Chapter Ten: Turnaround

The next day at school followed the pattern of the previous days. Mamori went to practice, made Musashi's excuses, then did the same in class. She took notes during the practices, ran the analysis for the players, and spent the rest of the time copying out notes for Hiruma and Musashi's classes, adding to the teacher's information with her own from lectures or textbooks or research. Once practice was finally over for the day, she took a bus home, changed clothing, and met Doburoku's truck at the end of the street. She wouldn't have minded meeting him at home, but Doburoku was unwilling to risk the questions her parents might ask. From there, they drove the now-familiar route to Hiruma's apartment.

Musashi met them at the door, since she'd texted him when they arrived. The kicker looked tired, with shadows under his eyes and lines forming around his mouth. "Hey."

"How is he?" Mamori toed off her shoes and placed her bag on the floor to remove her jacket.

"Restless. Feverish. Delirious. He keeps muttering about different stuff. Most of it I don't know anything about, and I'd just as soon keep it that way." Musashi sighed. "He's caught up on his meds, but he needs some soup and his fever reducers in a couple of hours."

Mamori nodded. "I'd like to check on him."

"Be my guest." Musashi gestured to the bedroom doorway.

Inside, Hiruma lay on the bed. At some point, Musashi had folded a comforter at the foot of it. His laptop was closed and dormant on the bedside table. A bottle of water and his medicines were lined up beside it, along with his inhaler. Hiruma himself lay quiet, breath rasping in his throat. A cooling cloth lay to one side, but he must have shifted and knocked it off at some point.

Mamori moved closer, blinking as she realized the shirt was a different one than the one Hiruma had been wearing. She looked at Musashi. He shrugged. "It was soaked with sweat. I didn't figure it would be good for him. Especially when he started shivering a few minutes later."

Chills. Which explained the comforter. "What has he eaten?"

"Mostly soup. I think his throat hurts, but the bastard would never tell me if it did. Not that he's been very aware at all today."

"I see." She stepped closer and ghosted her hand over Hiruma's face, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat rising from his skin. It didn't seem as bad s it had been, but he was still clearly feverish.

She and Musashi returned to the living room. "What is his temperature?"

"Hovering around 100.5, last I checked." Musashi leaned back against the wall.

"That is an improvement." A consultation of her notes told her that Hiruma's temperature had dropped from it's previous 101-102. "That might be a good thing."

"I hope so." Musashi sighed. "I don't like seeing him like this."

"I know. I don't either." Mamori sighed. "Unfortunately, we'll have to wait for Hiruma to heal himself."

"Yeah." Musashi grimaced, then moved to sit on the couch near her. "So...you brought my homework? Can you help me with this?" He gestured at her bag and the papers she was removing.

"Of course." She pulled out her own notes. "Which subject would you like to cover first?"

Musashi chose English, and they spent the next hour going over various subjects as she talked him through the lectures he'd missed. Every now and then, one of them would go to check on Hiruma, or stir the pot of broth simmering on the stove. The quarterback remained unchanged, sleeping quietly. Mamori had to admit, she preferred it to his delirious ramblings and rage from before.

A small timer went off. Musashi stopped in the middle of taking notes for math, looked at the clock, then stood and stretched. "Time for Hiruma's meds. And we should probably try to feed him something too."

Mamori nodded and rose to her feet as well. "I'll get some of the broth for him." Musashi tipped his head in assent, then padded toward the bedroom while Mamori made her way to the kitchen.

She entered the bedroom with a small cup of broth a few minutes later, in time to see Musashi helping Hiruma take the last of his medicines. At first glance, it looked like the quarterback was sitting up. A second glance revealed that Musashi was supporting him against the pillows, his leg and arm forming a brace so he could use his hands to help Hiruma. Hiruma's eyes were glazed and barely open. Dulled green irises flicked in her direction. "Keh..." He cut off with a bout of coughing. Musashi set his inhaler to his mouth and pressed the top. Hiruma inhaled, gasped, then coughed a few more times as the medicine took effect. He took more water from Musashi, then blinked at her again. "What...why the fuck...you here?" His voice was a slurred and gravelly rasp, and it made her wince to hear it.

"I've brought you some broth to drink." She moved forward and handed the cup to Musashi. Even in his drugged and uncertain state, she wasn't sure Hiruma would tolerate her trying to feed him.

"Fuck...off. Don't need...you. Or broth. Get out." His eyes shifted upward, his head lolling back in response at what looked like a painful angle. "You too. Don't need...any of you..." He made a move to pull away, and his face spasmed as the attempt agitated muscles abused by his earlier coughing. "Damn old man..."

"Drink your broth and I'll leave you alone. So will Mamori." Musashi moved the cup into Hiruma's field of view.

"Shut...up. You aren't...my fucking old...man. Deadbeat bastard..." Hiruma twisted away petulantly, but he couldn't do much more than turn his head away and twitch his arms up.

"I'm your friend. And I'm not leaving till you eat this. You need something in your stomach."

