Chapter One-Hundred Twenty-Three

When he woke, darkness shrouded the small room. Syaoran opened his eyes, gritting his teeth as he became aware of pain. The soothing effects of Hinata's tea had worn off while he'd slept, and though he felt far from rested, the discomfort would make it difficult to fall back asleep. He turned his head, winced as the movement pulled at the wound on his neck, then let his eyes dart around the room. No one sat at his bedside, and someone had shut the door, so he couldn't see anyone in the hallway. With the paper-thin walls, he'd have expected to hear movement—most hospitals didn't shut down for the night, after all—but no sound reached his ears except for those caused by his own movements.

I'm alone, he thought, his throat tightening. He'd at least expected Kurogane to stay by his side. Whatever business he'd had with Tomoyo, it couldn't have possibly lasted so long.

Setting his discomfort aside, he flipped onto his stomach and propped himself up with his knees and elbows. A sickening wave of pain rolled through his body, and every wound his clone and Seishirou had inflicted the previous day came alive with agony. He froze, crippled, then slumped onto his bedroll. For a time, he laid there, hovering in the twilight awareness between sleep and wakefulness.

Eventually, the door slid open. Roused from his near-sleep, he looked up. Hinata peered through the doorway, a lit candle in her hand. When she saw him sitting up, she entered. "I would tell you to go back to sleep," she began, "but you'd probably fare better if you had more tea to dull the pain."

He exhaled, the thought of relief driving away a bit of the pain all on its own. "Thank you."

"Caring for the wounded is my profession," she said, producing an empty cup as one of her apprentices handed her a tea kettle. She poured the still-steaming liquid into the cup and added the appropriate herbs, letting it steep for a minute before handing it to him. Grateful, he took it, drinking deep.

"Since you're awake, we might as well change your bandages."

"I'm fine," he said automatically, but Hinata had already gestured for her apprentice to come in and start unraveling his used bandages. A scarce fifteen years old, the girl showed no disgust as she peeled away layers of gauze on his leg to reveal the ugly scabs beneath. She wiped his wounds with a damp rag, then moved on to the wound on his arm, letting Hinata smear some pale yellow paste onto the wound. "What will that do?"

"It will kill any evil spirits growing in the wound so they cannot poison your blood."

Syaoran tried to smile; he couldn't quite manage it. Hopefully, the paste would ward off infection as well as evil spirits. Her tea had worked well, so even if her understanding of how her cures worked was inaccurate, the medicine itself would be effective. Probably. "Thank you."

Her eyes flickered to his face as she wound fresh bandages over the wound. "May I ask something?"

He blinked, wondering what could be so sensitive that she would request permission to ask. "What would you like to know?"

"In terms of medical care and its effectiveness, how primitive are my remedies?"

His eyes widened at her word choice. Primitive, rather than advanced. "Your remedies have saved both myself and Kurogane-san," he said carefully. "They must be effective."

"But compared to other worlds, how would you describe my methods?"

There's no easy way out of this, he thought, looking away. "All cultures go through a similar pattern in their development of medical science, to my knowledge. Early on, most sicknesses are treated as ailments of the spirit, and remedies consist of some attempt at magic. After that, trial and error takes over, generally including basic surgeries and herbal remedies. Those steadily become more advanced until the overall scientific knowledge of that culture develops to facilitate more advanced methods." He paused, frowning. "Why do you ask?"

"The . . . arm that Kurogane-sama acquired prompted me to do some thinking about my own medical practices and beliefs. Previously, the only treatment for a mangled limb was amputation. If there is a way to make a person whole again, to make it as if they were never injured in the first place . . ." She sighed. "Such a thing is a medical miracle here, but I can't help but think it's commonplace in other worlds."

"Well, ah, that's not . . . The world that made the prosthetic . . . the metal arm . . . It's very advanced, far ahead of most other places. They've just had more time to develop scientifically. I would imagine that very few worlds have the power to make someone whole." He looked down again, not out of awkwardness, but out of misery. Was there ever really a way to become whole again after losing something precious? If he lost his chance to save both Sakuras, would he ever be whole again? No. If I fail again, it will be because I'm dead, he vowed.

Hinata and her apprentice finished tending his wounds, and Syaoran realized the tea had started to take effect. The absence of pain made him want to get up and move, but he knew Hinata would never let him wander around in his condition, let alone walk all the way to Kurogane's room to visit. Maybe I can have him visit me. "Do you know if Kurogane-san is still awake?"

Hinata shook her head. He sighed but said nothing, lying back and closing his eyes. Maybe I could still go see him, he thought. But he won't be happy to find me walking around.

