Summary: Ougai Mori—Yokohama's most infamous underground doctor—is a formidable genius with a reputation on the same level as the Port Mafia's. His clientele and contacts range from the aforementioned Port Mafia to the Japanese government's Special Abilities Department. Ougai Mori's least known trait is his proclivity to somewhat accidentally adopt children with special abilities. Dad!Mori.

The Dancing Girl

—Ougai Mori

Germany

Rain poured over the streets, prompting the salary-men caught off guard by the sudden storm to rush to their homes. Their counterparts, those prepared for the storm, put up their umbrellas quickly, keeping a firm hold on the handle so that they would not lose their cover to a firm gust of wind.

A medical student struggled up the hill through the wind and stinging rain that seemed purposely aimed at his face. He was bent over, shielding the book bag clutched to his chest. He had just finished his paper—he wasn't going to let water destroy his hard work, even if it meant resigning himself to being miserably wet.

His destination, the local university, was within reach.

He turned a corner, hurrying as much as he could to get there. With his goal in sight, he started to sprint. His shoes skidded as he came to a stop on the smooth stone that made up the entrance. He pulled open the door and crammed himself in, trying to hide from the rain.

The inside of the university building was made of polished wood and veined marble, cold and intimidating. Being inside did not help him feel any warmer; instead, it only made him more aware of how wet and uncomfortable he was.

His shoes squelched as he headed for the only door with a ray of light that leaked around the wood and out into the dark hallway. He pushed open the door, the subsequent creaking announcing his presence. He walked down the stairs of the classroom, focusing on not slipping or dropping his bag—either would be rather mortifying to do in front of his professor.

"You look like a drowned cat," Kant observed. The man had a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, and there was a book open in front of him on his desk. Beside the book there were his notes, nigh intelligible squiggles written in German and Latin.

The student had tracked water across the floor, similar to how a soaked mop would. He smiled sheepishly. "I came to turn this in." He tried to dry his finger on his pants unsuccessfully and pulled the paper out from his bag.

Kant's eyebrows rose. "Thank you for turning it in on time. You're the only one."

The medical student replied as he was expected to, politely. He then quickly made his escape from the scrutiny of his professor back into the storm, to his home, or more accurately, the slums where he had managed to get a cheap bed.

He sighed.

He kept his head down as he battled his way down the hill. He almost wished he was headed up, like before—the strong fickle gusts of wind pushed against his back several times, causing him to nearly stumble and fall flat on his face.

It was hard to see where the puddles were. His pant legs were completely soaked. His shoes slipped even more on the path after being doused.

The storm had stolen the light from the sun, huddling over the town as a sort of protective shroud, refusing to move on. The dark clouds made the day appear as twilight, instead of early evening.

The student passed into an alleyway that somewhat blocked the rain.

There was an entrance cut into the alleyway. It was a crooked, narrowed doorway with the weathered door barely hanging onto the rusty hinges. The roughly carved sign informed those unfamiliar with the area that this was one of the small local pubs, hidden among the cramped streets.

'What should I do now?' The student thought. 'Go home now? Or wait it out in the pub, warm-up, and get something to drink?'

He made up his mind and carefully walked inside. Even if the storm didn't pass soon, he could warm up inside for a bit. His shoes squelched, and the old wooden boards creaked as he made his way to a seat at the end of the counter.

The medical student ran his fingers through his bangs, trying to make them less messy. In doing so, he exposed his eyes—they were an unusual color, a vivid violet. "I'll have a beer and a bowl of sauerbraten."

Taking a quick glance at his surroundings, he noticed there was a girl sitting next to him. She had blond hair, beautiful as gold, and bright blue eyes, pale as the sky on a fine day, unclouded by despair or pessimism. She smiled at him.

The student clumsily smiled back. For some reason, his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, feeling fat and unwieldy, unusual for him—he had been said by many to possess a silver tongue. He only managed to introduce himself, and thankfully, he did it in German. "I am Rintarou Mori."

The girl's smile somehow managed to brighten even further. "Elise."

XXX

The next day, Mori found himself unable to focus. He was supposed to analyze the biology of frogs, but instead, he was distracted by last night's events.

He kept thinking about that girl from the bar, Elise, and the conversation they'd had. Elise liked sunny days and drawing. Her favorite color was blue. When she was a child, she had slipped on a patch of ice and hit her head, which left a pale scar on the back of her head, covered up by her long hair.

Mori pushed aside the thoughts. He was close to finishing his notes. He was getting close to the end of this semester—finals were fast approaching. He had no time to be spending at a bar, talking to a girl.

The thought of her crossed his mind once more.

