Navy blue-haired man sighed heavily, hurrying quietly after the main doctor in order, sweat running down his neck. Today was definitely not his lucky day – apparently there was a conflagration somewhere in the Shizume (he should just kill this damned person, who set the whole building on fire, for making his work harder this time) and many of the injured during the fire had come to the hospital before he started his shift - second shift this day, to be honest. He was exhausted, and, obviously, fed up with treating only burns all day. No other patients but those hurt by the flames came. No sickly-pale faces, no coughing in the waiting room, no complaining about some part of body aching, only too shocked people with their skin burnt, peeled off, sickly brown, red or black, or hanging limply off their limbs.

Just great.

He stepped into the white hall of the main building, wing A. New lamps were giving the odd sensation to his eyes, but he was generally used to it; after all, he has been a doctor for over six months, since April actually. He has some experience, when it comes to treating injured and sick. Burns weren't new to him, but with that amount it was impossible for him and him alone to help all the patients.

Only sounds heard along the hall were his blue working boots tapping on clearly white floor and nurses' shuffling around with the papers and forms to fill out, which were going to give him headache. Paperwork, once again, was his the worst enemy. Not some dangerous illness of his patients, not the fatigue and lack of sleep, but hand-aching from filling those damn papers. Yes.

Some nurses greeted him as he passed them and entered his office. Of course, there was a stack of forms on his desk, just waiting to be filled out. Couldn't he find peace even in his own room? Couldn't he?!

He sighed, plopping on the black, comfortable office armchair. On table next to him stood a porcelain cup with his favourite dark coffee without sugar. Unfortunately, the coffee was already cold. Damn it. Well, he must be satisfied with what he actually have. The doctor grabbed the cup and took a sip. Like he anticipated, it was cold.

"Sir," nurse knocked on the door and opened it, "are you alright, sir? Do you need more coffee or maybe some tea?"

"No, I will pass, but thank you for the offer, Yayoi-san. I think you should take a break," he said, more or less interested in conversation. His eyes were scanning the paper in from of him, where number of injured in the fire people was finally visible. He let out a breath and relaxed. No deaths. Red King and his minions have done their work. "You are overexerting yourself and working too much recently."

"That's not true, doctor!" she burst, opening the doors wider, but just enough for her to fit through and slip into the office. Her dishevelled hair was tied in a messy bun and her round glasses were slipping from her nose. Her face was flushed from anger and embarrassment. "You are working far too much, Fushimi-san! I'm not the one who should be scolded at!" she pouted and folded her arms, turning her head to the left.

The one who she called Fushimi looked at her with weary eyes and a small chuckle. He adjusted his black glasses.

"Yayoi-san, I am the doctor. I must heal people, whose sickness are sometimes deadly, and they won't wait. It's a fools' gamble. Do you know that, maybe three, maybe four days ago our patient, sixteen year old girl, dancer and actress no less, died?"

Yayoi visibly flinched and turned her head in shame. She shouldn't have snapped at her superior, not at the time like this. He was unnerved by all the work and chaos the fire created.

"I'm... I'm sorry, sir. I had no knowledge about her... actual status. I'll leave now," she almost whispered and left the office, leaving Fushimi to his thoughts.

About one month ago, a teenager, girl no less, had come to the hospital, her leg bent in a weird, unnatural angle. As it had been revealed, she had done something when she had been on her dance classes – she was a dancer, then – and it hurt like hell. Fushimi and doctor equal to his rank, an orthopaedist named Takeru Kusuhara, were the ones to get know what had happened and eventually make her physical condition normal again. It had turned out, the girl - Junone, Fushimi learned – is a ballet dancer and a spectacular actress! She said she could lie without flinching and it was true. Doctor, if he hadn't known better, would never detect it as a total absurd lie.

She was more than good. Far more.

But her health was too concerning. It seemed she had been overtraining herself and during her third hour of exercising with her ballet team, she had fell on the floor, previously bouncing off the mirror, and screamed in pain.

The orthopaedist said she could be healed if she would not strain her body too much. First it had been just a simple ankle, sprained as it should have been after so much exercises. They bandaged it and sent her home.

But after seven days she came back, claiming that her knees had given up under her weight during physical education lesson in school. She hadn't taken the doctors' advice to herself and still had been hard on herself for not being able to dance.

It hadn't ended well.

She was kept in hospital for some observation and left two days after the doctors said she may go home. And another eight days after that incident she, once again, was hastily transported by an ambulance, because something had gone wrong when she had been on her dance lessons, fifth in that week. Junone jumped from wrong position, something clicked in her bones and she fell painfully on the floor. This time it was her hips – they were no longer functioning like she would have liked them to function.

It was the day of the diagnosis. Junone must have an operation or her legs are going to be amputated.

