☆ミriha (tatoeba) wrote in simplyephemeral,

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fic; troublemaker

Title: Troublemaker
Pairing: Aizawa/Miroku but not really. [Code Blue/Yukan Club]
Rating: PG-13
Summary/Prompt: Miroku does something stupid and gets himself stuck in the hospital. Aizawa does not approve of his shenanigans which may or may not include wheelchair racing, taking bets on hospital food content, trying to make a rope ladder out of his bed sheets and escape out the window, and playing bed bingo with other patients (having them all move rooms to confuse the nurses).
Author’s Note: 3763 words. For the Pin Meme Part 2! :D I’ve never written either of these characters before so I’m sorry if they’re OOC at all.

“You are an idiot,” is the first thing Miroku hears when he opens his eyes and feels the world spin a little.

“Shut up, Seishiro,” he groans, his voice rather raspy, and when he tries to sit up, realizes he only has one arm in use, winces and ends up collapsing onto his back upon an uncomfortable bed. “Where am I? What happened?”

“You were trying to show off,” says Noriko, looking highly displeased, but worry is clear in her eyes and Miroku tries again to sit up, teetering unsuccessfully on his left hand. This time Bidou and Yuri both help, heaving him up and pushing his pillows behind him so he can lean back comfortably.

“And you lost control of your motorcycle,” Karen adds. “And then you just went…went flying, and—”

“Now you’re here!” Yuri exclaims, pats Miroku on the shoulder and Miroku groans in pain.

“You’ve sprained your ankle,” Bidou informs. “And, obviously, you’ve broken your right arm.”

Miroku frowns at his arm currently in a cast, and then laughs when he sees the doodles his friends have already drawn across it. Before he can make fun of Seishiro’s drawing capabilities, the door to the room opens and a dark-haired man in blue scrubs strolls in.

His eyes are dark and unreadable and Miroku frowns as he stops before his bed and looks through a clipboard in his hands. When he glances up and meets Miroku’s gaze, he says, “I’m Aizawa, your doctor. And you shouldn’t have so many friends over right now. You’re supposed to be resting.”

Miroku glares, instantly disliking him, and opens his mouth to protest, but Seishiro stands up and gives a slight bow, says, “Sorry, sensei, we’ll be on our way now.”

“Wait—” Miroku tries but the others just grin and wave goodbye to him before shuffling out of the room. When the door shuts after them, Miroku glowers at the doctor and demands, “Why’d you do that for?”

“Procedure,” is all Aizawa replies and Miroku grumbles, slouches against the bed.

Aizawa checks through the paperwork another time and then sets it down on the table in front of the bed. He eyes Miroku critically and Miroku tries not to squirm under such a stare, then says, “You look all right otherwise, but you’ll need to stay here for at least a day or two, just in case.”

“In case what?” Miroku questions. “Is there something else wrong with me?”

“Just in case,” Aizawa answers cryptically and gives a short nod of his head before he leaves.

Miroku stares after him and decides this is the worst fucking thing ever.


Miroku’s first adventure out of his room is a disaster. He can barely get himself to sit up with the use of one hand, and then his crutches are too far to reach, and the wheelchair is closed shut, and then he falls out of his bed.

Aizawa’s there almost instantly, which Miroku finds rather creepy, and is helping him back up into bed. Miroku tries to throw him off, but it’s rather difficult with only half of his limbs properly functioning and before he knows it, he’s back under the covers that seem to wrap even tighter around him than before.

He spends the next twenty minutes untangling himself while plotting the death of precious Aizawa-sensei.

When he finally manages to get out of bed, he hobbles on one foot to the wall where his crutch is propped up. And then only seems to realize that his injuries are on opposite locations – his right arm and his left foot. It’d be impossible for him to use even one crutch to walk since the arm he’d need to use is currently in a fucking cast.

Frustrated, Miroku throws the crutch down onto the floor, watches it clang against linoleum, and then spends five minutes pushing the wheelchair out for use with only one hand while he tries to keep standing on his working foot. He feels rather accomplished when he succeeds and singlehandedly wheels himself out of the room.

