically.

"Looking at Haru-chan." Hani's unnaturally flat and serious eyes stared into his own for a tense moment before the dark haired kendoist shifted his gaze to his work as he mechanically restrung his shinai. The cording had frayed during his last tournament, and he was loathe to replace the grip on his current model before next weekends match; it was perfectly broken into his finger placement. Strong hands pulled the string taut even as he gave way to his familial superior's not so silent prodding.

"We all look at her." He carefully knotted the bamboo into position, snapping the nylon to check it's tension against the catch of a calloused finger.

Hani shook his head, sighing as he stretched his lengthening limbs in the mid-afternoon sun. His back was slick with sweat, and he needed a snack. Relenting to his companions soft rebuke, he dropped the subject with one last parting shot. He did hate to lose.

"Not like you do, Takashi."

"Give me your wallet." She stiffened further. "Give it to me, and nothing stupid."

The blond punk loosened his grip on the petite brunette, giving her enough slack to reach into her jacket pocket and draw out her small black wallet, all without letting her out of his encircled arms. Haruhi held it out, and the man snatched it from her, beginning to rifle through it's contents with the knife slung between two fingers, arms outstretched in front of them both. His eyes darted between the wallet and the two hosts, paranoid. It was empty, aside from one solitary thousand yen note.

"What the fuck is this shit?" spat the blond thief, and Haruhi began to respond, but was cut off as the man began to rant without giving her a word edgewise. He fumbled with his knife awkwardly until he dropped the wallet, bringing the sharp edge back up to her throat menacingly. "This isn't a joke. Give me all your damn money, woman. Not your fucking pocket change."

Both the Ouran boys tensed, sensing the shift in her captors animosity immediately.

"It's all I have." Her voice had gone strong once again with the truth, only wavering towards the end as the man growled, edging the knife closer to her jugular. "I'm not lying."

"Bullshit. You wouldn't be here if you weren't loaded. I've seen the type of people who drop cash here. Where is it?" Slow rage was building in the man's face as he was denied his easy target.

"I don't have any more money. That's all I have."

At her response the man moved from her hair to grip her throat with one hand, brandishing the knife with the other. Haruhi audibly choked, and Mori's vision nearly blanked with his own fury at the mans actions. He took a step forward.

"Hey." Hani's voice rang out, over the panting gasps escaping from Haruhi's encircled throat and Nasuti's quiet whimpering from behind the counter. The suit's grip slackened with his uncertainty. "It's true. That's all she has."

The con whipped his head around to stare at the small blond, eyes narrowing as his pupils pin pricked from the adrenaline of losing his temper.

"I'm holding her money for her. She didn't want to carry a purse today." Hani's voice was gruff despite his outwardly placid face, betraying his outrage.

It was a half-truth. Haruhi hadn't wanted to carry a purse; to be entirely truthful, she hadn't wanted to wear anything she was currently wearing. The twins had stripped her of her normal baggy sweatpants and trainers when they ambushed her at her apartment, forcing her into a soft, quintessetially feminine style that had her looking as if she'd walked out of a boutique in Paris. They'd taken her to a three Michelin star French style restaurant as a treat, knowing that she'd been practicing French cooking in her spare time as a hobby. It had been her birthday the day before, but because it was a weekday she had refused to skip school because of an important midterm. So, they were forced to brave the more voracious crowds as well as the possibility of being targeted by the paparazzi that loitered around Shinjuku during the weekends.

"You think you're funny, don't you? Think you're going to pull a fast one on me?" He was snarling, his blade glancing off Haruhi's cheek as he gestured wildly, drawing first blood as both Ouran men ramped up their efforts as they searched for an opening that didn't put her at risk. "No woman goes shopping without a shit ton of cash or a credit card, and there's no card. You're holding out on me." The man clenched down during his tirade, cutting off her air supply even more as she wheezed underneath his stranglehold.

"Please let her go." The words were past his lips before they even entered his consciousness, startling both himself and his cousin. He paused, searching for the negotiation skills he was so unused to utilizing. "We have money." Slowly, so as not to set either man off, he reached into his pocket to find his own wallet, splaying it open for the men to see the contents: several large denominations of yen and shiny plastic cards to draw off both men. He prayed for it to work. He willed it to work.

"Drop it man, look, they're banking us. We've got the till. Let's get the fuck out of here."

