Title: Help Elsewhere
Author: Proverbial Pumpkin
Rating: T for language
Summary: Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: This is likely my second-to-last chapter. Odds are, chapter ten will be the final one. I'm a little sad, but a little Thank-God about it. I've been very impatient to write the last scenes, so it's exciting that they're so close. But first, le chapter de ninth!
It was a silent ride home, predominantly because Tohma fell asleep as soon as he lowered himself into the seat. Shutting the door on my side of the automobile, I glanced over to see him passed out against his, his head slumped over his shoulder.
"Seat belt, Tohma," I said loudly. "We're going on the highway."
Nothing. Well, if another tragedy befell Tohma and our car wrecked, I wasn't going to be responsible for him being sent flying through a window. I leaned over and with some difficulty, buckled him in.
He didn't stir until I jostled him awake in the driveway. At home, Tohma's home that is, I wanted to just get him to bed, but he insisted on taking a shower, padding up the stairs after what had to have been one of the worst days of his life. He'd barely said one word to me since leaving the concert arena, and I felt bad. I felt bad that the concert had been such a success, that Tohma saw it as such a failure. That I'd actually laid a hand on him, and he hadn't hit me back. And it ate at me, that a barrier had fallen between us, and he didn't know what to do now that I'd seen him on the other side. That somewhere in the Japanese language, there existed the precise words that he needed to hear, and I hadn't a clue what they were. Tohma was upstairs in the shower, gingerly holding his arm away from the water which he'd probably turned on scalding hot. I felt bad that I was downstairs imagining it.
It was all wrong. I shook my thoughts clear and decided to wait until he got out. Twenty minutes later, after I heard the water upstairs shut off, I went up to his room to check on him.
He was in bed, kind of. From his appearance, I didn't think he even bothered to towel off when he got out of the shower. He'd just pulled on some drawstring pants and collapsed into his mattress with the lights on. I found him completely unconscious, little drops of shower water still falling from his hair onto his sheets. Beneath him, his bed was completely made.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, contemplating my next course of action. It probably took Tohma a while to make his bed each morning, pulling his sheets taut and tucking them into place with one hand. Maybe Tohma slept on top of his mattress cover to save the time and effort. It was a distinct possibility, I told myself. Even more importantly, if I tried to situate Tohma, he could wake up. The notion of Tohma stirring to see me positioning him about in his own bed was harrowing, and I shuddered to consider the results.
But something kept me from flipping off the lights and tromping downstairs to get some well-deserved rest myself. He just looked… vulnerable. Exposed in nearly every meaning of the word. He hadn't even re-wrapped his own arm, and it rested precariously next to his face as he rolled onto his side. And at the risk of sounding motherly, what if on top of everything he got sick again? It was cold, and here he was. Sprawled out, half-naked and dripping wet.
I froze as the thought completed itself in my head.
The little bastard was half-naked and wet in his bed. Damn it all to hell. I felt warm, in spite of myself. It was uncomfortable, because I knew the feeling should have been off-limits to me. "Tohma" and "warmth" should have nothing to do with each other. He slumbered on, oblivious to the overhead light and the cold air and me gaping at him as if I'd never seen a lithe body draped across a bed before. He slept on his left side, turned away from the small dip where I imagined Mika used to lie. But that was then, before just about everything had gone wrong. Now he was facing me, and I was watching him.
Enough. If Tohma rolled over onto his right side during the night and hurt himself badly, I'd hear him yell from downstairs. I swatted the light off on my way out, deciding that a cold shower was in order. It might be a long night.
"K-san, I'd like for you to stay here today."
Funny how a handful of words, casually said, can make your heart leap for joy. On the inside. On the outside, I played it cool. I hadn't had the first intention of leaving Tohma alone after the concert last night, but if we were at the point where Tohma would willingly ask something like that of me, I was going to milk the situation for what it was worth. And it was worth quite a bit.
