"Hurdle to End"

Demeter

Disclaimer: All rights and privileges of Fruits Basket characters, objects and plots are property and trademarks of Takaya Natsuki and associated parties. The author claims no legal responsibility for problems associated with using this work. The original story, relationships, and characters found within the fic are property of Demeter.

Pairings: None

Notes: This was written pre-97. So yes, I do knowtheSecret AboutAkito. Originally posted on lj.

It was a vicious cough that sprung from lungs abused by the constant overworking of muscles to dissolve phlegm that which had spent a lifetime building up for the moment when the two organs that brought air and oxygen and carbon into his body would sputter and fail like some wretched floorboard long rotting from exposure to rain. They would struggle for life and breath until his dying day.

The fever burned furiously inside of him and he struggled to open his eyes, failing, failing every single time. Soft, hitched sounds escaped his cracking lips and several moments later, a wonderfully cool and moist cloth was placed on his forehead. He turned instinctively toward the retreating hand, but no comforting touch returned and somewhere in his delirious mind, he knew that he deserved this.

So he turned away.

And it hurt. Everything ached and what few muscles he had seemed to melt and strain under a heavy burden, as if there were iron chains holding him to the floor with an unwillingness to let him fly.

His eyes were dry and scratchy, as if someone had stuffed little packets of sand into the corners, and his weak arms twitched uselessly as he tried to lift them. A gasp caught in his throat and died when he felt a cool, dry hand take his burning one and hold with a firm confidence that made Akito suddenly wanted to laugh. No one but a Juunishi could have done that, and no Juunishi except Shigure would have dared.

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to.

There were people speaking in quiet voices that he couldn't quite understand and there were emotions venting he couldn't quite comprehend. A moment later, something sharply square was forced under his tongue and he could identify, beyond the burning, that there was something dark and sweet to the taste. It left a syrupy feeling to his mouth and he coughed wetly, to force the taste away.

After a lengthy silence, he realized that they were waiting for something to happen.

Akito found the edges of his vision start to round, as if his eyeballs had been replaced by glass marbles and there was an odd stretching that made him feel sick all over again. The black shadows under his eyelids were dancing in great circles and he heedlessly followed like a puppy on a leash.

And then…

He felt a different form of darkness steal over his consciousness.

"For you, Akito, death is a privilege, not a right. You have the privilege to die for the Sohma Family."

"You are going to suffer the whole of your short, miserable life for this family."

"Akito, you cannot leave the interior! You'll catch cold and…"

and die like the monster you are…

"Your medicine, Akito."

"Only a demon could love you, you miserable, dying monster!"

"The Juunishi are yours and yours alone, Akito. Remember that when you feel lonely."

because no one else will submit to your madness

"Why can't Akito play with us?"

"I'd prefer not to rot to death in the Family Compound, thank you very much. I'm a dog. I need my freedom."

freedom that you will never have, freedom that everyone else enjoys, freedom that you can only command but never hold

"Why did it have to be you?"

"Your honorable life will mean fortune and well-being to the Clan, Akito. You have an obligation to secure the future of the Sohma Family."

"She doesn't mean it, Akito. Really… she just…"

wanted you dead, wanted you dead by her hands than by the hands of a vicious curse

"It was me! I was the one to start the relationship! Haru did nothing!"

"My child! He's my child!"

"Stop! Stop it Akito! His eye…!"

"She doesn't want that, Akito…"

"I… I love Kisa…"

"He's so sick. It's a pity really, but he'll be sick that way for…"

the rest of your short life

"You can't take him away! You can't take him away from me! I'll kill…"

"It was an accident, Akito. She was sick. Ill. She never meant what she said."

"You can't see her like this, Akito… you're angry. And when you're angry, you hurt people."

"I'll kill Akito myself!"

"She was insane. It wasn't your fault."

no, it was the fault of everyone else, the fault of the curse, the fault of those who want you to die for them

"My only regret was to give birth to a monster like him! Erase my memories!"

"Don't you want to love too, Akito? I adore my Kyo."

"Try using your curse then!"

"He's my freakish son!"

"You still have your Juunishi. You still have them. They'll respect you. They will love you. They will be at your beck and call. Just forget her."

"Ah! You must be Akito-san. My name is…"

"Akito-san."

"Akito-kun."

"Akito."

There were rims of thin light around the edges of his vision, and Akito knew that the dimness was for his sole benefit. He could sense no one else in the room; but that wasn't surprising. They must have believed he was sleeping.

