Chapter Three: The Repair Team

There was silence between the three of them for a moment. Then Doburoku rose to his feet. "We must get him to a doctor. We can take my truck."

Musashi nodded and rose to his feet, Hiruma's limp form cradled gently in his arms. "Mamori..." He tilted his head. "Get some of the large towels. We need to wrap him against the cold."

Mamori nodded and dashed into the storage area. There were several large towels in there, for players to dry off with after a wet practice, or to warm up in. In fact, she even found a few left where she'd set them out to warm up, so they could relieve themselves of the chill after practice. She grabbed two and ran back to the main room. Carefully, she draped them over Hiruma's still form. Musashi nodded, then jerked his head at the locker room. "Kurita has a spare scarf in there."

Normally, she would have balked about borrowing someone else's belongings. Now though...well, it was Kurita's scarf or hers, and hers was bright pink. Kurita's, at least, was a neutral cream color, with some red on it. She snatched it up, then raced back into the room, and wound it around the quarterback's throat and face, to loosely cover his nose and mouth.

Hiruma stirred restlessly, and she froze. Musashi stiffened. "We'd better get him in the truck now. If he wakes first, we'll have a fight on our hands." As if it had been planned, they both heard the cough of Doburoku's engine. Musashi raced outside. "Open the door old man!"

Doburoku reached back and shoved the driver side back door open. Musashi angled himself sideways and awkwardly shoved himself through it, working hard not to slam Hiruma's head into the door-frame. It cost him a graze on the shoulder, but he managed. Mamori dashed around and dropped herself into Doburoku's passenger seat. The old trainer blinked at her. "Musashi and I can handle him."

She shook her head. "A team manager is responsible for being up-to-date on the condition of all the team members, and seeing to their welfare and health, particularly when preparing for a game. Besides...Hiruma-kun isn't 18 yet. Therefore, in the event of a medical emergency, particularly where the patient may be incapacitated, it is required to have either a parent, guardian, coach, or manager there to verify treatment. We don't know where Hiruma-kun's parents are, and even though you're our trainer, Doburoku-sensei, you're not listed officially by the school. In order for Hiruma-kun to be taken care of, you'll need me to speak to the hospital, as the team manager."

Musashi nodded. "She's right. If Hiruma's unconscious, he can't order them around. We need her."

Doburoku nodded. "All right then! Hang on!" He and Mamori snapped on seat-belts. Then he locked the doors and gunned the engine.

The lurch of the car elicited a grunt from the backseat. Hiruma stirred again, then coughed once or twice. Musashi shifted his grip subtly, pinning the quarterback lightly so Hiruma couldn't get at the door, or kick it open.

Hiruma's breathing picked up, shifting into slightly faster panting. Then the green eyes opened, blinked once or twice. "What...the fuck?" Even under the scarf, the sharp frown was visible. One hand came up, to yank the material free from his face. "What the hell is this?"

"Kurita's scarf." Musashi spoke calmly.

Hiruma's mouth twisted, as if he'd swallowed a lemon. "Figures. Smells like the damn fatty." He gasped, choked for a few seconds, then jerked his head up as he felt the restraints Musashi had on him. "What the fuck are you doing...old man kicker?" He gasped for breath again, then visibly forced his body under control.

"You passed out talking to Mamori-chan." Doburoku spoke calmly. "We're taking you to the hospital, to see a doctor."

Anger lit in his eyes. "Like...fucking...hell, you are!" He jerked upright as far as he could in the seat. "I told you...damn manager...I don't need a fucking doctor!"

"You passed out!" Musashi's eyes were blazing, every bit as fierce as Hiruma's. "If Mamori hadn't asked us to stay behind to help her, you would have hit your head. You might have gotten a concussion! You want that, Hiruma?"

"Keh. I don't need a doctor." Hiruma's voice had dropped, become almost dangerously calm. But he was sweating again, and his breathing was still harsh, too loud in the car.

"Hiruma-kun!" Mamori twisted. "You can barely even sit up!"

"Mind your...own fucking business...damn manager." he glared at her.

"Shut up!" Musashi's hand tightened, startling Hiruma into looking into his eyes. The kicker's gaze was hard. "You're going to see a doctor. Unless...you want to end up like my father, is that it?" Musashi's eyes hardened still further. "That's what he did. He worked until he collapsed. He's still in the hospital. You want to go the same way? If you care so much about the damn game, then stop risking everything for your stupid pride!"

