FicWad

I went to school the next day, and there were indeed the pale faces and tears that I had been expecting, though I'm sure I missed the worst of it. It was surprisingly easy to go about things as I usually did, brushing off all the questions and rolling my eyes at the expressions of concern.

Old habits. They probably made me a few enemies that day-- but then, those people weren't exactly friends to begin with.

My little venture with the tea must have got back to Shigure somehow, though, because when I got home I found a tray set out on the table and a little note telling me to take it upstairs. The dog, not being stupid either, was nowhere to be found at the time I read said note.

I was tempted to walk past the tray and say I'd never seen it. Very sorely tempted. I don't deal well with being ordered to do things, you see-- if I volunteer for a task then I can and will do it with a minimum of fuss, but if it's forced on me then you've got a better chance of getting leeks to turn into gold than getting me to agree. It's a matter of pride, perhaps, and choice.

And damned if that little thought didn't bring me right back around what Yuki had told me the day before.

Suddenly, there I was trudging up the stairs with that tray in my hands, and fighting off the weirdest feeling of almost-guilt. Which of course left me a bit off-balance, which of course is never a feeling I deal well with-- which is why, when I went into Yuki's room and he blinked over at me in surprise, the first thing I did was glare at him as if the entire situation was his fault. "Don't get the wrong idea. The dog is hiding somewhere and Tohru's working, or you can bet one of them would be here instead of me."

Yuki was still lying in bed, not looking like he'd moved much since the day before. He was still pale, still had those dark rings under his eyes-- which was curious, in my mind. Yuki heals quickly-- we all do, and I know this from personal experience. It's possibly the only good thing that comes from this curse of ours. So, logically, given a full day of rest he should have been well on his way to a full recovery. Depending on how badly he'd mangled his arms, he might be a week getting the full use of his hands back, but the effects of the blood loss at least should have been mostly gone. He should have been up and moving around the house, turning back into the uppity bastard I know so well.

Except there he was, lying still, not looking that much different from when they'd brought him home.

Like I said. Curious.

It was that look in his eyes that gave me the clue I needed to figure at least part of it out-- they looked dull, still. Uninterested. And then of course I remembered what he'd said to me the previous night, before the whole incident with the tea, and it all came together.

He didn't care. It didn't matter to him if he regained his strength or made a quick recovery-- which only made sense, in a stupid retrospective kind of way, since he'd been the one to put himself in that condition in the first place.

Hey, I said I wasn't stupid. Doesn't mean I can't miss the obvious on occasion, just like everyone else.

Still, I found the situation unacceptable, though I was at a loss to fully explain why. So instead of dumping the tray and leaving, I found myself bullying him into sitting up, making sure he actually ate something. Pouring tea again and sitting down to drink it with him, just to make sure he finished it all-- except the dumb dog had put two of the heavier mugs on the tray, so I had to run back downstairs to get the smaller, lighter one he'd used before. It wasn't perfect-- he had to balance the cup between his hands instead of actually holding it-- but it did work, and eventually the tray was empty.

He looked at me with a mildly amused expression as I gathered up the dishes. "So are you officially my nursemaid?"

"Fuck off." I grumbled back automatically. "It's not like I had a choice." Even I could tell that my voice wasn't really angry, though-- and oddly enough, it was good to see him smirk at me that tiny bit.

As I leaned in to take his cup, I caught a whiff of him and had to wrinkle my nose. It wasn't that he reeked-- my sense of smell is very sensitive, that's all-- but there was that distinctive scent that comes with the sweat of illness, and that vaguely nauseating hospital smell that everyone loves so much. I drew back quickly, and wasn't even thinking before I spoke.

"You stink; you need a bath. If you can't walk, I'll help you into the bathroom, but you are going to wash. I refuse to put up with that."

He lifted an eyebrow at me-- an expression I only partially recognized, as it came with just a hint of the usual disdain-- but instead of the comment I half-expected, he only lifted his hands towards me, displaying the thick white bandages there. "And just how am I going to do that?"

I looked at his hands, startled that I had somehow forgotten that little issue, then looked up and met his eyes-- and suddenly there in my mind was the image of me washing him, and damned if my face didn't go hot enough that it had to be matching my eyes.