He heard Hinata and her apprentice leave the room. For a few minutes, he considered getting up and crawling into the ninja's bed while he was asleep. Kurogane wouldn't wake him until morning, which would delay the argument. Eventually, Syaoran decided not to bother. He couldn't just slip into the ninja's bed whenever he felt lonely.

A few hours of fitful sleep later, he woke to the sound of the door sliding open. His eyelids lifted, heavy with fatigue, and it took him a moment to focus on the figure towering over him. Soft light seeped through the exterior wall, letting him know that morning had come, but it made his visitor's clothes seem even darker by comparison. Still, he smiled. "Kurogane-san."

"Morning. Here." The ninja set a tray next to the bedroll. "Breakfast."

"Thank you." Syaoran began to sit up, then fell back as pain twisted through his body.

"Start with the tea. That healer made it."

More tea, he thought. It's always more tea. Carefully, he picked up the teacup and sipped from the edge, imagining the soothing liquid spreading through his body in a cloud, pushing away the pain. It didn't work that fast, but the psychological benefit of the image made his aches seem less pressing.

Kurogane sat by his side, not saying a word as he stared at the wall. He seemed thoughtful, which was strange enough to make Syaoran wonder what he was thinking. He reached out, letting his hand rest over the ninja's metal fingertips. Kurogane stiffened, then looked at him, eyebrows pulling together as if he was about to do something he dreaded. "What's wrong?" Syaoran asked.

"Nothing. Eat your soup."

Syaoran glanced at the tray. Bits of vegetables bobbed up and down in the rust-colored broth, and he wondered what sort of soup he'd been brought, but he suspected it would go down easily, even with the wound on his neck making swallowing painful. Slowly, he tried sitting up again. Somehow, his aches and pains seemed even worse after a night of rest. Then again, his sleep had hardly been restful, and his dreams had turned to nightmares. The image of Kurogane's head rolling across the palace floor hadn't yet evaporated from his mind. His stomach twisted. "I'm not really hungry."

"Eat."

He flinched, but pulled the bowl onto his lap. He plunged his chopsticks into the broth, grabbing a chunk of some red vegetable. Pain made his arm tremble as he lifted the chopsticks to his mouth, and by the time he lowered them, he had to stop to rest. If I'm this weak now, how am I going to recover well enough to fight when we go to Clow Country?

"You're not eating."

He looked down. "Sorry."

Kurogane studied him for a moment, then took the bowl from his lap. He fished a chunk out of the broth and lifted it to Syaoran's mouth. Feeling like a child, he bit down and swallowed. When Kurogane moved to repeat the gesture, he shook his head. "You don't have to feed me."

"No. I don't." Kurogane lowered the chopsticks. "But I want to." He lifted another piece from the bowl. "You can argue if you want, but it's obvious you're too hurt to do it yourself, so either I can do it, or I can call one of the healers in to do it. But that's how it's going to be."

Syaoran frowned, uncertain whether he should be annoyed or touched by the ninja's insistence. When he felt the tips of the chopsticks prodding at his lips, he opened his mouth. Easier to let Kurogane tend to him if he wanted to, although it struck him as odd that the ninja would bother. Even in their most tender moments, he wouldn't have expected the man to dote on him like this. I must have really worried him, he thought, swallowing another chunk of vegetable. "Can I ask what brought all this on?"

Surprise flickered across the ninja's face, followed by irritation. "You got a problem with me taking care of you?"

His eyes widened. "No, but . . . You're not usually so . . . caring."

Red eyes scanned his face, cold and distant. He's upset about something. Syaoran fidgeted. Does he expect something from me? Does he even want me to ask him about it? After another bite, he decided that asking, unlike silence, would get him some information. "What's wrong?"

"Have you decided which of us you're going to pick?"

He cocked his head to the side, momentarily confused, then stiffened when he understood. Oh. He wants to know whether I'm going to choose Sakura over him. "I . . ." His teeth pressed into his lower lip. I should have been thinking about this more. I should have been prepared for it. He looked down. He really hadn't been giving the dilemma the attention it deserved. Part of the problem was that the last few days had been so busy, first with Kurogane recovering from the roof collapse, then with the back-to-back fights outside. But it was a question that he should have answered for himself weeks ago, if not months. At the same time, the thought of making that decision—right or wrong—made his insides shrivel up with panic. How could he choose between them, knowing that his choice would hurt the other? How could he forsake one relationship—one future—without any doubts about whether he'd made the right choice? "I . . ."

Kurogane's eyebrows slanted. "If you don't have an answer, just say so."

"I . . . I don't know yet. I haven't decided." His eyes focused on the floor; he didn't dare glance up to see the look on the ninja's face. It would only make him feel worse.

Without another word, Kurogane set the bowl of broth next to the bed and walked out of the room.