Mamori's eyes were wide. So were Doburoku's. Hiruma was staring at the other youth as if Musashi had just struck him across the face. The kicker took a couple deep breaths, then turned away. "Doburoku, stop." The trainer immediately pulled over. They sat in silence a few moments, then Musashi spoke, his voice once more calm. "Well, Hiruma. What are you going to do?"

There was silence in the truck for a few more moments. Then Hiruma slouched against the seat, a bitter, weary expression on his face. "Oi, you damn lush." He pulled a phone out of his pocket, tapped a few keys, and tossed it forward. "Drive to that fucking address. Damn manager...call the second number, and tell the guy who answers that we're coming. Yoichi Hiruma."

Mamori nodded and dialed the number. It rang twice, then picked up. "Doctor Asano Yukito speaking."

"Yes, Doctor Asano? My name is Anezaki Mamori. I'm very sorry to trouble you after hours, but I have a friend who is very ill, and he said he'd only see you. He told us to go to your office. I was wondering if I could possibly request that you see him for a few moments? His name is Hiruma Yoichi."

There was a pause for a moment, then the voice spoke. "Hiruma-kun, is it? All right. I'll meet you at the clinic."

Mamori felt almost light-headed with relief. "Thank you, Doctor. We should be there in just a few minutes." She hung up, and passed the phone back to the quiet quarterback. "He said he'd meet us there."

"Keh." Hiruma coughed lightly once or twice, then subsided, turning his face away from them to look out the window. After a moment, he spoke. "Let go of me, damn old man kicker."

The rest of the drive was made in silence. Hiruma's brooding quiet killed any desire for conversation. Musashi let him go, but Mamori could see the way he settled in the seat, poised to grab Hiruma if the other tried anything. But Hiruma didn't move, not even to finish unwrapping the scarf from around his neck, or the towels from where they were draped haphazardly over him. He simply slouched in the seat, his breath coming in short, quiet pants, his normally pale face drawn with anger and slightly flushed with fever.

Finally, they pulled up in front of a small clinic, tucked back only a few blocks from the hospital. There was a small vehicle parked in front, and the lights were on. Doburoku pulled in and killed the engine. "This is it?"

"Yeah." Hiruma stared at the door for a moment, then made a disgusted face and pushed the door of the truck open. He stepped out, slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass, and moved forward. He hadn't gotten two steps before Musashi and Doburoku moved to flank him, standing on either side. Mamori debated a moment, then stepped behind him. Hiruma's face twisted in a dark scowl. "Keh. Back off...fucking idiots."

"No." Musashi met the glare with his own calm stare. "You passed out at the clubhouse. I'm not letting you risk hitting your head again."

Hiruma scowled at him, then stepped forward and kicked the door open. The other three followed.

A slender man, about Mamori's height, with close-cut gray and black hair, was standing in the entry way, studying a folder. He looked up at the sound of the door slamming open, but he didn't look either surprised or annoyed. "Ah. Hiruma-kun."

"Damn doctor." Hiruma stopped a few feet away. Surprisingly, he didn't seem nearly as antagonistic as Mamori had expected, given his argument in the car.

Dark eyes gave the quarterback a quick looking over. "I see why your friends were so concerned." He gestured. "All right, this way." He led the way to an exam room, and indicated a table. "You know the rules, Hiruma-kun."

"Keh." Hiruma's lip curled in a sneer, but after a moment he turned and dropped his jacket onto a chair, followed by four pistols, and what would have been a shocking amount of ammo, if they hadn't all been used to him. Actually, what shocked Mamori was that there was so little of it, this time. She saw Musashi's eyebrow raise, just a fraction, and guessed he felt the same way. Hiruma turned back around, and the doctor gestured to the exam table. Hiruma made another face, but settled onto it, scowling. "Get this over with."

"Of course." The man looked him over again. "How is your arm?"

"It's fine. Damn thing's healed, just like...it was...supposed to." Hiruma shuddered as coughing fit hit him, the change in environment from truck to outside to inside making his breathing difficult.

The doctor frowned. "How long have you been coughing like that?"

Hiruma scowled. Mamori bit her lip. She knew he didn't want to discuss it. She hovered for a moment, indecisive, then spoke up. "Hiruma-kun's been coughing for at least three days. This evening, he passed out after practice, and he has a fever. He was unconscious for at least five minutes."

"Ah." A small worried crease formed between the doctor's eyebrows. "That sounds serious. You were right to bring him to me then." He turned. "Why did you not come to see me earlier? After the warning I gave you..." He shook his head at the scowl on Hiruma's face. "Never mind. Let me have a look at you."

