Disc: me no own fruits basket... just plot...
RECAP:
So they sat there, suspended in the comforting rumbling of his purr.
Suddenly, his eyes opened. "Tohru, let-"
There was a puff of orange smoke, and suddenly he was staring Tohru in her eyes, naked as the day he'd been born.
He briefly reflected on the irony of that thought as he stared into Tohru's shocked eyes as she fell a little back, using her hands to catch herself.
"Oh, my," she said.
Piece of Cake
Kyo felt one of the muscles in his cheek twitch as he stared at Tohru's stunned eyes. Her hands were on his chest, fingers lightly curled, and she was staring up at him, a light blush staining her cheeks, her lids heavy, and eyes blurry.
"Kyo-kun . . . " she whispered softly, what could have been stars in her eyes. He felt his throat work, felt it close up until he couldn't small, and no oxygen was reaching a brain that seemed to be short-circuiting. One of her hands slid down his arms to rest lightly on his large and scarred hands. Her slender fingers threaded through his, and she brought it up. She blinked up at him, looking almost sleepy, then smiled, so sweet . . .
So damn sweet . . .
He lifted a hand to the back of her head, his fingers weaving through the silky seal brown hair.
"Always . . . wanted to . . . " she murmured as she lifted her chin. "Always . . . wanted . . . to see . . . Wondered . . . "
His own lashed fluttered as she rose up, warm, silky lips about to brush his own . . .
Then Tohru collapsed, falling against his chest.
Kyo winced, then blinked when he realized his chest had never touched Tohru's. Her cheek was pressed against his collar bone, his free hand still threaded through her hair, the other laced with hers. He was also stark naked.
And he didn't give a damn.
He looked down at her, untwining his hand with her's to press the back of his hand against her forehead.
Kyo swore lightly; she was burning with fever. He glanced away. He could call Hatori, but did he really want to? Tohru was always so nervous around him, even though she didn't show it. Kyo always knew how she wavered just slightly before she spoke to him, because of the threat of loss of memory. So, no–
His eyes widened and his pupils became mere points of black, and his head snapped down.
Tohru had slipped down, her warm breath laving his navel, satiny hair sliding down–
He abruptly pushed her away, then went briefly frantic when she collapsed in a heap. He looked behind him for his clothes, then fought his way in them in less than the Sohma record of putting on three layers of clothing on in under 30 seconds.
He then studied Tohru, tapping his foot in a nervous habit he'd until now quashed. How could he carry her up the stairs? He could toss her over her shoulder, but that was just . . . he just didn't want to carry Tohru the way you would carry a sack of rice.
Bridal style was out of the question . . .
There was always piggyback.
He shrank away from the thought of piggies, then stared down at her. She couldn't exactly hold onto him, but if he were to tie her to him . . .
Kyo disappeared into the laundry room, returning with a long sheet.
He knelt by her and wiggled her until she behind him, the sheet under her bottom, then lifted her as best he could. Her arms dangled over his shoulder, and her warm, sweet-scented breath against his ear was driving him to distraction. He trudged up the stairs, her strawberry sweetness making his dizzy, and he wanted to wallow in it like nothing else.
Hell, he'd like to just wallow in Tohru. Her kindness, her glowing smiles, and outpouring of love that no one, not even a world-weary nekko with a battered heart and mean disposition could stop.
In all honesty, he could have gone to any hell just to hold her for an instant.
He pulled back the pink covers of Tohru's bed, assaulted with strawberry scent. He then rolled her onto her bed. She looked so endearing and innocent with her head tilted, that blush, and one strap of her sun-dress sliding down her shoulder.
Her nose wrinkled, and she turned her head, eyes opening. She smiled sleepily at him trying to rise. "Kyo-kun . . . "
He gently pressed on her shoulder. "No, go to sleep Tohru. You're sick," he said gruffly, tugging up the covers.
Tohru settled in her bed. "Oh," she said, her eyes drifting closed. "Mother always used to make me tea with honey when I was sick . . . "
Kyo mentally scanned the kitchen for any signs of tea and/or honey. Cupboard, both of them.
"What else?" he asked. He'd never in his life been in charge of a sick person, and had no idea of what to do with one.
"Tylenol . . . " she murmured, turning her head.