Reading the signs, he heads for the cafeteria, surprising himself with how he manages to wheel in a straight line (after colliding with two nurses). Once he arrives in the cafeteria, Miroku scans the area to make sure his bastard-doctor isn’t around to send him back. When he doesn’t see him anywhere, he grins mischievously and begins wheeling his way in and around the tables of the cafeteria, screaming at others to get out of the way as he starts to get the hang of it and increases speed.

It’s not long before he’s joined by another wheel-chaired young boy, probably around his own age, and then they’re racing down the aisles to see who’s faster, who can do the better tricks. And just like showing off landed him in the hospital in the first place, it’s what gets him in trouble now, trying to swerve behind his newly-made companion too fast and toppling over in the chair, landing awkwardly, thankfully, on his good arm.

Miroku groans as he tries to get back up, but then there’s someone helping, soft hands pulling him up. At first he thinks it’s Aizawa, but when he turns to look, it’s a young woman with her hair up in a bun, wearing the same blue scrubs as Aizawa does.

“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” she says, helping Miroku up and back into his chair. “Are you okay?”

Miroku nods, but before he can say anything else, notices Aizawa entering the cafeteria over the woman’s shoulder. “I-I’ve got to go,” he exclaims and quickly makes his exit, speeding around the woman and then past Aizawa, ignoring the look Aizawa gives him as he passes, and heads back to his room.


“You’ve bruised your other arm from you little stunt yesterday,” Aizawa says. “That’s why it hurts.”

Miroku just grumbles under his breath, and Aizawa stops to stare at him with dark eyes. “What was that?” he questions.

“I was just wondering why you had to be my doctor. Can you switch with that hot chick? The one who wears the turtle-necks all the time. What’s her name?” Miroku asks.

Aizawa doesn’t even grace him with a reply and Miroku goes back to sulking. He tries to cross his arms grumpily, but doesn’t manage with his cast in the way. “Stay here,” Aizawa tells him as he leaves. “And don’t try what you did yesterday again.”

“Yes, sir,” Miroku says haughtily and Aizawa doesn’t even blink an eye, just strolls professionally out of the doors.


Miroku’s never been one to listen before, especially to people he dislikes, so twenty minutes later he wheeling his way around the hospital. He doesn’t have any destination in mind, but soon enough comes across an open door to another room where he sees a few other patients playing a game of cards. Miroku wheels inside and comes across his wheelchair buddy from the day before.

“I’m Akira,” he says, with a high laugh. “Yesterday was great! That’s the best fun I’ve had here.”

Miroku grins. “Do you want to try again?” he questions.

Akira nods instantly. “You’re so cool! No one’s ever done anything like that before. You have any more awesome ideas? It’s so boring being stuck in the hospital with nothing to do.”

Miroku agrees and smirks. “I have plenty of crazy ideas,” he says. “Who else is in?”

The other four people in the room, three other boys – Taisuke, Yukinojo, Kousaku – and one girl – Nao – cheer their consent and Miroku grins widely.

It takes awhile, but within the next hour they manage it – switching their assigned clipboards with other patients throughout the floor. At first no one notices, the nurses and doctors stopping to check patients whose notes they didn’t switch. But then two hours later, the first one happens, right in Miroku’s room. Saejima almost throws a fit when the patient’s forms are incorrect and tears the room down looking for the right one. Miroku has to keep on a straight face as she storms from the room and informs another nurse, and it just snowballs from there.

The floor is in a positive wreck, nurses running all over the place and dodging past Miroku when he goes out in the wheelchair to see the action. He’s trying hard not to laugh outright at the nurse’s plight, but as he continues all the way down the hall and they only get more and more frazzled, it becomes hard to hold in. By the time he returns to his room, he’s busting a gut, only to stop abruptly when he nearly rolls right into Aizawa, who’s standing by his bedside with an unimpressed face.

“I knew it was you,” Aizawa says easily.