So I grabbed the cereal as if what he'd said hadn't made my day. Or my week. "I think Sakano had some stuff he wanted to talk to me about at the studio today," I lied. "I'd better go in at least for a few hours." I started rummaging through a drawer for a spoon. Tohma may not have had any food before I came along, but he certainly had some nice silverware.
Tohma frowned and sat at the table beside me. As soon as he came downstairs I'd noted, with no small feeling of disappointment, that he'd thrown on some more presentable clothes since last night. But the tousled hair, which had dried in nearly every direction, almost made up for it. Almost. Even with several fewer hours of sleep than he'd had- disconcerting thoughts can keep you up half the night if you're not careful- I still had risen before him. So I was perfectly alert as I surveyed him. Discreetly. His arm still hadn't been re-wrapped. He was lucky he hadn't woken up in intense pain during the night.
My entire mental discourse was undermining the fact that Tohma was trying to speak to me.
"What?" I said, coming back to reality just in time to realize I was overflowing my bowl with milk.
"I said, you're not to go in today. You're to stay here."
"I just told you Sakano'll be waiting for me," I said, with my mouth full. "And who're you to tell me not to go to my own workplace?"
He gave me an are-you-serious look. "If you show up at NG today, you're fired."
I rolled my eyes, but didn't put the rash act past him. "I'm just kidding, Tohma. Jeez. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave you alone."
Something in my voice must have betrayed an ounce of sincerity, because Tohma's eyes widened slightly before he resumed his usual mask. "I need you to drive me somewhere," he said.
"Okay. Why don't you eat something first?" I asked.
"I'm alright. Thanks for offering, though."
I nodded and started to tell him he was welcome. Then it dawned on me that he was being sarcastic because this was his house, and Tohma rested his chin in his left palm as if amused by my expression.
"Ass," I muttered, but noted that he was putting pressure, however light, on his hand. Pressure without cringing was good. One hand, at least, was getting back to normal. "Where do you need to go, anyway?" I asked, jabbing at my cereal with my spoon.
"I have an appointment with a physical trainer. A specialist."
That certainly got my attention. I set the spoon down. "Specialist in what?"
"Bullet wounds," he said dully, looking at me as if I were the biggest idiot in the world. "What do you think, K-san?" he asked, gesturing to his right arm.
"Your burns? Don't you already have physical therapy instructions from the hospital?"
He looked uncomfortable. "Yes," he admitted, picking at his sleeve. "But they're not enough. They don't …they don't push me."
"They're not supposed to."
Tohma didn't answer at first. His face was grave. "I've got to hope that they gave me such moderate physical therapy because they don't want to be responsible if it causes any more irrevocable damage. Not because they think I can't do it." He shook his head almost disbelievingly. "Or else, I've got to hope they've underestimated me, badly. Don't you remember what they told me at the hospital? That I might barely recover functionality, and that's supposed to be over the course of the rest of my life."
Then he stood up and looked at me, hard. It was impossible to look away from the intensity in those eyes, and almost impossible not to. "I'm not interested in recovering 'forty percent dexterity,' K-san. And I certainly can't wait my whole life to do it." Tohma held up his arms- one lightly scarred but healing, the other still charred, darkened and branded by the necrosis and its treatment. My stomach twisted, and I wished he'd wrapped it before coming down. "These…things, whatever they're worth now, are still my life," he continued. "Without my hands, I'm nothing but a business figurehead and a nice office and money left over from when I used to be great. And I can't… I can't be just that. I know I could quit Nittle Grasper. Hire a right hand around the office and stay put. I could retire today and financially live in comfort for the rest of my life. I could, but I can't, K-san. I know that now. These therapy instructions aren't enough. I can feel my hand rotting. I have no interest in playing it safe, if that means never playing the piano again. I'm too good to leave it, and I love it too much. I will play."
