I do not own DNAngel.

"Well, you certainly got caught in quite a fall, didn't you?" the old woman asked Satoshi awkwardly as she began to mix some powders and leaves into a bowl, crushing them with a wooden spoon. It was the first thing had she said to him. He just nodded; he was confused by her strange attitude. Not to mention how hastily she had thrown Shizuka out of the room, telling her to go see 'her friends'. He felt trapped; shouldn't she be allowed to see him? These people really were strange, and very old-fashioned. Even the way they dressed was peculiar—they wore traditional, casual work kimonos of faded, pastel colors and the old woman kept her hair up in a bun, held in place by a large, fancy hair clip, presumably a family heirloom. The doors were eastern style and slid open, although made of wood and not paper. The windows weren't very up-to-date, though, and couldn't block the terrible, humid heat from infiltrating the small infirmary room.

"Here. Drink this," she commanded, handing him the bowl of now dissolved herbs. He wanted to refuse—he had no idea what she had put into the mix, but she nearly forced it down his throat before he could answer. He couldn't fight her; he just swallowed it so he wouldn't choke. It tasted terrible, and burned as it went down.

"You'll feel better, soon, I'm sure," she said sternly, as if she were telling him to feel better, not that he would feel better. Satoshi nodded, unable to find any voice to answer her with due to the stinging medicine. She gave a curt nod and promptly left the room.

Where are we? This doesn't seem like a very sanitary hospital… he thought, taking in the dusty windowsill and the cart of messily labeled jars, some without lids. And what's with these people… why would they just throw Shizuka out like that? I hope she's okay, what with the kind of care they're giving us…

He slowly tried to sit up, to reach a glass of water that was on the nightstand next to the bed, but his wound stung even worse than his throat and he had no choice but to ease back down, just out of reach of the glass. He felt stiff, and the clothing they had given him was scratchy and irritating. It felt worse to be cooped up while everyone else was out and about, injured, but able to walk. A year ago, being alone like this wouldn't have bothered him—he actually would have preferred it—but right now, in this eerie, awkward situation, he desperately wanted someone to come and at least explain what was going on. There was no end to the questions he could ask.

After a few minutes of thinking and wondering, he began to feel drowsy and numb. He tried desperately to keep his mind reeling—he knew that whatever herbs the woman had given him must be starting to set in. But part of his mind was already drifting off into sleep, and as he lay there propped up against the hard metal headboard, his thoughts slowed down and became drowned out as he slipped into a comatose state.

~…~

Shizuka sat down at the table uneasily with Daisuke, Riku, and Kosuke. Emiko and Daiki hadn't woken up yet. She had tried to insist that she dine with Satoshi, who was still shut away in the small, cluttered room, but their hostess had ignored her requests and sat her with her friends in the same antique living room as before; she acted as if having her stay with him would be too much trouble to put her through. So she took a seat next to Daisuke at a small square table with a few different dishes neatly set up in the middle—a true cultural meal, with specialties from the mountain village. When they were all settled, Keiko Yagamachi exited the room briskly, so as not to disturb them. Shizuka relaxed when she left the room.

"They're not going to eat with us?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Kosuke shook his head. "No… I had a feeling they might not. They probably don't want to intrude."

Truth be told, it was a relief to her that they could be left alone. She had only met the husband once, the man who wrote the art history book, and he had seemed nice and welcoming—overjoyed, even, to have them there. As Kosuke had explained, this was a huge deal to them. But every time his wife was in the room, it was as if a dark cloud presided overhead. She didn't seem as warm and motherly to Satoshi as she did everyone else, and that made her nervous. Aside from keeping him company, half the reason she had wanted to have dinner with him was to make sure that he was indeed getting the same treatment. She couldn't judge whether or not they would go so far as to feed him differently. She would ask him about it next time she could sneak in to check on him. She had been kept busy the whole day, and away from the hallway he was recovering in.

"Wow, you guys are really revered here!" exclaimed Riku to Daisuke and Shizuka. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"Well that's what happens in small towns like these," explained Kosuke. "It's an age old tradition. Can you imagine what it must be like for them? To meet descendents of the long-hidden families they grew up hearing and telling stories about… and all three of them together. It must be truly extraordinary. Like some kind of blessing."

