[complete] I'm home again, I won the war, and now I am behind your door.

[amberdrake]

Who: Amberdrake and Sanzo
What: Drake's been out Healing people since the riots began, and is finally hitting the bottom of his resources when a familiar face shows up. Sanzo always had a particular timing...
Where: Ludmead.
When: Very late on the night of the arena riots.
Warnings: A little gore and violence at the start.

Amberdrake's vision is finally starting to gray out, inkblots of darkness spreading at the corners and sometimes blocking the middle, making his balance skew way to the left, or way to the right. He doesn't have to see with his eyes to Heal, so here he is somewhere between Ava's place and his own little rental house, patching some poor sod up who couldn't quite make it out of the line of fire quickly enough.

There's a gunshot, and Drake barely has the presence of mind to flinch at the sound or at the burning line of white-hot fire slashed across the outside of his arm. He's too distracted by the fact that the man his Gift was threaded into just died. Bullet to the skull, his Gift informs him as it happens in such excruciating detail, millisecond by millisecond, that even the seasoned war-Healer feels supremely nauseated.

Just as when he was Healing Wolfgang earlier today -- when there was still light and his eyes still worked properly -- he can feel a gun aimed at his own head. And just as then, he doesn't really react. Later, he'll tell himself that he was too distracted by withdrawing his Gift from the dead meat beneath his hands, but right then...

He doesn't really have a reason to care, now does he? For one tiny moment of loneliness-fueled self destruction, he can't be bothered to so much as duck.

Get it over with.

Comments

[amberdrake]

"Please still be here," Amberdrake relaxes his hold on Sanzo's shoulders, but doesn't remove his arm, "that's all I'll ask for now."

And he settles in place, quite prepared to just pass out right there on the couch. It beats passing out in any of the other places he almost did, today!

All isn't right with the world, not by a long shot. But if someone pointed a gun at his head right now, he'd have plenty of reason to duck. And that's something.

[sanzo]

"Shut up and get some sleep!" Sanzo doesn't look at him as he settles in, too: still sitting, his gun in his hand, ready to shoot anything that might come through that door.

He isn't usually the one who stands guard on bad nights anymore -- his companions usually took that job because he couldn't be bothered -- but he has in the past.

So it's just like old times, in a way, though those times had never included the man who slept on him now. But it sharpens Sanzo up anyway; he might be bruised and bloody himself from wading through the nightmare on the streets outside, but his head is that weird sort of clear that comes after a long battle, and his heart doesn't pound uncomfortably in his chest anymore.

Of course, by morning, he was asleep.

Nothing has crossed the threshold. Yet.

[amberdrake]

Drake wakes up extremely sluggishly, disoriented and not in the least bit recovered. 'It takes two Healers to fix what one stupid Healer does to himself', or so the saying goes... and there are no other Healers in town, that he knows of.

Thankfully, he didn't completely wreck himself. He'd still had some vision left by the time he'd gone to sleep, and he hadn't literally passed out. Both were good signs.

But he still feels like warmed-over crap in a cold bucket.

It takes a moment for him to realize that he's using Sanzo's bony leg as a bony pillow, having slid (or been slid?) sideways while unconscious. He turns his head a little so he can peer up out of the corner of his eye, though his vision is blurry (it is, at least, not still grey and blotchy).

Sanzo's bony leg.

Sanzo is here in Baedal; he didn't just imagine it in his haze.

He moves to sit up, carefully, although he suspects there's no way to avoid waking the younger man up.

[sanzo]

The movement alerts Sanzo, whose sleep had been right at the very edge of unconsciousness; had that been a threatening movement, he'd've fired off a bullet before he'd even been awake.

His empty hand shifts to rest on Amberdrake's hair, for he's sleepy enough to forget some of his usual reserve, though as the kestra'chern keeps moving, his touch slides away, back to his side.

"What're you looking at," he grumbles drowsily. Mornings are not his forte.

[amberdrake]

"Go back to sleep, ke'chara," Drake isn't going to even try to actually stand up, yet. He just reaches for his battered backpack on the ground and drags it closer so that he can retrieve the thermos from inside.

