Characters: Namie Yagiri, Izaya Orihara, President Lory Takarada, Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty Sturluson, Shinra Kishitani

Chapter 11: In Which Flu Addles the Adult Brain of a Usually Sane Character

"Namie. Namie..." It kept repeating. Over and over.

What was this? Her conscience? Annoying... She sighed and stirred.

"Namie...Namie..." The hoarse whisper spoke of increasing desperation.

Namie's eyes popped open. Izaya? Was that him?

She hauled herself to her feet and lurched toward the sound. Whatever could be the matter...? Ugh, she felt nasty, her hair was a mess, how long had she slept...?

She reached the doorway and leaned through. Izaya was half-in, half-out of bed, and he was scrabbling desperately to pull himself back up on the very verge of falling out entirely, head-first. On the wet floor below were the sharp, smashed remains of the waterglass she had put on his bedside table the night before.

Namie darted to his side, planted her feet carefully around the glass, scooped him and the blankets into her arms, and pushed him back onto the bed. "Don't move," she ordered, moving very carefully, and then she fetched the broom and dustpan and dealt with the glass. Meanwhile, Izaya tried to extricate himself from the blankets and failed miserably.

"Need some help?"

Izaya looked away. "Please."

Namie tisked her tongue and got him sorted despite his (very feeble) childlike, fumbling resistance. "Do you need anything else?" she asked him.

Izaya slid his tongue over the cracks in his lips. "Water. In something that won't shatter," Izaya said pointedly, and glared at her as if the broken glass was her fault. Which it was. Sort of.

Namie nodded and did as he asked. She rummaged around in the kitchen for a while and eventually found some plastic cups. She took it to him and he drank the water. Namie surreptitiously checked his forehead with her fingers. Burning, burning very hot. Oh, crap. Oh, crap crap crap. If it was over 38.9° C (102º F) ...

Izaya moved restlessly under her hand, struggling to extricate his arms. "Namie, I'm sweltering. This bed is like an oven. Could you put back the blankets...?"

She did so, folding them sideways in a triangle. Then she pulled his feet out from underneath. "Simply fold these back over if you get cold with chills," she instructed him. "Which you probably will. I'm going to get you some medicine, okay?" She turned off the light she had absentmindedly flicked on.

"Namie..."

"I know, I know, I got it!" she shouted from the kitchen, as worry was quickly converted to irritation. "I'll be back soon! Stop whining! I got you!" That was what she said, but somehow, even as she shouted, Namie was struck by her own protective feelings. Her surprise assaulted her with memories. This was the man she wanted to poison only six months ago. The same one, wasn't it?

Izaya subsided.

She fetched a compress, and searched in the cabinet for medicines. Hmm. Weren't any. Did he get sick very often? She'd been with him for a little over a year and she couldn't remember him even getting allergies, or a cold. She found the temperature gauge.

She came back and took his temperature, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it was 37.7° C. Not hospital-worthy, but just barely. "You're not going anywhere today. Or tomorrow. Or for a while yet. I'll call your bosses for you."

"What are you talking about?" Izaya said hoarsely. A couple of tears licked out from under his eyelids. "I'm not crying," he muttered. He scraped at his eyes, and once again insisted, "It's nothing."

"Yes, I know. It's the fever," Namie said, her voice at its very dryest. "Even you wouldn't be so stupid as to cry over missing work."

Izaya sniffled most inopportunely. Namie let the barest glimmer of a smile seep through her iron will.

"Gaki," she said gently. "Brat. I'll take care of it. You probably caught the flu Kadota came down with. Which means you'll probably be taking care of me soon enough. Must be virulent. If Kadota mysteriously transferred his illness to you somehow, that Shizuo probably caught it from you while you two were dancing." She sighed. "I'll probably catch it before its run is over. I need to take a shower. Will you be all right for half an hour?"

Izaya nodded.

"Don't start crying for me all the time, now," Namie warned him. "I mean it. I have to trust you. Little Boy cries Wolf and—" Namie cut a line across her throat. "I might not be there when you need me. Got it?"

Izaya nodded again.

"Good." Namie propped the door open, and left.

Namie put a hand to her temple. It was cool—for now anyway. The breakfast she was making for him and herself was a fruit smoothie in the blender of pineapple and mango and oranges and papaya. She hoped Izaya wouldn't mind the papaya...she didn't want to make him sicker, and she had put it in without thinking. Hopefully, lots of Vitamin C would stave this off...though there wasn't much hope, at this point.