He knew, better than anyone, that they – but he didn't even know who 'they' were – hated him.

He felt his eyes grow heavy, as if there were tears quietly building up behind the translucent skin. But Akito didn't cry much; didn't cry at all if he had the chance to deny it. His face consisted of contortions of sadistic glee, manipulation, insanity, jealousy and happiness. There were no tears and no one had ever seen him with anything other than faint abandon.

His dark eyes slowly opened and squinted as the fuzziness cleared from his vision. His room was naturally dark, not by drawn shades or closed windows, but by the coming of night. He could hear the sounds of life emanating from somewhere in the Sohma family compound – outside of his central rooms – and he thought it meant someone had come home. The dusty light streaming through the shuttered window told him that it was somewhere near dusk.

So he had not died after all.

The sweat had soaked the yukata he was wrapped in and the damp cotton was sticking unpleasantly to his skin. The faint hum of conversation was drifting somewhere down the hallway, and somehow, he could tell it was about him. It was always about him, wasn't it? Ignoring the quiet voice in his head that said there was good reason why the people of his clan put him first - oh, they need you to be alive - he summoned his strength and struggled to sit up. When his back refused to budge from its place on the futon, he cursed.

Coughing weakly, he turned his head to the sliding shogi door. The soft pitter-patter of footsteps coming toward his room was familiar in their steadiness, and Akito knew before the door even opened, that Hatori would be the one to enter first.

The doctor quietly slid the door open and one of the many servants shut it behind him as he carried a tray with water and a small saucer with any number of differently-colored pills. When he saw that Akito was fully awake, he walked rapidly toward him and took out a stethoscope. Hatori's movements were clinically precise and painfully close. The metal was cool against his hot skin and Akito wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Hatori listened for.

A moment passed.

"Your heart has regained its rhythm, Akito."

He didn't say anything else and unfolded a spare yukata that had been placed by the bedside. Hatori slid a long arm easily under Akito's thin shoulders and lifted him with an ease that told of long years of practice. While his body was slack, a lifetime of illness had provided Akito with an unbearably light body so even a child such as Hiro could have lifted Akito up.

There was nothing said in the quiet as Hatori assisted Akito in changing into the dry yukata. With soft words designed to placate, he straightened the tucks and tightened the robe at the waist with ease. When Akito made no sign of lying back down, he placed a cool, dry hand against Akito's moist forehead. "Your fever has broken."

Akito snorted. "That should be obvious, even to someone as clueless as you."

Hatori didn't reply, but simply folded the used yukata and placed it to the side. He then sat patiently by the futon, waiting for whatever whim or order Akito might deign to hand down.

Still coughing on the occasion, Akito could feel the silence stretch thin at the corners. It made time pass unbearably slow, but for someone with a limited lifespan, there was a desperate, saving quality to the silence. He smiled. He saw that Hatori shifted when he smiled – that smile, yes that smile – but he didn't really care. It wasn't as if there was anything the doctor could do to him that the curse wasn't already ravaging.

With a deliberate gesture, he placed the flat of his hand to his forehead. It was damp and with an ever-constant slow burn that had never been quenched.

"Water, Hatori."

Hatori silently handed him the glass of water, poured from a freshly-chilled bottle of mineral water. He knelt down by Akito and handed him the glass. After the first cautious sip, Akito allowed the pleasure of the cold drink course down his parched throat and revel in the sudden splash of alertness it always brought.

The silence wasn't exactly comfortable, but they'd spent too many vomit-soaked hours together to be anything less.

"How long?"

"Four days." Hatori always understood his curt questions.

"Longer than usual."

"… Yes. The Main House was worried."

"Hmph. Worried? I'm sure they were just wondering who among those pregnant would be next." The way his voice savoured those words, how his lips caressed over each vowel and syllable, coupled with the glitter in his dark eyes, they didn't fail to provoke a slight shudder that rent through Hatori's spine and dropped a stone to his stomach. But he hid it well. He was used to it.

Akito affected all the Juunishi - all of them – that way.

Silence pervaded as Hatori waited for Akito to finish the water. When Akito made no move to drink the rest, he took up the saucer of pills and handed them to the younger boy. Akito glanced at them with derision, but with a long-suffering movement derived from years of practice, he took up the pills one by one and forced them down with water. He still wondered whether they really did anything.

Coughing a little after the final pill was swallowed Akito pushed the glass toward Hatori.

"Where's Kureno?" It was almost petulant, the way he stuck out his lower lip.

