Blood Oaths, ch. 2

XXXXX

Pain was a constant cousin; it had accompanied him throughout his life in various guises and he now took little notice of it except to confine it to the appropriate designation in his thoughts. Even so, there were some times when the pain was so great as to blot out everything else on his horizon until it became his entire world, resonated with each thrum of his pulse straight down to the very core of him. There was no enjoyment to be had from this kind of experience, no sweetly biting lance of death's promise. This was, simply put, plain agony.

The first thing Akabane noticed when the withdrawing shadows coaxed him back to the world of consciousness was how much it hurt to breathe. His throat, sinuses, felt like he'd ingested a tidal wave of slivers. Which was not so terribly far from the truth. As soon as he was able to he was going to give dear Kagami-kun the bloodiest thrashing of his impudent life.

It was his own stupid fault, really, and he silently cursed himself for his own lack of foresight. He'd allowed himself to be lured right into the trap, blinded by greed, and look at the price he paid. It had taken him well over a week to recover from the shattering of his sword when he and Ban Midou had fought the last time in Mugenjou; gods only knew how long it would take him to replenish the lost blood from this.

Reminded of that, a new line of thought occurred to him, and he frowned. He tried to sit up but found he had not the strength to even raise his head, such was the exhaustion wracking his body. His muscles were quick to protest when he pushed himself anyway, struggling to move an arm to raise himself partway up, only to find that not even this small movement was sustainable. He slumped back onto the bed, a strangled groan catching in his throat at the pain sparking through his body, and passed out.

Some time later he awoke again. Impulse prompted him to try to move again but Akabane squelched it, opting to study his surroundings instead. Someone...had found him. He vaguely recalled a female voice urging him to move and remembered a rather bumpy vehicle ride, but no other details came to him right away. The Samaritan must have brought him to her home. How she'd cleaned off all the blood from him must have been a miracle.

Blood. That familiar train of thought made Akabane wince again, and he concentrated on squeezing together the fingers of his right hand. Nothing. He focused harder, willing the old shift-and-click to produce the weaponry which had become his hallmark. Still, his hand remained empty.

Akabane refused to let alarm sink in. He was just tired, that was all. Understandable in light of his recent escapades. Surely he hadn't lost that much blood.

Surely.

He forced an unwelcome idea back down into the burrows of his mind. He was tired, weakened. He would try again later, and there would be knives, maybe not as sharp or as many as he was accustomed to, but they would be there, and that would be enough. For the time being. Just as long as they were there.

Akabane refused to entertain the dreadful possibility that had been lurking in his mind since first waking. Doctor Jackal could not be Doctor Jackal without the tools of his trade.

He closed his eyes and let sleep take him under. There would be time enough to ponder his predicament later.

Dreams assailed him; jumbled fragments of past and present battles that made little sense amidst pockets of reality that were even less coherent. There was Ginji-Raitei spinning a tornado of shimmering electricity around a smug Kyouji Kagami, who winked at him and blew a handful of blinding diamond dust that obscured everything as it cascaded into an enormous curtain of death. There was Lady Death Knell herself, Maria Noches, greatest of all witches save for the very Queen who had once mentored her. She danced past him in a garish outfit better suited to a Shinjuku stripper than a powerful sorceress. Only she was as she really appeared, to those granted the ability to see past the guise she assumed, an ancient gypsy woman whose burnished skin told an ageless history in its spotted folds.

Too, he thought he once imagined Himiko Kudou, his fellow transporter, spooning pieces of ice past his parched lips. Only the cold taste of welcome moisture on his tongue, soothing his raw throat, convinced him that those bits had truly happened.

Eventually the melding of reality and dreamscape dissipated into a comforting blank darkness, and Akabane slept deeply.

XXXXX

The sound of rain drizzling outside, and the gentle touch of fingertips combing strands of hair back from his forehead, stirred him. He experienced a brief moment of disorientation, thinking he was a boy back in the family house and that his mother was taking care of him. But then he noticed the cold dampness encircling his throat, and the figure coalescing into solid vision was not that of Akabane's mother. He blinked, caught a whiff of pleasant and familiar scent, and blinked again as Himiko Kudou's face shifted into view.

"Welcome back."

He blinked a few times, trying to blot out the harsh light streaming in through the window nearby as much as he was attempting to ascertain that this was for real. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing would come out except an unintelligible hoarseness.

Himiko put her fingers to his lips. "Let me do the talking. You threw up so much blood your insides are probably scraped to sushi. That's why the ice packs are there around your neck. I thought that would help a little with the pain."

That, and the ice chips she'd fed to him earlier. Akabane waited for her to continue.

