A/N: And so we finally meet the relevant Ootori in this fic, and surprise, it's NOT Kyōya! Well, Kyōya's relevant too, in a way, since I do plan on having him encounter our little miko somewhere in the next few chapters, but he's not really a main character here, despite my listing him as one of the four (Kagome, Sesshōmaru, Eclair, Kyōya). I wanted to put Mr. Relevant Ootori in the summary, but alas, he's not on the list of OHSHC characters here in FFdotnet. Which sucks, but I suppose you can't have everything. Sigh.

WARNING/S: This chapter will have Medical Jargon. Lots of it. They're not too hard to understand, I don't think, but I can't be sure what a layperson does and doesn't know about the Infernal Torture that is med school, so there you go. Consult Google for definitions of terms. Chapter will also contain psych issues, because after rereading this chapter, I have officially diagnosed my version of Mr. Relevant Ootori to have Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder. Which is NOT synonymous to OCD, mind. OCPD is a personality disorder, whereas OCD is an anxiety disorder. In grossly simplified terms, OCD is doing something weird over and over because it calms you for some reason, and OCPD is being all rigid and tight-ass and perfectionist-like, to the nth degree.

ooOoo

Things that don't fall within the norm have the tendency to bother him. And if such things are strange enough to not belong in any niche anywhere, then they tend to bother him to the point of explosive meltdowns, which fortunately only happened twice before in his whole life, both when he was still a teenager.

("Call me Jinnai. My junior over here is also an Ootori. Might get a bit confusing." He turns to a man in blue scrubs. "Come greet my patient, Akito-kun.")

Ootori Akito is an organized person at heart. It is evident in his every manner, in the things he says and the things he leaves unspoken, that to him the world has a certain irrefutable order to it. That there are certain possiblities available only to the rich and influential, and certain trials that can only be experienced by the masses. That there exist certain pathways towards specific goals, and certain people who can or cannot achieve them. His family calls him equally naive and cynical in turns, for coloring his own view of the world with only black and white. Which is of course utterly ridiculous. He views himself as enlightened rather than naive or cynical, unburdened by the befuddling quality of unnecessarily strong emotions. Emotions blur the world and its only relevant colors - black and white - rendering it a headache-inducing collage of a thousand shades of grey. Much like how a myopic - a near-sighted - eye sees the world as a big blur, when it is anything but.

However, as much as his own family may disbelieve themselves of the notion, Akito fully understands the concept of middle ground. Business and politics both thrive on compromise, survive on allowances, and are fed by concessions. Political intercourse doesn't involve either just giving or just taking. In fact, in most cases the two are not quite as mutually exclusive as the dictionary may imply. As such, his belief in the world's dichotomous character does not mean that he is foolish enough to think that people are just as dichotomous inherently. Humans are very complex multifaceted creatures, and are more often than not self-contradictory, defying proper categorization. "Deliquent" for a good purpose. "Good" for unsavory reasons. Both of which are both "good" and "bad," and none of them all at once.

("I thought you knew."

...He didn't.)

Humans are grey.

Of this fact he is not exempt. He is human too, after all. He has never claimed otherwise.

(Sweat. Moans. Sighs. Fevered kisses. A gasp. "You're my exception.")

The human psyche and how it reacts to certain motivations and stimuli is as fascinating as it is confusing. However, when such complexities are weighed on a scale against his own - and his family's - benefit, then things are put into perspective. The world becomes much, much simpler.

Us or Them. Useful or Useless. Threat or Ally.

("Brother?")

Humans may come in shades of grey, but they come only in black and white where it matters.

However...

(A teasing grin. "You Ootori men and your control issues. Don't you understand that you can't control everything?...")

...His cousin's old patient, the twenty-two year old Takatsukasa Kaname, seems to be an exception.

("...Least of all me.")

Akito does not understand at first. Exceptions haven't existed since he was fifteen years old and Wakanouji Utau - heiress of the five-star Akira Hotels and someone he thought was his ally - had snubbed his offer for a business merger between her family's restaurant chain and his own's health resorts, after acting for several months as though she was seriously considering the idea. Wakanouji had been useful but ultimately useless, an ally and threat all at once. A Grey. An exception.