The man behind the cash register was antsy, moving from foot to foot as he tapped his baseball bat against a counter, shooting worried looks to the front window. They'd somehow disabled the panic button behind the cash register earlier in the day, as Nasuti had wailed upon pressing it to the tune of the robbers maniacal laughter when they followed her frantic actions. They'd snatched up all their cellphones immediately too. But that didn't mean a beat cop from the local Koban couldn't screw the entire heist if he walked in on the scene.

"No man, she's holding out on us. She must be holding something big if it's that fucking important."

Haruhi had reached up to grasp the mans hands, beginning to struggle against her captors hold. She tugged, her deep brown eyes huge and distant as she rasped in a full breath from her efforts, only to let go of a belated cry as the man moved his hand downwards to slice into her grasping knuckles.

Mori rocked in place, momentum building up to nearly his breaking point as he hunched over into form.

She was being pulled in three different directions.

Her eyes were pinned on Kyoya, mouth pursed as he raised her debt once again for someone else's mistake. That someone, or someones, were pulling her limbs in various states of discomforting angles as the twins and Tamaki shouted at one another over possession. It was the same, always the same. He let his eyes drop, calmly shifting his hands into his lap at warriors rest, hiding his reaction as he dug his fingertips into his pant-legs in frustration.

Her shouts of irritation went ignored. Hani sat in front of him, blithely shoveling his way through a strawberry cheesecake at frightening speeds. Mori looked up from his lap to find Hani's overly sharp eyes biting into his own, body tense as he chewed, before moving to deposit the strawberry onto the empty plate that sat in front of the gentle giant, empty save his own strawberry; uneaten. He waited.

"Stop it!" She struggled. "Let me go!"

Mori meditated, measuring his breaths as he counted the seeds in the perfect strawberry that sat with it's new partner. She loved strawberries. He could feel her eyes dart to him even with his back turned. Still he waited.

"How dare you corrupt my sweet, innocent daughter!" "You're a pervert boss, pervert."

More struggling. He could hear the fabric of her jacket twist in their hands, the squelch of her shoes as she scrabbled for purchase against the highly polished floor without success. Skin against skin as she tugged and pulled their hands off her person. He smoothed his pants down, the fabric having crumpled under his grip.

Hani stared. And Mori waited for Haruhi to ask for help.

"For fucks sake, lady, give it up. He means business." The other man toyed with the baseball bat, gesturing meaningfully towards the unarmed men. "If you haven't figured it out, he's not goin' ta let up until ya fork it over."

"I have nothing to give you!" The exasperation in her voice set her captor off, and he wrenched her face around until he was peering into her eyes, her skin mottling under his grip.

"I'm out. Let's fucking get out of here. Now." The man with the now full bag of cash walked out the door, leaving his accomplice behind.

The remaining robber's face had nearly purpled with rage, and his voice shook as he spoke so angrily that he was spitting.

"Give it here, woman."

In the background, Nasuti was sobbing quietly, collapsed on the floor as she wrapped an arm around her wide stomach. All of them watched as the mans knife waved between them, lowered hand gesturing with the obviously forgotten weapon. Mori gauged his reaction time, watching as he shifted when Haruhi moved.

He felt Hani tense beside him, and he held his hand out palm down to keep him in place. He wanted that knife far, far away from her when Mitsukuni tackled the man. Instinctively, he knew where his cousin would strike, relying on him to pull Haruhi out of the mans striking distance as the smaller boy neutralized their quarry. It was just common sense. One wrong move, however, could tip their hand.

Mori cursed his lack of hakama, the long fabrics ability to hide the shifting of his feet as he slowly crept closer. His heart raced, blood pressure thrumming as he watched the thin cut on her face dry in messy red drips. No one touched her like that, no one. The Ootori police force had known that truth when he'd relieved them of their charges after she'd been attacked at the beach, that their prisoners would arrive at the local police station even less intact than after the twins schooling. Hani had only praised him for a job well done.

He wanted blood. He wanted to see this man collapsing under the weight of his own folly after he'd finished making sure he'd never be able to manhandle anyone ever again. He wanted to rip the knife from his hands then filet him with it. He wanted..

Haruhi began to struggle, jolting Mori from conflicted thoughts. And then the world tilted.

It was the first time he'd seen her in kimono. The twins had finally caught up with her before she'd gotten to the shrine that year, and they'd dressed her in the New Year's finest. Haruhi's face glowed from the nest of soft rabbits fur she wore for a shawl, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her fragile wrists as they slipped from her sleeves, peeking out of their layered confines when she went to pick up the omamori she didn't have enough money to purchase. He'd actually managed to buy the good luck charm she'd coveted for her himself, before anyone else noticed her debacle.