The phone rang.

Namie sighed, set down the knife, rinsed her hands quickly, and picked up the phone. She couldn't move far from the phone as it still had a cord. She wrapped the cord around her fingers and spoke. "Hello? You have reached the residence of Izaya Orihara. Who is speaking?"

"President of LME, Lory Takarada speaking," the phone announced grandly, in a way that left no doubt that he really was the man he claimed he was.

"I am sorry, sir, my boss Orihara Izaya is very sick right now and cannot answer any calls," said Namie, tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Although I can take a message."

"That is quite all right." Lory paused, and then said, "I wanted to talk to you, actually."

Namie almost dropped the phone. "What?"

"You live with him, do you not? Your being his secretary is just a cover story because you aren't married. Someone in the lower ranks of LME would not typically have the financial resources to hire a secretary." The President sounded entirely too pleased with himself.

"Um, yes, no—no, but—"

"Then you must know something about him and Heiwajima-san, do you not?"

"Yes, now, but about—"

"You see, I need to ask someone who knows them well about an idea that I think might work. I would like to see them able to work together, you see," said Lory.

There was a poignant pause. "Commendable," said Namie, shortly, when she gotten control of herself, and continued in a tight, clipped voice, "But in the foreseeable future, I think it is impossible." The phone shook slightly, it was gripped so tightly in her hand.

"And I think otherwise. You are less certain of that than you think you are."

Who was this guy? A wizard, or something? The gall. What kind of president meddled with his entry-level employees like this? Get to the point! "Fine!" Namie snapped. Get it over with! Like it matters what I think!

"Something tells me that things changed recently as regards their situation," said the President, all innocently. "Am I wrong?"

"What makes you think that?" Namie asked warily. She twisted the phone cord with her other hand.

"You didn't waste your time arguing with me. So, perhaps something happened recently that changed your mind, but you hadn't gotten so far as to admit it yet. Your first opinion was based on habit."

Who the bloody idiot is this?! the back of her mind shrieked.

Namie pressed her lips together for an instant, then sighed and leaned back on the counter. "I suppose. I don't understand all of what happened," she said grudgingly. "Now don't get excited. They already started cooperating. If you can call it that."

"Hmm. What changed?"

"You know they are rivals, right? There was an— It was their mutual friends." Namie exhaled in frustration. "This isn't going to make any sense at all, you know that? Both their best friends got married, chose them as groomsmen, and forbid them from fighting. At some point the bride and the groom got drunk and dared Heiwajima and Orihara to dance with each other. They accepted the dare, they did it. Did a spectacular job, actually, but let me tell you," Namie's voice hardened as it suddenly became difficult to speak past the choking lump in her throat, "it was a relief that the reception hall was still intact at the end."

"So what would be the significance of this incident, specifically?"

"They cooperated." Namie coughed to clear her throat. "Actually Heiwajima-san was leading everything Izaya did. It changed the power dynamic."

Ah. The opposite of the act they put on when they got into LME, thought Lory. How interesting. "How so?"

"Heiwajima-san was in perfect control of himself. For the moment, I mean. Before, Izaya has always held the reins, and Heiwajima-san champed at them. But he broke the pattern yesterday. What that will mean...I don't know. I can't imagine why Heiwajima-san wouldn't want revenge," Namie said frankly. "And as for what Izaya will do..." she sighed. "He won't want to let go. Of his power."

"Sounds like good news," Lory commented, as if he hadn't heard what she said, though he had.

"It can't last," Namie insisted.

But Lory was equally stubborn. "Oh, but I would like to make it last. I'd rather they became equals," he said mildly.

"They'd have to be friends first," Namie objected. "And on that score, I have two words for you: fat chance. There's a better chance of the Messiah coming to Earth tomorrow. At least that was prophesied," she said darkly.

She heard clicking sounds, as if Lory was making a note, and then Lory chuckled. "All right. I believe my plan is complete. And you have a very lovely sarcastic streak, by the way."

That meant the conversation was at an end. She had to convince him fast—but there wasn't time to think up a reasonable argument. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not going to work!" Namie screeched into the receiver.

"Haven't you ever heard that things get worse before they get better?" said Lory, sounding amused.

"That's exactly why I'm worried!"

"Duly noted. Rest assured, those two will be carefully monitored. The situation should be put under control in safe, confined circumstances where a certain influential person could easily intervene before chaos took over, don't you agree? However, I have full faith in them. They are magnificent young men. If they could do it once, they can do it again."