Seeing the fire clash with the blue of Tohma's eyes, it didn't occur to me once to advise him against whatever plans he was making. His gaze brooked no refusal. I knew the risk in deviating from hospital recommendations, but I was fully on board if it kept Tohma safely from the despair that had taken him last night. Something in Tohma had changed; he'd changed something himself. His voice was still tired, his form weak. He held his withered arm protectively against his stomach, and he looked thin and pale. But somehow through all this, his eyes were strong and in that moment I believed him capable of moving aside a mountain if it so much as got in his way.
As for me, I was gone. So far gone on that man, and it couldn't be helped.
The appointment was in the afternoon. The directions Tohma gave me led us to a twenty-story hotel. After spotting it through the windshield, I checked the address again and cocked an eyebrow at Tohma. He looked unruffled.
"Don't look so surprised," he said. "I told you he was a specialist. He just happens to also be from America. Philadelphia, actually. "
My jaw dropped. "Are you telling me you paid a physical therapist to fly in from the other side of the world, just to treat you?"
Tohma looked genuinely confused. "You say that as if I'm not worth it. He's the best I could find, and if he had to leave his home for a few months to accommodate me, it can't be helped. No one forced him, and it's not like he's not being paid."
"How much?"
Tohma unbuckled himself as I parked. "Aside from his housing, I'm giving him thirty-thousand American dollars upfront. If my condition allows it and he's as effective as he's reputed to be, he'll be paid monthly as I recover. I assure you, just because he's an American doesn't mean he's being taken advantage of."
I didn't know why I'd expected anything less.
The specialist was waiting for us in the lobby of the hotel. Tohma seemed to recognize his face, and pointed him out to me at the same time as the man seemed to notice Tohma and begin walking across the foyer towards us. I didn't like the look of him. He was well-dressed, with a tall stature and gel in his hair. He looked clearly American, even without the distinctly Aryan features I had. He mouth drew back to smile at Tohma, and we were blinded by about a million white teeth.
"Mr. Tohma!" he exuberated in English. I cringed. Not knowing Japanese was one thing, but not knowing how to address a Japanese man was slightly different.
Tohma faltered, but recovered. "Good afternoon," he said, nearly bowing before catching himself. It was fairly clear this man wasn't familiar with any such formality. I could tell Tohma was uncomfortable. His English was good and part of his business training had taught him to shake hands with an American, but this was no business associate. This was a private physician, and Tohma wasn't sure how to deal with him.
The man scarcely acknowledged my presence before cheerfully taking Tohma up to his room, me following with my hands jammed into my pockets. Once inside, I could understand why he was so thrilled to meet Tohma. The man had been set up well, the hotel room as large as the apartment space I'd lived in for most of my life.
"Now, I believe we'll treat this as a sort of preliminary assessment," he said to Tohma, shutting the door behind us. "Some treatment materials are only available in rehabilitation facilities, so I trust you have means to gain access to those?"
Tohma nodded. "Of course."
I folded my arms and leaned against the door. The man- I realized now I hadn't even caught his name- produced a pair of glasses from his jacket and put them on. He had a nametag- Jeremy Lawson. "Good. Now, to begin with, go ahead and take off your shirt." Tohma did as he was told, with me keeping a close eye on the American the whole time. He looked a couple years younger than I was, I decided, which put him a couple years ahead of Tohma.
Tohma was fumbling with the buttons to his loose dress shirt, and nearly yelped as the specialist reached forward to help him. I started, ready to swat him away, before controlling myself. Tohma wouldn't have allowed it. So I gritted my teeth, and I think Tohma probably did as well, as the man carefully pulled the sleeve off of Tohma's left arm. Tohma was tense, not thrilled with the man's helpfulness but not willing to make a scene.
Jeremy Lawson stood back with his hands on his hips, and he surveyed the scars as Tohma began undoing the wrap that began half-way up his right arm. Just under his shoulder, the white material fell away, revealing skin that was discolored, but smooth.
