Author's Note: Stories about Momoshiro Takeshi through the lens of thirty (or so) emotions. This began as a form of personal entertainment while I watched the series, but it became a great deal more. In such a character-rich environment as Prince of Tennis, there are endless combinations to write about. Expect this compilation to run the gamut (there's even a Kabaji story). Please enjoy!

Jump Spirit
by Swiss Army Knife

Shock

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh, Inui
Summary: Momoshiro gets hit by a vehicle while riding his bicycle; Kaidoh sees it happen.

Bicycle wheels. That's what he would remember. The sound of bicycle wheels hissing over damp pavement. Silver spokes catching rays of light as they broke through dissipating clouds. There was more, but beyond the bicycle there was obfuscating fog. Deliberate fog. He didn't want to remember.

That whole day it had rained, but in the evening the skies cleared to reveal an orange, low-hanging sun. Kaidoh relished it as he jogged, sending up spits of water every time his sneakers hit the ground. There was a breeze blowing, and it felt good against his warm skin. Sunk in meditation, he focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the movement of his legs, the pace. Then, bicycle wheels. The sound drew his attention as he was passing over a pedestrian bridge, and he glanced down to see a familiar form peddling alongside the road. The blue bike frame, the black uniform. They left no doubt. Momoshiro.

Kaidoh muttered an exasperated, "Che." Even when there was no practice, he couldn't go a day without seeing that guy. Still, it wasn't as though they had to stop and chat. They weren't even going in the same direction. Momoshiro had spotted him; he raised a hand from his handlebars, giving a short wave. He also flashed that gratingly friendly smile of his, like he only remembered they were supposed to be rivals part of the time.

Unwilling to indulge the dolt, Kaidoh jerked his head around. It was only by chance that he glanced back just as the crossing light turned green and Momoshiro began to glide across, bicycle wheels spinning. The road was still slick, and an oncoming vehicle, a ancient looking truck piled with crates, wasn't slowing. Shrill honks of warning rose from other cars, followed by the shriek of breaks put on too suddenly on the wet road. It hydroplaned, over corrected, lost control. Poised halfway across the intersection, the figure on the bike looked up.

"Momo!" Kaidoh heard himself scream just as the truck struck.

Then he was running, or at least his body was. It seemed like his brain was still stuck back on the bridge, staring helplessly at the crosswalk. He barely registered the smell of acrid black smoke pouring from the crashed vehicle or the chaos of interrupted traffic. His senses had latched onto the body lying in the middle of the road, while a twisted bicycle tire turned slowly somewhere nearby.

"Momoshiro," Kaidoh said hoarsely. The pavement was damp, and his knees were soaked as soon as he knelt. He hesitated, his throat in knots, unsure where to lay his hands.

There was blood all over, matting down Momoshiro's hair. It had soaked through his clothes, his white school oxford barely recognizable. He was curled on his side, but his arms and legs didn't look right. Like the limbs of a doll, they seemed too loose to be attached to his body properly. Kaidoh jerked the bandana off his head, some instinct shrieking that he should do something, but he didn't know what.

There were background noises. Someone had already called an ambulance: Car accident, hit a boy on a bike. He's not moving, I can't tell if he's breathing. Someone had knelt on Momoshiro's other side, was gently peeling back his clothing. "Put pressure here," the person said, and Kaidoh complied with automatic movements. Trusting a stranger because he couldn't think.

The wail of a siren. Staccato beats of boots on pavement, and then there were people in uniforms pushing Kaidoh back. He sat, the wet asphalt seeping through the seat of his shorts, and listened to them speak in medical language he barely understood. Finally, one said, "Ready the stretcher. One, two, three. Lift."

Kaidoh lost it just a little when he realized they were leaving. They tried to stop him from climbing into the back of the ambulance, and he heard himself saying wild things, crazy things: He's my friend. Let me go. He's my friend. Stop. I need to go with him.

In the end, they let him. Lifted him into the back like he was a kid and sat him down on a bench squished into the narrow space. A heavy hand pressed his head down between his knees, a voice saying, "Breathe, kid, just breathe. Geez, what was I supposed to do? I just couldn't leave him out there on the street. He's having a panic attack."