"You can't just throw them together and expect them to come out of it just fine!"

"Eventually, yes. But give me some credit. It seems the newlyweds did the hardest work for me, overcoming the first hurdle—always good to hear. Please thank them for me. Now is the time to start pushing, discreetly."

"No it's not!"

"If I give them a break, they will just go back to how they were, and nothing will have been gained. Surely you sense that, Ms. Fake Secretary. Don't breathe a word of this to Orihara-san; it will only make things worse. It's very important that neither of them suspect what I am about to do."

"I'd trust you, Mr. President, but darn it, I have nothing to threaten with you with if this goes wrong," Namie grumbled. "So on your own head be it!" Though the truth is the first head it will come down on is probably mine. Namie glared at the mess in front of her.

Lory chuckled again and hung up.

Oh, he was toying with her! No—that wasn't quite it. He was probably a real idiot. What kind of person encouraged chaos? When Izaya started bringing his work problems home, life would become difficult. She should be trying to protect her best interests. Or maybe she should try to be optimistic for Izaya's sake...before she became paranoid...

She glanced at the hall leading to Izaya's bedroom. Now that she thought of it, it was something of an ill omen that he had gotten sick right after this leap forward. She was a scientist, she shouldn't be superstitious, she had vowed never to follow in her silly fearful traditional mother's footsteps, but as soon as she had the thought, premonitions of doom and bad luck descended as clouds. Fate. She couldn't fight it, if such a thing existed. The universe had its ways. She wouldn't give into such beliefs—wouldn't act on them—but now and then they leaned on her mind like heavy little lumps of lead, clouding her vision with grey, and nothing stopped her from feeling them.

Namie vented her feelings by the smashing hapless fruit into a pulp with a stick. Then she turned on the blender. Entranced, she watched the pulp whip into sweet juice. The frozen, nearly manic grin on her face faded only when her finger slipped from the button and the whirling stopped. The fruit was smooth.

She took a deep breath.

Oh yes, destruction was satisfying. She couldn't fix anything else right now, but this—this would do, as a stand-in.

Namie licked her fingers, ran her tongue over her teeth, her chapped lips. Yes. You—you just have to get through this. Whatever happens to Izaya, whatever changes, you focus on your job right now. You do what makes you happy. Her eyes drifted to a picture of Seiji she kept pinned to the refrigerator by a magnet. Even...despite...him. It's time.

Namie turned the picture over, to the white side, and pinned it back to the fridge. She refused to look at it, after that.

Izaya was not a good patient. For one thing, he was very sick and sick people couldn't help but be disgusting. For another, he was ornery. When he was too sick to be ornery he was too insensible to take care of himself or be cooperative. He tended to hallucinate—not alarmingly so, but sometimes he said he could see glowing bugs in places where they shouldn't be. When he became sensate, he was insufferable when he could make himself understood, and miserable when he could not. The only relief Namie got was when he was sleeping, because then he stopped moving or moaning or whining or complaining or aching or simply breathing loudly. Izaya had a way of broadcasting his misery that was very hard to ignore, but he hardly ever asked for help after the first time. Probably because he thought he was about to die that time. But since Namie was suffering because Izaya was suffering, she ended up being extra nice and coddling him anyway. At the end of every day, Namie was as tired as he was, and just as cranky.

Namie persevered through all of that, and then, just as she predicted, Namie got sick on the last day of Izaya's convalescence—his symptoms cleared up as suddenly as he had come down with the illness. Namie's flu wasn't as bad as Izaya's. Namie figured Izaya could have gone to work and left her to rest in peace, but he didn't. She had no idea why. She didn't want him to go to LME just yet, but it wasn't for her sake; it was because she knew President Lory Takarada was up to something, and she didn't think she could deal with an unpredictable Izaya in her current state. But Namie hadn't even hinted at what she herself wanted.

Izaya stayed home instead and got caught up on his informant work. He spent almost the whole day typing on the computer, except for occasions when he had a coughing fit or picked up the phone to make a call. Namie had very little idea what he was doing except when he occasionally turned around to ask her a question or make a comment about something.

Stuff like, "Kadota's gang is so busy doing volunteer work these days I should start calling them the full-time Dollars. Or perhaps I should illicitly register them as a part-time charity. Which would be more amusing?"

Or, "Awakusa-gumi picked a fight with so-and-so, which means that blah-blah-blah, do you know when we last changed the locks, Namie?... Well, in that case, make a call to the locksmith when you're feeling better."