Ootori Akito has never liked exceptions.

("I was told he's the best. Can't say no to the best now, can I?")

And so he had ruined the Wakanouji heiress as slowly, artfully and meticulously as only a detail-obsessed perfectionist like himself could.

("How could you do this to me? How? You knew how I fel-")

Just as he is sure to ruin Takatsukasa Kaname.

Ootori Akito's world has no room for greys.

ooOoo

TWO YEARS EARLIER

As a medical student currently on the first day of his psychiatry rotation, Ootori Akito is completely armed and ready to meet the most violently psychotic of people. He has packed a few elastic bandages he could possibly use to help restrain patients, and has prepared a small tablet where he could jot down his notes, or study psychopharmacology - the drugs used on psych patients - and different psychotherapeutic approaches in his idle time. In his pockets are a small notebook, three ink-cartridge-loaded hand-carved ivory Mont Blanc fountain pens, a neuro-hammer, a personalized pen-light engraved with his name and family seal, an Ootori™ otoscope and ophthalmoscope set, a portable fingertip pulse oximeter, and a tightly balled up pair of green non-latex examination gloves. The extensive medical artillery makes his crisp powder-blue scrubs bulge quite unfashionably, much to the silent amusement of Jinnai, his cousin. Jinnai - a "fresh-from-the-diplomate-exam" psychiatrist in Taisho University Hospital - has softly told him that the only overtly violent patients he is likely to meet would be the rare batty ones that come in through the Emergency Room, where there would be plenty of nurses to do the restraining if need be. Not one for being caught unprepared, Akito insists on bringing his arsenal anyway, mentally running down a checklist of items, just in case he forgot something.

If Jinnai's eyes water out of the unfulfilled urge to laugh, Akito ignores it, or he just doesn't notice.

"Days are slow for this department," Jinnai explains as he shows him how to access the patient's lab results through the hospital database. "So don't give me that annoyed pouty glare thing you do, when you realize that you needlessly stuffed your pockets."

Akito's eyes scan through the patient's history - it is sloppily made, he thinks with a frown - making a mental note to clarify some salient points when they visit the patient in person. He then turns to stare at his cousin/superior. "What pouty glare thing?"

Jinnai chuckles. "That pouty glare thing."

Akito scowls. "... I do no such thing."

His cousin bursts out into full blown laughter. "That's cute. You're uncomfortable with social banter. I wonder, cousin, are you obsessive-compulsive with schizotypal tendencies, or schizotypal with obsessive-compulsive leanings?"

Akito's frown deepens. "Please don't psychoanalyze me, cousin."

"... Definitely the former. I just bet you're the type to pigeonhole everyone and everything, in a way that only makes sense to you." Jinnai ponders that for a second. "Classical features. How boring." He then turns his attention to the patient's chart in his hands, writes some new orders and quickly signs it. He quickly chats with a nearby nurse, telling him to 'Follow the dosage instructions properly, these are psych meds, damn it. And make sure the Yamashita thing doesn't happen again, which nurse decided to OD the poor old man on orphenadrine? Oh, Ueno? She fired yet? Why the hell not?! You guys have any idea how hard the board roasted my tits-'

Akito tunes his cousin out, having neither the interest nor the energy to listen to Jinnai discussing his own breasts.

After finishing his rounds, Jinnai leads him to his clinic. He opens the door with a flourish, eyes twinkling. "Welcome to my fortress."

"It's a waiting area." Akito deadpans.

"Exactly! I have my own waiting area! Wait until you see The Confessional."

"I'm not Catholic."

"Yeah, yeah, ruin my fun, why don't you? By Confessional I meant the consultation room. You'll love it, it's got all the small-penis-overcompensation schtick a pompous brat like you could ever want."

Akito looks morbidly offended, but Jinnai pays him no mind.

