Princess Tutu

Panic in the Library

By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters are not mine and this randomness is! I asked Moonyazu9 on Livejournal for a drabble where Autor is knocked unconscious and I was given one that I enjoyed so much I wanted to tell the rest of the story. So, the method of how it happened is Moonyazu9's idea. The rest is mine. This is pretty shameless hurt/comfort, but Uzura moves the plot along and gives things a little squee and depth. It takes place sometime during the series; I think I've set it between episodes #21 and #22 again.

Everything seemed nice and peaceful in the library, Fakir thought as he turned the page of the book Autor had recommended he read. Even Uzura was being uncharacteristically quiet, after showing up to check on him. He really should have taken that as a warning sign, but he was too involved in the tome.

And suddenly too much was happening at once.

"Ohhh," he heard Uzura breathe somewhere to the side, close to the balcony. "What's this zura?"

Before he could even look up, the sound of something scraping the railing echoed through the building. And the sound of several things thumping to the floor far below, accompanied at the same time by a cry of pain.

Fakir leaped to his feet, the book crashing to the table. "Uzura! What did you do?!" he demanded.

She looked to him, blinking in all innocence. "A lot of books were stacked here zura!" she said, indicating the balcony. "They were this high zura!" She stretched her short arms as far over her head as she could.

"And you pushed them off?!" Fakir exclaimed. It was times like these when he could not help but wonder what Charon had been thinking, carving a little girl puppet.

"Yes zura!" Uzura said.

Fakir cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't do things like that!" he said, hurrying to the stairs leading to the next floor down. "You could hurt someone!" And, remembering the cry of pain, he stiffened. "Actually, you probably already did!"

Uzura stared after him. "I didn't mean to zura!" she said. "I just wanted to see how far they'd fall zura!" Pouting, she ran after him as fast as her little legs would go.

"I know, but don't do that again, alright?" Fakir called over his shoulder as he hurried to the bottom.

"I won't zura!" Uzura said.

Fakir barely heard. Rounding the beginning of the banister, he found himself staring at the scene below the balcony. Heavy books were scattered everywhere—some on the table, others on chairs, and still more on the floor. And his worst fears were true—someone had been at the table. Now he was slumped over the wooden surface, dazed or unconscious or . . .

Don't be ridiculous, Fakir, he thought to himself as he hurried over. No one dies from being hit with a bunch of books, do they? Then again, how many people did he know who had been hurt by books?

"Hey," he said, grabbing the person's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

There was no response. Fakir was starting to get nervous. "Hey!" he said, louder. He pulled the other boy back from the table, letting him slump against the chair. But then Fakir went sheet-white. Could this situation possibly get any worse?!

Uzura stared at the scene. "Is that the weird Autor zura?" she said.

Frazzled, Fakir said, "Don't ask any more questions, Uzura. Just . . . get some water or something." He stared at the music student, who was hopefully just unconscious and not . . .

He slapped his forehead. How had he let this happen? He should have herded Uzura out of the library immediately when she had arrived. Instead he had foolishly let himself believe she would not get into anything if she stayed.

"Ohh! Are you going to pour water on him like on Ahiru zura?" Uzura said.

"No!" Fakir retorted. "Uzura, please, just get some water."

"I'll get the water zura!" Uzura said, banging on her drum as she marched off.

Fakir groaned, slumping into the next chair. "Autor!" he called, grabbing the other's shoulders and shaking him. "Wake up!"

This time his efforts got him a weak moan in response. He sighed. At least Autor was alive. . . . And even if he was not badly hurt, how was Fakir going to explain this one? "I'm sorry, Uzura knocked a stack of books on your head." He could just imagine Autor's response to that.

Seeing some nearby students staring at the scene in curiosity, he barked, "I need some help here!"

They came over, somewhat reluctantly. "What happened?" asked one, a guy from the sculpture division whom Fakir did not know.

"Some books fell down and hurt him," Fakir said, not wanting to explain how they had fallen.

The other student, an auburn-haired girl, blinked in shock. "They were left in a precarious state like that?" she said.

"Yes," Fakir said in frustration. He would complain to the staff about it, but Autor was much more likely to do so. "Help me get him to that couch or something."

The guy moved to help Fakir do so. The girl stood by, looking unsure of what she should do. "Should I get the school nurse?" she asked.

"Do that," Fakir said, as he and the other guy carried Autor to the couch.

In spite of himself, Fakir had to admit he was darkly amused thinking of what Autor's reaction would be to having been so helpless, with no say in having others help him. He would not like it, of that Fakir was sure. And being knocked out by books . . . what a blow to his pride.

"I've brought the water zura!" Uzura announced, suddenly reappearing on the scene with a full glass bottle of water.

