*~ Gaumless ~*

Starring: Jack A.

Genre: Humor / Friendship

Rating: K+

Time Setting: Tag Force 5

Directly Linked to: Echo Ch. 3

Prompted by: FamOOWL

Type: One-shot

Jack Atlas had never believed in a trivial thing such as fortune telling. Each time Nagisa would talk him into drawing a 'card of luck' from her supposed-to-be-mystical-Deck, he would simply snort and walk away. Good luck, bad luck, neither had ever registered into his logic. Winning was determined by how hard you work, how skilled you are, and how foolish your opponents are. Fate and gods may exist, but fortune and luck were things that only fools would believe in.

Until he found himself unable to rise from his bed.

On this particular morning he felt like he was about to die: he was sweating profusely, body felt like it was about to crumble, rendering him unable to get up from his own bed. There was something stuck in his throat and nostrils he had trouble breathing. His body felt strange too; he felt as if someone had put the air conditioner in his room to a maximum output. Drawing the blanket tighter around him, he curled.

There were voices coming from the first floor, a sign that Bruno, Yusei and Crow had all awoken. He considered of calling his flat-mates for help, but his voice cracked and his pride wouldn't allow him to let them hear it. Unwise decision, but he thought it would be best. A little nap would cure him of these afflictions surely.

Three hours later he finally conceded to the fact that the cold, the damned cold, was not going away. He felt more and more at pain. His head was throbbing as if someone had just implanted screws inside it, his nose was running, and gods, his limbs ached with the minimum of movements. No voices could be heard from the house. Zora must have gone somewhere, probably shopping. And the guys had probably busied themselves in the city too. Through hazed vision he spotted the alarm-clock on a table-side. It was almost ten. Meaning: he had just missed his morning shift. He cursed.

Jeannine would make sure he worked twice as hard and as long the next day he showed up.

The doorbell at the front doors rang. Jack didn't even think about getting up. He'd tried to go to the toilet before, and even the short trip had his head spinning and his body screaming.

But the guest was persistent. The bell rang again and again, and when he thought his head might explode from the noise, he let out a broken scream to shoo whoever-it-was away.

Silence then.

Good. The guest must have left. It would only be a silly acquaintance of Zora's anyway, perhaps a lady from the next block or a shop owner from across the street.

Jack's mind almost blacked out into the realm of nothingness again when he heard the door to his room, yes to his very room, opened.

"As I thought," drawled a familiar voice.

He didn't know if he should be thankful or pissed. "Whaddyawant?" he managed to croak. Damn, even speaking hurt like hell now.

Osamu, still in his waiter's uniform, walked closer to his bed and peered down at him, eyebrows rising. "You could have told somebody," he said, too calmly.

Jack muttered something incomprehensible. Osamu ignored it and put the back on his hand to Jack's forehead. A fraction of second later he hastily withdrew it, and even through half-lidded eyes Jack could see him wincing. "Shit, you're burning!"

He didn't need to be told that. But since rolling his eyes would make him throw up he simply groaned. Osamu sighed.

"You're a total idiot, you know that."

His glare must have lost half of its effect when he could barely focus on him. Everything felt strange Jack felt as if he was being pulled into deep, freezing waters. Still, even in that kind of condition he managed a snarl.

"A total idiot, and a hard-headed mule. Good combination. I can see why you had so many fans."

"Bastard." That hadn't come as a word. More like a rumble of harsh sound coming from a broken, coughing, engine.

"Come again?" Jack could hear the laughter in Osamu's voice.

The world is rotating out of control... "Basss. Tarrrd."

"Better," he chirped. "Good to know you haven't lost the ability to speak. I was almost certain you were a goner there."

With all the strength he had left he threw a pillow at him. It missed, of course, and Osamu didn't even have to move too far to evade it. It landed softly with a 'thud' on the floor.

Jack heard him whistle. "Someone's still as short-tempered as ever."

He thought of some snarky retorts, but his throat felt on fire and his head spun till he saw nothing but darkness.