“You have no proof,” Miroku retorts.

“We’ll see about that,” Aizawa replies as he slinks off.


Later that day, Miroku tries to escape. That bastard Aizawa had somehow managed to assign another doctor by the name of Fujikawa to sit in Miroku’s room and keep an eye on him. If he so much as moved to go anywhere but the bathroom, Fujikawa would drag him back to his bed. The doctor was nice and all, definitely a step up from the cold-hearted Aizawa, but he wouldn’t shut up.

Miroku finally managed to get him out of the room, asking him to get him some manga and books to read or something because he was bored out of his mind and his father is the chief of police, so if he didn’t, Miroku would get his dad to sue for malpractice. With Fujikawa gone and all of the other patients hidden behind their curtains, Miroku tries to escape.

It’s difficult trying to knot up his bed sheets with only one useful arm, but after a few failed attempts, Miroku manages. He’s not part of Yukan Club for nothing, after all, and soon enough he’s got a long rope made that will totally get him out of this godforsaken place.

Miroku hobbles over to the window and slides it open, looks down. He’s only on the third floor, so it shouldn’t be too bad getting down, but after he tosses his sheets over, he realizes it’s far too short. He glances back at the clock on the wall; Fujikawa’s been gone for ten minutes, and the nearest shops are at least twenty away. He’s still got plenty of time.

Miroku heads to the closet by the door and pulls out another sheet, then returns to his bed, and adds the new sheet to his already roped up one. When he shoves this over the window, it reaches down far enough, and he grins victoriously. He secures one end of the rope to his bed post, and then heaves himself onto the window ledge.

Miroku contemplates how best to shimmy his way down, then carefully, with his good arm supporting himself, he maneuvers himself backward out of the window. His functional leg searches for the rope and tangles around it, wraps it firmly about his calf, and then holds on tightly with his toes. He holds the rope securely with his left arm and then pushes off the windowsill and slides down the rope just about a foot.

He doesn’t fall, and he can’t hear the bed creaking from the weight, so he tries again to slide further. He gets surprisingly to the second level, peering through the window and making sure no one notices him. Of course, at this moment is when Aizawa enters the exact room. Panicking, Miroku shifts his weight and swings away from the window. He tries to stop against the side of the building, but can’t quite reach with his leg, and then swings back the way he came, like a pendulum.

As he passes by this time, he tries to stop on the other end, but again misses, and is swinging away, in front of the window, and Aizawa looks up just as he flies by.

“Fuck,” Miroku mutters under his breath as he tries to stop again, but then he hears someone screaming from above and looks up to see Fujikawa leaning out of the window. Miroku curses again as he starts to swing back toward the window, and this time Aizawa is there, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him in, his eyes completely unfathomable. Miroku actually feels a chill of anticipation curl down his spine.

He doesn’t even resist as Aizawa drags him back inside through the window or when he shoves him down on the nearest empty bed, and says, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Miroku merely pouts and doesn’t answer.

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Aizawa continues.

Miroku continues to keep silent.

“Do you want to kill yourself?” Aizawa questions. “Because, if you do, you’re in the wrong facility for that kind of illness.”

Miroku makes a face. “I just want to get out of here,” he says with frustration. “Can I go now?”

As if on cue, Fujikawa rushes into the room with a wheelchair, flailing a little as he goes off about Miroku’s stunt. Miroku just lets him babble, not really listening, and sits in the wheelchair and wheels himself away before Fujikawa can start pushing him toward the elevators. It’s not until Miroku is out of the door, turning the corner, that he finally breathes a sigh of relief, the uneasiness of Aizawa’s stare that he’d felt on his back as he left disappearing.

And yet, as he returns to his room and lets Fujikawa help him back into his bed, he can’t help but see those dark eyes in his mind, the anger and irritation just barely able to hide the concern, and the worry.


He hears it a lot the rest of the day because he’s stuck in his bed with nothing else to do and the nurses talk really loud when they think their patients are sleeping.

Aizawa-sensei is so cool! one says.

