“I’m still here, Ken.” Another few careful tips of water, making sure Ken doesn’t drink too much and throws it all up, before Chikusa sets the bottle to the side and starts to cut small slices of fruit. One small step at a time, and they’ll get through this. “Here- careful.” He presses a small chunk of banana to his mouth. Hopefully the squishiness means that there’ll be no problems even if he does just swallow the piece whole.
It's not hard to get Ken to eat, provided he's at least semi-conscious; it never is. And Chikusa doesn't appear to need to worry about Ken choking; Ken also doesn't need much excuse to bite things, and once the banana's in his mouth he chews automatically.
His eyes crack halfway open, looking up at Chikusa; they're glazed and unfocused, but they do seem to be aware of him. They flicker as Chikusa's hands work, loosely tracking his movements.
"Muk'ro...?" The tone he mumbles the word in - minus the honorific; it's the way they'd said it back in Italy - suggests that he's asking something about Mukuro, not mis-identifying Chikusa. (Not surprising; neither of them would ever expect this kind of care directly from Mukuro's hands, no matter how out of it they were.) Knowing Ken, he's almost certainly asking where Mukuro is; he fusses about that enough even when they're both perfectly healthy.
While Ken is still in any capacity conscious, Chikusa is going to take advantage of it. He keeps slicing small bits of fruit, wondering if he should look for meat whenever Ken falls fully asleep. After all, starvation has robbed him of all sorts of vitamins and nutrients. Water and fruit isn’t going to cut it.
“He’s going to be here tomorrow,” he promises his partner, pressing another slice of banana into his mouth and then following it up with a few grapes. This is good. Encouraging. So long as Ken can still eat, it’s fine. “And we’ll make sure you’re alright… I’ll clean up everything before we leave, Ken.”
"Don't wanna bath," Ken grumbles after his current mouthful. It's hard to tell if this misunderstanding of 'clean up' is a product of disorientation and blood loss, or if it's just Ken's usual lack of intellect.
Still, he's complaining. Another good sign, probably.
A Ken that can still whine about bathing is a Ken that’s perfectly fine. Chikusa adds it to his list of justifications, even as he sets down the knife he’d been using to slice up food. “I’ll be there. Maybe Mukuro-sama, if I can ask him. Now go to sleep, Ken.”
Any second now, he’s sure that the Corvo members will wake up fully. When he goes to take care of them… He’d like Ken to be resting instead of worrying about them.
Ken hardly needs the command; his eyes barely seem to be able to stay open, with all things taken into account. "Don't leave, Kakipi," he mumbles, though by all appearances he drifts off so quickly after the words leave his mouth that either he didn't expect an answer, or he couldn't maintain consciousness long enough to hear one.
It's hard to know if Ken wanted Chikusa to stay with him physically, or if he was worried Chikusa might be slipping away from him mentally again. Honestly, knowing Ken, he probably meant both. He's not likely to get either, but at least he's asleep (or unconscious; it's a fine line to draw right now) and won't know it.
For a few moments, Chikusa does just that. He stays right there with Ken, monitoring his condition, making sure that his leg is set properly and that he won’t bother his wrists, either. And…. Mostly, he just watches him sleep.
He’s alive. He’s alive, and he’ll recover. There’s even a chance, maybe, that his other leg is something Chikusa can fix himself. Maybe it’s a long shot, but it’s something to keep him going. And if nothing else, there’s always Mukuro-sama. Mukuro-sama will fix this, one way or another.
But soon the sounds of alarmed hisses and whispers from the hallway gets his attention, and he straightens up, hands going back into his pockets to find his needles and yoyos. Right…
The Corvi have a lot to answer for in regards to taking his partner.
Finding the perfect balance of poison to put into his needles is something that takes considerable effort. It’s why he tends to stick to a limited but proven selection in his needles, as much as he’s loathe to be so predictable. It’s a rare occasion that he can experiment so easily, finding that perfect balance. In that way, if there’s any silver lining to this, it’s that.
As he stands there, ignoring the vicious curses and desperate pleadings from the remaining Corvi as he patiently inflicts his needles through them… He can’t help but think of another place, below the earth, where torture and pain were a regular.
When he was young, he went back to the Estraneo Labs. Very young- he’d only had the briefest taste of freedom and fresh air before he’d snuck away from Mukuro and Ken (only numbers, then, not names, not yet). Even as a child, he’d seen the difference between him and the two other survivors of the massacre. He’d listened even before then, to the talk between the scientists of Mukuro’s eye, of Ken’s channels. It had been his one saving grace back then in the labs: so quiet, the scientists sometimes never noticed him at all when he listened to them talk, puzzling out their words.
