Author's note: If this chapter reads a little awkwardly, it's because it was re-tooled from the original piece, which was much shorter and in third person.

Sanzo peels one eye open and fixes me with what on anyone else would be a death glare, but on him is merely grumpy.

"Good morning!" I smile cheerfully at him, still sitting in the straight wooden chair as though several hours hadn't just passed in silence.

"It's after noon," Sanzo growls.

"Oh dear, then I'll have to ask the innkeeper's wife to cook you lunch instead of fresh breakfast." I keep my voice mild and unaccusing as I wave a hand at the large, covered tray on the table. "I'm afraid this one got cold."

A sound somewhere between a snarl and a whimper slithers out from between Sanzo's lips, and I interpret it to mean 'I don't want to eat, I feel lousy'. There is a pang of guilt at knowing that I'm probably irritating him, but I grimly squash it.

"Now, now." I shake my head in a definitive manner, still keeping my voice mild but chiding him a bit. "You have to eat, and no arguments! You've been drinking without eating, and if you keep that up, you'll put a hole in your stomach – and then you'd have to give up alcohol entirely!" I could probably heal him even if he did give himself an ulcer, but I hope to never have to try. And the threat of not being able to drink makes such a lovely argument for eating . . .

The eye scrunches shut and a resigned moan signals Sanzo's surrender. My smile becomes more gentle and compassionate; he won't fight me as much now.

"Come on, let me help you up." I peel the blanket off Sanzo's prone form and help him into a sitting position, hands glowing slightly with green energy as I take care of the first part of the hangover. "You'll feel better after a hot bath and fresh clothes." My encouraging smile beams down at Sanzo, who is still sitting on the bed, head down where he can't help but see and smell his wrinkled, stained clothes. My tone is deliberately light; I know I'm grating on his nerves right now, but that can't be helped. Everything is grating on Sanzo's nerves right now.

Once Sanzo is sitting up and I'm certain he won't fall over, I move to the bathing tub and focus my chi. There is a faint crackling sound followed by a muffled 'whoomp' as the chi hits the water, and I test the temperature. Good, not too hot. I step back into the main room and walk towards the door, pausing with one hand on the handle.

"I've heated the water for you. I want to see you in that tub when I get back! I'm just going to ask that nice lady to start cooking your lunch."

Sanzo just growls as the door closes. Downstairs, Goku is working through his portion of the list. He looks up at me as I go over to his table.

"I got the stuff you wanted. These ones are for Sanzo, aren't they?" He gestures to the small pile of foodstuffs set to one side. His face clouds with concern. "Is he . . ."

"He's bathing," I reassure him. "Or at least, he had better be by the time I get back up there!" Goku grins at my mock-threatening tone, and I smile. "I'd better get these to that nice lady and have her start cooking Sanzo's lunch."

Goku helps me gather the assorted bottles and objects. "Did he eat any of the breakfast?" He asks quietly, and I can hear the worry in his voice.

Has he eaten anything at all in the last three days? "No," I answer in an equally quiet tone.

"Then . . ." Goku looks at me with something closer to his usual cheer. "Can I eat it?"

The mischievous sparkle in his eyes makes me chuckle. "I'll bring it down when I come back for his lunch," I assure him. "Right now, I have to make sure there will be a lunch for me to take up to him." Another reassuring smile, and I turn to go find the innkeeper's wife.

"Aren't you going to eat something?"

He has a point. I should at least grab some fruit before I head back. "In a bit," I tell him. "I don't want to give Sanzo time to decide he's going to try to shave himself." Goku nods and turns back to his pastry.

The innkeeper's wife is more than happy to prepare the second half of the list; I assure her I'll be back down with the tray and cover in just a minute, and return to Sanzo's room. I peek at the bathing alcove just long enough to make sure Sanzo is in the tub. He is, fervently scrubbing himself clean. I slip in, grab the tray, and quietly close the door behind me. Goku's table is out of sight from the kitchen, so when I return the empty tray and cover, the innkeeper's wife doesn't realize that Goku, not Sanzo, is reaping the benefits of her cooking. A quick question, a brief trip to the cleaning supply closet, and back up to Sanzo's room. The room is a mess, but not as bad as it could be. Sanzo ducks his head under the water, scrubbing at his hair, and I take the opportunity to slip in and claim his dirty clothes. Those get the chi-laundry treatment I've developed from traveling so much in the last few years; the sheets go down to the inn's laundry room and I make the bed with fresh ones. Sanzo has few possessions to straighten, but the garbage in the room makes up for that. I consider opening a window, but discard the idea. I don't want to risk Sanzo getting sick. Instead, I do a quick sweep-and-dust and arrange Sanzo's shaving implements on the table before ducking back down to the supply closet while Sanzo's dressing.

When Sanzo emerges from the bathing alcove, I'm standing expectantly by the chair, a patient smile on my face and my eyes closed. There is a pause; I can almost see Sanzo form a protest and give up. The memory of the first time I saw him hung over is still etched into my mind; I won't make that mistake twice. By keeping my eyes closed until Sanzo sits down, I can spare him part of what is at least an equally painful memory to him by letting him believe that I don't know how badly his hands must be shaking. A few almost-stomping footsteps, and he throws himself sulkily into the chair as I open my eyes.