"I'll tell you what I know," Himiko said, getting up to adjust the shade on the window so the afternoon light wasn't hitting him in the face. She looked confused, worried, unsure. But she didn't hold back. "A week ago I found you just outside of Mugenjou. You were really beaten up. Blood everywhere. I brought you back to my place, and you..." She stopped, collecting herself some as she took a slow breath. "There was just...blood everywhere," she repeated, her voice shaking a little. "What did Kagami do to you, Akabane?"

He started to form a reply but again she hushed him, sitting back down at the bedside. "No, I said don't talk. You're too injured right now. Yes, I know you were fighting with him," she said when she saw the twitch of his eyebrow. "After I'd finished cleaning you up - sorry about your stuff, by the way. I did what I could to get the stains out, but your whites are a total loss." She blinked and ran a hand through her hair. "Anyway. I cleaned you up, put you in bed, and when I was hosing down my bathroom afterward I found the diamond dust slivers in the tub drain."

She held up her hands so he could see her palms. They were slightly pink, and some of the skin had peeled in light flakes. "I'd wondered why my hands felt so bruised after working on you. It was the diamond dust. Abraded everything it touched."

She lowered her hands back to her lap and looked at him. "I don't think Kagami suddenly got a surge in power. You two are matched in ability. He must have gotten the drop on you to do that kind of damage." She raised a brow at him, and he blinked slowly at her to convey his confirmation of her guesswork. "Jesus. I thought you were going to die."

Akabane didn't disagree with that. He'd thought he was done for too.

Himiko shrugged. "Well. You can stay here till you recover. I've been looking after you with Maria's help. No, it's okay," she added when she saw the way he started to frown. "She doesn't know what happened. All I told her was that I had a friend who was sick and needed medicine. You were, you know. Fever. Probably infection from that damn dust ripping up your internals." She turned and indicated a bottle sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. "I had Maria whip up a potion to fix that. It's time for another dose."

She helped him to rise up slightly, stuffing another pillow behind him for support. Himiko took the bottle and opened it, pouring a dose into the spoon she held beneath it. She held the spoonful of liquid to Akabane's lips, and he obliged, letting her slip the medicine onto his tongue. He had about two seconds to register its chill - evidently it was something that needed to be refrigerated - and then another second to process the fire blazing its trail down his throat when he swallowed the stuff.

Himiko yanked the spoon back and put her hand over his mouth, preventing him from coughing up the dose and spitting it out. "No, no, just swallow it, quick! I know. I'm sorry," she said, sympathy welling in her face as she watched Akabane grimace and choke. "I know, it tastes like shit, and it probably doesn't feel so good with your throat being as raw as it is. But trust me, it works. I've had it before."

She picked up a small dish from the nightstand and used a clean spoon to transfer some more ice chips to him. Akabane slurped them down, eager to dispel the noxious taste lingering in his mouth and calm the stinging of his esophagus. Himiko was patient, feeding him ice one piece at a time, and was gracious enough not to comment on it when he took some of the ice a little too fast and gagged on it, triggering a brief rasp of painful coughing.

"Are you hungry? I can bring you some soup..."

He inclined his head to indicate that yes, sustenance would be welcome. Himiko got up and went to find some, leaving Akabane to look at his surroundings once more. The white room was furnished modestly and there were some pictures, mostly of tropical scenes, hanging on the walls, ostensibly to cover up some of the more obvious cracks in the plaster. It was a quiet sanctuary redolent in tranquility - including the subtle scents that occasionally wafted forth on the air.

He dissected the things Himiko had told him. The fight, yes, that he remembered. Beyond that his mind went fuzzy. He supposed that the aftermath had been too much to contemplate; he'd been more concerned with getting the blazes out of that godforsaken place and finding somewhere to rest and recoup his powers. Dimly he recalled lying somewhere wet and cool, and he supposed that must have been when Himiko had first brought him to her place and was rinsing off the contaminated blood - the diamond dust - that his body was struggling to rid itself of.

Akabane shut his eyes, a soft hiss of annoyance escaping him. Well this was certainly inconvenient, and disgraceful to boot. Being confined to bed rest like some helpless invalid never had sat well with him. It hadn't even been that impressive a fight. He'd been in Mugenjou on business, having just completed his delivery when Kyouji Kagami appeared to taunt him yet again. Akabane had thought nothing of chasing after the brazen City denizen in the wake of a proffered challenge, and the fact that he'd let himself fall for such easy bait irked him on several levels.

Himiko returned, bearing the promised food. Akabane was half of a mind to turn it down now and wait until he could eat it himself, but rational sense argued that recovery would go faster if he just cooperated in the short run. He'd already been seen in worse straits - his mind was perfectly content blotting out any acknowledgment of his wearing only a bathrobe and nothing else at present - and anyway, it wasn't as if the rest of the world knew what had happened. As long as he had his way, it wouldn't, either. On that count he supposed it was nice of his comrade to have come upon him when she had, and seen fit to lend assistance.