The rest of them watched in silence as the doctor checked Hiruma's temperature, his blood pressure, his heartbeat, and his breathing. Surprisingly, Hiruma submitted to being touched by the man. His face was set in a mask of indifference, but Mamori could see the tension in his shoulders. Still, he did as the doctor directed.

Finally, the doctor put a stethoscope to his back. "Breathe in, deep." Hiruma inhaled, and the doctor frowned. "I said deep. Like you were planning on shouting at your team, Hiruma-kun."

Hiruma inhaled again. Then his breath hitched and he coughed. His body doubled up as he gasped, trying to stop the racking, choking coughs that tore through him again. Mamori felt a lump in her throat. "Hiruma-kun..."

Hiruma gasped again, and words emerged. "Wa..ter...damn...mana...ger."

Mamori nodded and moved to the sink, filling one of the small paper cups from the side. She almost went over to pat his back and help him sip it, as she would with Sena, but then Hiruma looked up, scowl in place, and held out his hand. Carefully, she placed the cup in it. After a moment, his breathing steadied, and he drank. Silence filled the room as the coughing faded, and Hiruma slowly relaxed.

Doctor Asano waited a minute more, then stepped forward. "Again, Hiruma-kun. Not so fast or so deep this time."

Hiruma inhaled, then exhaled. Mamori saw a frown on the doctor's face, and worry in his eyes. The doctor moved the stethoscope, and repeated the procedure, and the frown deepened. By the time he'd finished the process, chest and back, he looked almost alarmed. Mamori almost expected him to say something, but he only crossed to the chart sitting on the counter nearby, and made some notes.

Hiruma watched him a moment, then spoke, his voice harsh and rasping. "Well?"

The doctor frowned. "You're very ill, Hiruma-kun. You have a severe upper respiratory infection, and it's settled in your lungs." He looked up at the young man. "I warned you to take proper precautions. The treatment you underwent for your arm puts an enormous amount of stress on the body. Because your body is strained and your immune system is challenged, this will be far more difficult to treat."

"Keh." Hiruma made a face. "Do whatever you have to, fucking doctor. I need to be in shape for the World Cup."

Doctor Asano shook his head. "You are very reckless. Well, wait here. I need to get the prescriptions for you to fill, and a shot to help offset the worst of the immediate symptoms." he turned and left the room.

Hiruma made another noise of disgust. "Damn doctor."

Asano returned a few minutes later holding two needles, and a number of sheets of paper. "All right. I have them here." He set the papers down, then gestured.

Hiruma scowled, but rolled up one sleeve. "What the hell are those?"

The doctor shrugged. "General antibiotics, and something to knock out your symptoms." He moved forward and uncapped the needles. "Sit still." He prepped the shot, then expertly stuck it in Hiruma's arm and injected him.

The quarterback cursed, but stayed still for the second shot. Then he rolled his sleeve down. "Damn needle."

The doctor shrugged. "If you'd come in sooner, you might not have needed it."

Hiruma scowled. "I was taking cold medication."

Mamori blinked. She hadn't seen anything of the sort. But then, with Hiruma, she wasn't likely to. He tended to be secretive.

"Yes, well, it wasn't anywhere near enough, apparently." The doctor picked up the sheaf of papers he'd laid aside. "These are your medications. Antibiotics, a secondary to support your system and ward off any viruses, and an inhaler to help ease your breathing. I want your word, Hiruma-kun, that you'll take them. Finish all of them."

"Keh." Hiruma stood. "Fine."

The doctor nodded. "Good enough. I'll have your friends pick them up for you on the way home."

Hiruma's mouth twisted in annoyance. "I can...pick up my own damn...medications." He blinked. Then a glare crossed his expression. "Damn...doctor..." He exhaled in a long breath and crumpled forward.

Musashi caught him. Doburoku stared at him, then turned to the medic. "Doctor, is he all right?"

A small smile appeared on the doctor's face. "It's fine. I just slipped him something to ensure he'd stay quiet for a while. He'll wake in a few hours."

Mamori stared, stunned. "You knocked him unconscious? Is that safe?"

"No. But it was the best way to handle him." He shrugged.

Musashi snorted. "He won't thank you."

"No. But it's part of our agreement." The doctor saw the surprise on all three of their faces, and the smile reappeared. "Hiruma-kun and I have an arrangement. I am, barring an absolute emergency, available whenever he needs me. However, I will do what is required to get him well as quick as possible, regardless of his reaction." He studied the sleeping figure in Musashi's arms. "He won't thank me, but he knows that if I drugged him, it was for the best. Although..." He sighed. "Normally I wouldn't resort to that sort of tactic, even for a patient as difficult as he is. But this case..."