He’s so handsome and talented! whispers another.

And Miroku grumbles under his covers.

When Aizawa comes by to check on him later, Miroku eyes him decisively, taking in his long black hair, his expressionless eyes. He doesn’t get what those nurses were talking about. Yeah, the guy is not that bad looking, but that’s about all he’s worth in Miroku’s opinion. He rarely laughs, never smiles, and Miroku hasn’t seen him out of his element the entire time he’s been here. Granted, it hasn’t been very long, but still – he kind of wants to see this cool, collected guy falter somewhere, somehow.

“What’s wrong?” Aizawa says, looking up at Miroku, whose brow is knitted in thought.

“Do you have a girlfriend, sensei?” Miroku questions.

Even with the random question, Aizawa doesn’t bat an eyelash. “No,” he replies. “I don’t have the time for such things.”

Miroku groans. “Well, do you like anyone?”

“I like my job,” Aizawa says and Miroku facepalms. “Is there a reason for your interrogation?”

“Maybe~” Miroku singsongs.

Aizawa narrows his eyes, leans forward over the end of the bed and says, “Whatever you’re planning. Stop it. Right now.”

“I’m not planning anything,” Miroku says. “There’s nothing to plan in this dumb hospital anyway.”

“You’re supposed to be resting, not causing yourself more damage,” Aizawa says sternly.

“But I feel perfectly fine!” Miroku insists.

“Many people do, and then something horrible happens,” Aizawa says, and he looks away, his lips in a tight frown.

Miroku blinks, a little surprised by such an admission coming from the usually composed doctor. “You know, sensei,” Miroku says. “You need to loosen up more. You kind of give off this scary vibe. Doctors should be friendly.”

Aizawa almost cracks a smile at that, and Miroku grins with accomplishment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and Miroku smiles wider, “if you stay in your bed and don’t try to toss yourself out the window again.”

Miroku grumbles, “But I’m bored.”

Aizawa gives him a slightly amused look before he leaves to tend to his other patients. Miroku watches him go, and is surprised at the warm, pleasant feeling that flutters within his stomach.


Miroku learns the next day that there is no way to shake Aizawa. He’s as straight-laced, unruffled, and poised as anyone can be and it’s impossible to make act differently. At least while he’s in front of his patients. He does his work, he says the right things, and he moves onto the next person and does it over again. Miroku thinks he’s kind of a robot, but then he sees him pushing a young girl to surgery on a stretcher, holding her hand, and Miroku’s not sure what to think anymore.

He spends most of the morning hanging out with his previously made friends, playing cards and chatting about the doctors and the nurses. Seishiro and the others stop by after school, crowding around Miroku’s bed and telling him the latest at school, about the things he’s missed, when Aizawa walks into the room.

He doesn’t say anything about Miroku’s friends, which surprises him, just glances over the files and says, “You can go home tomorrow morning.”

Miroku cheers loudly along with Yuri and Bidou. Seishiro and Noriko look on with amusement, while Karen unsuccessfully attempts to flirt with Aizawa.

At dinnertime, Miroku wheels himself to the cafeteria and Fujikawa waves him over to join him after he gets a tray of questionable looking food. For lack of anyone else to eat with, and not interested in going back to his room, Miroku joins the energetic doctor.

“I’m glad you came in here!” Fujikawa says. “Aizawa is off on the heli now and he was supposed to eat with me.”

“Heli?” Miroku questions.

“You don’t know? We’re all part of the Doctor Helicopter system,” Fujikawa explains around mouthful of food. “We’re dispatched to patients on a helicopter so we can arrive to treat them as fast as possible. Aizawa and Shiraishi are on it right now.”

Miroku nods slowly as he picks at his food, and then Fujikawa says, “You rode on the heli after your accident.”

Miroku looks up at him with surprise. “Really? I don’t remember at all.”

“Well, you were unconscious,” Fujikawa laughs. “Aizawa was the one who reported to your accident.”

Miroku chokes on nothing, and Fujikawa instantly hands him his water. After calming down, he says, “I’m fine. Really.”

