All rights to Fushigi Yuugi belong to Yuu Watase, Shogakukan Shojo Comics, TV Tokyo, Studio Pierrot, and Pioneer Video.

Chapter Two.

As I'm pulled off balance by the opening door, my body instinctively goes into martial arts mode, merging with the direction of the force. But since plunging into and knocking down the person on the other side of the door isn't exactly the friendly gesture I had in mind, I release the door handle and spin in mid-air, landing in a defensive position. I bend my knees to drop my center, and raise my hand in a partial block—

Only to confront a broad expanse of chest where I expected to see someone's face. My eyes travel upward, confused, to meet an equally quizzical blue gaze.

"Tamahome," rumbles a deep, gentle voice. "Can I help you?"

I straighten quickly, acting as if I meant to fall into the room, and hoping that I don't look half as stupid as I feel.

"Mitsukake," I mumble, stalling for time while waiting for my brain to make an appearance.

"Yes, that's me," he says patiently.

Suddenly his presence in that room clicks into my sluggish thought processes. Mitsukake, the healer. "You're a doctor, right?"

"Yes, that's what I do. Don't you remember this afternoon?" His gaze sharpens, and he shoots a look of real concern at me. "Are you all right, Tamahome? Did something happen in Kutou?"

Oh, great, now I've got him thinking that Nakago blasted me in the head with one of his ki attacks. And my gods-cursed brain refuses to jump in and relieve him of that worry.

"Uh, no, nothing happened. I mean, I got the Universe of the Four Gods scroll back and all, but nothing bad happened to me. I'm fine."

"I'm glad to hear it, " he replies gravely.

There is another moment of silence as we size each other up.

"Tamahome."

"Yeah?"

"You're blocking my way out of the room. Is there something you want from me?"

Okay, it's pretty obvious that I'm not going to get any help from my truant gray matter, so I have nothing to fall back on but the truth. I gesture helplessly at the room behind him.

"I just found out that I…that he…. How is he?"

I'm answered by an enraged shout from behind the ornate screen shielding the back half of the room. "Goddamn it, you asshole, are ya tryin' ta freeze me ta death or what? Do ya gotta open every fuckin' window in the stronghold?"

Mitsukake reaches out a long arm and drags me the rest of the way into the room, slamming the door shut behind me. "It's all right, Tasuki. I've closed the windows!"

"About fuckin' time, too, ya stupid-ass kid! An' how many times do I gotta tell ya that I'm not Tasuki! I'm Genrou—nobody's s'posed ta know about Tasuki!" His voice subsides into a groan, accompanied by low curses under his breath.

My eyes must be as wide as saucers, because Mitsukake gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he draws me aside. "I'm sorry about this, Tamahome, but Tasuki has taken a slight turn for the worse tonight. He's running a high fever at the moment, and he seems to think that he's back in his bandit stronghold." His eyes darken. "I told him not to go out in the rain today—but when does he ever listen to me?" He pauses, as he and I simultaneously realize that he's talking to the reason Tasuki ventured out.

To stop me. From killing Miaka.

I'm beginning to think that guilt is going to be my permanent state of mind.

I struggle to change the subject. "Is it…is it the fever that makes him curse like that?"

Mitsukake gives a sudden smile. "No, the fever is actually making him more civil. If he were in his right mind, you'd hear him calling me a 'fucking quack' and accusing me of trying to kill him."

I guess I look a little shocked, because Mitsukake smiles again. Don't get me wrong; I'm not a prude about language or anything. I'm a regular guy like anyone else. But Mother always taught me that having humble beginnings didn't mean that you had to talk like you were lower class. She said that people judged you on how you spoke—and seeing as I was destined to be one of Suzaku's warriors, it was important that I honor my god by speaking properly.

It never occurred to me, especially after meeting Hotohori-sama, Nuriko, and Chichiri, that one of Suzaku's warriors could curse harshly enough to blister the lacquer from the enameled walls.

"Fuckin' hell, ya dumbshit kid, how long are ya gonna make me wait for the goddamn sake?"

Mitsukake rolls his eyes but replies with mocking respect. "Right away, Boss; I'm going now."

I'm shocked for the second time. "You're not really…" I whisper.