Doburoku moved forward. "What exactly is wrong with Hiruma? And why did you knock him unconscious?"

A small smile creased the doctor's mouth, then disappeared. "I knocked him unconscious because he will not like what I have to say. He will, in fact, be most vehemently against it. I didn't want him to walk out before I was finished, nor threaten the three of you into ignoring me." He tilted his head at the small pile of weapons on the chair.

Musashi frowned. "His condition is that serious?"

Asano nodded. "It is." He leaned back against the counter. "Hiruma-kun has a super-infection, and a very severe one, and congestion in his lungs. Because of the treatment he put himself through, to repair his broken arm, and the strain of playing that last game, his immune system has been over-strained, and his body can't handle the problem nearly as well as it should." He shook his head. "Even under ordinary conditions, this would be a serious matter. In his condition..." He sighed. "If it were any other patient, I would have them checked into the hospital."

A wry smile twitched Musashi's mouth. "Wouldn't work with him."

"No. The last time I tried, he checked himself out a day later, after terrorizing most of the nursing staff. I had to replace three people. I can't afford it."

Mamori blinked. "That was why you came up with the mobile oxygen tank?"

Doctor Asano smiled again. "It was his idea, but that was why I approved and implemented it, yes." he shook his head. "The point is, if I try to put him in a hospital, even the most private facility I know, he'll fight it, most likely leave, and traumatize who knows how many of the staff before he gets out. However, with his condition as it currently is, and is likely to be over the next few days, he cannot be left alone."

"What do you mean?"

"His body is weak. The antibiotics will help, but his system won't be able to do much to support them. And even if it could, it would still take a few days before the levels of medication build high enough to do him any good. In short, he's going to get worse before he gets better. It may take as long as a week before his system recovers enough to start showing improvement, never mind actual recovery. During that time, he needs plenty of liquids, but most importantly, he needs to rest. And until his fever breaks and the coughing begins to clear, he needs to be monitored for secondary infections, viruses, and to make sure he keeps quiet." He lifted the stack of papers in his hands. "I've included those instructions, with multiple copies, here in his prescriptions."

"He won't like that." Doburoku was frowning.

Mamori winced. She remembered how difficult it had been, trying just to tend the damaged knee he'd obtained on the Death March. She'd had to put a knee on his foot to get him to hold still, and even then it had been a battle. Forcing him to take care of his arm had been worse, though he'd relented a little after the game. Trying to saddle him with a full time nurse would be a nightmare. Even if they did what the doctor was obviously hoping they'd do, and took care of him themselves.

Musashi looked back at the slim form he was still supporting. "No wonder you knocked him out to tell us. He's going to hate this."

Mamori looked at the quarterback, lying limp in his friends arms. It would be easier, she thought, if they had the team to help. But Hiruma was such a private person, she knew telling the team would only anger and embarrass him further. More than that, it meant a high likelihood that the members of the other teams training with them for the World Cup would find out about his condition. With it being winter break, and the special dispensations they all had from the schools for training, it wouldn't be too hard to tend to him. Still...she sighed.

But it was Hiruma. And as annoying as he was, she couldn't abandon him, any more than she would have another of the Devil Bats. She met Doburoku's eyes, then Musashi's, and saw the same resolve in their expressions.

She turned to the doctor. "Don't worry sir, we'll take care of it." She held out a hand. "I'm Hiruma-kun's team manager, and Doburoku sensei is our trainer, so if you'll give me the prescriptions for Hiruma-kun, we'll take him home, before the medication wears off."

Doctor Asano smiled. "You're good teammates for him." He handed her the papers. "You can get these filled at the hospital down the street. The late-night pharmacy will be open, and they know about my arrangement with him. Be sure to call me if his condition changes for the worse, or you have any questions."

Mamori nodded, as did Doburoku and Musashi. Then the kicker lifted Hiruma's limp form once more into his arms. Doctor Asano provided a bag, and Mamori and Doburoku quickly gathered up the weapons in the chair to take home. Musashi turned. "About payment..."

Asano shook his head. "Hiruma-kun and I have a system. We'll manage it."

Musashi nodded, then turned and left, Mamori and Doburoku right behind him.

Author's Note: Really sick Hiruma...but of course, even then, he wouldn't make it easy for anyone.