He hadn’t been noticed when he went back, either, if only because the dull eyes of the dead could see nothing anymore. He’d picked through the discarded rotting corpses, searched tirelessly through the remnants of the labs, all for anything that could help him stay with the only two things in the world that he still knew. The only people that were familiar and who held his then tentative trust. Books, drugs, first aid- he’d gathered all he could in bags after bags, desperate.
When he’d left the smell of death and chemicals, he’d crumpled in a bush somewhere and vomited what little food he’d ever had since their escape.
Chikusa doesn’t do that now, for all the familiarity as he slowly and methodically goes through the Corvi, noting the effects of his poison and how much of it. Periodically, he checks the dummy phone he’d been given before coming to the mansion, and, hours later, it finally lights up with a message. It’s time to leave.
A snap of his wrist takes care of what few mafia are left behind, and Chikusa goes back into the room to search for a stretcher. It’ll be difficult to get Ken up the stairs, but a stretcher will make it easier. Then all he has to do is strap him in, get him up the stairs, into an escape vehicle…. And they can leave this place. They can go back to how things should be.
It feels like a long time before Ken wakes up next. It may be because it is a long time before Ken wakes up next.
What he wakes up to is blessed familiarity, though. The comforting, run-down ceiling of Kokuyo Land, the smell of their hideout in his nose. And the pain in his limbs has faded so significantly that he finds they barely hurt at all unless he moves them...which, of course, is his first instinct to do, in his own bleary surprise at feeling so much different.
He doesn't immediately process the dull warmth at his side, perhaps because that, too, is so familiar that its presence is almost unremarkable. Which means that Chikusa is probably going to raise his voice right in Ken's ear and Ken is probably going to jump out of his skin.
The entire time, Chikusa has refused to leave Ken’s side.
Mukuro has allowed it, doing very much the same with eyes that quietly burned whenever he glanced towards the blond’s condition and his gloved hands a reassuring presence as they’d stroked through Chikusa’s hair. So quiet and reliable, he hadn’t argued for Chikusa to be there. In fact, perhaps in a way, he was so reliable that it was fine to have him there in Mukuro’s place, like he is now, curled up at Ken’s side and only half in a state of awareness. It’s the movement that snaps him out of it, his head rising up. “Ken?”
Ken does jump a little, head turning to look at Chikusa. "Kakipi?" He relaxes again at the sight of him, no longer in any rush to move his injured body, simply peering at his partner. "What happened, byon? How long was I sleeping?"
Looking at Chikusa will reveal that his eyes are red and the skin beneath them are tired purple. For all that he's been exhausted in his concern, it hasn't been the kind of exhaustion that's been conducive to sleep. The opposite, in fact. Wearily, he rubs at his face.
"It's- a couple of days. Mukuro-sama said it'd be good for you. How do you feel?"
"Better," Ken replies readily, even as he rolls over to face Chikusa. There's twinges of pain from a number of areas in his body at the movement, but he doesn't care. "You look like shit, Kakipi." And he reaches for Chikusa's face, dragging down Chikusa's bottom eyelid with a rough thumb and ignoring the bandages around his own wrists in the process.
“Ken…” But he can’t even deny it. Chikusa is well aware that he’s been a mess from start to finish with all of this. All he can do is sigh, reaching up to cradle Ken’s hand in one of his own. “You keep moving too much… If you do that, then you’ll just make your injuries worse again.” This is why it’s such a troublesome matter when Ken gets severely hurt. He never wants to stay still.
Chikusa's response is a predictable whine. It's true; Ken hates being injured, if only because it restricts his ability to do whatever he wants. "When can I move around again, Kakipi? I wanna do stuff. I wanna fight, byon. I wanna have sex. I want gum, byon. I want to see Mukuro-sama."
Basically, all the things he couldn't do or couldn't have while he was captured. Knowing Ken, he'd do all of them at once if he could.
Well. All these questions are almost hilariously predictable. Chikusa answers them in the same quiet bland tone he always uses with Ken when he’s shooting down his ideas. “No. Maybe if you’re still. You can have some when I give you real food. Mukuro-sama will come back soon after he finishes some things.”
But that’s logic. Logic doesn’t have anything for an upset Ken, especially when it’s telling him things he doesn’t want to hear. So Chikusa tries for something else, reaching over to thread his fingers through what’s slightly oily but not actually dirty hair; he cleaned his partner when changing out his bandages. “Just… let your bones heal properly, Ken. Please.”
