Part Two

"He has awoken?" Robert asked for confirmation of the news that had cut his phone call short.
"Yes, Sire." The servant answered as he hurried after his master, down several long corridors to the guest sleeping quarters. "Just a few minutes ago."
"Have my physicians been notified?"
"Of course, my Lord."
With a deep bow, the servant opened the door to Michael's room and closed it after Robert had stepped inside.

"How are you feeling?" The master of the castle asked the quivering mass of cream and burgundy behind the gossamer veil.
"Like shit." Michael groaned in reply, not knowing, nor caring who he was talking to.

If possible, Robert's naturally wide eyes widened even more at the use of such unrefined language in his castle.
"I see..." He said, more to calm himself down than to agree with the brash American.

Michael squinted at his company. "Robert?"
He had only been introduced to the Majestics briefly before the final match at the Russian tournament, and surprised himself that he could recall their strange-looking captain's name. He would certainly never forget his face.

One could tell, simply by looking at the way Robert presented himself, that he was incredibly wealthy. He wasn't just some spoilt, rich kid like the other members of his team; he had all the dignity and grace of a great king from medieval times. His face was smooth and angular, like it had been carved from stone - and his lack of expression only added to it.

"Where am I?"
"You are a guest at my home, and while you are here, my staff have been given instructions to obey your every order."
"Thanks... I guess." Michael was even more puzzled than before. Yes, he had been so drunk at some parties that he sometimes wound up in a different suburb the next morning, but he had never woken up in a different country! "I know this is going to seem like a stupid question, but what am I doing here?"
"I will let my physicians explain that to you." Robert answered simply, before changing the subject. "I have had your clothes cleaned and pressed. Those that could not be repaired, I have had re-made for you. I will have someone bring them up, and if you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to ask."

Not only was he confused, but Michael was now very uncomfortable with the premise of someone dressing him. He did not even want to think about how he came to need being dressed in the first place. He eyed Robert suspiciously, but the nobleman's standard expression of bored surprise never changed.
He didn't have anything to be ashamed of, it was quite the contrary - his body was in fantastic shape and the envy of many; he just didn't like the idea of being stripped and having no recollection of it.

He only had a moment alone to dwell on the situation, before a pretty young chambermaid brought his perfectly folded clothes to him. Looking her up and down appreciatively, for the first time since he had woken up, he was glad to be in this bizarre situation.
"Your clothes, Sir." She parted the curtains at the side of his bed, and curtsied as she placed his belongings beside him.
"Thanks." He flashed her one of his trademark grins, and winked.
The girl smiled back politely. "Will there be anything else, Sir?"
"Yeah, I think I'm going to need help putting these on." He raised an eyebrow and the girl nodded. Her master had been right - his guest was obnoxious.

Robert met with his doctors after they had finished examining the patient. The report was promising, and with any luck, Michael would be out of his house very soon. They warned that he was not allowed to undertake anything strenuous, like running or sports of any kind. Gentle walks would be all until the stitches were taken out of his deeper cuts.

"I see they have removed your bandages." Robert greeted Michael, who was studying the scars on his arms.
"I know what you're thinking, and I'm telling you - Trygle wouldn't hurt me!"
"I agree with you. I do not believe that a creature as noble as the mighty Trygle would do anything like that either. As you should know, a griffin is part eagle, and it is that very part which makes my Griffolyon the loyal Bit Beast that it is."

"So, now that I'm full of pain-killers, I have to play something..." Michael changed the subject. "I'm going to go mad if I don't go outside and slug a couple of balls soon."
"You will not have the strength to play any sport for a while yet."
"Look, I'd even settle for a nice, low-impact game of... I don't know... croquet!"
"No sport!"
"You're killing me, Robert." He sighed in defeat. "I hope you realise that."
"It is not sport, but perhaps you would like to take a walk around the castle gardens with me instead?"
The baseball star gave a weak smile. "I guess I'd like that."

