Sports Writing

It was easier said than done though, and he was bouncing back and forth impatiently by the time the chocolate finally started to soften. As soon as the last of it melted, he stuck his thermometer into the pot. He had seen enough cooking shows to know that scorched chocolate could ruin his endeavor faster than just about anything else.

As soon as it hit the correct temperature, he pulled it from the stove and poured it into the waiting molds. He was exceedingly proud of his molds; he had found them in the dollar store several months earlier, and had managed to keep them hidden from Oishi since.

He set them aside and moved on to the second part of his project, melting a little white chocolate, dying it yellow, and dropping it into little circles on a sheet of wax paper. Before they hardened too much, he used the end of a straw to press the pattern of a tennis ball into their surfaces. Then he set those aside as well.

Even though he knew it would take everything several hours to cool completely, he couldn't stop himself from running back into the kitchen every five minutes to check on them. Once he thought they were ready, he made himself wait an extra hour before holding his breath and turning them out from the mold.

He was fumbling with the zipper on his bag when someone came to stand behind him. "Morning, Oishi," he said without even bothering to look over his shoulder.

"Good morning, Eiji. Do you need a hand with that?"

"It's stuck," Eiji complained as he handed over his bag.

Oishi's hands brushed against his, and Oishi frowned. "More importantly, your hands are freezing!" he said. "What happened to your gloves?"

"I forgot them," Eiji replied, hoping he didn't sound as flustered as he felt. Oishi had taken his hands and was rapidly rubbing them in his own, and Eiji was certain he was going to turn as red as his fingers if it kept up much longer.

"You can't practice like this," Oishi said. "You'll drop your racket." Then, he lifted Eiji's fingers to his mouth and started breathing on them to warm them up faster, and Eiji knew it was too late; he had turned the color of his fingers.

"That tickles," he giggled.

"Hmmm, then what about this?" Oishi asked before kissing his fingertips. Eiji squirmed and laughed as Oishi teased him with hot breath and the gentle press of lips against his hands.

They both froze when someone coughed in the doorway.

"Tezuka…Buchou…" Oishi stuttered, rapidly turning nearly as red as Eiji.

"We're about to start," Tezuka said stiffly.

"How?"

"You're way too pale for someone who spends as much time outside as you do. You use even more sunscreen than I do, which doesn't seem possible. You're always cold," Kenma says, listing them off on his fingers.

"There are plenty of perfectly valid explanations for any of those. Hell, they all apply to you, and I don't think you'd call yourself a vampire."

"You don't have a heartbeat," Kenma says flatly, and Kuroo is forced to admit Kenma has a point there.

"I still could've been something else," Kuroo says, still refusing to give up too easily.

Kenma shrugs. "It was either vampire or zombie," he says, "and despite what some people might say, we both know you're way too smart to be the latter."

"And you're not scared?" Kuroo asks. Now that the truth is out in the open, he half expects Kenma to back away, but if anything, Kenma's inching even closer.

Kenma shakes his head against Kuroo's chest. "Why would I be afraid?" he asks. "You're Kuroo."

Kuroo's not sure what to say in response to that, so he stays quiet, ruffling a hand through Kenma's hair.

"What do you eat?" Kenma asks a few minutes later.

"Animal blood mainly. Tastes terrible, but it does the job. And doesn't risk getting me arrested for assault."

Kenma falls silent, and Kuroo thinks he's said too much. A few minutes later, Kenma stands up. "We should get ready for practice," he says somewhat stiffly. He doesn't mention the vampire bit again, so Kuroo thinks that's the end of the matter.

He doesn't find out he's mistaken until nearly a month later when he goes over to Kenma's house one evening to study. Kenma's wearing a sweater with a wide collar instead of his usual zipped-up hoodie, but before Kuroo can wonder too much about that choice, Kenma crawls into his lap with no warning, even more affectionate than usual.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" Kenma whispers against his ear.

"What!?" Kuroo exclaims without thinking.

"You're hungry," Kenma says, making it a statement this time. "I've been watching. You get snappier when you're hungry, and your eyes get sharper."

Kuroo sighs; he should know by know that he can't keep anything from Kenma for long.

"I was going to feed tomorrow," he admits.

"Feed now," Kenma murmurs. "Use my blood."

Kuroo pulls back immediately, keeping Kenma at arm's length.

"Absolutely not," he says.

"Why not? You said animal blood was terrible."

Kuroo shrugs. "I'll live."