Or, "Mikado-kun needs to get a life. Why did he take down the chats again? What is he trying to evolve, his society? Oh good, they're up again." Dot dot dot. "No way, he has new rules. Stop that! You know I'm just going to pick them apart! You're giving me more loopholes! You're giving me what I waaaaant! It's no fun if you don't fight, Mikado-kunnnn!" and he slapped the keyboard.

Or, "I don't know who that reporter guy is trying to kid, he's not fooling anyone. Why must my beloved humans let themselves be misled by such a madman? It was so much better when Shizuo's little brother was doing it. Huh, Namie, are you listening?" And she replied, "I've never heard of him before," and Izaya made a flat, disappointed noise. "Yes you have, you just don't remember," he said, and turned back to the computer screen.

It might almost have passed for his way of cheering her up. Which it did, sort of, except he needn't have bothered. Namie never felt the need to raise her spirits while she was sick. The trick she always used was to beat the boredom and force her brain to stop thinking while she suffered a headache from the pressure on her sinuses that made thinking painful. And she didn't precisely need Izaya around to do that.

Because she had expected Izaya to go to work, Namie neglected to change out of her pajamas. She parked herself on the sofa and watched her dramas, and studiously tried to ignore him. Eventually it became clear that Izaya was not going to leave, but she was tired, and didn't feel up to changing her ways, so she relaxed. She watched a lot a lot a lot of dramas, and Izaya poked holes in all of them. Namie was too tired to do more than roll her eyes, and sometimes Izaya was genuinely funny, or he said something that she had wanted to say, and so in the end she didn't really mind. The only thing she got up to do was to make tea. A lot a lot a lot of tea. Izaya heated frozen TV dinners in the oven and managed not to burn them.

She fell asleep, woke up on the sofa (the TV was still on) at 7 AM in the morning, and Izaya was gone, back to work, and she had never really needed him at home. Back to LME, back to the life that President Takarada had promised her was going to be set off kilter. Izaya left an explanatory note for his absence on the fridge on the back of Seiji's photograph. Namie felt briefly annoyed at this, but then became somewhat amused. It was her fault for turning the photograph the wrong way, of course—that gave Izaya his excuse. Namie could almost see him mistaking the white of the photograph for notepaper if he was in a hurry. But there was no sign that he had been in a rush, and doing that seemed sloppy, and Izaya had an eye for detail, so writing on the photograph must have been intentional. He could have found something else to write on, but he chose that.

He always had to make a point.

Suddenly sleepy again, Namie yawned, shut the window curtains, found a blanket, curled back up on the couch. For now, all was well, and it was a good feeling. Of all things...don't break this, Izaya. Namie curled tightly around herself, and prayed. Don't break the peace, no matter how fragile it is—not today. Not now that I've found out what this thing called peace is, at last. Let us come to know it! Would you do it for me? If I asked you?

Izaya wasn't looking forward to a change in routine. So when Kyoko and Moko informed him that the President wanted to see him, he was uncertain as to how to proceed. He doubted that his work had been unsatisfactory. He hadn't fought with Shizuo, either inside or outside of work, for nearly three months. As the thought crossed his mind, he realized, with a jolt, that he had been subconsciously counting the days and itching for a conflict, any conflict, like an addict. And sure, he had repressed it, but that was not good, not as a long-term strategy.

And since the dance at the wedding... Izaya tried not to think about it. He would not enter a one-on-one fight he did not foresee the end of. He would not. Right now, Shizuo was unpredictable. Unpredictable people were fatally dangerous. It could not be allowed.

Izaya shoved his thoughts back under his control and stalked to the President's office.

To his surprise, Shizuo was already standing there at attention.

They glanced at each other, looked away. Izaya took the other side of the door rather than stand next to Shizuo.

The door to the President's office suite flew open.

British explorer/archaeologist, Izaya noted clinically, and tried to focus. Shizuo furiously blinked his eyes as if he was standing in front of a bright light.

"Orihara-san! Heiwajima-san! Come in, please~!" Somewhow, the President pushed the two men in front of him and swept them both inside the office. And someone shut the door. Shizuo flinched as if someone had shot a gun, and a minor tremor ran through him—the palpable tension of being stuck with Izaya, with no way out.

So Shizuo wasn't completely immune to Izaya's presence—just enough to tolerate it. Nevertheless, Izaya half expected one of the pretty pictures in the room to fall from its hook and crack its glass with a cartoon crash from the buildup of pressure in the room.

None did.