He looked at the assignment. Then again, this wasn't due until tomorrow. . . . why not go? He had the time to relax.

Mori put on his coat and grabbed his wallet. If he was lucky, Elise would be there again.

XXX

Mori ordered beer and kartoffelpuffers, potato pancakes.

"What do you do?" Elise asked. Her eyebrows were raised, and she looked at him with curiosity.

Mori hummed. "I'm from Japan, as you already know." He gave a slight nod towards Elise. "I'm a medical student."

Elise's excitement grew at this piece of information, and her whole face lit up. "You're studying to be a doctor?"

'If we ever need a replacement for the sun, I know where to find it,' Mori privately mused. He quickly buried the embarrassing thought deep within his heart, where no one else could find it. "Yes." He tried to hide his smile at her reaction by sipping at his beer, but he was too slow, and Elise saw it.

Elise chuckled softly at him. "I'm a ballet dancer." Her eyes lit up as she spoke, a reflection of the fair German sky outside.

The lean muscle in her legs; the grace as she swayed slightly to the radio behind the counter that played classical music; the pair of pale pink ballet slippers in her bag; all of that testified to her statement being true.

Mori smiled, although he had already deduced that. Most people didn't respond well to deductions like that—it was better to keep them secret. "Really? Wonderful. Where?"

XXX

Mori hadn't shown up for a few weeks.

With no other way of contacting him, Elise had frequented the pub more in the hopes of running into the medical student.

The door opened, and the object of her thoughts appeared.

"Mori, what can I get you?" The friendly bartender greeted. He was a lot younger than the other bartender at this place, a grizzled old man with a section of his eyebrow missing.

"Just a beer," Mori replied, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Elise frowned as she turned to see him, concern written across her face. "Where have you been?"

"Finals," Mori explained as he collapsed into the bar stool. He had dark bags under his eyes, perhaps due to mental and physical exhaustion—Mori moved like an old man, stiff and frail.

Elise gave him a sympathetic look. "You should go home."

"I will, after I eat," Mori promised her.

XXX

It wasn't a particularly hot day outside, but not as cold as the past couple of days.

Mori had decided not to go home during break, opting for staying in Germany instead of returning to Japan. It cost less to stay here, and he wouldn't have to pay for the ticket.

"Back in Japan, what do you do during summer?" Elise asked. She was wearing a yellow summer dress, the shade contrasting perfectly with her hair. A daffodil was tucked behind her ear, slightly wilted as it had been picked in the morning.

"Well, there's catching bugs," Mori said straight-faced. It was a popular pastime among many Japanese boys.

Elise wrinkled her nose at him, disgust on her face. She hated bugs.

Mori laughed. He decided to answer seriously, and a hint of nostalgia crept into his tone. "There are festivals. Vendors sell food, masks. . . . And different games you can play. One is trying to scoop up a fish with this," Mori gestured, uncertain of how to describe it, "Flimsy net. Everyone dresses up and there's lots of beautiful kimonos."

"Kimonos?"

"It's a type of clothing," Mori clarified. He took out a notebook from his bag, quickly sketching an example of the clothing with a pen. He added a background: the festival, and a crowd of people. It was somewhat messy, but alive in a way that only art made with emotion could be.

Elise looked over his shoulder. "That looks wonderful."

'Not as wonderful as you,' Mori privately thought, but kept the cheesy reply to himself. He slid the drawing over, allowing her to see it more clearly.

Elise traced the figures in the drawing, smearing the ink onto her fingers. She smiled slightly, using the ink on her fingertips to shade the drawing, adding to the lifelike quality.

For those brief seconds, the drawing felt real to both of them; that if they leaned forward close enough they could fall into the painting of the festival and walk among the people there. For Mori it was nostalgic to see a memory of his childhood. He felt like it was almost a week since he had been home. . . despite the fact that it had been months. For Elise, it was a scene that belonged to a strange, alien world. She wished she could be there and explore to her heart's content.

XXX

Mori knew he shouldn't.

He knew they shouldn't.

But that knowledge didn't stop him from leaning closer to kiss her.

Elise knew she shouldn't.

She knew they shouldn't.

But that knowledge didn't stop her from tilting her head and kissing him back.

They knew they shouldn't.

They knew they should move farther apart and not closer.

They knew they should control the burning feeling of their hearts.

But that knowledge didn't stop them from everything after the kiss.

XXX

Elise stood outside the door of his apartment with an unreadable expression on her face. There was a shawl around her shoulders. She had her arms crossed, wrapped around her middle.

"Elise?" Mori muttered, confused. Usually, they met at the pub. He stepped to the side nonetheless, letting her in. "Tea?" He closed the door.