"I sent him on an errand to buy a few things." Hatori paused for a moment. "He hadn't left your bedside for almost four days." Implicit in the words was the soft, tired attempt to alleviate a possible rising tide of anger.

"… oh?"

"Yes."

"Was Shigure here?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"All the Juunishi except for Kyo stayed by your bedside at one point or another."

Akito smirked approvingly. "Of course they would." He knew they hated him. Almost experimentally, he said, "I should go find Shigure and have him tell me a story. He hasn't been coming around like he used to."

"Shigure may just be busy."

"With something more important than me?" The words were almost pleasant.

"… no, Akito."

"Good. And I want Kureno to come immediately as soon as he's home. You know I cannot sleep without him."

And it was true.

Akito did not often sleep without at least one of his Juunishi at his side. Whether it was Kureno, Shigure, Yuki, or even Hatori himself – Hatori could no longer remember a night passing without one of them at Akito's side. The honor had fallen more and more to Kureno as Hatori went to medical school and then took on the office of family doctor, as Shigure left the main compound, and as Yuki moved out. He'd never complained, but seeing as Akito had never allowed him to experience anything else, Hatori wasn't particularly surprised.

"Yes, Akito."

By this time, Akito had managed to stand up and drag himself to the window seat that was always kept clear and clean for him to lounge on. Hatori trailed after him, the covering in his arms. When Akito rested himself – nearly limp with exhaustion – against the heavy wooden frame, Hatori vigilantly tucked the corners around his god, hoping against hope that Akito wouldn't throw them off as soon as he left the room.

"I'm tired, Hatori."

Hatori knew Akito well enough to know that this was rambling – in a distant, mindless Akito way – and there was little he could say in response that wouldn't provoke irritation.

The birds which were constantly around Akito started flying to the bushes by the window. One landed bravely on Akito's finger and nibbled at the delicate skin of his wrist. They chattered to each other and to Akito whom Hatori suspected understood what was being said.

"... How's that little house of Shigure's?"

"Honda Tohru is –"

A thin, pale hand came up without warning and streaked through the air to strike Hatori's shoulder – because he had never again touched Hatori's face in violence since Kana had disappeared from their lives – who didn't flinch. Akito didn't even look at him as he hissed, "I didn't ask about the girl!" The birds took off as one mad group of wings, their screeches oddly loud in the heaviness of Akito's chambers.

"… Shigure, Yuki, and Kyo are well," Hatori finished patiently.

Akito said nothing to this and merely gazed sightlessly into the gardens and estate.

"Shigure told me to tell you that he'll come as soon as I send word that you're awake."

With a snort, Akito said, "Don't bother. I don't want to see him right now."

"Then…?"

"No one!" Akito made an impatient sound. "Where's Kureno?"

The scrape of the wooden door sliding open caused the two to turn their attention, and Akito made a soft sound as he saw Kureno silently enter the room, his shoulders at attention and his dark eyes expressionless. He immediately crossed the expanse of the room when he saw Akito's arms outstretched, and in answer, he lifted Akito easily into his arms and settled back against the window seat with the younger boy fitted snugly into his lap.

With an unconscious grace, Akito draped himself over Kureno and his gray eyes were already turning to the garden again, an arm outstretched for his favorite little bird to alight itself on.

"Go away, Hatori." The words were slurred, as if Akito was falling asleep, but Hatori knew it was a ruse. For the moment. Whether because of Kana or from reasons Hatori couldn't fathom, Akito had liked his company less and less, and it said something about the dragon in him when his stomach clenched with anxiety at the thought of his God eyeing him with anything less than pleasure.

It was a wonder Rin and Kyo could even stand up in the mornings.

He rose from his spot by the window and pausing briefly to gather the yukata and pick up the tray, empty saucer, and water glass, Hatori disappeared from the room as quietly as he had entered.

The moments following his exit were quiet, perhaps peaceful. Kureno combed his fingers gently through Akito's damp hair and said nothing about the younger boy's irregular breathing pattern or the quakes that quivered through the frail body at ever-increasing intervals. Kureno simply tightened an arm around Akito's waist to hold the boy closer to him. He made note of the symptoms – of what, he didn't know – and would never tell Hatori or anyone else.

It was the least he could do for Akito.

"I'm tired, Kureno."

With a shift of his strong arms, Kureno arranged Akito into a more pliable position on his lap and sacrificed his own comfort without question. A little sigh from lips tinged with pale, pale blue told him that Akito liked the new arrangement. He made another mental note.

Kureno stared distantly into the dusk.