Osamu went out from his range of hearing, saying something about Jeannine and work and stupidity and stubbornness that Jack could no longer follow. All he knew that when his footsteps echoed and he was back, the former King felt a cool material was pressed lightly to his forehead. He would have opened his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy. The coldness of the compress sank in slowly, and though he hated to admit it, the compress was lessening the headache. A moment later, he was urged into a sitting position to take in a gulp of warm, honeyed milk along with two strange tablets he suspected were some medicine.

"I'm thinking of how much I'm going to charge you for this," Osamu said as he watched Jack making himself comfortable in his half-sitting position.

"Address the bill to that old hag." Jack paused, his eyes were narrowed at the waiter. "And I didn't remember asking you to come."

"That's why you're an idiot." Osamu ignored his stare and re-arranged the position of Jack's pillows so he could lean onto them. "Why didn't you call?" he asked as he perched himself on the edge of the mattress.

Jack said nothing.

Osamu grabbed a bowl of what seemed to be a warm soup. His stare was flat as he said, "Spill or I'll feed you."

Wide-eyed, he looked at him. Appalled.

A spoonful of steaming soup in the colour of rich brown was approaching his mouth, ever so slowly. He looked at it from the corner of his eye with a mixture of disbelief and terror. Was this guy serious? The spoon came closer, almost touching Jack's pale lips. Like… "What the hell-are you sane?!"

"Perfectly. You know I can capture this moment with a camera, let it leak to the media, and-"

"Fine!" he said, voice still hoarse and his throat still sore. He took the spoon from Osamu but when he reached out for the bowl, Osamu inched it away from his grasp.

"Spill."

If glares could kill the guy would be an unrecognizable pulp right now. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Hmm? Sorry, but your words are as clear as an alien language right now."

And Jack would have punched that expressionless face if he could. That glint in Osamu's eyes was downright smug, and he was holding the bowl of soup like a meat in front of a tied lion. "You haven't eaten since morning I'm sure."

Damn right he had not! His stomach had not yet growled, maybe too tired to even give a signal in his weakened state, but even if his appetite had diminished, he knew he was still hungry. "Couldn'tletanyobdyseemeinthisstate."

"Pardon?"

Jack shut his eyes. He was beyond mortified. But some logical part of him knew his body needed nutrition if he wanted to get back to health again. "I just couldn't let 'em see me like this…" His voice was as tiny as a whisper, but he'd said it.

Osamu's face broke into a grin. For the third time that day, Jack wanted nothing but to connect his fist to that nose of his, tie him to a tree and make a good use of a pair of boxing gloves he'd just found in his closet. When Osamu finally gave him the soup, Jack snatched it while glaring daggers at him. Osamu didn't seem deterred. Maybe feeling safe and out of reach due to the knowledge that Jack was bound to his bed.

He tried his best to ignore Osamu's amused stare as he finished his soup with deliberation-more afraid that he'd choke and puke and shame himself even more. His taste buds were not at their best, but a little taste of onion and milky cream they recognized did a trick to his body.

By the time the bowl was dry, he was quite sated. Still annoyed, irritated, heavy-headed and sore, but sated. Osamu retrieved the empty bowl and got up, feigning a deep bow of service. "Pleased to be of assistance," he said.

"Know that you'll regret this."

A smirk was playing over his lips. "If you've got no more empty threats, then I shall excuse myself. Oh," he said, almost like an after thought. Jack's mind was beginning to blank out, and how he wished he could make him simply leave. "Perhaps you'd require a bed story before sleep claims you?"

Jack almost wept. What sins had he committed that he should suffer terribly so?

Too many to count, a little voice in his head answered. He remembered that back in their Enforcers days, he had been the one who'd taught Osamu martial arts and any kinds of self-defense methods. The guy had been in such an unfit condition at the beginning, making him somewhat of a pathetic sparring partner. Their training would usually end with Osamu on the ground, all bruised and exhausted, and on some unlucky occasions, with one broken bone or two. Controlling his strength had been a challenge back then, considering he'd only had practiced with toughened brutes like Kiryu, Yusei and Crow. Well….it was to be acknowledged that Jack had literally made Osamu a personal sandbag, so to speak.