Mitsukake fixes me with a patient look, one that he must keep on hand for his slower-witted seishi partners. "Of course not. I need to make a special infusion that will hopefully bring this fever down. Luckily, in the state he's in now, I could feed him bathwater and he would believe that he's getting drunk."

Suddenly he looks keenly at me, as if he's trying to read my mind or see into my soul or something like that. I fidget under the sharp regard.

At last he releases me, a look of satisfaction passing across his face. "Yes, there is no trace of the kodoku left. Your eyes look perfectly clear."

Oh, is that what he was doing? Fine, at least his mind is at ease. As for me—well, this is obviously a wasted trip, since Tasuki isn't in any condition to talk. Not rationally, anyway. I turn to make my escape, but I'm stopped by a very large hand on my elbow.

"Wait, Tamahome. Could you do a favor for me and keep an eye on Tasuki until I return? I'm afraid that it's going to take me some time to gather the ingredients and brew them down. I don't need you to talk with him; just stay here and listen, and let me know if he seems to be getting any worse."

Oh, shit! This is not where I want to be at all, trapped in a room with a delirious, raving bandit who hates me! It's pointless, anyway, because…

"How am I supposed to tell you anything if I don't know where you are?"

"Well, if the pain starts getting unbearable, or if he seems to be having a seizure, just call for Chichiri in your mind. He'll pop right over, and I know that he can find me immediately, even if I'm between my office and the Imperial kitchens."

I keep looking for a way out. "Why don't you just heal him with your seishi power?"

Mitsukake gives me another one of his looks. "I can only use that power once each day."

Oh. And he already used it today.

On me.

Whether intentionally or not, the healer has pinned me in place with a skill that rivals that of my martial arts sifu. I'm forced to admire his subtle maneuver. Here I am—and here I will remain, until he decides to release me.

Sifu taught me that it's as important to know how to lose as to win. So I bow politely and gesture Mitsukake out the door.

All the same, knowing how to lose is just knowing how to put a good face on losing. It doesn't really make you feel any better. I'm not happy, and I'm ashamed to say that I feel a sudden wave of self-pity. I mean, I was only trying to do the right thing: maybe exchange an apology or two, try to get a new start from our disastrous first meeting. I didn't ask to be stuck here with a raving lunatic.

And hey, it's not like the past few weeks have been a walk in the park for me, either. I was the one who was trapped in Kutou as a hostage. I was the one who Nakago got his sadistic kicks from torturing and manipulating. Why should I carry around this burden of guilt, as if I asked for any of this to happen? I mean, who's suffered from this whole fiasco more than me?

I'm answered by a low, misery-filled moan from behind the screen. "Oh fuck," he chokes. "Why don't it ever fuckin' stop? I don't think I can take any more…" And his voice keens in a low wail that he keeps soft and under his breath, like a beaten child afraid of being overheard as he cries himself to sleep.

Before I know it, I'm moving toward the screen, leaving my shame and self-pity behind me. I don't know what I can do, but I have to do something.

It seems that this whole night is destined to be a series of shocks. He looks so small, curled up in the Imperial guest bed; much smaller than when I saw him standing in the rain this afternoon. But then he kicks a long, bandaged leg out from under the covers, and I realize that he's at least as tall as me. It was the pain that curled him into the childlike position.

Then there's his hair blazing orange-gold, making him look as if his head is on fire. I barely have time to note the clean dressings before he opens his one unbandaged eye-and focuses it on me.

I stand frozen in place under that golden, fever-bright stare, hoping that I didn't just make things worse.

But he doesn't seem upset. In fact, he gives me the ghost of a pain-filled smile.

"So ya finally decided ta show up." His voice is hoarse but pleasant. "I been waitin' for ya."

I'm going to have to stop doing this, or my face will stick this way permanently. In a flash, I see a future tapestry of the Suzaku Seven. Nuriko the Strong, flexing his muscles. Chichiri the Wise, upraised hand casting a spell.

Tamahome the Idiot, eyes bugging out and mouth hanging open.

My profound musings are interrupted by a long hiss of pain from Tasuki, as he shudders in the grip of another spasm. I take advantage of his distraction to wipe the idiot gape off my face and try to appear normal. No, that might seem callous. Try to appear sympathetic. No, now I look like I'm sucking lemons. Ohhhh—

"Fuck it!"