Ken makes a whining noise in his throat, but some of the tense unhappiness seems to ebb out of him at the slide of Chikusa's fingers through his hair. He presses into the touch, eyes half-lidded. "Which one was the maybe, byon?" Of course Ken can't replay his own words in sequence well enough to keep track of which thing Chikusa was answering when. Or maybe he can and just can't be bothered to try.
He absolutely can, and they both know it. Still… This, too, is predictable, and Chikusa lets himself be comforted by that. For years, now, perhaps coming close to a decade, they’ve been by each other’s sides. As steady as the ground beneath his feet, he’s always had Ken to be there: vulgar and loud and filthy and as much a part of his existence as the air he breathes into his lungs. For him to have been- gone. Under threat of always being gone. It had been-
It’d been the most horrifying thing in the world.
But he’s back again, and everything is as it should be, even as Chikusa sighs. “All of it, Ken. You’d just yourself more in a fight… and you wouldn’t be able to stay still if I did something sexual to you.”
"You could hold me down, byon." Ken's eyes are half-lidded, and the grin on his lips says that he's doing the inadvisable and trying to be sly. The thing is, Ken often doesn't think, but he's not actually stupid. And every now and then, he has a good idea.
Not now, of course. Sex while he's this injured is a terrible idea. But he's certainly trying to push Chikusa's buttons, and the worst part is that it might even work. If anyone in the world besides Mukuro can find those buttons - and if anyone in the world has even less scruples about pushing them - it's Ken.
Considering how Chikusa’s eyes go a little darker at the offer, it’s clear that this is a strong temptation. It doesn’t help that he likes holding Ken down- whether with rope or his fingers wrapped around his partner’s throat. There’s a… thrilling feeling, a twist in his gut, a twitch of his cock, that he can do that to Ken. After all, Ken is so much stronger than him for all that he’s shorter, and he has to let out a breath.
Tempting. But…
“No, Ken.” Shifting, he leans down to press their foreheads together, his hat shifting with the action. “Just rest. If you want to have sex so much, we can do it when you’re better... “
"It'll take forever to get better, byon..." Ken's voice is a whine, even though he's closed his eyes at the press of Chikusa's forehead against his, almost pushing up into it a little in his thirst for contact and affection.
“Only some months,” he counters quietly, “and maybe not even that long if you don’t move a lot.” But he knows Ken. He knows his partner can barely stand being still for just a day, and that’s without having had to spend days in a cell. So he tries to make another promise. “I’ll bring you things if you want…”
The whine Ken makes at the word 'months' is almost agonized. He's been laid up before, certainly, but this is probably the worst off he's ever been, and certainly the longest period of time he's ever had to spend healing. "You can't even bring me any of the stuff I want except food, byon!" Which is a fair complaint, honestly; Chikusa can't just bring him fights, and he's already refused sex, so what else is there?
Well, there's Mukuro. But Mukuro brings himself. And honestly, the thought of Mukuro almost depresses Ken further. "How long am I gonna be useless?" His eyes are a mix of pain and worry. Mukuro can't use him like this. If he's out of commission for that long, Mukuro might actually need to replace him. They don't even have Lancia to fall back on anymore as a front-line attacker. What does that mean for Ken? Will he still have a place to come back to, by the time he's able to help Mukuro again?
In that, Chikusa understands just as well. Him and Ken are united in that intense desire to be useful to Mukuro, to keep being used successfully again and again until their bodies fall apart and they die. He’s not sure if it’s how Ken thinks- likely he doesn’t think much at all, just acts on pure emotion alone- but Chikusa doubts there’s much more to life besides being used by Mukuro. Mukuro and Ken…. The only two reasons, as far as he’s concerned, for something like him to keep on living. To be unable to be of use….
His hand settles over one of Ken’s, light as a ghost’s. “Like I said, Ken… Just a couple of months. If Mukuro-sama can find a sun box that heals…. It might be sooner.” But that’s not the kind of thing that can be a guarantee. It’d be easier to steal something from some high enough ranking Family, but that assumes there’s any Family like that. Getting something from that Arcobaleno Verde is also a consideration but…. Chikusa’s voice keeps going, a quiet lulling sound. “Until then… Mukuro-sama and I will just have to be a little more careful in how we take out enemies. It’s manageable until you’re back again.”
Ken makes a sound of unmistakable hurt, and he makes a painful, abortive effort to roll over and face away from Chikusa. It'll actually succeed if Chikusa lets him do so; the 'abortive' part comes in with the fact that Chikusa will undoubtedly stop him before he can complete such an ill-advised move. He can't begin to vocalize the tangled mess of emotions Chikusa's reassurances have given him, but none of them are 'reassured'. The only part that sounds even vaguely promising is the possibility - not even a certainty - that they might find something that can heal him faster.
