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For once, Kaoru doesn’t wake up gasping and drenched in sweat, hands clutching and clawing at his chest, but that might be because he doesn’t go to sleep.
He has been up for 37 hours, CARLA’s dry mechanical voice informs him, and has not eaten for 13. The last thing he consumed was a Red Bull and a sickeningly sweet poptart that had tasted like metal, though that was probably the fact that his own heart was poisoning him from the inside out rather than the fault of the manufacturer.
How ironically poetic - the newspapers would have a field day. Sakurayashiki Kaoru, Iron Man, the infamous Merchant of Death, the cold genius philanthropist famous for his many, many rejections to men and women alike poisoned to death by his own heart - Shakespeare, eat your fucking heart out (pun intended). He could see the headlines now, disgustingly pithy, the more respectable ones keeping up a veneer of bereavement while the gossip rags tear him to pieces. Well, it wasn’t like he’ll be around to care, but-
“Master,” CARLA says, a worried tint coloring her usual cool composure. “Scanners report severe symptoms consistent with advanced emphysema, abnormal pulmonary edema, and cyanosis of the skin as well as all vitals falling below acceptable levels. I will now be activating Essential Function 070726; Code Green.”
“No!” Kaoru scrambles up from where he’d been hunched over the guts of the Mark II, fiddling with the wiring in an attempt to test whether running the ground through the spine instead of around the arc would increase energy optimization by 12.7%. It would, but Kaoru’s plans for the Mark III didn’t include wiring at all, so. “CARLA, cancel Command! Override EFCG, code Cherry Blossom 032726! Dammit CARLA-“
“Too late,” a lazy, confident voice drawls out, and Kaoru freezes guilty, figurative hands caught in the figurative cookie jar. “Nice try, though.”
Kojiro descends down the stairs, smiling, carrying a covered plate and a glass filled with a viscous green sludge. He cocks an eyebrow, and Kaoru begrudgingly wipes his hands, smearing oil and grease down a $8000 pair of Escada jeans, before clearing out a section of his work table by simply sending it all crashing to the floor.
The other man just tsks and ignores Kaoru’s petty protest, handing the glass to him before setting down the plate.
“It’s kale, pineapple, papaya, chia and flax seeds, soymilk, spinach, and banana.” He answers Kaoru’s unasked question, still smiling. Oh, Kojiro was pissed .
“Drink it.”
Kaoru makes a face. “I don’t like papaya.”
“Well, I don’t like it when my boss tries to starve himself to death, so I guess we both have to put up with things we don’t enjoy. Drink it.”
Kaoru drinks the smoothie, trying to ignore Kojiro’s furious red gaze. If his chef had laser vision, Kaoru would be cooked to a perfect medium rare five minutes from now.
“Good?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before uncovering the plate with a flourish and gesturing for Kaoru to eat. “It’s carbonara.”
Kaoru picks up the fork but hesitates. “I thought you were mad at me.”
Kojiro sighs. “I am.”
“But you made my favorite.”
“I did.”
Kaoru stares down at the pasta, creamy and golden and fragrant, that Kojiro had made for him even after he’d isolated himself in his lab for 37 hours, ignoring meetings and calls and emails that Kojiro probably had to field for him, which wasn’t his job, it was Kaoru’s, but.
The thing about finding out that you are about to die is that it completely changes your perspective on life. He knows from experience - after Afghanistan he’d shut down all weapons manufacturing and pivoted to clean energy, healthcare, and infrastructure; had tried to be a better man, had struggled to atone for his past sins, and yet what had been the point of all of that when it landed him here, still unable to escape the confines of that wretched cave? Look at him now, pathetic and weak, forced to endure yet another living hell, and for what ?
“Kaoru?” Kojiro’s too close, garnet eyes concerned as he touches Kaoru’s forehead with the back of his hand, frowning deeply at what he finds. “You definitely have a fever. Kaoru, you can’t just-”
Ah, yes, that would be his immune system trying to fight off the palladium. He lets Kojiro’s nagging flow over him as he twirls some pasta and takes a bite, chewing mechanically through the al dente noodles.
Kojiro watches him, still frowning. “Good?” He finally asks when Kaoru finishes, taking both the plate and glass and placing both on his serving tray, lingering for his response.
“Yeah. It was good.” He says, smiling wanly at a Kojiro who can’t quite contain his shock. It’s uncharacteristic for them, but he can’t help but let a bit of vulnerable honesty shine through, just for a little while.
Kojiro, oddly, only frowns deeper before he finally turns and climbs out of the lab.
When his steps have faded completely, Kaoru lets the smile drop and gazes down at his chest to where the soft blue light of the arc shines dimly through the fabric of his shirt.
He had tasted nothing but metal.