The President bade them to sit.

They sat.

He poured them tea, and they drank.

President Takarada took a deep breath, folded his hands. Shizuo was clearly tense, but not about to act. Izaya—Izaya's face was at its blankest and most serious since he had met him. Usually he had a smirk or sarcastic twist to his lip, but today there was none of that, and he was studiously not looking at Shizuo (and therefore not provoking him). Takarada began. "It has come to my attention that the two of you have been avoiding each other since you started working, and that in doing so you have each monopolized Kotonami's and Mogami's time. Please explain."

Izaya replied, at his most blasé, "We don't work together well." Understatement.

"As a LoveMe member, I expect you both to be willing to collaborate with all of your coworkers," said President Lory. "Cooperative team skills are a vital part of the LoveMe program."

Izaya saw what he was doing. It was only a small step from "be willing" to "I expect you to work with everyone." He couldn't blame the president, but he didn't like it.

"You must overcome the personality conflicts between you before a crisis actually requires you to work together," Lory continued. "And that requires practice. Henceforth, I want to see you and Izaya working together at all times."

"If you insist," said Izaya woodenly. Shizuo simply stared down at his hands.

"In addition, I have a special assignment for the two of you." President Takarada dug into his desk and retrieved two red paper hearts, and handed one to Izaya and one to Shizuo. "You must complete it by the end of spring. You may now go."

Izaya and Shizuo bolted from their seats like rabbits. Once outside, they studiously turned their backs to each other, and read the red hearts' assignments in the hall outside.

Izaya clenched his fist and hissed. Shizuo swore in a constant stream of a couple of languages. Izaya couldn't help wincing a little when the word happened to be Russian—how much time did Shizuo spend around Simon, anyway?—but otherwise he didn't react.

What's to stop me from walking out now, I wonder? Izaya thought. Shizuo was probably thinking the same thing.

But he wasn't.

Shizuo ripped his red paper heart into tiny pieces. "If you walk out on me now, I will grind you into the dust with my heel, flea," Shizuo said, scowling, and stepped closer. "You hear? You may have gotten me into this, but I won't let you back out now. We're not done." There was a particular gleam in Shizuo's eye, only not quite a glare, that looked much too serious.

Izaya resisted the urge to swallow. Right. Threats. President Takarada must have offered Shizuo something, something he really wanted, which required Izaya's cooperation to obtain it. A permanent job, maybe. That wasn't enough to stop Izaya if Izaya really wanted to walk out, but— It wasn't the reaction he had been expecting from Shizuo. And that made him cautiously curious. "Where are you going?" Izaya called.

"To get a mop. What else?" Shizuo said loudly without looking for Izaya, not bothering to hide his anger. "Hall I-BA. It was on our sign-in sheet this morning."

Izaya swore and scampered to get cleaning supplies. Hall I-BA was the hardest one to clean in the whole building, due to the structure of the rooms and the placement of some rather unfortunate choices of ornaments. I am actually doing this. I am willingly going to tear down all the work I put into Shizuo.

Although the wedding showed that was coming apart anyway.

I need something new, Izaya thought, desperately. I can't let this happen. We have to be permanently divided somehow. If we work together, we keep ourselves distant.

He looked back at the scrap of paper. This wasn't going to work. Not at all.

To Orihara Izaya:

Go visit a hospital and cheer up some patients. Your job is not done until everyone has smiled at least once, but for a perfect one hundred points, everyone must be smiling at the same time. Find a script you both agree to act out, and create a short comedy skit and perform it with Heiwajima-san. Because it is indelicate, slapstick comedy may not be used for this exercise. You may tell him that this is your assignment, which is due March 3rd. You must complete this task to continue to be employed as a LoveMe member. When you are ready, you will inform your manager and he will contact the hospital for you.

Heiwajima-san has another task that he will need your help with. So help.

To Heiwajima Shizuo:

Behave. Breathe deep. Attend the company yoga sessions with Izaya. You must convince him to do this at least once without letting on that this is your task, but for a perfect one hundred points, you must do it together regularly. You may take as long as you need to accomplish this task. When you complete it, I will send you the five-year contract.

Orihara-san has another task that he will need your help with. So help.

Author's Note: Again, I encourage you, my dear readers, to review. You have all been quite silent as of late, which makes me wonder whether I have been doing my job. Just drop a note—it's quite easy to make me happy. If you are unsatisfied with the story, then I prefer to know rather than listen to silence. And if you like it—just say so! Even with just three little words.