"Please?"

"I don't think you understand. It hurts. It's not romantic like the movies show. It's uncomfortable, and probably scary, and it'll probably make you feel sick."

"Don't care," Kenma says, and Kuroo sighs. He knows there's no changing Kenma's mind once he gets like this, and he has to admit, the heady scent of blood edged with a touch of fear that's radiating off of Kenma right now is tempting.

"If you're sure," he says, and Kenma slides right up to his side, looking up at him with nothing but trust in his eyes as he offers his neck.

Kuroo runs his tongue over the side of Kenma's neck and feels Kenma shudder under him. When he's done, there's a glistening circle sitting right on top of Kenma's pulse, and he hopes he's not about to make a mistake. He fists a hand in Kenma's hair and tugs, pulling Kenma's head back to expose the vein even more. He keeps a firm grip even as he wraps his other arm securely around Kenma's shoulders, making sure Kenma can't move and hurt himself.

He tries not to think too much as he sinks his fangs into the exposed vein on the side of Kenma's neck. He hears Kenma's quiet gasp and feels Kenma tense under him, but he tries not to think too much about that either.

The first mouthful of blood is as jarring as always; it's been years since he was turned, but the part of his brain that remembers being human still revolts at the salty, metallic taste. If he were a romantic, he'd say that Kenma's blood tasted sweeter than anything he's had before, but he's not, and while Kenma's blood is definitely a huge improvement over chicken blood, there's nothing special about it compared to any other human's. He tastes the slight hint of adrenaline, just as he feels Kenma's hands gripping the shirt on his back.

He knows the minute it becomes too much too--when the bitter taste of adrenaline floods his mouth and Kenma's breath turns into sharp pants, and he can hear Kenma's heart fluttering rapidly against his chest. He barely manages to withdraw his fangs before Kenma yanks out of his hold and scrambles to the other side of the couch.

He follows, fighting to keep a thumb pressed over the two punctures on Kenma's neck; it would be dangerous if he moved his finger before they closed. He can heal them easily enough, but it's harder when Kenma is clawing at his hand trying to knock it away. He recites the words of the healing spell as quickly as he can, and as soon as he feels the skin knit back together, he lets go.

He crouches next to the sofa, unsure of what to do next. It's not the first time he's seen Kenma in the middle of a panic attack, but it's the first time he's been the cause of it. None of his usual approaches seem applicable now.

"Kenma," he says gently, reaching out a hand toward where Kenma is curled into a ball, "you're safe now. I'm sorry."

Kenma doesn't seem to hear him at all at first, but after a few minutes, he reaches out and takes Kuroo's hand, squeezing it hard and pulling it close to him. It takes longer before his breathing settles enough for him to be able to speak again, but once it does, the first word to leave his lips is a whispered repetition of Kuroo's name.

Kuroo takes it as a sign it's safe to move closer, and he runs his fingers through Kenma's hair. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

Kenma surprises him by shaking his head and saying "not bad." The words are muffled by Kenma's arms, and at first Kuroo is convinced he must have misheard.

"Not bad!?" he repeats, and Kenma nods.

"Intense," Kenma says. "Wasn't ready."

"It hurt?" Kuroo asks, risking pulling Kenma into a hug. When Kenma relaxes into the gesture, he knows the worst of the panic has passed.

"Not that," Kenma says, now mumbling into Kuroo's shoulder. "Could feel it. My blood being sucked out, and knowing it was going into you, and you being right there…"

"I'm sorry. I promise I'll never do that agai—" He's cut off by Kenma pressing a couple of fingers to his lips.

"Bad promise," Kenma whispers. "I want you to."

"But it hurt you."

"Worth it. Never felt so close to Kuroo before. Want to feel that again, help you. Won't panic next time."

Every time he send the ball across the net, he hopes Tezuka will fail to return it. Every time Tezuka serves, he hopes it will be a fault. But Tezuka keeps fighting and fighting even though Atobe can see the pain that flashes across his face every time he moves, pain so severe it paralyzes him for a split second after every serve. Tezuka isn't trying to hide it from him the way he's trying to hide it from his teammates. After all, Atobe knows; there's nothing to hide from him.

As the tiebreak stretches on longer and longer, Atobe's own shoulder begins to ache in sympathy. When Tezuka finally falters and the ball hits the net and fells, Atobe feels like his heart stops for a second too. Around him, everyone erupts into cheers, but from where he stands, it's a hollow victory.