She'd glowered up at him before softening at his silence. For a moment she'd thought he'd bought it for himself. Haruhi had felt curiously ashamed of her assumptions. The older host had never jumped to smother her before, so after reevaluation, her reaction felt completely unwarranted.

Mori had shocked her when he reached for her hand, gently outstretching it before placing the rough silk packet in her palm, enclosing her fingers around it to let her know it was hers. Then he let go. His hand had been warm against the chill of the air, and before she'd blinked, his hands had retreated back into the sleeves of his fine haori.

He hadn't apologized for his impulse, to buy her something or to touch her soft skin.

And she hadn't felt upset by it in the end. Instead she'd sighed, tucking the gift into her obi before walking away to catch up with the others. She walked with a natural grace, taking small steps as the silk slipped up to part perfectly for her embroidered tabi. The twins had braided wisteria into her hair, and petals had fallen to dust her shoulders as a light breeze shifted the air around them.

Her exquisitely plain furisode was devoid of familial mon, and he'd pictured his own crest centered just underneath her tantalizingly bare nape. He looked through the food stalls for strawberry mochi, trying desperately to forget.

It all happened so fast, in retrospect.

She'd tried to move away, and he'd grabbed at her to hold her in place... knife first, driving the small blade to the hilt under her ribs. He'd gotten what he wanted, she gurgled, rasping horribly before grabbing onto her captors suitcoat in an attempt to remain upright.

The man seemed suprised by his own actions. "Shit.. just.. shit!"

Mori was dumbstruck. He couldn't move, couldn't think. Mitsukuni made a noise of enraged horror beside him, before lunging at the man. The knife clattered to the floor as he withdrew his hand, pulling the steel out of her body with a sickening squelch.

The con, horrified, shoved her out of the way and ran out the door as both Ouran boys abandoned their plans to overtake the robber. Mori watched, stunned, as Haruhi crumpled to the ground with a river of scarlet trailing from her abdomen.

He collapsed onto his knees, reaching out to gather her into his arms. Mind racing, he tore off his white suitcoat, pressing it under her head before ripping off his linen dress shirt to ball up against the fast bleeding wound that had quickly engulfed her pearl colored slipdress. Choking at her sobs of pain, he worked to pry her hands away from her middle before ripping the fabric open, pressing the makeshift towel fast and deep to the puncture wound, teeth grinding in their sockets as she wailed in agony at the touch.

"Mitsukuni. Call Kyoya."

The Haninozuka heir shot out the door. Mori wished him speed. The older boy would have little patience with the two men once he caught up with them. And he would, of that he was entirely certain.

"Oh my God," Nasuti's horrified mutterings broke his battered concentrations as he breathed deeply to steady himself. "What can I do, to help!"

"Stay calm and keep your child safe." Mori didn't bother to turn around to address her, entirely focused on Haruhi's listing eyes as she processed the pain coursing through her torso. "Sit outside and wait to direct the ambulance once it comes, if you can manage."

"Right. Right, I can do that." Nasuti heaved herself up, walking unsteadily to the door, looking back at the grisly scene only once before pitching herself down on the pavement in front of the door.

Inside, Mori bit the inside of his cheek as she latched onto the front of his undershirt, pulling him closer in her panic. He willed himself to be calm, to not allow her to see the extent of his fear for her life.

"Mori.. Mori I can't breath.. I can't-"

"Ssshhh..." He shifted his hold on the now sopping cloth, his hands nearly covering the entire expanse of her stomach as he pressed down with extra force to staunch the bleeding. She gasped in pain, fingers clenching against his muscles through his remaining top, and he allowed himself to flinch with her. "Don't speak. Breath deeply. Focus on me."

And she did. She focused on the expressive torment that was painted across his normally blank face, at the pain that flitted across his features at her every ragged intake of breath. At the little emotions she'd never noticed in his window-like eyes, the tremble in his iron wrought arms as he worked to keep her alive. How hadn't she seen that before?

"Senpai..."

She reached up to press a strangely heavy hand to his face, frowning as she smeared blood onto his lightly tanned skin, her own stark white against it's slightly darker pallor and macabre in contrast to the thick smear of red that clung to her flesh. The searing pain had receded, leaving her cold and numb, adrenaline doing what it could.