"Ahuhuhuhuhuh . . . " Kyo moaned. Tylenol. His killer, her healer. "Great . . ." he muttered, looking down at her. "I'll be back in a minute . . . "
He trudged down the stairs, quickly making one of the few things he could, which happened to be tea. Then the hunt for the murderer began. He checked the medicine cabinet's bottom shelf, finding the usual first aid, along with what appeared to be -he squinted- Compound W and condoms?
How in the hell did Shigure get close enough to a woman to use . . .
He stared at it for a moment with a slack jaw, then shook his head, reminding himself of his mission. Agilely, he vaulted on top of the counter, and began to rummage through the top shelf, which contained mostly Tohru's things, like vitamins and a few caffeine supplements -he shook his head; no wonder she always had so much energy. Then next item made him turn red, so he shoved it in the back, and then found his prize of a tiny white generic bottle. He looked at it in triumph, holding it aloft, then promptly falling backward on his ass to the floor.
By then, the tea kettle was screaming, so he quickly poured up the tea, and set all for it on the tray. He then turned, looking into the dining area. What did she need to eat?
He'd always heard of chicken soup for sick people, but Tohru didn't buy many canned goods, and he had no idea of how to make it.
Suddenly, he brightened when he saw Tohru assorted goodies laid out on the table. Wholesome foods would bring her back up again. He loaded up a plate full of things he had seen her eat and enjoy before, then, grinning, plopped a huge wedge of shortcake on her plate. If anything, that would make her feel better.
He tripped his way up the steps to set down his tray on her side table. She let out a little noise, so he hurried in his task of shaking out two painkillers, then holding up her head so she could swallow them after a gulp of tea. She very nearly choked, so he gently patted her on the back, then set her back down.
Kyo offered her food, and she actually took some of the miso broth over rice he'd gotten, but little else. She looked so very sick . . .
He shoved a hand through is hair, then looked at her, settling on the edge of the bed. He had no idea how to handle a sick person. He might end up killing her or something.
His face softened even as guilt set in. She'd probably gotten sick because of him, staying up to cook for a nonexistent birthday after working as hard as she always did. He promised to himself that he'd personally kick Shigure's ass when he got back home, and he figured that when the rat found out, he'd probably hit both of them, Kyo for letting it happen in the first place.
Who did he know besides a Sohma that could help him?
The proverbial lightbulb went off in his head. Tohru's friends. They'd come over if Tohru had a stubbed toe, much less –whatever it was.
Kyo practically flung himself down the stairs to the phone, where on the tiny dry-erase board where their names neatly printed in blue marker.
Uo was the more commanding of the two, and plus she was first, so he dialed her number.
When he got a busy signal, he swore and punched in Hana's number.
Two rings later, the nekko heard her cool and eerie voice answer, "Hanajima residence."
"Ugh. . . Hana?" he croaked.
There was a pause. "Sohma?" she asked, her voice never changing.
"Yeah . . ." he paused. "It's-"
"Tohru," she finished for him.
"She's . . . sick," he said helplessly.
"Give us a few minutes," she said shortly. "We'll be there."
"We-?"
Click.
Kyo stared at the phone, then blinked. Girls. Those two had to have been on the phone with each other, probably discussing yesterday–
They'd been in on it, too.
He'd not thought about it, but yesterday, Tohru had probably asked Uo and Hana to get all the things she'd needed.
Shame crept in, hot on his neck and heavy on his heart. He was a supreme ass, no doubt about it, and when they got here, the two would probably kick him, as he much deserved.
Sighing, Kyo shoved a hand through his hair and plodded back up the stairs, this time to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, rubbing it in, until the rims of his eyes were stained with red from his rubbing. Shit, now he looked like he'd been crying. He glared at the mirror.
It took an extra ten minutes for him to get rid of that, and by the, the doorbell had rang. He padded back down the stairs, peeping in on Tohru, who was slightly red in the face, but her breathing was deep and even.
When the cat finally opened the door, he was nearly trembling in apprehension, but he slid it open anyway. Tohru was a lot more important.
"Yo," said the Yankee when he looked at her. She wore a long skirt, and her hair slid over her shoulders, hiding half of her face. She looked dangerous, but less than the little witch-like girl beside her. Hanajima's hair curled lightly down to almost her waste, blending eerily with color of the cape she wore. Both stared at him expectantly, until the Yankee just sighed and brushed past him. The weirdo slipped in behind her, practically floating up to Tohru's room after Arisa's loud footsteps.
