Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews! Toni and Sheebita… you crazy people :P I think I've found my fluff-related weakness, and you two little monkeys are going to exploit it, aren't you?

Well, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.

First, Ichigo muttered a short prayer of thanks to whatever god was listening; her parents were gone for a week on a couple's cruise. This remarkable coincidence was truly a godsend; what in the world could she have done if her parents were home? The last thing she needed was her father discovering an alien boy in rather revealing attire bleeding all over her bed sheets. Second, she quickly left her room, ran down the short hallway, and adjusted the thermostat to a few degrees above her normal room temperature. That done, she returned, stopping by the hall closet to grab a few blankets on the way. As she entered, she gave a frustrated sigh when she realized that she'd need even more supplies. There was no ignoring the gash cutting from his shoulder to his chest. A minute or so later, she returned once more with all the antiseptic and bandages she could find, made a quick second trip, and came back with a basin of warm water which she set down beside the bed.

That done, she took a deep breath, too quickly becoming aware of what she would have to do. Warming him up was a must, but leaving that wound as it was could lead to nothing good, and dressing it would be much easier without him being bundled up. She also needed to remove his shirt; it was so torn and bloody, she doubted he'd mind, anyway. His shorts… a flare of blush across her cheeks put a swift end to any ideas concerning them.

She fingered the tattered remains of his shirt carefully, vaguely wondering exactly how she could get it off before deciding that moving him about to get it off the usual way was too troublesome, and too dangerous. Grabbing a pair of scissors from her desk, she lengthened the long tear, cutting down his sleeve until his right arm was free, then slowly reaching over and pulling the rest of it off his left. Finished, Ichigo surveyed her patient, that pesky blush quickly returning to paint her cheeks a soft pink; it occurred to her, somewhere in a small corner of her mind, that if he hadn't been in such bad condition, Kisshu would have looked—

The sickening contrast of red blood against his deathly pale skin saved Ichigo from pursuing that little thought.

Swallowing nervously but setting her face into a determined frown at the same time, she bent over the wound, wringing out a small towel she had soaked in the warm water and, as carefully as she could, touched a corner of it to the skin surrounding the wound, cleaning off cried and fresh blood before rinsing the cloth and steeling herself for the disturbing next step: using the antiseptic. Childhood experience reminded her that the stuff burned like all heck, and the thought of using it on such an injury made her nauseous.

"Ok… just a little bit," she whispered to herself as she soaked the corner of a second cloth with the fiery liquid, hoping that she could use her own voice to calm her shaking hands. A doctor she was not, and she knew it. But what else can I do? Calling a hospital was out of the question, so the girl was left to rely on her own wits. As she gingerly touched the cloth to the edges of cut skin, she could only pray it was enough.

Unfortunately, the worst possible thing happened right at that moment: Kisshu uttered a soft, pained yelp, eyes snapping open at the nasty sensation, and he jerked away from her, raising his still-trembling body halfway up before settling a wide-eyes, half-focused gaze on the surprised girl.

For a moment, neither spoke. Kisshu's mind, barely functioning, could do little to explain to him why Momomiya Ichigo was sitting before him, a look of concern he had never seen before dominating her features. Ichigo stared back, mouth slightly open, clearly unsure of what to say, not knowing if he'd even hear her, such was the dazed look on his face. The stillness broke when the last of the strength in his arms gave way and Ichigo gave a soft cry of "Kisshu!" as she caught him again, gently lowering him back down.

His eyes gradually attained a focus on her face; to her shock, his lips lifted in a weak smile.

"I died, then?" he whispered, voice raspy and weak. Ichigo blinked back those persistent tears, shaking her head quickly.

"No, no, Kish, you—" She couldn't finish, so flustered she was. Seeing him in this state, without all that marked him in her mind as Kisshu… it worked the same paralysis on her as it had before. Digging her nails into her thigh, forcing what she hoped was a comforting smile, she summoned all her resolve.

"You're in my room."

Instead of the snide, probably perverted response she could expect from him, Kisshu replied with a simple, "Oh." He took a few shaking breaths before adding, almost as an afterthought, "My shoulder hurts… and it's cold…"

Ichigo found herself nodding with more energy than necessary.

"I—I know. I have to clean the cut out, ok? Then I'll warm you up. Ok, Kisshu?" Why she bothered asking his permission, she did not know; he was obviously barely lucid, and what part of his mind was awake was likely dedicated to the sensations of pain and cold. Nevertheless, Ichigo kept a steady gaze on him as she began to clean the gash again. It was lucky that she did, for when he cried out and jerked this time, she was able to restrain him quickly. In a weak voice she never thought she'd hear from him again, that she hoped she would never hear again, he gasped, "It hurts."

Again, a nod, but this time also a quick caress across the forehead.

"I know, but you have to hold still. It'll be over soon," she murmured quietly, again wondering if her words were reaching him at all. Eyes shining with sympathetic tears, she hurried through the rest of the cleansing, one arm firmly holding the alien boy in place as he hissed and grimaced in pain.

As she discarded the cloth and reached for the bandages, she realized with a pang of agonizing despair that he had fallen unconscious again; the pain had sent him back to darkness. She wound the bandages around his chest and shoulders in silence, carefully tying it off when she was sure it was thick and tight enough to discourage more bleeding.

That done, she pulled the blankets over him, tenderly smoothing them out and adjusting them until she was sure that he was totally covered. He had not stopped shivering, and it suddenly occurred to her that his body temperature had probably fallen far below normal, and that she should get a thermometer and check. A moment later she realized that she didn't know what normal was for an alien, and even if she did, she could not bring herself to leave.

There was something about his voice, his unfocused gaze, his weakness that disturbed her to her core. He's not… they're not… this can't be happening… Yet it was. In spite of everything she wished, this was happening, and no matter how many times she reminded herself that this was the enemy, that this was the vicious, conniving Kisshu, she could not stop herself from tentatively smoothing back his bangs.

No matter what the voice of logic insisted, she could not move from the bedside.

Author's Note: As usual, review, please! Jeez, I have to start doing these earlier. Calculus test tomorrow does not mix with going to sleep at 1AM.