If had been truly strong, the match would never have dragged on for so long. If he were truly strong, he would have been able to defeat Tezuka even before the tiebreak began.

When they shake hands after the match, he sees the way Tezuka's holding his left arm stiffly at his side, the way he's clenching his jaw like even the smallest movement of his shoulder is unbearable, and any joy he had felt at the victory turns bitter in his mouth.

He had baited Tezuka into the match, but he hadn't been able to follow through, and he knew the price would continue to haunt him.

Oishi

He finds Tezuka in the locker room, struggling to button his shirt one-handed. His captain isn't trying to hide the pain now that he thinks he's alone, and it makes his heart catch in his throat to witness it.

"Tezuka, let me see," he says as he sits down next to him on the bench. Tezuka doesn't even try to argue as Oishi slides the shirt back off, and that's as worrying as anything else.

He knows Tezuka iced his shoulder for most of the sixth match, but it's still visibly swollen, the surrounding muscles so tense he can see them pulling the joint out of line. He runs his hands lightly over the area, trying to find his landmarks as he traces the lines of the tendons and muscles. He's barely using any pressure at all, but Tezuka still flinches under him, pulling away reflexively for a split second before he clamps down on the reaction and replaces it with his usual, stoic self.

Once he has a better sense of what he's dealing with, Oishi takes out the tube of muscle cream he always keeps in his bag and squeezes some onto his fingers.

"Bear with me, Buchou," he says as he digs his thumbs into the worst of the knots. Tezuka barely responds, but Oishi can see the way he's clenching his jaw as he stares at the wall in front of him, his breathing too calm and measured to be anything other than a deliberate attempt at control. He knows it has to be agony, and he has to force his hands to keep moving. He tries to remind himself that this is compassion in this case; Tezuka will feel better when his shoulder is no longer locked up in spasms.

He wishes it hadn't come to this. He wishes he had noticed sooner; Atobe should never have seen it before he did. He wishes he had said something sooner, wishes he could have stopped Tezuka sooner. He wishes Tezuka hadn't sacrificed everything on a match that ultimately hadn't even mattered for the rankings.

When winter comes, Oishi notices when Eiji comes to practice with hands that are red and chapped from the cold. He offers Eiji lotion for his bag and reminds him to wear his gloves, but it doesn't help; Eiji always forgets them as he bounces from one place to another.

The final straw comes when Oishi watches Eiji absentmindedly wipe blood from a split knuckle during practice and wince every time sweat stings his cracked skin. After practice, he pulls Eiji aside and works lotion into his hands himself, feeling every dry spot and callus and memorizing them as if they were his own. He pretends not to notice the way Eiji's hands are sweating under his.

By New Year's, he's started keeping a spare pair of mittens in his bag as well.

Come spring, it's Eiji who finds him after a game when his hands are cramped and stiff from returning drive after drive. He doesn't even say anything, just sits down next to Oishi in the locker room and holds out his hands for inspection, his fingers seized up around the handle of an imaginary racket. Oishi takes them gently in his own and methodically works his way along every muscle and tendon until Eiji can move freely again. He lingers perhaps a little too long when he finishes, but Eiji's not pulling away. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he swears he feels Eiji squeezing his hand too.

It's not until late summer that Oishi is finally able to do what he's dreamed of doing for nearly a year. Eiji's been working on his acrobatics again, and after practice, Oishi presses his lips to every scratch and bruise on Eiji's hands. And then, because he can, he leaves one last kiss on Eiji's fingertips. Eiji smiles at him, then curls his hand into a fist and presses it close to his own heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No matter the season or the weather, Oishi's hands are always warm—warm as they close over his hands on a tennis racket before the game, warm as they touch his shoulder in support when misses a return, warm when they grab his in celebration after they win.

Oishi's hands are strong too. He hadn't noticed it when Oishi had limited himself to a few brief touches here and there, but now that it's Oishi's fingers digging under his shoulderblade to get at the muscle he strained in their last game, he wonders at his partner's hidden strength. It hurts when Oishi's thumb presses into a sore spot, but it's alternating with gentle fingers running through his hair and down the back of his neck, and that makes it okay.

Oishi's hand are warm, and they're strong, but the one thing Eiji notices most about them is how steady they are. It doesn't matter whether it's before an important match or after a practice where they've been pushed harder than they thought possible, Oishi's hands never shake with nerves or exhaustion the way his own do. And when Oishi takes his shaking hands and folds them up in his own, the steadiness spreads and chases away the worst of his anxiety and fatigue.