He patently ignored the thought that he would most likely be dead right now if it wasn't for Himiko. What she'd done wasn't rescuing. Doctor Jackal didn't need saving, wasn't some easy prey for the taking. This was just a run of bad luck, and would be remedied in the future when next he tracked down the Observer and made him eat every razored edge of his own bitter, bloody medicine.

Akabane resisted the urge to clench his fist and try again for knives. He let Himiko feed him the soup, which would have been better if it wasn't so lukewarm. "I know it's no good cold, but I didn't want to give you any more irritation than necessary," she explained between spoonfuls.

He had to admit that even the mild warmth was uncomfortable sliding down his roughened throat. He managed to get about half of the soup finished off before he could tolerate it no longer, and she seemed to realize this, for she drew back the bowl and went to put the leftovers away.

When she came back she checked the ice packs around his neck, and removed the ones that had softened, replacing them with fresh ones. Akabane tried not to wince as the sharper cold touched his skin, but Himiko noticed.

"Try this."

She took the new packs and wrapped each of them in a small towel before applying them again. That was better. He still felt their chill, but it wasn't quite as uncomfortable as before.

"Anything else I can do?"

He rolled his head limply on the pillows in response. Himiko nodded and gave his bed a cursory glance, just to be sure everything was in place. "Okay. I have to go now. Got a job. I won't be gone long - it's just a routine run for Clayman." She pulled something out of her vest and put it on the nightstand. Akabane peered over at the cell phone and then looked to her.

"I'm leaving you my brother's old phone. It still works, I charged it last night. If you need something you can text me. My number's stored in the menu." She pointed a finger at him. "Stay in bed, Jackal. I mean it. I don't want you cracking your head open on my watch. If you want I can call Maguruma when I come home and have him take you wherever you want to go."

Akabane shook his head again. Much as he loathed his current predicament, it was preferable to the alternative, for the time being.

"All right. See you later." Himiko turned and left the room, pausing in the doorway to give him one last wary glance.

Akabane closed his eyes and forced himself to be patient, even through the sound of a motorcycle starting up outside. He silently counted off the minutes until he judged it safe, tugging away the ice packs and bedcovers for greater freedom of mobility. Then, summoning all his remaining strength, he pushed himself up and off the bed.

The pain was like fire racing through his body. He ground his teeth, forcing it back behind a facade of indifference. He would not be bidden to its call. Akabane clutched the brass bedpost with both hands, eyes pinched shut while he fought off the dizzying waves crashing through his head.

Lady Poison meant well, he understood, and he was not ungrateful for her assistance. But he couldn't stay here, not like some helpless child. He would find a way to make it to his own den where he could nurse his wounds in peace and solitude. Akabane opened his eyes and gathered his reserves once more, hobbling across the room.

His legs were unsteadier than he cared for, and he gripped onto the closest available solid objects, or walls, that he could find for support, inching his way out of Himiko's bedroom and into the hall, past the bathroom where he'd presumably bled like a river. Several times he had to stop and catch his breath, and he managed a few wordless hisses of exasperation at his weakened state. How truly pathetic.

He made his way into the living room and spotted a large shadow against the wall, near the front door. His coat, hanging in a dry cleaner's clear plastic bag, and his hat above it, on the hooks. She must have had them cleaned for him, how thoughtful. He didn't see the rest of his clothes anywhere nearby, but he decided it didn't matter - he could always send for them later. Akabane fumbled his way over to the garment bag, glad that his cohort had seen fit to place these things within easy reach. Already he was covered in a fine film of sweat and he felt like every limb had been twisted and pulled beyond its limits. He couldn't do anything about his bare feet, but with any luck, the hat and coat would hide the rest of him well enough until he reached safer ground.

He had to lean against the wall next to the coat for a few minutes, resisting the urge to collapse in a heap upon the floor from his exertions. Finally Akabane put out a hand and grabbed onto the bag, trying to unhook it from its peg so he could tear off the plastic and put his coat on. In jostling the coat, he dislodged a small yellow note that fluttered onto the sleeve of his robe. He picked it off and looked at it.

You have about thirty seconds to get back into bed before the Paralysis Perfume takes effect.

Conniving little witch! Ignoring the scratchiness of his throat Akabane let out a volley of curses that Ban Midou would have been proud of and crumpled the note in his fist. He grappled for purchase as he struggled to turn around and stumble back towards the bedroom before the perfume's timing hit him. It was all he could do not to bump into and knock over Himiko's furniture on his way, and he wasn't entirely certain how well he succeeded. But he made it, gasping and swearing as he flung himself onto the mattress, having returned to his gossamer prison with barely two seconds left.

He was too exhausted now to bother dragging the covers back over himself; the most he could manage was to shove his feet beneath the blankets. He flopped onto his side, not caring that his head wasn't even on the pillow, and lost consciousness as blessed darkness swallowed him whole.

XXXXX

TBC