"Haruhi..." The gentle giant paused, unsurprisingly, groping for words that he was unused to reaching for.

She smiled for his benefit, watching his eyes anxiously lock onto her own and his adams apple bob with a hesitant swallow.

"The ambulance will be here soon, right?" murmured Haruhi, softly. Kyoya wouldn't hesitate to flex his strings in a life or death situation. It would be the employees future lives on the line if they didn't arrive soon. "It doesn't really hurt that badly anymore."

Mori's heart dropped into his stomach. Her blood was warm and sticky on his hands, and all he could think about was that he'd never kissed her.

"Haruhi." She looked into his eyes. Tears had dried on her cheeks, and her brown orbs were still wide and wet with pain. "Takashi. Just Takashi."

"But only Hani-"

"Ah."

His face was a measure of stone, grey eyes glinting out of his carefully schooled features in an expression she'd come to look for behind the mask. She felt cold.

"Takashi..." The name felt warm on her tongue.

"Ah." The blood welled through the sodden shirt and past his fingers. He wanted to scream.

The set up was another historical theme, once again masquerading as feudal lords. This time the weather had prevented an outdoor backdrop, so they'd instead gone more formal with their elaborate costumes. Hani had been dressed up like a little royal prince, complete with long flowing hakama and sokutai. He could have passed for a tiny Nobunaga at court. Haruhi, of course, had been forced – nearly kicking and screaming – into a junihitoe the imperial princess herself would have been jealous of. The twelve layers of kimono weighed her down so much that she was unable to move, and thus unable to disrobe into male attire, much to the twins satisfaction. She had been ensconced on a court platform with Hani and Mori, Mori playing as the arrow wielding general at arms, his own dark court kimono completed by the bow and quiver strung to his back.

Once again, Mori found himself entranced at the sight of her in traditional clothing. Her tiny body was engulfed by luxurious silk, and his fingers twitched to steady her every time she moved for fear of her toppling off their perch from the sheer weight of her own clothing - or to lighten her load. Mitsukuni kept shoveling down the wagashi teacakes in a haze of sugary bliss, purposefully ignoring her as she slowly collapsed under the burden of her costume, and Mori couldn't stand fighting his instincts any longer. He took a cloth napkin, moving in to wipe soy starch from Hani's ever moving mouth, then moved in between Haruhi's regulars.

"Haruhi."

He shifted to kneel before her, careful not to step onto flowing rich silk of her kimono, and he parted the fabric to shift so that he could kneel in between it's folds to tower over the small woman. Ignoring her confused look, he tilted her face up for appraisal. The twins had applied a lighter approximation of court makeup, and so he took extra care as he gently patted away the sweat from her brow. The customers swooned, and something inside Mori's chest lurched at the sight of her lips dropping open from the shock. Her breathing sped up, and his own heart raced at her reaction to his attentions. Taking his time, he moved back, surreptitiously folding the napkin to tuck into his sleeve. Brown eyes widened then locked with his own slate grey. Mori sat back down, moving to make Haruhi the best tea Japan had to offer.

"Listening?" Her voice sounded tired.

"Ah."

His voice trembled, fingers white as he fought to keep her tied to him and the plane he was anchored to. He was honor bound to follow her.

"I love you." She spoke as if she was very far away. His heart soared and plummeted simultaneously.

Her brilliant chocolate eyes were distant, half lidded. He'd prayed for this moment. But not like this. God, not like this.

"I love you as well."

She was beautiful. Her hair was spread out on the tile floor, crowning her like a wreath of dark silk. Lips, red and perfect begged to be kissed, and he wanted to give in to his wild instincts and sample their taste. She was his, his his his for the taking. He wanted to brand himself so far into her soul that she'd never be the same.

Instead he sighed, raggedly, as he pressed his mouth to her brow; praying for the sirens to grow louder, willing them faster to their patient and his own faltering heart.

"Koi," he whispered against her soft skin, allowing himself the small comfort of living out an idle wish as she lay expiring with every heartbeat, caressing her with his lips as best he could. She was so small in his arms, so lovely, and he'd folded himself to reach the rest of her. He loved her the more for it. He'd long reconciled himself to the fact that he was capable of serving two masters, and Hani had been more than happy to point out that Haruhi would make an excellent Morinozuka bride. Strong women were favored for men of his family. He'd waited, biding his time for when they'd both be able to see eachother publicly. He would have sought her after they met again in the pre-law program he attended. Like Haruhi, he'd always wanted to be a lawyer. And like him, she would only be fit to attend the best schools. He had a plan, however slow and indirect it might have seemed to anyone other than himself.