He knows he'll never forget the moment that changes. When he kisses Oishi for the first time, it's Oishi who's speechless when they pull apart, and it's Oishi who reaches up with trembling hands to pull him in again. It's Oishi who stays there afterward as if he's afraid it won't last if he lets go.

"Good morning, Kuroo."

"Pancakes?"

"There will be in a few minutes."

He handed Kuroo a spoon. "Here, stir that," he ordered, setting Kuroo up in front of a pot of milk he was slowly bringing to a simmer.

While Kuroo stirred robotically, Suga chopped a bar of dark chocolate into fine pieces, stopping just long enough to flip the pancakes before they could start to burn. He finished chopping just as the first batch of pancakes finished cooking, and by the time he had the second batch on the griddle, the milk was just starting to bubble.

He added the chocolate and turned down the heat, setting the table for two while Kuroo continued dutifully stirring the hot chocolate. He was making enough pancakes for three, but Kenma would have his share whenever he finally woke up; they had long since given up on expecting him for breakfast on weekends.

Kuroo was slightly better with mornings that Kenma was, but only marginally. He would have continued stirring indefinitely had Suga not taken the spoon from his hands and replaced it with a large mug of hot chocolate—topped off with a healthy shot of espresso for good measure—and steered him to his usual spot at the table. He kissed Kuroo on the forehead as he set out pancakes for both of them.

They had come out perfectly, light and fluffy and golden-brown like Suga liked. He planned to drench his in butter and syrup and savor every bite.

He had just cut into them when his phone rang.

"Good morning, Noya," he said when he answered the call.

"Suga, can you come over?" Nishinoya asked, sounding uncharacteristically tense.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"What's going on?"

"It's Asahi. He's been sick for the last few days, and I'm worried about him."

"If he's that sick, why don't you take him to the clinic?"

"You know how he can get, Suga," Nishinoya whined. "He won't go, but he looks terrible. He's been running a fever for three days now."

Suga sighed. He did in fact know—Asahi hadn't changed much since high school in that regard.

"What are his symptoms, Noya-kun?" he asked.

"He keeps getting chilled, and he's running a fever, and he's all stuffed up and keeps coughing, and he has a headache," Noya rattled off, sounding more stressed with each new item on the list.

"That sounds like the flu, Noya. He probably just needs a few more days to rest, and he'll be fine. He can take something for the fever and headache if he isn't already."

"Could you please come over, Suga?" Nishinoya asked quietly. "He really doesn't look good. What if it's something worse than the flu?"

"I'm a pediatrician, Noya; I don't treat adults. If he's really that sick, the clinic will be far better able to treat him than I will."

"Please, Suga," Nishinoya pleaded. "If you come over and tell him that, maybe he'll be more likely to go."

Suga looked at the plate of pancakes and steaming mug of hot chocolate calling to him and sighed. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Thank you! You're the best!"

Nishinoya's exclamation was apparently loud enough to draw attention, and Suga heard mumbling in the background that he assumed was Asahi.

"He's coming over in a little while, and you're not fine," Nishinoya hissed. Whatever Asahi tried to say in response was lost in a coughing fit that made Suga wince. He had to agree with Nishinoya's statement that Asahi didn't sound good—a personal opinion at the moment; he'd hold off on the professional one until he was there in person.

"Problem?" Kuroo asked when Suga hung up, more coherent now that his morning caffeine had started to kick in.

"Asahi's caught what sounds like the flu, and Noya's worried."

"And because Noya worries an inordinate amount about his teddy bear of a boyfriend, he wants you to come over."

"Yep."

"And because you have the patience of a saint, you agreed."

"Yes, but I told him I won't be there for an hour. Hot pancakes trump sick boyfriends."

"Unless it's Kenma."

"Unless it's Kenma," Suga agreed.

He didn't linger over his pancakes as he had hoped to, but he didn't rush either. When he finished, he stacked his dishes neatly in the sink before grabbing his stethoscope and his bag and heading out the door.

Even with the weekend bus schedule, it took less than half an hour for Suga to arrive at Asahi and Nishinoya's apartment. He had barely knocked on the door when Nishinoya yanked it open.

"You're here!" he said, practically pulling Suga inside. "I was about to call you again; I was starting to think you'd never come."