The purple-haired nobleman huddled in close to Michael, slinging his arm around his shoulders and helping him to stand. Michael's balance had been thrown off by his weeks in bed, and his first step was more of a stumble than anything else. His other hand grabbed for Robert's chest to steady himself, and the knight quickly wrapped his arm around Michael's waist for even more support.

"This is not going to be as easy as I had planned." He observed with amusement in his aristocratic voice.
Michael gave a sad laugh. He, a world-class athlete, was reduced to hugging someone just so he could stand up. It was too much. He felt so pathetic, and he didn't want to add to it by crying over his loss in front of Robert, but he couldn't help it. He felt like his body had betrayed him.

"I'm sorry." He sniffled. "I'm not usually like this."
Comforting someone was a completely alien feeling to the proud knight, but he had recently been taught the value of teamwork and friendship, and was open to new emotional experiences. He drew the shorter boy into an embrace, bowing his face into his wine-coloured hair.
"You just have to take things slowly. It will be all right."
"It doesn't seem like it." Michael wrapped his arms tightly around Robert's waist, sobbing into his chest. "You don't understand how much baseball means to me... if I can't play, I've got nothing."
"You have me." Robert assured him, and Michael was surprised how much it helped to know that.

They stood with their arms around each other, looking more like lovers than the fierce competitors they would have been, had they been together under different circumstances. Robert ran his hand through Michael's hair; strong, comforting; like a father taking care of his injured son.

Michael's parents had died when he was too young to understand he had lost something very precious. Having been adopted by the PPB for use in their research, he had never known the breed of intimacy Robert was sharing with him - and it scared and fascinated him all at once.

Not that Robert was any more familiar with expressing the feeling. But he had been fortunate enough to have had a kind father and a loving mother, and it was not below their genteel constitution to show their son appropriate affection.

Michael didn't want the moment to end. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone actually cared about him - not his athletic talent, his looks, or his fame. He was being held by such strong arms, not because Robert wanted something from him, but because he didn't want him to hurt any more.

"I have never seen a baseball game." Robert finally broke the silence. "So when you have completely recovered - and not a moment before - I would be honoured to watch you play."
"You would?" The shorter boy looked up at him, his blue eyes brimming with happiness and hope.
"My word as my bond, I will be there."

Robert limped Michael around a small, particularly beautiful portion of his castle's extensive garden. Michael had never been one for admiring flowers, but he could certainly appreciate beauty when he saw it. He had nothing else to do... there was nothing else he could do, even if he wanted to. For once, he wasn't thinking about sport, he was content to enjoy his time in Robert's company.

The knight was not much for conversation - his words were always carefully thought out before they left his mouth, so he never said any more than he had to. He was, however, a wonderful guide, telling Michael tales of the Jurgens' colourful history - how long the castle had taken to build; the crests and patterns the gardens made when looked upon from above; and how his family had fought off enemies centuries ago on the very ground they stood on now.

He never spoke of himself, almost as if he were ashamed to. If Michael asked, he would dismiss the question and start talking about Griffolyon, or Trygle - to try and coax the conversation's lead over to Michael, who would never say no to talking about himself.

Robert listened to the most of it, despite his dislike for the American's bastardisation of the English language. There were only so many times he could listen to 'like' or 'you know' thrown into the middle of a sentence; and being referred to as 'dude' made him physically cringe. But the boy was friendly enough. He reminded him a lot of Johnny - his arrogance, and the way he spoke about what he loved with such passion and conviction... only without the smart mouth.

As Robert endured the company of the obnoxious Scottish knight, he had often wished he would settle down and mature a bit. He would have to be a lot nicer to Johnny in the future, if the boy had the potential to turn out like this. Michael rattled on and on about some fantastic home-run he'd hit recently, unaware of Robert's ever so slight smile at his inner comparison.

If he could be friends with the likes of Johnny, he could certainly make friends with Michael. He felt as if he had known him for a very long time already.