"Ah, well that doesn't look that…oh." Lawson's voice trailed off as the wrap spiraled loose from Tohma's forearm, revealing the full extent of the burn. Tohma bundled the material in his left hand and stood shirtless, looking to see the specialist's reaction.
He moved forward, scrutinizing Tohma's arms and torso. The extremity of Tohma's right arm faded into slight scarring over part of his torso, and then darkened again over his left arm. "May I?" he asked, without looking to Tohma's face for a response before gently taking Tohma's left arm in his hand. I fidgeted, but told myself this was only reasonable. The man was a doctor. I couldn't help but do a double-take, however, when the man's hands then pressed to Tohma's chest, testing the skin.
Tohma drew a quick breath. "Those are mostly healed," he said quietly, taking a step back under the man's furrowed gaze.
"Yes, they are," he agreed, giving Tohma one more quick glance-over. "And I'm afraid to even touch your right arm; you certainly didn't exaggerate when I spoke to you on the phone. And the damage to your legs, Mr. Tohma?"
"Hardly anything," Tohma answered quickly. "It hasn't been giving me any trouble. It's really just my arm I'd like you to-"
Lawson laughed. "Sir, I understand you're a musician."
Tohma blinked at him.
"And I gather your anxiety over your hands. They're your tools. But as a doctor, I see the human body as one entity. The body doesn't heal limb by limb. It heals itself as a whole. I saw your medical report, and you sustained mild burns to your legs. If you don't mind, Mr. Tohma. I'd like to see them." I knew as soon as the man opened his mouth, Tohma wasn't going to push it any further. The man was 99 percent professionalism, and if a thirty-thousand dollar physical therapist told him his pants had to go, I knew they would. But I didn't have to like it.
Well, at least the circumstances. For a moment my eyes were as stuck on Tohma as Lawson's were, and I'm sure Tohma would have been doubly discomforted had he known he had an audience from both sides. I'd always known Tohma was physically fit, major burns aside, and anyone could tell he had a nicely-shaped body. But seeing him strip down for examination was something else altogether. It felt wrong, ogling an injured man as if he were on display for my benefit and not because he was in serious emotional and physical pain. But there you have it.
The only scarring on Tohma's legs that were still traceable were on his right side, and Lawson knelt over as if they were worth examining. I knew they weren't, and something told me he did too. Tohma's legs were fine. He still copped a feel for good measure, pressing his fingers lightly against the minimal scarring on Tohma's thigh as if to test the strength of the healing skin. I looked to Tohma's face, and wondered how much of this he was going to take.
Tohma didn't seem nearly as perturbed as I was. Just exasperated. "Sir, could you please focus?" he said, almost sharply but not quite.
Jeremy Lawson straightened. "Did you complete my questionnaire?" he asked, grabbing a pen from a table.
Tohma didn't answer until he had pulled his pants back on, and then retrieved his jacket, producing an envelope from its pocket.
"Good." Lawson took it and read over it the pages for a moment, with Tohma still topless in front of him, and me still in the background, irritated. At length, he nodded, folding up the pages. "I believe I can help you, Mr. Tohma. As you say, your legs and torso are fine. A few more days should be all they need, just like the hospital told you. Your left hand is healing on its own, too. Any standard therapy exercises you've been given should suffice in helping it along. But your right…"
Tohma looked anxious. And cold, but mostly anxious. Lawson shook his head, gazing at Tohma's discolored arm. "You say all you want is to play again. I'm not convinced it's as impossible as they've told you."
I realized Tohma was holding his breath.
"I'm issuing you a pressure garment to wear for a few weeks. After that, I'd like you to come back, or meet me at a rehabilitation center. You've done an excellent job keeping it exercised and uninfected. You've done everything right in the past month. With the proper resources, I think you could recover most of its functionality in two years."
I slammed the door before turning on the ignition. "I don't like him," I said.
Tohma looked at me incredulously. "Did you hear him?" he said. "He said I could get better."