Frantic movement of which he was only partially aware. He could barely see Momoshiro as the emergency technicians worked. At one point, one of them spoke to him again. "Hey, do you know his blood type?"

"O negative," Kaidoh answered, the information falling out of nowhere. Was it in one of Inui's notebooks? Had his senpai rattled it off during a training session, or a tournament match, or some other time he couldn't remember?

Background noises: My God, what's holding this kid together?

Kaidoh didn't realize he was hyperventilating until one of the technicians grabbed his wrist. "Hold his hand or something, kid. Anything. Just calm down."

Hold his hand? Even now, with Momoshiro barely breathing on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, he couldn't. That wasn't something they did. He stared at his trembling fingers, at his teammate lying there, surrounded by chaos. He reached out and grasped the front of his shirt, drawing the bloody edges back together, and gripped it until he could feel the bite of his nails through the fabric. It was a movement he'd made a thousand, thousand times. He exhaled. He could do this.

When they arrived at the hospital, Kaidoh wandered into the emergency bay, barely aware of where he was. There were chairs. He sat in one, his hands dangling between his knees. Questions, a woman in scrubs kneeling in front of him. "They said you were his friend. What's his name? How old is he? Do you know his home phone number?"

Somehow he answered everything. Momoshiro Takeshi, who had just turned fourteen a few days before the Kanto tournament, which Kaidoh knew because their birthdays were only four months apart. He even knew the phone number, could recite it through he could barely feel his lips moving. How the hell did he know?

He lost track of time after that. He wasn't even waiting for news. He just couldn't go. Not while Momoshiro was here somewhere, hurt. Or was he dead? Kaidoh put his head down again, like he had in the ambulance, and concentrated on breathing.

It seemed that a lot of time had passed. The unnatural lighting of the emergency waiting room made it hard to tell, but Kaidoh's muscles were stiff from sitting so long. He was drooping with exhaustion, elbows on his knees, when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Kaidoh."

His neck creaked as he lifted his head. A figure in green track pants stood before him, scrutinizing him through dark glasses. Kaidoh worked his throat until he was able to speak. "Inui-senpai."

Inui sat down on the seat beside him, and Kaidoh was stunned when he initiated physical contact by placing a hand on his back. "Your family has been very worried about you. They didn't know where you were."

Another little jolt. "What time is it?"

"Morning. School will be starting soon."

That meant he had been at the hospital all night. "How did you know I was here?"

"Ryuzaki-sensei got a call from your parents about two o'clock this morning. We've been looked for you since then, but it wasn't until a few hours ago when things started to click." Inui paused. "That's when we heard about Momoshiro."

Kaidoh swallowed thickly. He wasn't ready to think about that yet. "I didn't realize what time it was," he admitted.

Inui nodded. "You're in shock."

Was he? Realizing how frightened he'd probably made everyone, he tried to straighten, to get enough feeling in his numb feet to stand. "I need to call my parents."

Pressure, holding him down. Inui's measured voice was very reassuring. "I already let them know, as soon as I confirmed you were here and that you weren't hurt."

Confused, Kaidoh expanded his senses beyond his aching muscles and fuzzy head. He was still in his running shorts, which were no longer wet. However, his shirt was stained and his fingernails were caked. Seeing them brought a sudden bout of nausea. Somewhat woozy, Kaidoh said, "I'm fine. This...this isn't mine."

"I spoke to some of the nurses on duty," Inui said. "They said you came in with Momoshiro. Did you see it happen?"

"I was training, and I just happened to be passing over a bridge. The roads were slick and the truck couldn't stop." Flashes of memory flooded him. Shrieking horns, the hiss of tires sliding across asphalt. A sound he had never known before, an impact of flesh and metal. Then smoke, his bandana hanging uselessly from his hand, and bicycle wheels. He closed his eyes on the images. "He looked dead."

"They took him into surgery when he first arrived, and then again a few hours ago. They won't release more information to non-family members, so we probably won't know much for a few days." Inui's paused, then said, "He is alive, Kaidoh."

Kaidoh curled over further, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I think I might be sick."