Suga looked down at his watch. "Noya," he said, "It's been fifty-six minutes since you called; I said I'd be here in an hour."

"I was worried," Nishinoya muttered.

Suga left his shoes by the door and followed Nishinoya to the bedroom. The blinds were drawn, and in the dim light, he could barely pick out Asahi buried under a massive pile of blankets on the bed.

"Good morning," Suga said, and the pile on the bed groaned.

"I'm fine," Asahi replied, or at least tried to. He was so congested that Suga could barely pick out the words, and they started a coughing fit that caused Nishinoya to nervously pace around the bedroom.

"See. I told you he's not fine!" Nishinoya exclaimed.

"It's just a cold. You didn't have to call Suga," Asahi whispered.

Suga set his bag down on the edge of the bed. "Since I am here, how about I take a look anyway?"

"It's really nothing," Asahi said. "I...um...I don't want to bother you."

"I'm here anyway. It's not a bother, and it will make Noya feel better."

"Fine," Asahi finally conceded, though he looked like he'd much rather everyone left him alone with his blankets.

Suga's first impression, professional as well as personal, was that Asahi looked terrible. His hair was stuck to his face with sweat, and his eyes were glassy. Suga pressed the inside of his wrist to Asahi's forehead, and confirmed that Asahi was far warmer than he should have been.

"Have you been taking anything for the fever?" he asked, lowering his voice mid-sentence and adding, "Or for the headache?" when Asahi winced.

Asahi nodded, and Suga frowned. He took his thermometer out of his bag and slipped on a fresh cover before sticking it under Asahi's tongue. He swore Asahi was pouting at him.

The thermometer beeped several seconds later, and Suga looked at the readout, confirming that Asahi's temperature was worryingly high.

"Asahi," he said, "I think we need to get some of these blankets off of you. Your fever needs to come down."

"But he keeps complaining he's too cold," Nishinoya protested from across the room. "I gave him all the blankets I could find, but he won't stop shivering."

"That happens with a fever, Noya," Suga said patiently. "He's not actually cold; he's too hot, and the blankets are just making him even warmer. Why don't you move most of them somewhere else for now?"

There was a large pile of blankets next to the bed by the time Nishinoya finally finished excavating Asahi, who shivered miserably under his one remaining blanket.

Suga took Asahi's hand and pushed back the sweat-soaked sleeve of his pajamas to press his fingers to the inside of Asahi's wrist.

"You should change into something dry before you get chilled," he said as he felt for Asahi's pulse—steady, but rapid and thready.

He had barely finished speaking before Nishinoya pushed past him in his haste to get to Asahi. "Come on, Asahi," he said. "Let's get you into something more comfortable."

Nishinoya slipped an arm behind Asahi's shoulders and helped him sit up, and Suga hovered nearby, ready to step in if Asahi took a turn for the worse, but when Nishinoya began unbuttoning Asahi's pajamas and running his fingers through the hair on Asahi's chest, he stepped back and occupied himself with his phone to give them a little privacy. It would be easy enough for someone to get his attention of they needed him.

Once Nishinoya's whispers and Asahi's mumbled complaints trailed off, he turned back to find a very red Asahi sitting in bed in dry pajamas; he had a feeling it wasn't just the fever making Asahi flush.

"Let me listen to your lungs, Asahi," Suga said.

"I'm not a kid," Asahi complained, looking pointedly at the toy rabbit hanging from the stethoscope.

"No, but I'm a pediatrician," Suga countered.

"I dunno, it's kind of cute," Nishinoya said, flicking at the rabbit's ears while Suga warmed the bell of the instrument in his hands.

"Noya," Suga prodded gently after about thirty seconds.

"Sorry," Nishinoya said, letting go of the toy, "but it's cute."

"Take some deep breaths for me, Asahi," Suga instructed as he pressed the stethoscope to Asahi's back.

As he had expected, he could hear Asahi's breath crackling in his lungs, but he didn't hear any of the muffled areas he had been fearing.

"The good news," Suga said as he draped his stethoscope around his neck once more, and Nishinoya went back to flicking the rabbit's ears, "is that it looks like you just have a bad case of the flu."

Asahi looked at him miserably. "That's the good news?" he rasped.

"The way you were coughing, I was worried it may have turned into pneumonia," Suga said, "but that doesn't appear to be the case. Did you get your flu shot this year?"

"I tried to convince him that we should go together," Nishinoya interjected, "but he wouldn't."

