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It'd been over a decade since the epidemic that wiped out a third of the earth's population, and the wars and political struggles that had risen in the following, chaotic years had down in for another half of what remained, if not more if one counted the death toll to disease and crime, the lack of modern medicine, the tainted environment and water in most urban areas and the general set back in civilization.

Mikado had been fifteen when it started. He was twenty-seven now. And like any of the survivors of the years between the end of the world and now... He was changed. One of the lucky ones to survive disease and war, right? Lucky... Survival came at a cost, and when the streets of Ikebukuro, once bustling with commerce and tourists, became a dead zone of gang warfare and violence, Mikado had been right in the middle of it. And powerless.

He'd learned just how powerless, painfully, and often. Until his hatred and anger had warped and tempered him into something cold and precise as a scalpel. He wasn't strong in the way the thugs and the fighters were, but amateurish inexperience could only last so long and Mikado was a fast learner. He rose to power on three things; his wits, his force of personality, and ruthlessness. Ambushing his enemies and using clever traps and guises to get him where brute strength couldn't, and using those connections that were drawn to his innate charisma to get him where only brute strength could. Even after disaster and damage, he had a certain ability to charm people with his personality, and those that followed him now were, by and large, either incredibly loyal or too useful to be rid of. In turn his mind and vision was too useful for even the less loyal followers to risk trying to be rid of, and so a balance was struck somewhere along the line. He'd lost the charming uncertainty and idealism but he'd gained a quiet, iron confidence that others were drawn to.

He had a game, a way to control the territory he'd wrested from lawlessness. Preventing fighting on the streets of the ruined city was impossible, but he could enforce it. Give it incentive. Only registered combatants would be suffered to be found fighting, and they could tear at each other as they wished, when they wished, wherever they wished. The incentive; tags given to everyone who registered, that could be ripped from a defeated opponent. They could be traded in for anything based on their number value. Better accommodations, whores, drugs, weapons, though guns were banned from the fights. The most skilled could, in theory, attempt for the specific poker hand of tags that would allow them to challenge the organization's mysterious and shadow'd leader, though none had ever reached that goal. In turn, anyone unregistered caught fighting would be summarily executed by the enforcers--unless the enforcers decided they were good looking enough to serve another purpose.

In that way, Ikebukuro stabilized a little. Non-combatants still feared the streets at night but thugs feared the enforcers more, and some semblance of life continuing grew a little, under the watchful laws of the lawless Dollars.

For Mikado this wasn't his end ambition but it was a start. But he hadn't expected, months ago, that one of the new combatants to register would have been Kida himself. The registration took place in the mansion the main members of Dollars called home, and with all registrations Mikado had been watching the newcomers put on their masks, his own in place before he revealed himself to meet them, explain the rules, and ask if they wanted to participate.

His heart had near stopped when he'd seen Kida. He almost hadn't recognized him, both their faces and voices had changed with age and trauma, and Mikado was sure Kida hadn't even had a remote moment of recognition when Mikado explained the purpose and perks of fighters. Mikado's own role in the world he'd created was the secretary to the shadowy and terrifying Dollar's boss, with none but the highest ranking aware that the quiet and no-nonsense, rather popular secretary-san was the shadowy Boss himself. That he dealt in everything from drugs to slavery and black market items, well, that was just a means of further acquiring power. Distasteful as it was, it was effective, and he left the more sadistic parts to those that most enjoyed it, usually.

But seeing Kida had shaken him, worried him in a way he wasn't aware he could still worry. Fighters died daily, defeat could mean anything from humiliation and rape to outright murder, anything was allowed in the laws of the game, but only within the game. A victor had complete freedom to deal with a loser as they saw fit, and after seeing Kida's face for the first time in years, Mikado had had his first nightmare in years; that same face dead and staring, lifeless and accusatory. For days afterwards he'd been grumpy and out of sorts, a state he couldn't afford to maintain.

Try as he might to put it from mind, he couldn't help but be drawn to Kida's progress in the fights. And Kida's presence brought with it other trouble. Members of a gang from a territory Mikado didn't control (not yet, but that was an eventual goal, they were strong enough to pose a problem for now though) had started showing up in Dollar's territory. They weren't registered fighters and they mostly respected the game's laws (those who didn't met bad ends, even rival gangs feared the consequences of violating Dollar's law) but they were still a concerning presence, trouble tracking Kida.

And Mikado was tracking them. He knew, after a few weeks of his underlings keeping tabs, that the gang was after Kida, and so he kept watch himself or through an underling.