The rest...there's nothing there to make him feel better. There's no promise he won't be agonizingly bored, that he won't be left alone and helpless while he heals. And there's the quiet implication that Chikusa and Mukuro can get by fine without him, which begs the question of why they even need him. A question that they'll have months to mull over.
He can't articulate that mess of pain, so all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and curl up in pain that ignores the physical agony he's in completely, in favor of the emotional hurt that there's no box to heal.
“Ken-” True enough, Chikusa’s hands settle on Ken’s shoulders to force him back into a safe position again. Quietly, panic is thrumming through him. It didn’t help. His words are useless. If only Mukuro-sama was here…. He would know what words to use, how to calm Ken. Chikusa, in contrast, has only really been comfortable with silence, and saying the simple truth.
This…. Is anything but simple. And he doesn’t know what to say.
Gently, showing all the unease that only barely shows in his eyes, he begins to knead at Ken’s shoulders. “What,” he murmurs, voice shaking slightly, “would make you feel better…?” Bewildered and lost and scared, it’s all he can think to say.
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badliifechoiice22016-01-08 10:36 am
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His eyes crack halfway open, looking up at Chikusa; they're glazed and unfocused, but they do seem to be aware of him. They flicker as Chikusa's hands work, loosely tracking his movements.
"Muk'ro...?" The tone he mumbles the word in - minus the honorific; it's the way they'd said it back in Italy - suggests that he's asking something about Mukuro, not mis-identifying Chikusa. (Not surprising; neither of them would ever expect this kind of care directly from Mukuro's hands, no matter how out of it they were.) Knowing Ken, he's almost certainly asking where Mukuro is; he fusses about that enough even when they're both perfectly healthy.
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“He’s going to be here tomorrow,” he promises his partner, pressing another slice of banana into his mouth and then following it up with a few grapes. This is good. Encouraging. So long as Ken can still eat, it’s fine. “And we’ll make sure you’re alright… I’ll clean up everything before we leave, Ken.”
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Still, he's complaining. Another good sign, probably.
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Any second now, he’s sure that the Corvo members will wake up fully. When he goes to take care of them… He’d like Ken to be resting instead of worrying about them.
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It's hard to know if Ken wanted Chikusa to stay with him physically, or if he was worried Chikusa might be slipping away from him mentally again. Honestly, knowing Ken, he probably meant both. He's not likely to get either, but at least he's asleep (or unconscious; it's a fine line to draw right now) and won't know it.
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He’s alive. He’s alive, and he’ll recover. There’s even a chance, maybe, that his other leg is something Chikusa can fix himself. Maybe it’s a long shot, but it’s something to keep him going. And if nothing else, there’s always Mukuro-sama. Mukuro-sama will fix this, one way or another.
But soon the sounds of alarmed hisses and whispers from the hallway gets his attention, and he straightens up, hands going back into his pockets to find his needles and yoyos. Right…
The Corvi have a lot to answer for in regards to taking his partner.
Finding the perfect balance of poison to put into his needles is something that takes considerable effort. It’s why he tends to stick to a limited but proven selection in his needles, as much as he’s loathe to be so predictable. It’s a rare occasion that he can experiment so easily, finding that perfect balance. In that way, if there’s any silver lining to this, it’s that.
As he stands there, ignoring the vicious curses and desperate pleadings from the remaining Corvi as he patiently inflicts his needles through them… He can’t help but think of another place, below the earth, where torture and pain were a regular.
When he was young, he went back to the Estraneo Labs. Very young- he’d only had the briefest taste of freedom and fresh air before he’d snuck away from Mukuro and Ken (only numbers, then, not names, not yet). Even as a child, he’d seen the difference between him and the two other survivors of the massacre. He’d listened even before then, to the talk between the scientists of Mukuro’s eye, of Ken’s channels. It had been his one saving grace back then in the labs: so quiet, the scientists sometimes never noticed him at all when he listened to them talk, puzzling out their words.
He hadn’t been noticed when he went back, either, if only because the dull eyes of the dead could see nothing anymore. He’d picked through the discarded rotting corpses, searched tirelessly through the remnants of the labs, all for anything that could help him stay with the only two things in the world that he still knew. The only people that were familiar and who held his then tentative trust. Books, drugs, first aid- he’d gathered all he could in bags after bags, desperate.
When he’d left the smell of death and chemicals, he’d crumpled in a bush somewhere and vomited what little food he’d ever had since their escape.