The steady beat of Kureno's heart was right below Akito's ear, and the sickly boy liked how the rhythm seemed to make his heart palpitate a little less, made his breath just a tad steadier, and reduced the dimming of his vision to a slight blur. It didn't hurt as much when Kureno was around.

Heat from the blanket was already making him irritable.

Akito kicked the covers off and shifted in Kureno's lap. His arm was slung over the railing, ineffectually posed. In reality, without the wooden beam holding his arm up, he wouldn't have been able to touch his birds. Akito often fantasized about the day when he'd have to have Kureno hold his arm up for hours at a time without break. And the Rooster would do it.

The birds came again, and he felt one land lightly on a barely outstretched hand. Akito held back a pained shudder as the wood pressed unforgiving pain into his thin arm. But he greedily absorbed the pleasure from holding the singing bird in his hand. Its feathers gleamed from the expensive birdseed he demanded the Sohma estate use. No one understood it, least of all him, but the small creatures were attracted to wherever he was.

"The birds will always fly to you, Akito. You only need to call."

A heavy cough suddenly wracked his body and in a flash, Kureno had him on the futon again. He acted as a human pillow for the shaking body and stretched Akito's throat back to open his airways. The legs jerked in a macabre form of time to the coughs, and not for the last time Kureno wished his innate strength and health could be given up. Watching Akito's face twist in a panicked effort to breathe, his fingers dug painfully into Akito's delicate skin – it'd leave ugly bruises he would answer for later, but Kureno rarely cared – to create just enough extra-sensory pain to distract Akito from the burning of his lungs and muscles. Kureno murmured in a low voice, encouraging Akito to breathe, breathe, breathe.

With a final, lingering shudder, Akito went still. A hand clawed at Kureno's chest, and he immediately slipped out from under Akito and lay the boy down.

When the fit passed, he gently slid Akito under the blankets before lying down next to him. He stretched his entire body and curled his long limbs around Akito protectively, exuding warmth Kureno didn't quite feel, but with an obsession he did.

His God had a way of provoking the most extreme reactions in his Juunishi.

It was almost obscene to call Akito beautiful. His face was far too thin from almost two decades of illness; his fingers were long and narrowed to a wrist that seemed breakable with the slightest aggravation. Gray eyes which stared uncommonly hard at a person's faults and sneered at any attempt to change. A body where the individual ribs could be counted and where a pianist might have played a concerto on his spine.

Yes… it was obscene to call Akito beautiful, but to anyone who had ever been in his presence, it was almost blasphemy to call him anything but.

Kureno's arm was settled lightly over Akito's body, watchful for a sign of discomfort on Akito's face.

There were tiny quakes stilling erupting within Akito, but he tried to ignored them as he focused on his birds. "Kureno. I want to sit by the window."

The older man was silent for a long moment. "Akito…"

"I want to sit by the WINDOW!"

"… it's getting dark."

"I don't care!"

"You might catch a cold."

Something hitched in Akito's voice. "I want my birds," he not-quite-whispered.

Kureno stilled and then without another word, he stood up from the bed with the covers and spread them onto the seat. His long arms scooped Akito from the bed and with his back firmly placed against the hardwood frame, he nestled Akito into his lap, arranged with his head resting against the wooden railing, his chest an easy slide down if Akito wanted to nod off into sleep. Fulfilling Akito's unknown thoughts, he lifted a thin arm – too thin, Kureno could almost see light shining through the skin and bones – and draped it over the railing where the birds could come and balance precariously on an arm that reminded Kureno of whips, black paint, and stinging madness.

He closed his eyes.

Akito barely felt the cool wood resting beneath his cheek. It was only one numb sensation among many and it wouldn't have made much of a difference if there had been a pile of silky Persian pillows.

The familiar, light weight of a bird came down and he felt it nip at the dying skin of his fingers. The claws, pebbled and rough, dug into his arm, but he liked the startling sharpness it provoked.

Kureno would be lectured later for the bruises.

It was a stray thought, but one that made him suddenly grasp the shirt on Kureno's chest with his spare hand and involuntarily shiver. Kureno's strong arms tightened without a word around his waist, and for a fleeting moment, it was perfect.

Someday.

Let the Sohma Clan have their mansions and expensive estates. Let them keep their money, their materialistic ambitions, and endless demands. Let the other Juunishi find their next human sacrifice. He would fly.

someday

The bird took off in a flutter of feathers, wings, and startled fear as the hand it was perched on quaked.

- fin -