His senpai stood. "Let's go to the restroom. You can wash your face, and then we should leave. I've volunteered to take you home."

For the next week, the Seigaku tennis club waited for news. The pressure it exerted on all of them was terrible, though it manifested in different ways. For Oishi, it meant a precious thin temper. He scolded the wide-eyed freshmen, snapped at anyone who so much as whispered Momoshiro's name. Eiji and Kawamura-senpai were emotional, one minute listless and lethargic, the next tearful and effusive. Fuji had responded by gaining a dangerous edge, talking little and playing tennis like it was life or death. No one would engage him except Inui, and even those matches were short.

Echizen wasn't there. Inui told Kaidoh that when Ryoma had been informed about what happened, he'd walked off the court and gone home. Eiji had gone by his house, but apparently a worried looking young woman had appeared at the door and sent him away. Kaidoh wished he could retreat like that. As it was, he was barely functioning and had no heart for practice. One of the other sophomores beat him six games to two, and he didn't even care.

On the fifth day, Kaidoh was called out of class by Ryuzaki-sensei. She was waiting for him at the end of the hall, and when he reached her, she gave him a measured look. "Good news," she said. "Momoshiro woke up yesterday and was able to talk normally. They were worried because of the head injury, but he seems okay. No permanent damage."

Worry detached from his shoulders like a weighted jacket, and Kaidoh suddenly felt as though he could move more freely. "He's alright?"

Ryuzaki-sensei cleared her throat in lieu of answering. "Apparently, his memory of what happened is a little fuzzy, but he seems to know you were there. The doctors thought it might ease his mind if you visited."

In Kaidoh's mind, he saw a slowly spinning bicycle wheel, so misshapen that it was barely identifiable. Ryuzaki-sensei seemed to read his frozen expression, and a compassionate frown tugged at her mouth.

"Kaidoh, Inui told me that witnessing the accident was traumatic for you." His reaction was to turn his head away and hiss with annoyance, but she didn't let that stop her. "Even if the person had been a stranger, it would have been terrible, but you and Momo have always been close, and I know that makes it worse."

Close? They weren't even friends. Screaming at each other and trying to throttle one another on occasion didn't make you friends. 'But you knew his phone number,' a small, inward voice murmured. It creeped him out that it sounded like Inui-senpai. 'You know his birthday, his favorite food, where he spends his time after school.' Irrelevant, he told himself. They were teammates.

Ryuzaki-senpai startled him by placing a hand on his arm. "I think it would be good for you to go. Seeing him doing better might make it easier. And perhaps it will help him recover, too."

Kaidoh felt himself nodding, even though he didn't want to. How could he say no to that?

The hospital brought back indistinct but disconcerting memories. As he passed a plastic chair in the waiting area, he wondered if that was the one he'd sat in, or if all the chairs looked like that. After a long, slow elevator ride, doors ratcheted open on a hallway crowded with the smell of antibacterial cleaning solution. Kaidoh felt immaterial as he moved uncertainly onto the floor. The nurses at the station barely glanced at him, and he could hear disembodied voices mixed with the constant hum of overhead fluorescent lights.

"Kaidoh-kun."

He turned to find a dark-haired woman beckoning to him. He didn't recognize her at first, but as soon as Kaidoh was close enough, he knew without a doubt who she was. Momoshiro had her eyes. She smiled at him, a tired expression, and ushered him toward a partially open door.

"I'm glad you came. He keeps asking for you. We tried to tell him you were fine, but I don' t think he'll be content until he sees you for himself."

The room contained almost nothing except a hospital bed. Momoshiro was lying on it, sunk into the pillow. On the tennis court, he always seemed big, but now he looked just as he had curled on the pavement with his limbs all wrong and blood making a curtain down his face. Then Momoshiro opened his eyes. They were a hazy, surrounded by pockets of bruised skin, but they were alive. He blinked, and the frighteningly blank expression disappeared as the muscles of his face stretched to form a faint smile.

"Yo," he said in a voice that was hoarse but recognizable.

Kaidoh stared. He felt his mouth forming words, spoke before he processed them. "That's all you've got to say to me after all this?"