"I don't like them," Asahi mumbled into the blanket.

"At least consider it next year?" Suga pleaded. "It would help prevent this."

Asahi just looked up at him miserably.

"Just a suggestion," Suga said mildly. "For now though, keep taking what you have been for the fever and the aches, and drink lots of fluids. Juice, tea, broth, those are all good."

"'m not hungry."

"Doesn't matter. You need fluids to help flush this out of your system, and you don't want to end up dehydrated. That happens and Noya's going to have to take you to the clinic for an IV."

Asahi shook his head vigorously, then whimpered when it made his head pound.

"Plenty of fluids and plenty of rest," Suga repeated, "Noya, if Asahi's fever goes much over 40 and won't come down, you need to bring him to the clinic. Same if he starts having trouble breathing. Otherwise, there's nothing to do but wait. Asahi, you should start feeling better in a couple of days."

"Thanks, Suga!" Noya said as Suga left.

"Thanks," Asahi mumbled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Suga was just sitting down to another peaceful breakfast with Kuroo when his phone rang.

"Good morning, Asahi," he said with a sinking feeling in his gut. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, but now Noya's sick. Can you come over?"

"It's probably the same virus you had. He just needs rest."

"He's barely gotten out of bed for two days, Suga. It's not like him."

"Let him rest, and if he's not starting to feel better in a few days, take him to the clinic," Suga said. Across the table, Kuroo was covering his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. Suga glared at him.

"Please, Suga. He's scaring me."

Suga sighed. "I'll be there in a hour," he said and hung up.

Kuroo immediately burst out laughing. "Kenma called it," he said. "Did you really think you'd get off the hook that easily?"

"A guy can dream," Suga said. "You could have let me dream a bit longer."

"How about Kenma makes you cookies later to make up for it?" Kuroo asked. "Rumor has it he found a new recipe he wants to try."

"God, you know my weaknesses. For cookies, you're both forgiven."

Doc: Speaking of which, where is Setton-san? It's getting a bit late for them not to be here… Saika: Didn't they say they might be working late tonight? Doc: Do you think something happened to them? Saika: It's not that late yet. I'm sure we'd hear if something happened. Doc: Fine. But if they're still not here in— ≪Setton has joined the chat≫ Doc: Setton-san!!! We were worried about you! Setton: You mean you were worried. Setton: I did say I might be late. Saika: Is everything okay with your job? Setton: It is now. Setton: Someone left a door open last night and some bugs got in, but I took care of them. Doc: Ew Saika: That's good to hear, Setton-san. ≪Begin private chat between Saika and Setton≫ Setton: Are we set to move tonight? Saika: I'm ready. Are you sure we're clear? Setton: As sure as I can be. I ran a full scan of all systems from work. There were the usual bugs, but all low-level; I wiped all of them. Saika: And the virus? Setton: No sign of it anywhere. Saika: Would you expect to see it if Nakura really is the one behind it? Setton: It should have at least left an echo somewhere. It's too quiet. Saika: Are you suggesting we postpone? Setton: No, tonight's our best chance. And if we don't stop this before it's released… Setton: I'll brief Doc when I get back. He'll be my failsafe like usual. Saika: I'll need at least half an hour to get the systems up and running on my end, but then I'll be ready on your signal. Setton: Godspeed. Saika: You too, Celt— Setton-san. ≪End private chat between Saika and Setton≫ Setton: I have to be back at work early tomorrow as well, so I'm going to sign off now. Setton: Goodnight, everyone. ≪Setton has left the chat≫ Saika: Goodnight, Setton-san. Doc: Night night, Setton-san~ Saika: I should be going too. Goodnight, Doc. ≪Saika has left the chat≫ Doc: Night. Doc: Aww, it's too quiet in here now. ≪Doc has left the chat≫ ≪Kanra has joined the chat≫ ≪Kanra has left the chat≫

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So explain to me again exactly what we're doing," Shinra said once Celty was back in their apartment.

"We're going virus hunting. There's no concrete proof yet, but there are whispers that Nakura's cooked up something extremely nasty this time—nasty as in capable of wiping anything connected to the net if they wanted to. We're going to stop their bug before they can release it."

"If it's still just rumors, how do you know this isn't a wild goose chase?"

"It's Nakura. If there are rumors, it's because they wanted there to be rumors……"

Shinra did know. Nakura was simultaneously one of the best-known and least-known hackers at least in Japan, if not in the world. They were known for striking without warning, and seemingly on a whim. Businesses, governments, and just about every other type of organization had been hit by them without any real pattern.