Jinnai greets his caucasian-looking secretary - Murakami Theresa, Akito reads off the embroidered name above her left breast pocket - and grabs a clipboard from a nearby cabinet. Murakami greets him back, before handing him a pile of sheets.

"Ah," Jinnai drawls, "I almost forgot that Kaname-chan's my 10-o'-clock today."

Murakami chuckles. "Well, it's why you hired me, Doc! Takatsukasa-san is just in the boudoir, answering a phone call."

"Right," he grins. "Just give me a minute to talk to my fledgeling apprentice over here," he gestures to Akito, who bristles. "And then call her in."

She nods. "Got it."

Akito follows a prancing Jinnai into the consultation room. It looks, Akito supposes, just as grand and opulent as he remembers the clinics in his own family's hospitals appear, if not more. Familial duty - as well as pride - make him abstain from admitting such, however. Marble flooring with red granite detailing on the corners. Mentally stimulating yet aesthetically pleasing paintings on the walls. "Life" by Shōda Takeshi. "Trompe L'oeil" by Aurelien Dumont. And a surrealistic wall mural by Edoardo Lombardi, depicting Eros and Thanatos. Akito looks for its title but only sees the artist and the date the mural was completed. The title remains suspiciously absent.

A plush recliner grabs his attention, and he immediately approaches it to run the pads of his fingers across the decadent material. Goat leather, he concludes. If Akito were morbid enough he would say that it is seat fit to die in. Next to it is a coffee table - which upon close scrutiny is filled with carvings that look vaguely Mesopotamian - or is it Sumerian? - on every inch of its smoked mahogany surface. He slides the tip of his finger over the smooth edges. It's unvarnished, he notes with approval. The wood looked painstakingly buffed to a soft shine, instead of lazily bathed in cheap preservatives.

A++.

The sound of a throat clearing snaps him out of his thoughts. He finds Jinnai smirking at him, his brown eyes twinkling. "Does it pass your perfectionist tastes, Akito?"

"...It does." He begrudgingly concedes. "The mural?"

"Untitled, sadly enough. Took me a month of slavering like a beast looking for Lombardi, but the man said it was meant to be untitled. Like life."

"How apropos," Akito drawls in a tone that implies the opposite. All great works need great names, in his opinion. Not giving them such is like depriving them of an identity. They will always be "that one painting by-" or "that piece by-". An unnamed painting is nothing but the painter's exercise of vanity.

Which is unfortunate, as "Untitled" by Edoardo Lombardi has great technique, a notably brave and liberal use of its brighter reds, it's triangles converging quite smoothly and beautifully to the central conflict of the piece: Eros and Thanatos.

"Did you choose these pieces?" Akito asks, curious.

Jinnai shakes his head. "Taisho-dono did, believe it or not. He seemed particularly invested in my setting a clinical practice in his hospital."

"Taisho... the Taisho? Taisho Sesshōmaru?"

"Is there any other?" Jinnai retorts. "I mean, I heard a rumor that he has a younger sibling under the witness protection program or something equally outrageous," he scoffs. "But whoever believes that probably watches too much TV dorama."

"What is he li-"

"Dr. Ootori?" A feminine voice - not Murakami - calls out from outside the door. "I'm here for my 10-o'-clock."

To Akito's confusion, and subsequent mortification, Jinnai fixes his tie and runs restless hands over his hopelessly messy hair. His chest puffs up as he nervously scans his clothes for lint.

"It doesn't have any lint," Akito points out flatly. "And it shouldn't. You just bought your outfit last night."

"A lot of things can happen in a span of a few hours, cousin," the older man murmurs absently, still looking for the elusive lint.

"...I can't believe this," Akito very nearly gapes. "You're preening. Like a peacock. You're peacocking. You're worse than Kyōya and his glasses-pushing pose."

"Peacocking is not a word, and I personally think that nothing is worse than Kyōya's glasses move." Jinnai retorts playfully. He takes a deep fortifying breath and lands on his chair. "Cousin. Be a gentleman and let the patient in, will you?"

Barely restraining himself from frowning, Ootori Akito walks to the door, and opens it-

- Only to come face to face with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

ooOoo