Almost distractedly, I slowly work the last of the alcohol and hangover out of Sanzo's system as I shave him. Most of my attention is focused on the straight razor in my hand; I don't want to risk any accidental cuts if a knot of chi distracts me just as Sanzo shifts the wrong way. I've relaxed him to help prevent that, but there's no point in taking chances. He almost looks asleep by the time I'm done; whatever's set him off this time must be fairly horrendous for the mild relaxation to be such a relief. Before he takes my pause to mean that he can get up, I take his comb and start arguing with the knots he's gotten his hair into. Without the threat of accidental cuts, I let my hands go on auto-pilot and focus on his energy system. Mild endorphins first, to keep him tractable while I work the tangles out. My focus goes deeper, checking his internal organs for signs of injury or decay. He is truly lucky he hasn't put a hole in the lining of his stomach. A quick touch-up for the liver and kidneys, to make sure that this current bout of self-abuse hasn't damaged them, and then I check his lungs. No new damage, thankfully. I tease a section of one lung stubbornly, trying to restore it to a state of health the damaged tissues have never seen, then give up and pull my awareness up and out. One last comb-through to make sure I've gotten all the knots, and then I clean the hair out of the comb and set it down on the table.

"I'll just be a minute," I say quietly as I put the shaving equipment away. Sanzo doesn't move, and I smile tolerantly at his relaxed state. "You stay right there, I'll be back with your lunch." He doesn't open his eyes as I move to the door, but that doesn't mean anything. The door shuts behind me with a click; there is a pause, then uncertain footsteps and the door opens. Sanzo blinks in mild surprise and opens his mouth to say something, but I put a finger to my lips in the age-old 'hush' motion. "Now, don't worry," I chide gently, trying to keep my smile cheerful and not amused. "I'll bring it up here, you just rest."

Slowly, I nudge the door shut and wait; when I hear him move away from the door, I go downstairs and retrieve the covered tray from the kitchen. A quick peek under the cover to make sure everything is there, and then back up to Sanzo's room before he tries to get out of eating. He's sitting on the bed when I get back up. I take a moment to arrange the tray on the table, then pull the chair out in an almost ritualistic silent demand that he sit and eat. He sighs, then stands up and comes over to the table. I draw up a stool and sit calmly across from him, watching as he glares at the food and glasses of juice.

"Don't you need to eat, too?" His growl is a weak attempt to get out of having to eat lunch; he must actually realize he needs to eat, if this is the most trouble he's going to give me over this.

"I had the opportunity to sample the inn's excellent cooking earlier." My voice is steady and reassuring, but he catches the ambiguous phrasing and glares briefly up at me anyway. My smile deflects the glare, and he picks up his spoon in resignation.

He picks at the bread and soup for a few minutes, hesitantly eating a few bites. I don't rush him – with the state he's in, going slowly is better than eating too quickly, and I'm sure this hasn't made his stomach any less delicate. The glare he's giving the soup reads more as 'how dare you not upset my stomach' than anything else, and I mentally put a star next to the recipe on the list of Foods That Sanzo Can Eat Safely.

"So why did you come all the way out here?" Who told you where I was, how did you find out what I've been doing?

The irritation isn't directed at me, so I ignore the unspoken questions and answer the one he asked out loud. "Ah . . . I had some very high-ranking visitors."

". . . Figured." Sanzo sounds disgusted with the existence of the temple. His spoon prods the soup as though he wants to stab it, then stirs it a bit. "What'd they want?" Did they tell you what they want me to do now? Did they give you a message? Did they make you their errand-boy, their servant?

"I'm afraid they didn't tell me." My voice is the equivalent of an I-don't-know-anything shrug. Right Speech . . . Sanzo deserves more of an answer than that. My smile freezes slightly as I quickly sift through and discard words and phrases. "Or rather . . . once I heard that you were staying here again, I was horribly impolite and didn't let them finish." My words are carefully neutral, keeping any hint of accusation out of my tone.

Sanzo scowls at the soup. "I take it this means I'm going to have to face them to find out what they wanted."

He sounds understandably less than thrilled, and the guilt prods me again. If I'd let them finish, would I have been able to spare Sanzo having to face them? Would they have told me what they wanted him for, and could he have just gone off without having to go back to the temple? I would have gladly been their messenger and reported to them that Sanzo had gone off on whatever it is they'd wanted him to do . . .

"I'm sorry," I allow the apology into my tone, but carefully strain out anything else. "I know how much you dislike spending time there." Blame me, it's my fault. "I shouldn't have been so impatient as to leave before hearing what else they had to say." My hands clench each other in my lap; my gaze joins Sanzo's in the soup.

"It's not your fault." My pulse jumps at Sanzo's quiet anger. "I should have known I couldn't avoid them forever."

There is a pause while I say nothing. I may have had the opportunity to spare Sanzo the trouble of dealing with the temple, and I blew it because I didn't want to get mixed up in the politics.

"Hakkai?" Sanzo's voice is gently accusing. "You don't need to take orders from them. Try not to let them disrupt your life too much."

But I would gladly take orders from them, if it meant you wouldn't have to. "If you mean about coming out here," I say carefully, again not accusing Sanzo with my tone of voice, "I didn't give them a chance to ask. It was my decision to see how you were doing." Sanzo's not looking at me, so I put my unfair demand into my voice. You told me once to not worry about you, but how am I supposed to not worry about you when you do things like this? "You will take care of yourself, right?"

". . . Right."

I firmly push away the guilt at having just blackmailed Sanzo. He's likely to be sent gods-know-where, and I doubt I'll get a chance to make sure he's taking care of himself. "Good! Then I have nothing to worry about!" My cheerful, oblivious tone is firmly back in place, pressing the point home with my use of the word 'worry'. "Well, if you're going to be traveling back to Chang An, I suppose I should head back home – when you're done eating, of course." I smile blithely at the sour look on his face; he knows I'm going to sit there until I feel he's eaten enough.

"Of course."