Hiruma tried to swipe the cup away, but he was so uncoordinated Musashi didn't even need to move the cup out of the way. It was almost painful to see, compared to Hiruma's usual aim and coordination. "Damn...old man..."

"You said that already. Drink your soup and go back to sleep, you stubborn ass." Musashi brought the broth closer.

Hiruma sneered, but he tipped his head back toward the cup. His hand came up to hold it, too light and too unsteady to get a good grip, and he nudged the edge to tip the liquid into his mouth. All of them pointedly ignored the fact that Musashi was still holding the cup and keeping it from spilling.

When the last of the broth was drained, Musashi handed the cup back and gave Hiruma more water. The quarterback's eyes were already fluttering shut as his medication took effect. Musashi eased out from behind him and lowered him back to the pillows, wiped his face with a damp cloth, and backed away. Hiruma didn't open his eyes or speak, and appeared to have fallen unconscious.

They returned the dishes to the kitchen and took bowls of soup for themselves before returning to their homework. They finished math and moved on to Japanese Literature. Once they had finished that, Musashi stretched. "We should check Hiruma again."

Mamori nodded and followed him back to the bedroom. Inside, Musashi located the thermometer and moved toward the bed. Then he stopped. Mamori moved closer to see why.

Hiruma was blinking sleep-hazed eyes at them. He frowned. "What..."

Musashi recovered quickly. "We need to take your temperature."

"Keh. Don't need..."

"We know. You don't need a nursemaid, or a minder, or whatever term you want to use." Musashi shrugged and held the thermometer out. "Stick this under your tongue or I'll do it for you, you stubborn bastard."

Hiruma reached for the thermometer, dropped it, cursed as he tried to roll over and found himself shaking. Musashi picked up the thermometer, stepping between Mamori and Hiruma, and when he stepped back, the thermometer was tucked into Hiruma's mouth, and he was directing an odd, sideways sort of scowl at it.

The second the thermometer beeped, Hiruma spat it out. He snatched clumsily at it and tossed it to Musashi. "There. Get out." He coughed a few times, but glared at both of them when they moved forward.

"We're just trying to help." Musashi's voice was low and reasonable.

"Don't need...any...fucking help..."

"But you should drink some water." Mamori eyed him. He'd clearly been sweating in his sleep, his shirt sticking to his shoulders. "I'll get you some." If Hiruma was uncomfortable, he'd be more likely to talk to Musashi about whatever the issue was.

She took her time in the kitchen, checking the stock list to make sure she'd marked everything, including the bottle of water she retrieved, and stirring the soup broth again before covering it up. Only when there was nothing more to do in the kitchen did she return to the bedroom.

Hiruma had changed shirts and cleaned his face, or Musashi had done it for him. He sneered as she broke the bottle open for him, but managed to take it from her and sip at it some more. His eyes were noticeably clearer as he scanned his room, locating his laptop and flicking his gaze down to where his gun was stashed. He sneered again, drank a little more, then tossed the water to Musashi. "Go away...old man. Damn...manager." He flopped into the pillows and looked away, one hand stealing under the pillow to his concealed firearm.

Mamori and Musashi both took the hint and exited the room. Musashi shut the door behind him, and when he turned around, there was relief in his face. "99.8"

"His temperature is going down. And he was..."

"Awake, aware, and talking." Musashi sighed and slumped into the couch. "He's past the worst of it, and he's going to be okay."

"Yes. He is." Not that she had doubted it. It was Hiruma, after all. Deimon's Devil. She doubted anything, even a virus of the worst kind, could bring him down for long.

Musashi heaved out another breath, then looked at the clock. "I should take you home. If he's on the mend, he'll be okay long enough for me to get there and back."

"Yes. He should be." Privately, she wasn't sure. Hiruma was sometimes prone to reckless behaviors when he was feeling bothered by something. On the other hand, he was still fairly weak. And there was a good chance that he'd gone back to sleep when they left his room. "I'll gather my books."

Half an hour later, she was home. She put her books on her desk and prepared for bed. She was relieved that Hiruma was recovering, but…

But there was still the matter of what Musashi had told her, and his delirious mutterings. She wasn't sure what to do about it. Hiruma was a private individual. She doubted he would want to discuss his past, or what his illness had been like. The question was whether or not they would be able to ignore it. Whether or not she could ignore what she knew and treat him the way she had before his illness. For all that she knew Hiruma was an intensely solitary individual, and highly independent, she couldn't help but want to take care of him, now that she knew more of what his life was like, and had been like.

But Hiruma wasn't Sena. He wouldn't take kindly to being coddled. On the other hand, left to his own devices, he might not take proper care of himself. He'd certainly been willing to ignore all the warning signs of his condition before she'd cornered him.

Perhaps the best plan was to simply wait and see. She could stick to bringing his notes and following the doctor's orders for his recovery, and let Hiruma take the lead from there.

She was still thinking about it when she fell asleep.

Author's Note: Short but sweet. Next time...Hiruma's recovery continues.