So many wasted hours.

"Takashi..." her breath had turned his given name into a bitter pledge, one that he would exact upon in the near future.

It was wrong, all wrong.

The years had passed in their succession, and the two eldest members of the host club had graduated. With many seasons before he had to take on his responsibilities as family head, Mori had gone on to work towards his undergraduate in law, something he'd planned on pursuing from his first semester at Ouran. It had shocked many of his classmates, but the few who actually knew him were little surprised by his interest. Even his father had encouraged the endeavor, as a background in law was always helpful in the business world. The responsibility was still light on his shoulders. The world was very bright indeed.

Hani, pursuing a culinary arts degree at a college across town from his own, regularly dragged him back to the host club for catching up. Hani had missed the pageantry, and his fawning regulars, as well as the ability to unwind from the pressures of their daily grind with indulgence. And Mori had missed Haruhi.

She seemed to grow so beautiful that it was almost incrementally more painful every time they walked in through the music room doors. How any of the women of Ouran thought Haruhi in her third year was male went completely beyond his comprehension. Though, with some of her diligent regulars he was almost certain they were aware of her gender status but merely didn't care.

One night he'd caught her hunched over in the prep room, gasping for air, only to find out that she'd been binding her now not so unsubstantial breasts to continue the facade. He'd had a very short and threatening conversation with Kyoya, to seemingly little avail. The next visit was during an outdoor garden viewing, and he knew there would be trouble when they were poured into tight fitting Victorian suits. When Haruhi slipped off to get more tea from the storage room for the guests, he'd followed.

She sat on a low couch, back arched as she contorted to relieve the strain on her struggling diaphragm from the bandages that lay beneath the close cut wool waistcoat.

"Haruhi." What to say?

She froze. His fingers itched to unbutton the clothing, to tear the offending torture device that lay beneath it off her skin so that she could breathe properly as any human being had the right to. He felt.. the need to protect. It all suddenly clicked into place.

"It's okay Mori-senpai. They're just a little too tight today." She stood up, a light blush misting her cheeks, scurrying off with a tray in the direction of the storeroom. "I'll hurry with the tea."

His hands clenched and he bit the inside of his cheek in rage, turning to walk back out the door without her.

The sirens grew steadily louder, and he thanked all that was holy when the men and their equipment burst in through the door.

"You can let go, sir."

He felt himself gently steered away as a man took him to the side, making way for the paramedics to take over. He was asked his name, how long they'd been waiting, and if he knew about any health conditions they should be aware of.

All he knew was that she was deathly afraid of thunderstorms.

He dialed up Kyoya on a borrowed cellphone, patching him through to the nearest paramedic who began frantically inserting IVs into her hand after a few quick questions. The Ootori had to have a file on on her medical records. He felt curiously guilty at the thought of his lack of knowledge, setting aside his bottomless culpability in the rest of the days events.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Morinozuka-san."

Another paramedic had him hold out his hands, pouring antiseptic over them, and he watched in morbid fascination as her blood dripped off of his hands in tiny rivulets from his fingertips. Afterwards he was handed a towel as it was explained to him that there was a helicopter waiting for them on the roof of the building across the street, and that they were going to air lift Haruhi to the nearest hospital. Kyoya had his medical team prepping an operating room that would be waiting for them. The best surgeons, the best care with a speed that Kyoya would be evaluating by the minute.

He became distracted midway through the paramedics explanation as they began to cut away her clothing to reveal the true extent of the wound. Fingernails dug into skin as he blinked away the shout welling in his throat. If Hani hadn't already caught up to the man, God help the bastard when the first Morinozuka son tracked him down.

For now, however, he had infinitely more important things to worry about. It seemed like an eternity, but barely a few minutes duration and she was prepped for transport. They gingerly rolled her out of the confectionery, then across a street that had been blocked off from traffic and up the lift of the building across the way. His hand had been latched onto the railing of the gurney the entire way, until the wind was whipping around them as they lifted her up past the rooftop steps and onto the tarmac.

A man wearing ear protection moved from his station near the cockpit to grab his arm, and Mori had no intention of letting go. The gurney ground to halt.

"I'm sorry sir, only family members can accompany a patient. It's hospital policy."

Damn Kyoya's inattentiveness.