"Would it be wrong of me to ask if I could stay with Satoshi?" she asked, trying to find a way to avoid being kicked out again.

"I don't see why not…" Daisuke replied. "They can't just throw you out—not if he wants you there."

"When I tried to ask, she just ignored me…"

"Don't be such a pushover—do you seriously think they would say 'no'?" Riku pointed out. "If you told her you wanted to stay, then she would let you stay. How could she refuse? You just need to be more assertive."

"I guess you're right…" she trailed off quietly as the conversation switched to a new topic. She felt so uneasy—she just wanted them to get out of this house, to take Satoshi to a real hospital. These people had strong opinions—could they actually be trusted to take care of someone they've hated all their lives? She doubted they would do anything to harm him outright, but the way they overlooked him made her uncomfortable.

Later that night, she decided to check on Satoshi again. It was around ten thirty, and everyone was taking showers and turning out the lights in their rooms. She crept down the hallway, careful not to awaken anyone who was already sleeping, and then slid the door to his room open. The old wood creaked against the floor, making her cringe. I shouldn't even have to sneak around… When she entered the room, she found him already asleep, propped up against the headboard. The lights had already been flicked off, and there was a food tray sitting on his nightstand. She maneuvered over to that side of the bed to get a look at what they had given him. He didn't budge at all—they were probably providing him with sedatives for the pain.

On his tray was a half-eaten piece of bread, some broth, a plate with a few cut-up pieces of chicken—the kind they had been served for dinner—and also some vegetables that she recognized. She sighed in relief. At least he wasn't being fed dog food or anything. She noticed he hadn't really touched the meal, though. It probably hurt to eat. She looked over him, taking in the fresh, open wounds that were left uncovered to get some air. It looked miserable; he couldn't even lie down or use the bed sheets.

How does he expect to live like this? It'll take weeks for him to heal, and even then, he'll have painful scars all over his body…

After edging her way to the bedside, very careful not to wake him, she hesitantly lifted her hand to his chest. She was almost afraid to touch him—she didn't want to hurt him or wake him up. And although she tried not to think about it, she wasn't sure exactly how she could help him. She had never had to heal anything so extreme before; she was nervous she might mess it up. All the things that could go wrong buzzed around her mind: too little effort and his wounds wouldn't close the right way, then he would wake up and the chance would be wasted; too much and she could potentially lose control and hurt both of them. His body could go into shock, and she could possibly end up killing herself; since he was asleep, there was no one here to stop her or break the connection if that were to start happening. And then, if the odds were really against her, there was that slim chance that she could accidentally take his energy instead. That part of her powers was still uncharted to her—that she could kill someone if she wanted to, just by taking their life instead of giving it. Part of her even denied the fact that it was possible, since she could barely measure how to mend a cut or a bruise. If she had known all the dangers that using her powers posed, she wouldn't have even tried to heal him after the encounter with the late Black Wings. She had never been as lucky.

Once, maybe a week or two after the curse had been broken, Satoshi had come back after a police chase with a minor slice in his upper arm, hastily bandaged up on the scene. They were still living at the Niwa's at the time, trying to find places of their own to live in, so she was the only one still awake when he got back. Everyone else had either gone to sleep or was relaxing in their rooms. He hadn't wanted her to try to fix it—it wasn't even that big of a cut. But she was so desperate to try it again that it didn't matter if it was already beginning to close. It took some relentless persuasion, but she finally convinced him to let her give it a try. They were in his room just sitting on his bed—she had followed him there—and she had made sure to get everything right. She had rolled up his sleeve and had gently removed the white wrap bandage, then tried as hard as she could to judge just how long and how strong of a dose of her energy such a wound would require. And she had gotten in right. But as soon as she made contact, her thin fingers just brushing against the crimson dried up cut, and unleashed the restraints to allow a transfer, her mind went blank. She completely stopped thinking as the energy flowed beyond her control. She swore she could see nothing—nothing but blank white space. It was only when Satoshi pushed her back that she snapped out of it, his warm hands firm on her shoulders. She blinked a few times, then registered what had happened by the look on his face—one of alert, fear, and frustration. Sure, the wound was gone, but in the few seconds that her hand was in contact with his scarred skin, her eyes had gone empty and magic overflowed into him at an uncontrollable, shocking rate. She had fainted after that, when the after effects of the transfer settled in. And the next morning she hadn't woken up until midday, so Satoshi and Daisuke were already at school. Satoshi had informed Emiko and Kosuke of what had happened, so it wasn't even like she could pretend to have just overslept. It was the first time since before the curse was broken that she had had to take it easy, the way she used to. She had to admit, she really had no idea how her family did it. She was sixteen years behind in training.