He followed them up to where they stood silent by her bed, Uo checking her forehead. "Who," she turned with a growl, "gave her all this shit?"
Kyo looked over at the tray of barely nibbled on food. "I-"
She moved forward, grabbing at his shirt. "You neVER EVER GIVE A SICK PERSON ALL OF THIS!" She shouted it in his face, and he very nearly was bowled over.
"WHY DON'T YOU JUST SHUT THE HELL UP, YANKEE," he bellowed back, pushing forward with as much intent as she. "SO-"
Hana stared at him with her creepy purple eyes. "I don't think he knew, Arisa."
Uo released his shirt. "What did you give her?"
Kyo blinked.
"Baka," she muttered. "What medicine?"
"Tylenol," he said with distaste.
They nodded. "We can't move her," said Hana quietly. "She would be deeply upset if she was removed from the house." The words away from Kyo floated between them, unsaid, unneeded.
He looked at them, the deep contemplation of the smaller, and the concern of the taller. "What can I do?" he asked quietly. "I don't know anything about sick people," he admitted. "But..." The remnants of a promise hung in little shards around his soul. "I have to take care of Tohru. P... Please tell me what to do, so I can do it right."
The two studied him for a moment, then Hana moved, walking out of the room on small, silent feet. Uo stayed there, then followed. Before she left the room, she glanced over her shoulder. "If it's anyone out of your zany family, I hope it's you."
He stared at her as she slowly walked out of the room, her pockets in her hands as she made her way down the stairs.
His orange hair lifted as he shook his head. "What's the point of having friends if they're all wierdos . . ." he muttered as he chased after them.
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Later that night, Kyo stared down at the list that Hana had handed him, checking off what he'd already done.
1. Keep her warm, no matter what she says. She needs to sweat out the fever.
2. Keep plenty of liquids around.
3. DON'T feed her anything especially solid.
4. Keep an eye on her; don't leave her for too long.
5. Stay with her.
Weren't the last two the same, he wondered, folding it up and sticking it in his back pocket. The soup and liquids were covered. There was Sprite or something like that in the fridge, and Hanajima had prepared some sort of soup from the ingredients in Tohru's kitchen.
He held some of that soup on the tray he had in his hands, so he set it down on her bedside table.
Before they had left, they'd piled lots of pillows behind her head, to make it easier for her to eat and drink. So, now, he would–
"Kyo-kun?"
He started at her weak voice, turning to look at her. She smiled at him sleepily, this time with no heat in her eyes.
He rubbed his shoulder, remembering the look on her face, the one that had made him want to lap her up like cream. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
He paused, then continued to reach for a glass. "Yeah?" Stupid!, his mind screamed. Can't you think of anything better than 'yeah'?
"I mean, for ruining it." She stared up at him, her eyes hazy and smiling. "Even if I wasn't your birthday, it still should have been special . . . Because, you don't get very many special days, I don't think."
He stared at her, sick and weak and tired, and she was worried about a special day for him. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do more; yell at her not to be so foolish, or to grab her up. His hands tightened in the tan fabric of his pants, and his eyes were hidden behind his hair.
"Tohru," he said tightly. "I promise we'll have a special day, once your better." There, he'd done it, made a promise to her. Now, to look in her eyes and to see–
She was asleep.
He stared at her, sleeping so very peacefully, with her long dark lashes against her flushed cheeks. She wasn't especially pretty, he thought. No, his Tohru had eyes much to big for her gamine face and was more than often an air head, but she had a beautiful spirit, that shone as no other light he could think of. She was much like Kyoko in that.
He brushed his hand over her cheek as he left, then loped to the bathroom, catching his face in the mirror as he went by.
Had she meant it? In all the excitement, he'd not had time to think about what she'd said, though it had always been in the back of his brain.
That she'd wondered, wondered what it would be like, always...
Just like he did.
He stared into the mirror. He wasn't like any of the other Sohma's. He held no ethereal beauty, he wasn't polite, or kind, or anything like them. His hair was only soft, not like Yuki's silky mop, was wayward and hard to keep combed straight, and God awful orange. His eyes were mahogany, not quite brown or red, and he was so lean and lanky. . .
What did she see in him?
Or had she really seen anything?