Fujikawa backs away and silence befalls them, Miroku too wrapped up in thoughts about what he’s just discovered to pay attention to his dinner. He doesn’t realize he hasn’t touched any of it until Fujikawa says, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Miroku shakes his head and offers it to the doctor, who gladly takes it, and doesn’t notice when Miroku silently wheels himself back to his room.


“I’d have thought you’d be jumping up and down now,” Aizawa greets Miroku in the morning.

“A little hard with only one leg to jump on,” Miroku replies.

Aizawa gives him an amused look before looking through Miroku’s charts and jotting some notes.

Miroku watches for awhile, then blurts out before he can stop himself, “Why didn’t you tell me? That you were the one who got me from after the accident?”

Aizawa doesn’t even look up. “It’s not important.”

Yes, it is!” Miroku insists. “You technically saved my life!”

Aizawa sets down the clipboard and meets Miroku’s gaze. “Would it have made a difference?”

Miroku blinks. “Well, yeah. Maybe. I probably would’ve listened to you a lot more at least.”

“Somehow I find that doubtful,” Aizawa says and Miroku smirks; he knows it’s true. Aizawa sets the clipboard onto the table and adds, “I’m surprised you didn’t have some elaborate hoax set up for your last day. You were actually a good patient yesterday.”

“How do you know?” Miroku counters. “Maybe I have something set up for after I leave, and then you’d never have guessed it’s me.”

“Except now you just gave yourself away,” Aizawa says and Miroku glowers at him. “All right,” Aizawa adds, “You’re good to go.”

Miroku cheers excitedly and slides off the bed into his wheelchair. Aizawa moves over to help, but Miroku waves him off, resting comfortably in the seat with his things on his lap. Despite Miroku’s insistence that he can push himself, Aizawa does it for him, wheeling him out of the room and to the elevators. They reach the bottom floor where Miroku groans when he finds his loud, obnoxious father waiting in the lobby.

“Miroku!” he yells and Miroku winces.

“Too loud,” he mutters and his father glares, yells even louder, “I’m loud? You think I’m loud?”

Thankfully, Aizawa steps in to say, “Shochikubai-san, this is a hospital, please keep your voice down.”

Miroku’s father instantly quiets down and asks, “Is my stupid son all right?”

Aizawa nods. “He’s fine. He’ll need to come back in a few weeks to remove the cast from his arm, though he’ll have the sprained ankle for awhile. We’ll give him crutches when he can use his arms together again.”

Miroku’s father tears up dramatically. “Thank you for taking such care of him,” he exclaims, and Miroku throws his dad a nasty look while pretending to strangle himself.

“Dad,” Miroku says quickly. “Go get the car.”

His father leaves to do just that, and Miroku lets out a sigh of relief.

“I see the resemblance,” Aizawa states and Miroku tries to punch him with his good arm. Aizawa merely moves away with ease and then wheels Miroku out the front doors just as his father comes around the front in the car.

Aizawa starts to help Miroku out, but Miroku quickly intervenes with, “Seriously, I can do it. I’m gonna have to get around on my own from now on.” He smirks. “Unless you want to take care of me at home, too, sensei.”

“You just might need the extra supervision,” Aizawa says. “Or you’ll try jumping out windows again.”

Miroku laughs as he slides into the passenger’s seat, and watches as Aizawa folds up the wheelchair and puts it into the back. “You know,” Miroku says as Aizawa turns to leave, “You’re actually a pretty cool doctor.”

Surprise flashes in Aizawa’s eyes and even though it’s gone in the next second Miroku still grins widely, and continues, “But you still need to loosen up.”

Aizawa lets out a sigh, shakes his head exasperatedly. “Stay out of trouble,” he says, and Miroku offers him a small wave in goodbye.
Tags: drama: code blue, drama: yukan club, genre: drama-fic, p: aizawa kosaku/shochikubai miroku, p: yamapi/jin, r: pg-13, type: fanfiction
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