"Yes, please," Elise quietly replied.

Mori paused, looking at her.

Something had happened. Something that was enough for Elise to falter and become uncertain. But what was it? Mori did not know.

Mori said nothing. He waited for her to collect her thoughts and courage. Meanwhile, he started the tea.

"I'm pregnant."

Mori overfilled the cups, fingers frozen. His grip loosened as he processed what Elise had said and he dropped the pot. Half of one side broke into large ceramic pieces, letting the hot tea inside spill out onto the wooden floor. He stayed with his back to her. "What?" He whispered. How could he have been so foolish?

"Stay with me," Elise pleaded. She sounded close to crying. 'Don't abandon me,' she wanted to say, but could not. Her throat closed up with a flood of emotions.

Mori walked over, avoiding the mess he had made by dropping the tea pot. He wrapped his arms around and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry. I would never leave you," he whispered.

This was not only his mistake—it was their mistake. He would not let her bear it alone.

XXX

They got married soon after.

It was a small wedding, just the two of them and a priest. Elise had no family to speak of and Mori's was far away from home.

They visited the grave of Elise's grandmother together; the woman had taken care of her as a child. Elise cheerfully murmured about weddings and babies and homes, and Mori quietly thanked the grandmother for the granddaughter she had raised.

Mori sent a telegraph home, with as few details as he thought were necessary, to inform them of his current situation and that his studies were almost at an end. His family did not need to know more. Eventually, when he went back to Japan, they would know the details, and he would deal with their prying eyes. But for now they were to be kept in the dark about everything.

XXX

Mori had stared at the white walls of the hospital. He had desperately carried Elise inside after her water broke. She had started having contractions prematurely, but she was not due for another two months.

He remembered the cries of a mother in pain. The panicked yells of a doctor—of a nurse. There was little else he could do as he stood in the hallway outside of the delivery room. Everything the doctor said had not been consciously processed—"I am so sorry," was the first sentence, whispered in the grief and unfound guilt that the doctor held—but he knew exactly what it all meant anyways.

It was raining again.

Elise was supposed to give birth in that same hospital, paid by both of them pooling their money.

Mori stumbled his way down the street. He was on his way home, alone.

They were going to name their child Elise after her.

Mori felt rage and pain welling up in his chest, a toxic brew that demanded to be let out. The sound of sorrow, of those mourning, coiled it's way up his throat. He choked on his scream, not letting himself set his emotions free. The only thing he had control of was himself. He was not willing to lose that as well.

The rain soaked his skin, making him cold, but that was nothing compared to the chill that had seeped into his bones at the revelation given to him.

He had gained his happiness, retained it for almost a year. And he had lost it in one day, one unfortunate day.

He raised his head slightly as he recognized where he was. He would not walk into that bar. He could not. He could never. Her not being there, would mean she was gone for certain.

XXX

He graduated with full honors, as one of the youngest doctors ever, and returned to Japan soon after with a broken heart.

XXX

Yokohama, Japan

Mori strolled down the streets, his bag held above his head. The tail of his white coat was soaked, but largely unnoticeable due to its color. He seemed to simply walk along, ignoring any people rushing past.

To those around him, it seemed as if he paid little attention to the rain, as though he gave it little merit—unlike all of the people around him, the doctor was not hurrying by any means.

But his pleasant expression was disingenuous. Inside his mind, no matter how much he tried to push the thoughts away, he remembered her. He remembered blond hair and sky blue eyes. He could hear a bright laugh and feel a soft hand grasping his.

It felt real, too real. Mori looked down. He looked at his hand. And as expected, he saw. . . nothing. His lips tightened. He scoffed at himself; what had he been expecting?

He descended to the subway. He ignored the pooling water on the steps, that soaked through the bottom of his shoes, and stepped into the dark.

A/N

Note: Elise and Mori are like 18-19 years old here, at the beginning

Writing young Mori was an interesting challenge.

Rintarou Mori is Mori's real first name. Ougai Mori, is Mori's pen name.

The Dancing Girl is a work by Ougai Mori, about a Japanese medical student in Germany who fell in love with a girl named Elise. This part certainly does not end any happier for either character.

Elise is honestly the only character I've felt serious regret over killing. She was a precious ball of sunshine, especially compared to how depressing everything and everyone else is in this story.

Here's a link to the Dad Mori discord, come yell with me into the void: /WNWzPXq

Betaed by: Auroracode (on Ao3), RaquelBelle (on Ao3), and SonderQuill/UnderHisWings (on Ao3, , etc.)

Chapters:

1-Mori

Next: 2-?

And, now I'm going to go hide in a bunker for the next week so that I don't die from my readers.

-Silver