And no one knew anything about them beyond the name they used.

"You think you know where this virus is?"

"Not yet, but I think I know how to find it."

"Let me get this straight, you're using rumors that are probably from Nakura themself as reason to go hunting for a virus that may or may not exist. And then hope you find it and can somehow do something about it before it's released into the wider net. That sounds like the perfect setup for a trap to me."

"Which is why I'm taking Anri with me, and why you're going to be our failsafe. You'll have a headset, and I'll hook your glasses up to the interface like usual. You won't be able to interact with the network the same way we do, but you should at least be able to see and hear what we are. You know the signal, and you know what to do, right?"

"If you give the signal, I pull the plug immediately, which should isolate the program offline, but it also leaves you trapped in there with it forever. Just for the record, I still don't like that option."

"If this virus is as bad as the rumors say, and we start losing control of it, it's still far better than the alternative where it takes out the rest of the internet too."

"Don't make me have to do this, Celty," Shinra said quietly.

"I'll try my best," Celty promised as she typed several strings of commands into her console. "Okay, you should be linked in now. Can you hear me through your headset?"

"Yep."

"Good." Celty flipped through more screens rapidly until she pulled up a new chat window. "Are you ready, Saika?" she asked.

"Give me a minute," Anri's voice echoed back through the headset.

"Can you hear me now, Setton?" she asked, her voice duplicated through the headset and directly through the network.

"Loud and clear. I'm going in now."

"And we're live," Celty said out loud for the benefit of Shinra before she tapped a few more settings and…disappeared…into computer for lack of a better word. No matter how many times it happened, Shinra still couldn't wrap his head around it. When he had first discovered the AI in the hold of the cargo shuttle his father brought back, he hadn't thought much of it. After all, AIs weren't uncommon, though none of them had reached the level of being a believable surrogate for human intelligence.

Except this particular one was nothing like any AI he had ever met before he learned that night when he inspected it more closely out of curiosity. He had been expecting a body of electronics and lightweight polymer shaped into a semblance of a human form. Instead he had found an AI who, so far as he could tell, was made of data. He had taken off its helmet to see the face underneath, except all he had found was sweeping tendrils of code and strings of binary streaming out from where the neck had been.

Under all of the laws he knew, such a thing shouldn't even have been possible. Data had no physical manifestation. It was just information, impulses; it was impossible to have a body made entirely of pure data.

Celty apparently hadn't received that message, because despite the impossibility of it, it didn't seem to stop her from existing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Celty nearly sighed as she slipped into the network. She could exist out in the physical world, but it wasn't where she was meant to be. OUt there, she always felt isolated and disconnected. In here, she was part of something much larger, and she could feel the ebb and flow of information rushing around her.

She sent a sliver of data down into the stream, watching it get carried away by the torrent until it hit a familiar node.

"Do you read me, Saika?"

The response came back almost instantly, the impulses traveling far too fast for any human, even a modified one, to follow.

"Loud and clear, Setton. Me and anyone else who's looking."

With the link confirmed, Celty wasted no time in activating her cloaking, coaxing the data around her to flow past as if she wasn't there at all. As Anri had said, spending any amount of time unshielded in the network carried with it the possibility of being discovered, but it was also the fastest way to set up communication between them. Once their link was established though, she could shield herself as thoroughly as she wanted without disturbing it.

"I'm going in deeper. Let me know if you see anything unusual from your end.

"Will do. Nothing so far.

Celty wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for, but she knew the minute she found it. The shielding on the space was nearly perfect, the only sign of its existence was a faint absence of an echo in the undercurrents she had been listening to. She was used to code created by humans being a mere entertainment at best, with none of them anywhere near what she was capable of, but if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn the space was created by another data being like herself. The code twisted and slipped through her fingers as she tried to tease it apart, the individual layers feeding back into themselves in complicated loops that hid traps embedded within them.

It took longer than she would have liked, but eventually, the entire construct folded before her, revealing its contents.

One glance was all it took to tell her that she had found what they were looking for. The tight coil of code sitting innocuously in the middle of the bubble was wrong. There was no other word to describe it. The code itself was warped and twisted, and it made her feel vaguely ill to look at it for too long.

She was just beginning to consider how she could manage to contain the thing without touching it when the data in front of her began rearranging itself. She stepped back immediately, throwing up fragments of code to protect against anything thrown her way.