"Of course he did," I snapped. "You're paying him more than I make in a year."
"First of all, no I'm not," Tohma answered calmly, looking out the window at the surrounding buildings. "And secondly, he only gets paid beyond today if I make progress."
I backed out of the parking spot. "Did you not notice he had his hands on you?"
"K-san, he's a physician."
"He was checking you out."
Damn, that sounded just a little too indignant. I kept my eyes pointedly ahead, but felt Tohma turn to look at me. "K-san?"
My mind raced for a way out of this. "Forget it," I said haughtily.
After a moment of silence, I spoke again. "Anyway, if you're set on keeping him, I'm glad he can help. I …" I hesitated, and my voice softened. "I know how important it is to you."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tohma's face fall into a smile. A real one. I steeled myself and focused on not swerving into a tree. "Thank you," he said simply, and leaned back against his headrest. "And I know I'm lucky, if what he says is true. It's just that…"
"Just that what?" I asked, stealing a glance at him before turning back to the road.
He sighed. "I don't know. Just that so much can happen in two years. Nittle Grasper might break up."
"You know they won't," I assured him. "Ryuichi would never allow that, and it's still entirely in your power to keep Nittle Grasper alive, whether you're performing or not."
He seemed to think this over. "Well," he said, "in the next two years, you might go back to America."
My heart jumped up into my throat.
"And then where would I be at the office?" he finished.
I deflated. "I'm not going anywhere," I grumbled. Fucking tease.
He was silent for a few moments, before I heard his voice again. "In two years, I could lose my mind."
I looked sharply to him. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if he were upset. Of course he was. Taking away Tohma's piano for two years would be like taking away anyone else's most treasured loved one. When Tohma opened his eyes again, they were dull. "I suppose NG will keep me busy enough," he said.
I sighed. "If that's your attempt at optimism, it's pretty pathetic," I told him. "Why don't you try to play again? I haven't heard anything in almost two weeks."
"What, the day Sakano called?" Tohma asked. "Did you hear me?"
"Hear you launch a royal blitzkrieg against your piano?" I said. "No."
He laughed. "That happens almost every day," he said.
My surprise must have shown in my face, because he nodded. "I wait until you go to the studio, and then I try to play. If I don't learn to control my temper with it, it's going to need re-tuning very soon." Then his voice softened, more serious. "It's always the same, K-san. It sounds terrible. I sound terrible, and I compromise the quality of my instrument. And the pieces, I destroy them as soon as I touch the keys. I've desecrated some of my favorite music, just trying to get my damn fingers to play the notes." He flexed his right hand into a fist, and relaxed it. "I've tried to re-arrange my songs, make them slower, easier. But I don't have the patience." He gave me a sad smile as we pulled into his driveway. "It hurts too much, to tamper with a song that used to sound perfect."
I gazed at him, the motor still running. I couldn't help it. On the rare occasions that Tohma chose to open up any human feelings to my confidence, he never failed to captivate me. Tohma looked away from me and pulled at his door handle, not inviting any more discussion. I suspected he didn't know just how tightly I clung to his words; he spoke them to me as if he spoke them to the air, and I just happened to be there. He spoke them as if he simply needed to say them out loud, and if I had no response or insight, well, he'd hardly expected anything more. As if he still didn't see just how much I cared about him now, and just how much his pain hurt me.
So when he sighed and went inside, he didn't realize that I sat in the car for another hour with the motor on, thinking.
Author's Notes: Whoohooo, I feel like I'm almost done. I'm particularly proud of that first conversation in this chapter. If anyone out there is pissed at me because they just read 4,000 more words and got no kisses out of it… all I can say is that I hope you're patient and come back for the next chapter. (Well, I guess I COULD also tell you that there's a much more instant-gratification K/Tohma fic entitled "Taking Care Of" available in my profile, but surely I wouldn't be that big of a whore.) So, please review, and I'll see you soon!