She had been crying for almost entire week before guilty, yet cold doctor came in her room and talked to her. Fushimi had learned almost everything about her life before the girl had fallen asleep.

The operation was going to be held in three days and it was her only chance to keep her legs with her and continue to life with her passion. The last chance.

So, she had taken it, not without the risk.

She was operated by Takeru, with the assistance of some nurses, including Yayoi. The orthopaedist said there's nothing to fear, he's a professional. She had trusted him.

Takeru had stormed after the treatment, rage wrecking him and making him move constantly. The entire process went oh so wrong. The injuries were far too serious than they had thought they were. Junone had lost her legs and her life was on the edge. No one knew if she will pull out and make a recovery or will succumb to the death.

When Fushimi was watching her almost lifeless, sleeping form, he was full of sorrow. She had wanted to dance once again so hard and there she was, connected to the apparatus with somewhat peaceful expression. Her dreams were shattered.

She hadn't woken up anymore.

Fushimi grimaced slightly, thinking about Junone. She was more than promising; she wanted, aside from being an actress and dancer, to help other people. She even was part of the Gold Clan! Her golden aura was a great addiction to her choreographs and shows. Yet, she passed away, her words lingering in Fushimi's head.

"I know I might die. And if I did, carry on my dream, please, Fushimi-san."

He didn't know what that meant. Carry on her dream? What should he do, then?

The answer came not too long after this.

Junone's mother was pregnant. She had come to the hospital two days ago and Fushimi confirmed her suspicions; the legacy of Junone was going to be carried on. The navy blue-haired doctor just have to make sure that Junone sibling will know about its sister and her lost dreams. He won't forget, ever.

A sigh escaped his lips, before the doctor once again took a sip from his cup. Maybe he indeed needed new cup of hot, black liquid to make him not too sleepy?

A burnt mark on the left of his chest suddenly ached and he feel need to scratch this place, as always when it was making itself known of. So, he did this and sighed in relief. Red mark was totally covered up by black, burnt lines, like it was done on a purpose. Who knows?

Standing up, Fushimi put his blue doctor coat on, and went to wash his hands. Every now and then he sees so much blood on them, it seems like he didn't wash them at all. With more days passing with him being in charge of surgery division, his hands were more and more coated in red, dense liquid. He didn't like the feeling of it. It made him feel too dirty for his own good.

Fushimi stopped the water and left his small but personal washroom. He adjusted his glasses, his coat, and opened the door just to be greeted with faint shouting in the hall next to his office. Two nurses, including Yayoi, were driving with empty bed to the main doors, where the ambulance halted just a second ago. There it was, the last injured patient from the conflagration.

"He's a member of the Red Clan! Hurry up, before it's too late!" he heard the other nurse's shouting and froze in place. Blood in him ran cold as he paled and unconsciously rushed to the doors.

Damn.

He wasn't supposed to treat his former friends, not with him leaving without a word! He knew that the fire brigade can be hurt while fighting off the fire, but not so soon, it was unexpected!

His hands immediately glowed in an intense blue colour as he ran as fast as he could. Next thing he saw was a ginger, small form of a oh so known to him man, obviously in pain. An injured was screaming his lungs out while clutching sheets of the hospital bed on wheels, the only thing that was keeping him from moving off the bed.

"Three degree burns confirmed! Two broken ribs and left arm bone snapped in half!" Yayoi shouted, sweat already forming on her forehead. Along with her friend and accompanying them doctor, they wheeled patient to the main building, straight to the surgery room. Glowing blue hands were already making their way along the man's burns, healing them slowly but surely and effectively.

He had to ease the pain of his long time no seen friend.

"Yayoi-san, get the room ready! Sakura-san, connect him to the machines, quickly! The broken ribs might have punctured his lungs..."

Misaki knew this voice.

Damn it, Misaki all too well knew this damned voice!

His eyes snapped open, as he stared at the navy blue-haired man in blue coat, commanding the nurses around him. Hands surrounded in blue aura were soothing his pain and making his burns more manageable than they were now. He was helping him, he realised.

That damn monkey was finally helping him, and maybe not only him.

"S-Saru..." he choked, but Fushimi didn't even look at him. He kept giving commands to his inferior, and moving his hands from one injury to the other. Yata was looking at him with total astonishment, but his eyes were quickly dropping from exhaustion and sheer pain experienced not too long ago. The fact that blue aura was somewhat calming didn't help with his fight against the unconsciousness. He quickly succumbed to sleep, but not before hearing Fushimi's response.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Misaki."

~~~

Hello! Megan Routh here, welcome to the "Life-saving colours"!

I planned to write this not too long ago, but I'm sick and have time just now. Forgive me if there are some (many) mistakes, but english isn't my native language and if someone is willing to help me via beting... then I will accept you with open arms.

Feel free to leave a review!

Lots of luck,

M.R.