Satoshi's body didn't even budge when she lightly touched his chest, where one of his more major slices lied, but his breathing sharpened a little from the pain. She thought for a minute, taking everything into consideration and trying to focus on how to think, how to let down that invisible, weak shield that contained her life force in its shell. Then, she pulled her hand back reluctantly.

Maybe I shouldn't try it now… only because there's no one else here…

She sighed as the anticipation wore off and sat on his bed. But just as she was starting to relax, the door swung open and the old man, Yagamachi, wheeled in the squeaky cart, jars bumping against each other. He looked to be the same age as his wife and wore a blue-gray robe that touched the floor, probably from when he was taller and younger. He looked surprised to see her, but just continued to park his cart and take away the tray of food which Satoshi had hardly touched. It seemed as though her presence was a distraction for him; he looked uncomfortable, like he was in the spotlight. She found this odd, only because he had written books about their families, and yet he hadn't really spoken to them yet. Wouldn't someone so interested want to take the opportunity to interview them, ask questions that only they could answer? Then again, maybe he was just tired, since it was so late at night. As he began to mix together some herbs, Shizuka slid off the bed and carefully approached the cart.

"U-um, what are you giving him?" she asked meekly, her voice barely able to rise over the grinding of the leaves. He didn't make eye-contact with her at all, but whether it was out of respect or annoyance she couldn't tell.

"Just some painkillers…" he mumbled.

"Oh…"

She would have liked to stay for a little longer, but she sensed that he was tenser now than earlier in the day, when he had introduced himself very politely and traditionally with his wife. (Although it seemed like they were always tense when they were in Satoshi's room.) She walked back toward the door without making a sound, so it wasn't until she creaked it open, letting the light in, that he realized she was leaving.

"You shouldn't be coming in here. He's in good care—he just needs rest," he called over from the cart. She swallowed; once again, she was being kicked out of the room. He went back to work, mixing and crushing the dark green leaves in the specially crafted bowl. He had a pitcher of water with him, too, which would be mixed with the fine powder he was creating. Shizuka glanced back at Satoshi one last time before walking out the door. He was still asleep, but even unconscious his face looked pained.

~…~

The next day, as soon as she had eaten breakfast with Daisuke and the others, Shizuka was taken to a new part of the house by Keiko—the music room. She hadn't even had time to stop by Satoshi's room—she suspected that the woman wanted to keep her out of that hallway. The thought of the blind prejudice make her feel sick; couldn't they give him a chance? He was a person, like any other. His heritage shouldn't dictate his own personality. It was like there was no way he could redeem himself—they had made up their minds. He was a Hikari, and therefore he was their enemy.

The music room was small, like all the other rooms in the house, but it was elaborately decorated and housed many, many fine instruments, all of antique backgrounds. There, she found violins, violas, cellos, double bases, a lone shamisen, chimes, hand drums, flutes, clarinets, and a large, golden harp that shone brightly in the corner of the room. There was no piano, no guitar, or no brass instruments—there were only old, pure, hand-crafted pieces of decades past. The walls were painted a deep crimson, and the furniture was made of a cherry oak, much like the large greeting room upstairs where they tended to gather every morning. Pictures also adorned the walls and filled the place with a sense of life. As she made her way around the room, she noticed that all of the paintings were old, some faded and chipped, but not in any special encasements that would help to preserve them. And even more disturbing, though she knew she should have expected it, was that not one of the paintings featured the name 'Hikari' in the corner. They were all by other artists, some unrecognizable to her. But nothing by the mysterious, age-old family whose creations sparkled above those of their rivals'.