"Good. Thanks, Uzura," Fakir said as he took it, hoping to avert another disaster such as when he and Ahiru had been trying to revive Autor after the oak tree experience. Tipping the bottle upsidedown, he dampened a cloth and placed it on Autor's forehead.

Actually, this was quite awkward for him too. He felt like he needed to be the one to take care of it, since Uzura had caused the problem, but tending to Autor was not how he had planned to spend the afternoon. Especially with people watching. The crash and scream had ricocheted through the entire library and were attracting more and more onlookers.

"What happened?" he heard several people asking at once.

"Was there a fight?"

"Did he fall over the balcony?"

"Is he badly hurt?"

"Is he dead?"

"Come on, Autor, wake up and get this over with," Fakir hissed through clenched teeth. The rumors were probably already starting to fly over the academy. He wondered how many times the story would be stretched by the time they left.

"I've seen them talking together before," another student hissed now. "I don't think they like each other much."

"Do you think Fakir could have pushed him over the balcony?!" a second student exclaimed.

Fakir clenched a fist. The damage Mytho had caused by jumping out the window and implicating Fakir was not likely to be rectified for a long time, if ever. Though he knew he could not really blame Mytho. It was the Raven's fault. And Kraehe's. They were making Mytho into the cruel, heartless person he was becoming. He was still fighting it, but how much longer could he hold back the full effects of the Raven's blood?

I have to hurry and write a Story to save him, Fakir thought to himself, temporarily removed from the current, uncomfortable disaster.

Uzura climbed on the couch arm. "Fakir, do you like the weird Autor zura?" she asked without warning.

Fakir, and everyone, turned to stare at her. "What?!" Fakir exclaimed.

"You act like you're mad zura," Uzura said. "Are you mad at him zura?"

Fakir ran a hand into his hair. "I'm not mad," he said. "I'm frustrated at this whole situation." Though if he was honest with himself, he supposed he was mad—not at Autor necessarily, or even Uzura, but at himself. None of this would be happening if he had been more vigilant.

"Oh," Uzura said. "So do you like him zura?"

Fakir felt his face getting hot. "Does it matter?" he countered. Everyone was leaning forward, it seemed, just waiting to catch his reply. And no matter what he said, it would get the tales floating everywhere. What he had already said was probably enough to do that.

To his immense relief, Autor stirred just then. "What . . . what happened?" he mumbled as he tried to force his eyes open. The light was too bright and he shut them again, wincing.

"I'll tell you later," Fakir said. "Do you think you can get up?" That was expecting too much, but he was getting so tense that he was desperate. The people were starting to crowd in more, wanting to hear whatever juicy bit of gossip they could.

"No," Autor said flatly. He grimaced, a hand going to his head.

"Just lay still for now," said the sculpture guy. "Hermia went to get the school nurse."

"I don't need a nurse," Autor muttered. But he made no attempt to rise.

Uzura watched him from the couch arm. "Are you hurt zura?" she asked.

Autor paused and stared at her, as if wondering why on earth she was here. But he did not have the energy to ask.

"I'm sorry I knocked books on you zura," Uzura said.

Fakir raised an eyebrow. Had she finally realized she had actually caused a problem? She had acted like there was no cause for concern, or that she thought Autor was just asleep, or something. Not that he had really expected someone with Uzura's mentality to fully grasp the situation.

"You did what?!" Autor gasped.

"They were stacked up high and I pushed them off zura!" Uzura said, gesturing with her hands. "I didn't know you were going to be hit with them zura."

Autor's eyes were furious. "Why do you bring her to the library?!" he demanded of Fakir.

"I don't!" Fakir said in frustration. "She just comes on her own."

Autor clenched his teeth and slumped back into the couch. "This would have to happen to me," he muttered. Was being around Fakir bad luck? He had never had these sorts of problems before they had met. Now he had nearly died twice because of their encounters—once from being electrocuted and once from . . . oh, it was too demeaning to even think about.

Uzura hopped down onto the couch and walked over to sit by him. "I'm sorry zura," she said again, resting her head on his chest. "Will you forgive me zura?"

Autor regarded her in stunned disbelief, though it was hard to tell whether her words or her actions had shocked him more. He looked up at Fakir, who now just smirked at him and crossed his arms.

"She is just a kid, you know," Fakir said. "And I think she likes you."

Autor's expression of disbelief was directed at Fakir now. And Uzura was still looking up at him with those wide blue eyes, hoping for an answer.

At last he looked to her with his sternest expression. "I'll forgive you if you don't do this again," he said.

Uzura brightened. "Okay zura!" she exclaimed, and promptly hugged him.

Autor did not know how to respond to that.

Fakir turned away, stifling a chuckle.

Autor's people skills were worse than his.