Said sandbag was now standing poised beside his bed, towering over him, a serene/mocking look on his face, looking all but happy to witness and prolong his former trainer's suffering.

"Don't you dare…" the former king began.

"Once upon a time, there was a lovely, blonde princess…"

Another pillow flew in Osamu's direction. The aim was better than the last attempt, but the attack was still too weak to be considered a threat. Osamu deflected it easily with one hand.

"The princess was so adored by her people. The purple eyes she had were bewitching, her pale skin comparable to that of a diamond's gleam when exposed under the sun… Oh, and apparently she's also a classy brute who simply loved to get involved in street fights."

Jack looked for any-toss-able-thing that was within the range of his grasp. To his contempt he found none. He bared his teeth in frustration. Osamu continued with his story. The insufferable jerk was merciless.

"One day, the Princess was taken captive by a fiery dragon who happened to fly about her kingdom… Until a prince arrived to save him. A fine-looking man with a tanned skin and of raven hair streaked with gold, coming from the South just to rescue the Prin-"

He couldn't take it anymore. Ducking beneath the covers of his blanket, he covered both ears with his hands, body drawn into a ball.

"Hm? My story-telling is not satisfying enough, I see." A brief silence; Jack was chanting 'Leave, leave, leave, leave' in his mind. "Shall I sing you a lullaby?"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, DAMNIT…!"

"Somewhere Over the Rainbows or All Through the Night? Which one is more preferable to you?"

A weak whimper of helplessness tore through his throat. It was impulsive; unplanned. Jack Atlas had never, ever, in his 21 years of living, made a pathetic sound such as a whimper, more so when dueling was not involved.

"Just go…" Jack said through gritted teeth. He was glad for the covers, or Osamu would have seen his face growing purplish-red.

"Say 'please,' then I'll leave. Give any indication that you're trying to sleep and I'll sing."

Jack didn't think anymore. His pride was falling beyond help anyway. He said it. Almost too weak to be heard.

"Accepted," Osamu said. How Jack wished he could die when he heard him chortle. Then: an overly dramatic sigh. "Ahh. It seems that my companionship is not desired now that your stomach is filled. Very well. I shall retire for now. Rest comfortably, my king." With that, Osamu disappeared behind the door.

Drowsiness and relief were seeping in like a poison to Jack's veins. That must have been the medicine taking its side-effect. Damn that Osamu Satou. He'd pay him back for real once he could stand on his feet without feeling sick. For real... For…real….

As his thoughts dimmed, Jack succumbed to sleep.

It was not until hours later that he woke up to panicked shouts that belonged to two certain women and voices of his friends'.

"JACK?! OH-MAH-GOSH, JACK?! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! JACK! DON'T DIE ON ME! OH NO HE'S GETTING PALER! THE VIRUS! THE VIRUS IS EATING ON HIM!"

"Hey, you dumbass, you okay?! He said you were dying there! Can you speak?! HEY!"

Jack felt a rigorous shake on his shoulders.

"Is your fever down yet? Can you move? Is the rare virus contagious though…?"

Wait. Rare…?

"Atlas-sama, hold on! I'm calling an ambulance for you! No, a copter!"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! He's frowning! I think he's going to vomit!"

Jack heard Mikage shouting into her phone. "This is an emergency! Atlas-sama has been infected by an unknown virus! A source says he's only got hours! Please send a medic team immediately!"

That was it. Jack Atlas had felt healthy enough to get up from his bed then, and to irk an eyebrow at the small crowd. A second later, he realized that Osamu was nowhere to be seen.

xx - 5D's - xx

A loud echo of a strangled scream filled with rage could be heard from Poppo's Time that evening.