Footsteps from a neighboring room made her jump, and a door on the far side of the room slid open to reveal a boy no more than seventeen years old, clad in a work-shop apron. She blushed automatically—there was no one else with her, and she hated meeting new people like this, by herself. The boy had brown hair, brown eyes to match, and a smile that radiated friendliness and confidence. He pulled off his gloves and placed them on a table in the corner, then strode over to meet her, dodging the scattered instruments as if it were second nature. He motioned toward one of the painting she had been looking at. "That's a Yuunagi landscape, dated 1590 A.D. Acrylic, I think. We don't use special treatment for the paintings—they have a life-span, just like humans. When they die, we put them to rest." He explained. He took a place next to her and straightened the canvas on the wall. "I'm Katsuo, Yagamachi's grandson." He said casually, giving her a slight bow.

"O-oh…" she acknowledged shyly. She felt that it was a waste to let these masterpieces wither away and oxidize, but didn't say so outright. Like Kosuke repeatedly said, this was practically a religion to them. "I'm Shizuka, by the way." She said quickly, almost forgetting to introduce herself. She bowed hastily.

"I know who you are. I've been waiting to meet you—I guess my grandparents have been keeping you busy these past few days, huh?"

"Yes… they're very hospitable... a-and you have such a nice home," she commented, trying to be polite without freezing up. "I mean, you and your parents live here, don't you?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I do. My parents live on the other side of town. I moved in to train with my grandfather."

"Oh, what are you training to do?"

"Archeology and carpentry," He said nonchalantly. "Family thing."

To Shizuka, he seemed very different from his relatives in his mannerisms. He was more laid back, cool, more modern. But at the same time, he still seemed to take an interest in art. She had to wonder whether or not there was anyone in this town who got tired of hearing these legends. He was like a blend of his grandparents' and villages' values and pride in history, with a touch of contemporary influence. He wore regular, western pants and a shirt beneath the apron, but still had bowed rather than shaking her hand. He walked over to the large harp in the corner of the room and took off his apron, then tossed it onto a small coffee table that she hadn't even noticed. The room was so crowded with furniture, paintings, sculptures, and instruments, that it was almost too much to take in on one visit.

"So do you want to take over your grandfather's trade?" she asked politely, trying to keep the conversation flowing. He was pulling a new, clean pair of gloves out of a drawer—from an ornate, hand painted table.

"Yeah. Someone has to take care of all the artworks here. We have a pretty impressive collection—this isn't even half of it," he stated proudly. He then lifted the large, brilliant harp onto a small cart and secured it with some ropes.

"You must start training pretty early. By the time you inherit this place from your father, you'll already be a professional," she praised kindly. She didn't want him to think she was rude or ungrateful to be staying here.

"Nah, he's not interested in this stuff. I'm next in line."

"Oh, then is he in another line of work?" she had figured that everyone stuck to their families' estates and trades. The town seemed so into passing on titles and keeping with tradition that she didn't think there could be exceptions.

"Sort of. He and my mom restore artworks. They don't really think twice about filling in gaps with their paints and glues—it's such a shame. We just preserve them," he wheeled the harp to the door that led to his grandfather's workshop, careful to refrain from touching it, even with the protective gloves. She was surprised at how serious a teenage boy could be in executing his work. (Then again, Satoshi and Daisuke were no different in that respect.)

"Is there something wrong with it?" she asked, pointing to the harp.

"No. It just needs to be tuned."

"Oh, so you play?" she inquired curiously, looking around the room filled with so many priceless works. None of the instruments were laminated or coated with that clear, heavy shine. They were all fresh, polished only by the crafter's sandpaper.

"No," he laughed, "I can't even tune the little ones—the violins and violas. I'm afraid I might break them. No one's touched them in years."

"I can… I mean, if you want, I can tune them," she offered. She still worked at the string shop downtown, tuning and fixing strings and bridges. She hated to see so many instruments out of use.

"Really? That'd be awesome," he exclaimed, genuinely pleased. Then his expression turned hesitant. "I mean, you don't have to. I don't think my grandparents would want to make you work…"

"It's my pleasure. I won't tell them, if you don't want me to…"

"No, they'll notice anyway. That's alright, though. If you want to, you can. Otherwise, don't worry about it," he said, not really worrying over it. He seemed so calm and at ease with his work—she wondered whether or not it had ever registered that if he dropped anything here or handled anything the wrong way, it would shatter. He opened the sliding door to the workshop on the other side. "I'll see you around. I can't slack too long—I'll get in trouble," he laughed. "Maybe I can give you a tour around the town sometime?"

"A-alright… if that's alright with you, I mean."

"Yeah, definitely."