So when Kida found himself being backed into a corner by the thugs of that group Mikado had been watching, Mikado happened to be there. If Mikado were an enforcer he'd have dealt with them ruthlessly, but he was only the Dollar's "secretary" and so he made a note of each face before he darted out of the shadow of one doorway, grabbed Kida's arm with a shouted "This way!" and ran.

No one knew the streets and back alleys like Mikado did, like he'd made a point to, and but still he kept them navigating the maze of abandoned and derelict buildings for twenty minutes to be safe, before coming to a stop in one mostly intact old apartment building, a little winded, letting go of Kida to glance cautiously out a broken window. The streets were empty, there wasn't a sound or feeling of anyone but the two of them.

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[Mikado keeps up with things. It doesn't pay not to be aware of things going on outside of Ikebukuro, and the drug XPC-10 isn't that obscure. What is obscure is its use as a poison, more obscure still is the treatment.]

[Still, something nags at the edge of his brain as he frowns at the label. Something Izaya said roughly a year ago, maybe three months after Lucky Hearts fell. Some rant about poisons and drugs... Mikado hadn't dismissed it, per se, but he'd found listening to Izaya's rambles could be taxing too, even if they were informative. Some sadistic, obscure way to kill someone....]

[The label doesn't tell him definitively that it's connected, but the memory and the familiarity of it leave him uneasy. The way Kida's acting and his sickness are solid proof it's serious, and Mikado makes a note to confirm it on his own. For the first time in years he feels sick just from emotions, and he doesn't really like it. He's been living so long in a sense of detachment that being pulled over and over out of that comfort zone of being emotionally dead is disturbing to him, he almost wishes he could resent Kida but all he feels is worried sick.]

[He ruffles Kida's hair aggressively instead of letting that vulnerability show.]

....Our talk could have waited. How are you doing?

I lost track of time. What with you suddenly busting in and all.

[He's too tired to do anything but lean against Mikado at this point. He wouldn't normally let his guard down enough to do that, but he's still in pain and it's making his brain foggy and flattening his will to posture and fight. He's fever-hot and trembling, feeling small and worn down, but at least it's not the desperate frustration of earlier.

He really didn't want to pull that trigger, anyway.]

[Mikado doesn't argue against the cranky tone, rubbing Kida's back and putting the pill bottle aside.]

You still look like hell. Think you can make it to bed?

[His orderly thoughts are unusually scattered and mostly he wants to focus on Kida's health right now. This is a problem a problem a problem.]

I'll be fine when it kicks in all the way...

[But he still sounds nearly intoxicated from the combination of tired-sore-fever and pure illness-induced dizziness. He's just. Not gonna move unless Mikado moves him.]

[Figuring that out Mikado sighs and drags Kida's arm over his shoulder, hauling him up and half carrying, half supporting him to the bedroom.]

You're still wet too...

[He mutters, discontent with the situation and Kida's over all state. Settling Kida in bed he goes and fetches some water, hunts down a wash cloth, wets it, and returns to sit on the bed and set the water to the side, wiping Kida's face and then folding the cloth and settling it over his forehead.]

How long for it to kick in?

Fifteen minutes...

[It's a groggy mumble -- it's looking more and more like he's not going to be awake for that, even though at least five minutes have already passed since he took the pill. He quietly accepts everything Mikado does, watching him with hazy half-closed eyes when he moves.]

But... Why bother? Taking care of me... You should still be getting rid of me.

It's a little hurtful that you still don't believe me.

[He doesn't sound hurt. He's not particularly hurt by it either, it's just a response, absent-minded.]

You can sleep if you want, if I planned to overpower you I'd have done that when you collapsed.

[He's debating what to do. He can't leave Kida vulnerable right now, but there are problems outside he needs to confront. Well, it'll be hours before those two wake up so he can hang around, he hadn't planned on being anywhere for a while since he'd meant to spend time with Kida anyway.]

I believe you. It's just... dumb.

[Apparently being increasingly out of it also means being increasingly bad at not being emotional. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, but the way he's choking up is easy enough to hear in his voice.]

You're dumb. Don't-- Don't go risking what you've got for a h-half-dead screw-up.

Ah... By chance were you trying to provoke me for that reason? That's a little stupid.

[He sighs and draws one leg up, leaning his elbow on his knee and looking down at Kida.]

I told you I could think of ways to make this advantageous. And I really was a fan of Lucky Hearts, you did something I could only idealize. Whether from a fan or a friend or a benefactor, I don't really care how you view it, but rejecting my help is just rude.