The oxygen mask strapped to her face stifled any speech, but he was stationed so that he could see her reaction as he locked eyes with hers from the short distance between them in order to communicate everything in his heart without words. The fire. The resolve. The intent.

"She's my fiancé. Now let me pass."

Haruhi's eyes widened and Mori's own gleamed with steel when the man before him flinched at his mistake. He was a Morinozuka. They were between him and his precious one. The pilot hesitated, and Mori couldn't restrain himself any longer.

"Move. Now."

The crew chief stepped aside as they lifted her into the cabin. Mori stepped into the helicopter.

His hand engulfed her own, tiny fingers trembling in his grasp as he moved to take the arm that hadn't been commandeered by a medic as they hooked her up to frightening looking machines and re-bagged her IVs. And then, as she curled her smooth skin into his kendo roughened palm, the helicopter began to warm up it's blades. Haruhi's hand clenched against his own, the tones tracking her heart rate skyrocketing as the rotation began to shake the cabin. He leaned in to speak into her ear as he returned the pressure against her fingers, gently squeezing them to comfort.

"Haruhi-koi."

She stilled, hand relaxing.

"From this moment on, with all of my life... I will keep you safe."

Their hands intertwined, and Mori felt a curious sense of inward calm despite their surroundings. Her heart beats steadied, and with a nod from him to the pilot, the helicopter took flight.

Cultural Notes and Translations:

One thousand yen (or more correctly, 'en' , as the 'ye' character no longer exists in Japanese language) is worth a little over ten American dollars give or take, depending on the fluctuating exchange rate. Currently the yen is relatively strong, so it rests at around $12 USD at the time of me writing this. Hopefully that helps give a little perspective if you're not on the up with the financial cultural translation.

Shinai as the word for a type of practice sword used in Kendo and other martial arts, and although most of the parts are leather or bamboo, Mori is replacing the tsuru (string) down the center of the shinai that holds the tsukagawa (leather handle) and other parts together. It's generally made of nylon and other durable materials depending on the makers/practitioners preference.

Michelin stars are a renowned form of restaurant critique, and imply the best of the best when it comes to cuisine. Only 81 restaurants in the entire world have a three Michelin star rating [bunches of them are in Tokyo, ironically].

Koban is the Japanese term for police box, it's basically a local police station and the smallest group unit in the Japanese police force. They're in charge of community policing.

Till is slang for cash register or cash drawer.

Omamori are Shinto good luck charms, sold at temples and other places.

Obi is the long fabric belt that ties around the middle when wearing a kimono.

Haori is the coat worn with kimono, Mori is wearing montsuki formal wear.

Tabi are the traditional split socks worn with kimono/with sandals.

Furisode is the long sleeved kimono reserved for unmarried women.

Mon is the Japanese form of family crests.

Mochi is a traditional rice cake.

Koi is an endearment.

Author's Notes:

Can't tell if this is going to be a one shot or a short series, I'll have to see. It's been swirling around in my head for a while, and I've taken several months of writing and re-writing to get this all down. Please don't expect it to be quickly updated if I do turn this into an ongoing series.

Author's Notes Pt. 2: This will be a trilogy! I'm in the process of writing the third and final chapter, and as such I'm going through and revising things from the first two chapters. They should be relatively subtle changes, but don't be alarmed if you see the wording changed a little bit. As I'm wrapping things up, I wanted to make sure that I had this story up the best caliber it can be. I know the Mori/Haruhi isn't that popular, so I won't see huge amounts of reviews, but I really enjoyed writing this story, so I hope that everyone else has enjoyed watching it grow with me! Thanks go out, as well, to the several betas that offered to take on this story. You are much appreciated.

Author's Notes Pt. 3: The clarify, the name "Hani" is used in this piece since it is a more accurate and representative transliteration, contrary to the English sub/dub. Honey is used in both the Japanese and English version since it is short for Haninozuka (Hani) which sounds similar to Honey, which is why he's called that in the first place. HOWEVER, Japanese have a hard time with certain foreign words and sounds. So even though they're meant to be saying "honey", what comes out of the voice-acting is "hani" instead, so it might as well be his actual nickname if transliterated properly. Hence why Morinozuka is referred to as Mori-sempai, and why Haninozuka is referred to as Hani-sempai. Hani/Honey is simply a play on words because Japanese like to use random English. Seriously, it's a thing in Japan. The transliteration of "Honey" is meant to look cuter, and that's Hani's entire schtick.