"Okay… well, nice meeting you…"

A slam came from inside the workshop, and he was out the door in a heartbeat without glancing back at her once. She sighed and picked up one of the violas, then gently plucked across all four strings. They were horribly loose and out of tune, and the bow, sitting on a music stand, desperately needed to be re-haired. She couldn't fathom why they would let these ancient artifacts sit outside of their cases. In fact, the cases were scattered everywhere, on tables and chairs around the room. It was a strange concept—they preserved artifacts, and no doubt uncovered them, yet they made no move to halt the aging process or put them on display for the rest of the town to see. She could understand not wanting to touch the chipping paint, but why wouldn't they encase them or keep them away from the poisons of the dust and the air? And Katsuo… he seemed to talk down on his parents, like they were out of their minds for wanting to restore the priceless artworks. She had also grown up in a small town, but she would never have dreamed of being so condescending.

Things here really are backwards…

~…~

Satoshi woke up around noon, feeling heavy and sore, as always. Day three… He reminded himself. He was so bored—and he had never thought he could become bored. No one came to see him except the Yagamachis; they came with medicine and food that he couldn't even eat because his throat hurt so badly. But he hadn't heard from Daisuke yet, and hadn't seen Shizuka since two nights earlier. He didn't even know if she was alright; the old couple certainly didn't tell him anything. For the first time in his life, he felt lonely. She must be busy… I mean, I hope it's just that…

He was dying to be able to get up and walk around; his limbs were stiff and numb. His wounds were steadily healing, but the pain remained present. Even just shifting a little bit to sit up or take a drink sent searing pulses throughout his body. And the drugs that they were giving him, aside from easing the pain, gave him migraines and ear-aches.

I wonder what everyone is doing right now…

He had been reluctant to come on this trip. A family 'vacation,' as Kosuke had put it. It seemed a hassle at first, to drop everything, leave his new apartment with boxes unpacked, and take leave from his job at the police station. But when the day actually started, when they left the Niwa's at four o'clock in the morning to get to the domestic airport, he had been excited. He never traveled for leisure—it was something he assumed only families could do. But there he was, alongside his girlfriend and his best friend's family, taking plane after plane to an adventure in a far away, isolated village. As strange as the concept of the trip sounded, he actually felt like he was normal. Like it was just an everyday 'vacation' to somewhere that held in its depths the traditions and culture of a rebirth of artwork. But he hadn't anticipated their helicopter to crash, or for them to end up in a crazy, old terrain that seemed eerily frozen in time. No one was explaining anything to him—he had no idea why these people had a problem with him, why they had shooed his girlfriend away, why they didn't even care to spare him a glance while they were injecting him with needles or making him drink their strange, bitter herbs and spices. He just wanted to get on another plane and go home. It was obvious they didn't want him here.

His infirmary room felt like it was its own little sphere of space. The windows that didn't close were a portal to the bright, gorgeous scenery outdoors, and out in the hallway, behind the door, was a constant bustle in the mornings and evenings, and then complete silence for most of the afternoon. He was utterly disconnected from the rest of the house and the people in it. Never had he longed more for someone to talk to him, to inform him of their strange surroundings. It felt babyish, but he missed the new comfort his friends brought him.

I just hope everyone is okay… They're probably keeping Shizuka out of here on purpose—I wish I could at least see her once in a while…

Following some footsteps and the all too familiar sound of the squeaky cart, the door opened and in walked his hostess with her medicinal herbs, needles, and cool gaze. He braced himself for the discomfort and inevitable numbness that would accompany sleep as she crossed the room to his bed.

AN: Hey everyone—sorry for the incredibly long wait on this update, and for the shortness of this chapter. I'm still working out some kinks with the plot.

I have so much to get to for this story, and yet I'm lacking in ways to develop Satoshi and Shizuka's relationship. It's partially because I'm not as much of a Satoshi fan girl as I used to be, and so I'm more into the plot than the actual romance aspect. So I do have some things in mind, and I'm sure I'll come up with more, but if anyone has any suggestions or things they'd like to see, I'd be glad to take them into consideration.

So, there's a new OC, Katsuo, (he's actually the reason I'm excited to be starting this up again.) This was just a brief introduction—I didn't really get into his character yet. And aside from my obvious bias toward orchestra, I suppose that's all I've to say for this chapter! Please review with input!