I expected him to laugh. And that little bloody smirk did grow, curling tighter at the corners of his mouth, making me wonder if he somehow knew just what bizarre images were dancing through my head. But then it softened again, and he shook his head even as he shifted his legs towards the edge of the bed. "You're right. I'll manage," he said, saving me. "The bandages will need to be replaced afterwards, though."

"That's fine, I'll do it." I agreed quickly, grateful for the out. It took a few minutes to banish those pictures in my head, though, and having to help Yuki undo the fastenings on his clothes certainly didn't speed up the process any. Once the water was running and everything set, I was more than happy to escape to my room and my homework for half an hour.

Yes, my homework. What does that say about the situation?

I heard the water stop with a corner of my mind not taken up with algebra, and so I wasn't surprised when Yuki showed up at my door a few minutes later, dressed in a clean robe and with gauze and tape held gingerly in cupped hands. He seemed hesitant about coming into my room, but I pushed him down onto the chair and he seemed to relax.

I laid out the supplies and carefully pushed up Yuki's sleeves-- and couldn't stop myself from recoiling, drawing in a sharp breath. I'd expected to see a cut and stitches, and I'd prepared myself somewhat for that-- I'd managed to cut myself no few times in the past, and several of those wounds had require sewing. I'd foolishly thought that this might not be so different.

It didn't look really like he'd cut himself, so much as torn his arms open-- all the way from wrist to elbow, and probably right down to the bone. The edges were ragged, and held together by rows and rows of tiny stitches. The whole mess was scabbed over, at least, but angry red and still very raw-looking in many places.

It would have taken a hell of a lot of determination to do that kind of damage.

I wanted to ask what he'd used to do it with. Wanted to ask why he'd chosen the bathroom at the school, of all places. Wanted to ask what it had felt like, to watch his own blood pool out around him, because that must have been one hell of a surreal thing to do--

But in the end, I just crouched there in front of him, holding his wrists gingerly as I stared down at the bloody mess he'd made of them, and I kept my silence. I kept it the whole time I dabbed at the wounds with the antibacterial cream, while I wrapped the whole thing up with gauze, while I walked with him back to his room and made sure everything was all right. And then I went back to my room, in silence, and set about finishing my homework.

And the next afternoon, after school, I went back with that tray of tea. Tohru was home-- she could have done it, and she did ask in that overly-helpful way of hers. But I grumbled at her about laundry and food, and after one panic-stricken look she darted off to clean and cook, leaving me with the task of caretaker again.

He was still lying there when I went in to his room. He didn't even look over at me, just kept staring towards the window. And suddenly, irrationally-- I was pissed off.

"Tohru's making dinner," I said sharply as I stomped over and dumped the tray. The dishes rattled. He turned his head to look first at them, then at me. "I'm sure she'd like it if you went down to eat, tonight."

He blinked, looking surprised, but the expression faded again and he shrugged. "I don't know."

I crossed my arms and scowled down at him. "If you can make it to the bathroom, you can make it downstairs."

Now he looked a bit angry, too. "I can eat up here," he replied flatly.

"Really," I said sarcastically. "How you planning on doing that? / I'm /sure as hell not going to carry it up. You going to make Tohru wait on you hand and foot?" I leaned in towards him before he could answer. "How long are you going to hide in here?"

He jerked back, eyes livid. "What?"

I rolled my eyes, and/ damn /if it wasn't easy to fall back into my old ways of dealing with him. Part of me wanted that-- wanted to have things the way they were when I still knew which way was up, before the entire situation had taken things I thought I knew and twisted them until they were strangers. Wanted Yuki to lose that damned broken look in his eyes and start to live again, because seeing him lying there was-- disturbing.

So I brought out as much of my scorn as I could, let my lips curl in something that certainly didn't feel like a smile. "Please. I can see what you're doing, even if you're too stupid to see it yourself. Are you hoping that if you keep on like this, you'll manage to waste away and die anyway?"

He flinched. He actually /flinched/. And I could see in his eyes that I was right.

Despite my best efforts, my anger slipped, shifting around until it wasn't quite the same anymore. And so when I leaned forward even more and brought out my trump card, it wasn't really out of any kind of scorn but an odd determination that I didn't understand. "Are you going to wait for Akito to come back and order you to get out of bed?" I asked deliberately. "Because you can bet your ass he's got Shigure reporting back to him. He may be a crazy freak, but I don't think he's stupid, and he'll figure it out." I fixed him with a pointed, challenging stare. "So are you going to wait, or do you want it to be your choice?"