"Saika?" she asked.

"I see it too."

"Kanra," Celty said as a familiar digital signature began arranging itself in front of her. "Or should I say Nakura?"

"You don't sound surprised."

"I've always suspected you had more up your sleeve than you let on."

"You wouldn't be wrong. I was bored, but now that you've come along, let's play."

Without warning, the walls the Celty had carefully deconstructed only moments earlier sprang back to life, this time trapping her on the inside with Izaya and his virus. The walls completely isolated the space within them from the rest of the network; she couldn't hear Anri and Shinra anymore at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Celt— Setton-san!!!" Anri heard Shinra yell into his headset as Celty vanished.

"What do I do, Saika!? How do we know what's happening in there? What if the virus infects Setton and we don't know in time because I can't hear her?"

"Give me minute, Doc," Anri ordered as she yanked wires out of a tangle by her console. "Keep watching the spot where Setton and Kanra disappeared. If the virus starts escaping, pull the plug immediately and let me know. Otherwise, give me two minutes; I'm going in after her."

As she spoke, Anri jammed a couple of connectors into the port on her forearm that she normally kept hidden under her clothes. She ignored the jolt of a rushed and overly forceful connection, favoring speed over comfort. She couldn't slip into the network the way Celty could, but she had some tricks of her own.

By linking to the network, she had gained awareness of all of the other consoles around her, and it was a simple matter to send a ping out to all of those nodes identifying herself. As soon as they recognized her, they dropped whatever they were doing and offered their assistance.

There was a reason she didn't directly interface with the network most of the time. Unless she kept herself perfectly shielded, everything nearby would notice her, and once they did, they effectively turned into zombie bots that were useless for their usual tasks until she broke the connection. It was a power that would have been incredibly destructive in the hands of someone like Nakura, but to her, it was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

Except in this particular situation, she used it to her advantage. She took all of the nearby nodes and used them to construct a multi-level containment ring around the spot where Celty had disappeared. With the outer ring preventing anything from spilling out, she turned her attention to deconstructing Nakura's walls just as Celty had before. Unlike Celty, she couldn't do it directly, and she knew she never would have done it if she hadn't watched Celty go through the entire process, but after a few close calls, she finally managed to get her inner circle of repurposed bots to break through the code.

The walls folded in on themselves once more to reveal Celty desperately trying to fend off the virus as Nakura looked on.

"Setton!" Anri yelled, trying to figure out how she could help.

Izaya looked up in surprise; he clearly hadn't expected to be interrupted.

"Well, you've entertained me for the time being, but I think I should be going now. Let's play again sometime," he said.

Anri tried to send some of her bots after him, but she was too slow. He was gone seemingly without a trace.

With his departure, the virus seemed to slow down, and Celty was able to free herself from its tangles. Anri's bots quickly moved in and surrounded it.

Are you okay, Setton-san? Anri asked.

I want to do a full system scan once we get out of here, but I think so. That virus was nasty, but I don't think it ever managed to get a foothold.

"That's good to hear. So what do we do with this?" Anri asked, gesturing to the now-contained virus.

"Do you think your bots can move it out into one of my empty servers? If so, then Doc can take it offline, and I'll destroy it.

"That shouldn't be too difficult. Did you catch that, Doc?"

"Loud and clear. Just tell me when and where."

With both Anri and Celty working on it, it took mere minutes to force the virus out of the main network and into a node belonging to Celty's servers.

"Doc, look at the server rack to the left of the console. One of the servers should have a red light and a green light on now."

"Give me a minute...Okay, I see it. The top one."

"Unplug that one now."

No sooner had Celty spoken than the virus disappeared from her view. She heard Anri breathe a sigh of relief, and she knew she would have done the same if she could.

"I think we're done. Let's get out of here," she said.

"I couldn't agree more," Anri replied. "Good work tonight, everyone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Celty had barely finished returning to her physical manifestation when she found herself crushed in a bear hug.

"Don't ever do that again," Shinra ordered. "Do you have any idea how much it scared me when you disappeared like that? And what did Kanra mean he wants to play again sometime?"

"It means he's just as unpleasant in the virtual world as he is in the physical one, and I have no desire to play with him in either."

"I think that's a common reaction," Shinra said dourly. "I'm just glad he let you go in the end."

"So am I. Though if he hadn't, he would have had to face down Anri, and she's not someone you want to underestimate."