by Momiji Hime

~ Cold.. ~

~ He shivered violently, jerking coughs shaking his body even further. He hunched over, clutching his lower abdomen in agony, and feeling as if the rough coughs were ripping his body apart. They tore at his throat and stomach, and he began to gag intermittently. The man battled with his equilibrium, struggling to keep his body in check. ~

***

Kunikida returned, making his way to Momiji's side. "Here.. drink this." He resumed his seat at her bedside, patting her back gently. The alarmed look on his tired face mirrored the expressions of the rest of the rooms occupants. They watched with bated breath as Momiji lifted her head, slowly and timidly. She reached out with an unsteady hand, wrapping her fingers around the offered cup of water. She took a feeble sip, then swallowed carefully, wincing as the water hit her sore throat. The second mouthful was a bit easier to consume, and after she had drained half the glass, she managed, with Kunikida and Kusanagi's help, to seat herself in an upright position.

Matsudaira put a hand to Momiji's forehead, then to her cheek. "I don't know what to do.. she's so feverish. Burning up."

Before anyone could speak, the half full glass fell from Momiji's trembling fingers, spilling the ice cold contents over the blankets before rolling off the bed onto the carpeted floor. She doubled over, and a small cough escaped her mouth, followed by a weak, hoarse moan.

"Oh.. Momiji." Takeuchi murmured from her spot by the door. Her eyes stung, moisture winding it's path down her cheeks as she watched her live-in-daughter seized by another fit of coughing.

Kunikida patted her back, unable for the life of him to figure out how to possibly help. He leaned close, uttering words meant to soothe in her ear, but it was highly unlikely that she heard them over her own gagging.

***

~ The man convulsed, choking on his own breath. Gagging sounds emanated from his chapped lips as he struggled to his hands and knees, the bruises that were still forming on his hands protesting at the weight he set upon them. His insides screamed for him to lay down, to just die, but he couldn't. He had to get up... he couldn't die.. he couldn't drown. He managed to open his eyes, glimpsing through his tangled tresses, staring down at the rancid, filthy water he had been lying in. Despite the cold, sweat trailed down his cheeks in rivers, actually dripping to the water beneath him. He tried to bring his eyes into focus, but he began to cough again, and collapsed to his side, grasping his middle as he fought for breath.. for life. ~

"God.. Matsu.. is that blood?" Takeuchi placed a hand on Momiji's head, pushing her hair back from her forehead.

Matsudaira looked to Yaegashi and Koume, who had retreated to a chair, their faces pale, and uttered a single command. "Towels." She turned her attention back to the Kushinada as Koume instantly boosted herself from her seat and rushed into the hallway. Sakura kneeled at Momiji's bedside, her normally upbeat face frightened. "Sakura... water--cold."

Sakura leaped from her position, and sprinted into the hallway as well, glad to have something to do rather than just stare at her agonized former arch-enemy.

Takeuchi left Kunikida and Momiji's sides to rummage through Momiji's drawers, producing a pair of thick socks, which she tugged onto the Kushinada's feet. She bit her lip as she felt how cold the girl's skin was, then flipped the covers back over her legs.

"Good.. someone turn up the heat, please."

"Matsudaira."

"What?" She all but barked, turning her gaze to Yaegashi, who had stood during some point during the goings on. His face had grown even more pale, almost wax-like in his fear. "What is it?"

"L.. look at her arm.." He pushed his way over to her beside, lifting her arm for Matsudaira to see. "Where did that come from?"

Matsudaira looked, her brow furrowing. "Wha..."

A small, purple bruise decorated the otherwise flawless skin of Momiji's arm. Matsu couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before. Her eyes slipped upward to the Kushinada's face, now noticing that she had ceased her coughing, and had fallen back onto her pillows, her eyes dazedly perusing the off white of the ceiling.

Yaegashi cut in, his hand falling to Matsu's shoulder, startling her. "Look, we should really take her to the hospi-" "The damn hospital can't do a thing for her!" Matsudaira spat at him, returning her gaze to Momiji's face. "Don't you get it?"

Yaegashi drew himself up to his full height, ready to argue, when Koume shoved her way to the bedside, thrusting a pile of towels into Matusdaira's lap. "Here. My god..what happened to her? Where did those bruises come from?"

"Bruises?" Matsudaira frowned for the umpteenth time that day, and almost screamed aloud as she took a closer look at Momiji's face. Just about the diameter of a quarter, and a mottled, dull purple, was another bruise, taking form on the delicate structure of Momiji's cheek bone.

"No.. Yaegashi. We can't take her to the hospital. This is another matter altogether."

***

"She's asleep." Kunikida tucked her in, heaving a deep sigh. He blotted at her forehead once more with a cool towel before stepping aside. "Are you sure we shouldn't take her in?"

"She should be alright.. for the time being. Just let her get some more sleep. I have a feeling that absolutely nothing they do can help her. We'd have to explain her new mitama as well, and we're just not ready for that kind of questioning right now. Just let her rest." Matsudaira sighed. "We'll talk after she wakes up." Her expression turned as close to amused as it could get that day, as she turned to Kusanagi. "Kusanagi. She's okay.. relax. Kusanagi?"

Kusanagi looked up from Momiji's wan face, absently focusing on the raven haired scientist. "Yeah?"

"Momiji's alright.. sit down for a moment." Her worry now entirely focused on him, her tone indicated an ill hidden plea. "Please." The look in his eyes scared her. Pure hell blazed in his strange eyes, and Matsudaira wasn't sure how to deal with him n this particular state. She knew how he felt; she too, cared endlessly for the princess, although in a different way, but had no idea how to help, and therefor had to endure watching her suffer. The look in his eyes told all; he was torn, and felt helpless to help her fight the torture. If only they knew the real problem.

Her being sick because of her exposure to harsh weather was realistic, but unfortunately, not the correct assumption. The mitama, for one, was unexplainable, as were the dozen or so bruises that now adorned her upper chest, arms, legs, and face. They had appeared out of nowhere, light in color, and then had darkened, some growing even larger as they turned color. Her coughing had tapered off, but occasionally, even in sleep, they could all hear her harsh breathing, as she fought for even breaths.

Something awful was happening. Matsudaira knew it. Kusanagi knew it. Everyone knew it, or at least had an inkling, though they tried to deny it. Now, only Matsudaira, Kusanagi, and Kunikida remained at her side. Takeuchi had ushered the others downstairs for tea and a bit of lunch; most of the morning had been spent at her beside, and as far as Matsudaira was concerned, they'd all need some food in their stomachs, for it was to be a long day.

Momiji would be fine, Matsudaira told herself. But she wasn't so sure. Not at all. She had a feeling that things would have to get a lot worse before they could even start to look better. How, she had no idea. They all would discover that soon enough. She wasn't particularly looking forward to it. She looked over to Kusanagi, who had finally shuffled to his own seat, and was perched on the edge, tapping his fingers on an end table, so hard, in fact, that she was afraid he would pound it into pieces with his index finger alone. The poor boy.

Matsudaira waited until Kunikida had left, and then stood, stepping lightly to where Kusanagi sat, and resting a soft, comforting hand on his shoulder. "Let's go and get a little something, alright? You need to eat."

"No," he muttered, never moving his eyes from Momiji. "I'll stay."

Instead of arguing, she moved soundlessly to the door, pausing long enough to remark, "She'll be alright. I promise."

As she made her way downstairs, she wondered, just maybe, if that last statement would eventually make her a liar. She hoped not.

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