My thoughts exactly—except I can see that the source of his frustration is physical instead of mental. He's managed to become entangled in the blankets and is trying to pull them around him with the use of one elbow, as the rest of his arm is bound in a sling.

Without thinking, I bend over him and quickly straighten the covers, carefully sliding them around his exposed leg.

He squints up at me, trying to focus but finally giving up with an irritated shrug. "Thanks, man." Another unfocused squint. "Hey, how come you're not wearin'...?" He gestures with his good hand, drawing a line across his forehead.

"My headband? I didn't like it. I… Um, it itched."

"Oh." He looks confused for a moment, then grimaces again in pain.

I decide to do something useful instead of just hovering like an idiot, so I pour a cup of water from the pitcher at his bedside and offer it to him. He reaches out shakily but can't seem to focus enough to grasp it. I pause only for a second before placing an arm around his back to support him, and pressing the cup to his lips.

He drinks deeply-and I'm not surprised, because I can feel the intense heat of his fever even through his robe. Exhausted by even this small effort, he leans back against the pillows and closes his eye.

Maybe he can sleep now. Maybe I should just…. I begin to draw away, but that eye snaps open the moment I try to move back.

"No." His voice is a hoarse whisper. "Please stay. I…I'm glad ya came." He closes his eye…and to my horror, I see a single tear leak out.

No. No, please don't do this. Yell at me, curse me, give me some of that rage you showed earlier—but just don't…

I can't stand this. How can I ever forgive myself, when he—

"Sorry," he chokes, then coughs to hide his embarrassment. "I didn't mean to, but it just hurts so fuckin' much."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry! It's all my fault." I swallow hard to stop the quiver in my voice.

"Your fault?" He opens his eye and fixes me with a frown. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about? None of this is your fault. Ya tried ta warn me…"

A glimmer of hope penetrates the dark cloud of guilt that surrounds me. Did I really? Did I have a moment of sanity in that whole insane battle, one moment when I cried out, 'Watch out!' or 'Run away!'? Maybe I wasn't the complete bastard that Nakago tried to shape me into; maybe I still had some remnant of myself left inside despite the kodoku.

I reach out and clasp his uninjured hand, out of gratitude for his forgiveness and for the self-respect he just returned to me. I feel so close to him at this moment—like a brother. A seishi brother.

"You're going to be okay," I whisper softly.

We're both going to be okay.

"Damn straight, aniki!" He fixes that golden gaze on me with feverish intensity. "Once I heal up, I'm goin' back there, even though I don't belong. I'm goin' back fer only one reason—an' you can come along, so's you can watch.

"You can watch me kick the ass of that scumshit fuck-bastard Tama-fuckin'-home!"

It takes me barely two seconds to blink my eyes back into their sockets and close my open mouth. Now I'm ready for the brain to come back…yeah, here it is. It says—

'What?'

And then—

'WHAT?'

Eventually, more coherent questions form in that damaged organ, questions like: Who does he think I am? Who does he think he is? Where does he think he is? The result of all of these jumbled thoughts is my eventual reply:

"Huh?"

Tasuki doesn't notice my feeble response, being too wrapped up in another pain spasm. Funny how I don't feel as bad about that as I did one minute ago.

But then my conscience whispers a reminder. All right, maybe I did wish for some of his rage. But I never expected it to burn me into a smoking cinder.

And you know what? I don't need this. I don't need any of this. This whole venture is a stupid waste of time. Tasuki's about as likely to forgive me as he is to teach language arts to the Imperial concubines.

I'm outta here.

But that eye opens again as I pull back, fixing me with a look so lost and desolate that I catch my breath. "So yer leavin'?" he whispers, then forces a wry smile. "That's okay, aniki. I'm one miserable son-of-a-bitch to be around right now. I'll see ya later."

That's who he thinks I am—his aniki. His older brother. He thinks that his older brother is running out on him.

Before I know it, I'm leaning over him again, clasping his hand. "No, I'm not leaving. I'm just getting a chair so that I can sit down.

"I'll stay right here by you. We can talk."

To be continued…

Many thanks to the reviewers of Chapter One. Your thoughtful input is encouraging and inspiring.

For those who are confused by Tasuki's reference to an older brother: you're correct; he doesn't have one. But there is a person that he calls "aniki."

Aenisses 1-Mar-2005