Those half-moon eyes made a slow survey of the room, the tubes, and the beeping sound that Kaidoh's words seemed to encompass. His throat clicked, and with effort he said, "Yep. You got a problem with that, Mamushi?"

Hearing that stupid nickname, Kaidoh could have cried. Instead, he choked down on the sensation of overwhelming relief and stepped closer. His gaze caught on a cast. Most of the damage was hidden beneath the blanket, but not that. Not his head, either, which was gristly in spite of the padding tapped over it. Momoshiro caught him looking and raised a feeble hand.

"Cut my hair," he said mournfully. "Got some stitches."

Kaidoh wanted to ask how hurt he was, if he was in pain, but in the end he just pitched his voice scornfully. "You look like you're being held together with staples and medical tape, and you're worried about your stupid hair?"

A wheeze that might have been a chuckle. "Some of us have a little pride in our masculine beauty."

Kaidoh scoffed. "It'll take a lot more than a haircut to make you less ugly."

"Says the guy whose face makes freshmen cry," Momo retorted.

The banter felt good, normal, but the effort had cost Momoshiro. His eyes drifted shut, his face going tight. The silence lengthened until Kaidoh got up the courage to speak. "I saw it happen. The truck."

Momo's eyes slowly slide open. "I don't remember the truck."

"It lost control in front of the crosswalk, couldn't stop." Kaidoh didn't realize until that moment that his hands were shaking, and he shoved them in his pockets. He swallowed to banish any trace of a tremor when he spoke. "Well, at least you still have all your body parts."

"Be back to practice in no time," Momoshiro said, but it was a heavy, labored statement. There was too much knowledge between them, in the machines and the thick black stitches. It would be a while before he would hold a racket again, and Kaidoh was suddenly reminded of all the times he wished he could play tennis without having to deal with Momo's big mouth. He hadn't realized how much of a liar he was until right then.

"I should go."

"Kaidoh." Momoshiro's creaky voice stopped him at the door. "Can-can you do me a favor?"

"Do you want me to sneak you in a hamburger?"

That wheezy chuckle again. "No. I got a little cut up inside. No solid food for a while."

A creeping feeling of unrest filled Kaidoh from his neck to his toes. He'd known. Of course he'd known. He forced his voice to remain even. "What then?"

"Echizen," Momoshiro said. The dark coloration around his eyes seemed to deepen, and the tight lines were back, too, making creases like zigzags of pain. "Could you bring him next time you come? Mom tried calling, but she couldn't reach him –"

Momoshiro's voice subsided, but the hurt lingered. Kaidoh decided then and there he was going to kick Echizen's ass the next time he saw him, emotional constipation or not. To Momo, he said, "I swear, if I have to drag him out of his house, I'll get him here."

Momoshiro sighed, sinking into the pillows. "Thanks, Kaidoh."

In his mind, Kaidoh remembered bicycle wheels spinning through a rainbow sheen of water on asphalt. A green crossing light, shining like a false promise. However, the relaxed look on Momoshiro's face, his chest rising and falling regularly, even the damned beeping, cast a reassuring spell. Momoshiro had survived the accident, would get well. Kaidoh could close the lens on those dark memories.

"Hey, dumbass," he said before he left.

An eye cracked open, a question mark clear in a slightly raised brow.

Kaidoh ducked his chin. "Get better fast, okay, or I'll never forgive you."

How was it that Momoshiro could smile, even lying in a hospital bed, barely able to lift his head? "I'm glad you came," he said, and then his breathing lengthened and he seemed to fall asleep.

Kaidoh shut the door carefully behind him. Nodding to Momo's mother, he reached for the button on the elevator, already thinking of his next destination. He might not be much of a friend in the traditional sense, but he and one other person were going to come back later this afternoon. After all, a promise was a promise.

Author's Note:

Based on episode (99) The Cursed Racket, in which Momoshiro almost gets run over by a truck. Since Ryoma witnessed the whole thing, it got me thinking about how a friend would react if Momo was hit while riding that ubiquitous bicycle of his. Since Ryoma would have shut down on me too much for a good story, cranky, sensitive Kaidoh got to take his place. Pobrecito.