Chikusa doesn’t do that now, for all the familiarity as he slowly and methodically goes through the Corvi, noting the effects of his poison and how much of it. Periodically, he checks the dummy phone he’d been given before coming to the mansion, and, hours later, it finally lights up with a message.
It’s time to leave.
A snap of his wrist takes care of what few mafia are left behind, and Chikusa goes back into the room to search for a stretcher. It’ll be difficult to get Ken up the stairs, but a stretcher will make it easier. Then all he has to do is strap him in, get him up the stairs, into an escape vehicle…. And they can leave this place. They can go back to how things should be.
Later...
What he wakes up to is blessed familiarity, though. The comforting, run-down ceiling of Kokuyo Land, the smell of their hideout in his nose. And the pain in his limbs has faded so significantly that he finds they barely hurt at all unless he moves them...which, of course, is his first instinct to do, in his own bleary surprise at feeling so much different.
He doesn't immediately process the dull warmth at his side, perhaps because that, too, is so familiar that its presence is almost unremarkable. Which means that Chikusa is probably going to raise his voice right in Ken's ear and Ken is probably going to jump out of his skin.
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Mukuro has allowed it, doing very much the same with eyes that quietly burned whenever he glanced towards the blond’s condition and his gloved hands a reassuring presence as they’d stroked through Chikusa’s hair. So quiet and reliable, he hadn’t argued for Chikusa to be there. In fact, perhaps in a way, he was so reliable that it was fine to have him there in Mukuro’s place, like he is now, curled up at Ken’s side and only half in a state of awareness. It’s the movement that snaps him out of it, his head rising up. “Ken?”
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"It's- a couple of days. Mukuro-sama said it'd be good for you. How do you feel?"
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Basically, all the things he couldn't do or couldn't have while he was captured. Knowing Ken, he'd do all of them at once if he could.
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But that’s logic. Logic doesn’t have anything for an upset Ken, especially when it’s telling him things he doesn’t want to hear. So Chikusa tries for something else, reaching over to thread his fingers through what’s slightly oily but not actually dirty hair; he cleaned his partner when changing out his bandages. “Just… let your bones heal properly, Ken. Please.”
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It’d been the most horrifying thing in the world.
But he’s back again, and everything is as it should be, even as Chikusa sighs. “All of it, Ken. You’d just yourself more in a fight… and you wouldn’t be able to stay still if I did something sexual to you.”
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Not now, of course. Sex while he's this injured is a terrible idea. But he's certainly trying to push Chikusa's buttons, and the worst part is that it might even work. If anyone in the world besides Mukuro can find those buttons - and if anyone in the world has even less scruples about pushing them - it's Ken.
"Can't get hurt if I can't move, right?"
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Tempting. But…
“No, Ken.” Shifting, he leans down to press their foreheads together, his hat shifting with the action. “Just rest. If you want to have sex so much, we can do it when you’re better... “
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Well, there's Mukuro. But Mukuro brings himself. And honestly, the thought of Mukuro almost depresses Ken further. "How long am I gonna be useless?" His eyes are a mix of pain and worry. Mukuro can't use him like this. If he's out of commission for that long, Mukuro might actually need to replace him. They don't even have Lancia to fall back on anymore as a front-line attacker. What does that mean for Ken? Will he still have a place to come back to, by the time he's able to help Mukuro again?
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His hand settles over one of Ken’s, light as a ghost’s. “Like I said, Ken… Just a couple of months. If Mukuro-sama can find a sun box that heals…. It might be sooner.” But that’s not the kind of thing that can be a guarantee. It’d be easier to steal something from some high enough ranking Family, but that assumes there’s any Family like that. Getting something from that Arcobaleno Verde is also a consideration but…. Chikusa’s voice keeps going, a quiet lulling sound. “Until then… Mukuro-sama and I will just have to be a little more careful in how we take out enemies. It’s manageable until you’re back again.”
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The rest...there's nothing there to make him feel better. There's no promise he won't be agonizingly bored, that he won't be left alone and helpless while he heals. And there's the quiet implication that Chikusa and Mukuro can get by fine without him, which begs the question of why they even need him. A question that they'll have months to mull over.
He can't articulate that mess of pain, so all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and curl up in pain that ignores the physical agony he's in completely, in favor of the emotional hurt that there's no box to heal.
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This…. Is anything but simple. And he doesn’t know what to say.
Gently, showing all the unease that only barely shows in his eyes, he begins to knead at Ken’s shoulders. “What,” he murmurs, voice shaking slightly, “would make you feel better…?” Bewildered and lost and scared, it’s all he can think to say.
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