I just don't get it! I'm just--

[He just needs to breathe and not make his chest hurt any worse. But that's not happening when all his bottled-up emotions seem determined to come pouring out all over -- mainly all over his face and hands.]

I'm just so tired...

Hey...

[How do you deal with this kind of thing? Mikado's not sure he remembers. So he sits next to Kida and watches him cry for a while before picking the wash cloth up and wiping at his damp cheeks gently. He doesn't have anything he can thing to say. Should he be comforting? Encouraging? Anyone else he could put on a calm gentle mask of concern but with Kida he's at a lose for what to do that won't ring hollow and false. So he stays silent and wipes at his tears.]

[He's got enough energy to push Mikado's hands away, at least. It's not much and it's a weak push, but despite his childish crying he doesn't want to be feel quite that childish. His hiccups lead to a few strained coughs, and he rolls over onto his side just so he can hug a pillow and smash his face into it.

This is embarrassing, but he can't seem to turn it off.]

I hate that bastard. I wish he'd just killed me to begin with.

[Mikado lets him hug the pillow, setting the washcloth aside.]

Weren't you lecturing me about the value of wanting to live? I can only imagine it's painful and frightening, that you feel powerless and frustrated. Maybe it's presumptuous but I think I know better than anyone what that feels like.

I'd like you to accept my help but I won't force you to do anything. In the end it's up to you what route you decide to take power from. If you want, we can have an entirely businesslike relationship, if that's what your pride demands.

Hey. Do I sound like I want to talk business right now?

[Mikado can feel the very serious nature of Kida's complaints when he gets glared at over the edge of a pillow.]

If you don't have some consideration for a sick person I'm gonna start thinking Izaya is a better nurse.

I'm not really in practice for this. And hearing you say you want to be dead just pisses me off.

[Sensitive, Mikado. But he does pick up the glass of water and offer it to Kida.]

I don't want to be dead. I'd just rather have died honestly than dragging it out like this.

[But despite his fussing he will cautiously reach a hand out to take the water.]

The end result is the same thing anyway.

There's no such thing as dying honestly. Dead is dead.

[He carefully holds it for Kida until Kida has a firm grip, then let's go.]

This way there's still a chance for a cure isn't there? If it's what I think it is, you should have some time left.

Nobody's gonna come up with a cure. Who's got the time and money to waste on something that's only gonna kill one or two gangsters someone's already angry enough at to torture to death?

Ah...

[I do. But he doesn't actually say it. There's no point in promising anything until he can actually provide it, so for now it's probably better to pursue this without Kida knowing he intends to.]

Why keep fighting then?

Because there's more people who've put their faith in me than I can count. My city loves me because I love it. I owe them everything. How am I supposed to look myself in the face if I run away?

But you're talking like you've given up anyway.

Mm. I guess... I've never really believed I'd ever take it all back. It's really impossible, isn't it? But I can't stop fighting til I'm dead. That's why I wish he'd just taken me out. He's chasing me like it means something, but it's not because he's scared of me. He's just scared I'll become a martyr if I get far enough before I go down. And the only reason he's trying to drag me back instead of assassinate me now is just for his own sadistic ego.

But I-- I'll really die before I let that happen. I won't go back there if I'm not sure to win. He's someone you shouldn't mess with, Mikado. I'm serious.

[He takes the water back when Kida's done with it, sets it aside.]

Focus on getting your strength back for now. I haven't planned to hand you over since the beginning so contemplating things like "I'll die before I let that happen" is pointless.

...Thank you for the concern Masaomi, but I'm not helpless. If you'd like to tell me more about this man in detail I'll listen, but you said it yourself, you're not in much shape to talk business, so it can wait. Just rest, I won't go anywhere until you're in shape to take care of yourself. Is that acceptable?

[He's already slipping back into robotic calm. Retreating in his own way from emotions he doesn't know how to deal with or help.]

[He opens his mouth to protest more, but stops himself before any words can get out. Mikado's right. He's too worked up and exhausted to talk about this right now. As he is, he knows he's just coming across as scared, beaten and pessimistic. Maybe Mikado will take his warnings more seriously if he gets himself together.

And he really is tired... He sighs, setting the water glass on the end table and lying back to close his eyes.]

Okay. I'll just... take a little nap.

[Kida is coming across as all those things, probably because he is all those things. Mikado isn't really judging him for it, but he doesn't like it. Kida beaten is annoying in a way he can't pinpoint.]

[So when Kida concedes he nods and starts to stand.]

I'll be in the living room if you need me.