Yuki's face went terribly pale, and for a split second I was sure he was going to leap up and smear me across the floor. He looked completely and insanely /furious/.

And I did the only thing I could think of at that point. I turned around and walked away, closing the door behind me.

I made it safely to the roof before I started shaking.

I'd never seen a look like that on Yuki's face before. I'd seen the angry glares, the cold down-the-nose looks, the bored disdain, and I'd met them all head on. But this one, still burning behind my eyes, made me shiver helplessly.

Tohru's voice wafted up from inside, calling out that dinner was ready. I held my hands up in front of me, glared at them until they stopped shaking, then waited a few more minutes to make sure that I really was steady enough to go downstairs without embarrassing myself. When I did make it down, Tohru smiled at me and didn't start asking if I was all right, so I must have done a good enough job.

Yuki's place was empty as we started to eat. Tohru looked at it worriedly for a few moments, but neither she nor Shigure actually said anything. I-- might have been disappointed. There was certainly something kind of bitter-tasting in the back of my throat. But I had done all that I could do. I certainly couldn't think of any arguments that might have more of an effect than the one I'd used.

I hadn't taken more than a few bites before I heard the first footstep on the stairs. We all turned to look as Yuki started to descend, leaning heavily on the railing with his elbow, still looking pale and a bit wobbly but nonetheless there.

Tohru, predictably enough, immediately jumped up and ran over to help him. What was surprising was that she managed to actually help, without tripping him or accidentally triggering any transformations, for once. Soon, we were all sitting around the table, and things seemed a little more back to normal.

It might have been my imagination, but I thought that Shigure looked relieved.

Yuki didn't actually meet my eyes during the entire meal. I was a little bit grateful for that-- I wasn't sure what I wanted or expected to see in his eyes, if he did look up, and I certainly didn't know how I would react to any of it.

The others were used to us ignoring each other, so they didn't see anything odd in our behaviour. To me, however-- I felt every second of the silence between us as if it was a solid and tangible thing. I was more than happy, when we finished eating, so see Shigure escort Yuki back to bed while I helped Tohru with cleaning up.

Later, I was walking back to my own room when I heard his voice. "Kyou."

He was standing in his doorway, watching me-- I met that gaze a bit warily, but there was none of the expression there that I'd seen earlier.

"Yeah?"

"Could you bring home a copy of our assignments for me, tomorrow? I don't want to get too far behind." He looked away, tracing a fingernail along the grain of the door frame--/ fidgeting/, I realized suddenly. He looked about as uneasy as I felt, underneath the careful poise, and that realization helped me to relax.

"Yeah. Sure."

He looked back up at me-- and smiled. It was a cautious little thing, ready to go into hiding again at any second, but I could still recognize it. And then he went back into his room and shut the door, and I continued on my way.

The next day, when I came home, I didn't even think twice about throwing together that stupid tray and carting it off upstairs. It had become a kind of tradition, by that point. A habit that for some reason I wasn't quite inclined to break. When I got to Yuki's door, though, I found it open-- and there he was, standing in a damp robe with his hair dripping, struggling to get new bandages wrapped around his arms.

I watched him for just a moment before wordlessly setting down the tray and going to help. He didn't say anything either, but he let me. And when I was done that, I helped him towel his hair-- and then, seeing the pile of new sheets sitting at the foot of his bed, I helped him change over his bedding as well. The old set was rumpled, musty with that same sweat-and-hospital smell that had been on him-- I could understand perfectly well why he'd want them gone.

Then we sat down with tea and schoolwork-- and thus started the routine for the rest of the week. Yes, there were awkward moments-- at first, his hands still had limited strength, so there was some frustration before I just gave up and did most of his writing for him. I also had to do most of the running around and carrying, which was-- well, embarrassing, mostly, but only because I kept waiting for the disparaging comments that he never made.

I ended up learning quite a few things that I'd never known or had even been curious about. Such as the fact that Yuki absolutely loved old poetry, of all things-- the really old stuff, where half the words are spelled wrong and it talks about things that don't even exist anymore. And that despite being a genius at most sciences, he continually couldn't remember math upwards of the seven-times table without checking on a calculator. And he positively hated our english classes.

In short-- he wasn't perfect after all.

Wouldn't the fan club be disappointed.

When the bandages finally came off for good, and Hatori declared him fit to go back to school-- I think I was almost disappointed.