The contents having been refreshed so expertly halfway through last night's ordeal is undoubtedly part of what's saved him from full-on over-extension. He's definitely going to have to contact that dark-haired alchemist, once he's recovered and the city has calmed back down again.

But that's just a passing thought, right now, as he takes a pull of the foul-tasting stuff. It's a testament to how often he's been in this state that the taste itself doesn't wake him right the fuck up!

[sanzo]

"And be stared at by your creepy face? No thanks."

Sanzo rubs at his eyes, and then mutters after a longish pause, "...We're disgusting. Do you have any toothpaste?"

[amberdrake]

Drake just points toward the bathroom, cracking a giant yawn into his other hand as he does so. It's a small house, so there isn't much of a trek from here to there.

"Part of why I picked this place is the big shower," he says after taking another pull of that horrible goddamned tea. "And the big water heater. Have fun."

Because Amberdrake sure as hell isn't moving yet, thank you.

[sanzo]

With much creaking, cracking, and groaning, Sanzo takes his old man-esque self off to wash.

But not before pausing, and this time deliberately -- if hesitantly -- reaching out to touch Drake's cheek.

Maybe he, too, hasn't been quite convinced that his companion is real.

[amberdrake]

Amberdrake captures that hand, very briefly! And turns his head to brush his lips against the monk's fingers.

"I'll find you a clean set of scrubs and set them outside the door," he says after letting go. Look at him, all prepared for trouble as usual.

[sanzo]

Sanzo's fingers twitch, but he lets the moment drag out for a little while.

"Just like old times... huh?" Maybe there's a little irony there: for Drake, they really would be old times!

[amberdrake]

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," Amberdrake even manages a smile at that, if faint.

[sanzo]

Sanzo doesn't quite smile, and it quickly fades. "Ten years, huh?"

[amberdrake]

Drake's fades, too.

"I never stopped missing you," he says, quietly, but honestly. "I never stopped loving you. I never will. No matter where I am, and no matter what happens."

He remembers that Sanzo is wary of such open emotion, because his own world is so brutal and unforgiving. But he isn't worried about that outcome; the King of White Gryphon has dodged those arrows before.

[sanzo]

"..."

Sanzo looks him over for a long time, assessing but not critical, his expression -- and his emotions -- neutral enough.

"You've changed," he states at last, the obvious, even if it's not all obvious to him. His lack of inflection makes it hard to tell, perhaps, whether he thinks it's bad or good, or perhaps it's just that, the obvious, and whatever else comes of it will happen in time.

Amberdrake still wore his ring. He'd worried, when he'd given it to the kestra'chern, if Drake would suffer for it, like Shuuei did, or most anyone else whom Sanzo had cared for. He worried still.

I love you, I missed you, those were things that Sanzo could rarely say. But he roughly, awkwardly caressed his lover's cheek, his hair... and then headed into the shower.

[amberdrake]

"Yeah," Drake sighs to himself once Sanzo has gone into the bathroom, "I suppose I have."

But some things haven't changed... and, as he said, never will.

He finishes off the thermos full of foul tea and then, very shakily, levers himself up onto his feet. The world sways, and he has to sway the other way just to keep his balance, but he manages to make it into the bedroom. There's a small dresser, which the landlord owns just like the rest of the furniture, and he digs out a few pairs of scrubs.

Amberdrake drops one pair outside the bathroom door, as promised, and sway-shambles his way into the kitchen to scrub his hands and arms clean in the sink. There's probably brain on his clothes.

Some things really never do change. He's still a war-Healer, after all these years, complete with the hazards of the job.

[sanzo]

Sanzo eventually emerges from the shower all clean and scrubbed, and even though his hair is damp that stubborn cowlick remains.

If this were the road, their reunion would be easier-- climb into the Jeep, bullshit about nothing, fight a lot of demons, and then sleep. Or, in their previous demesne, return to Sanzo's temple, bullshit about nothing, and then go to bed.

But it isn't. It's a new, unfamiliar place, and it seems to the monk as if he's standing on slippery ground despite Amberdrake's words.

Interpersonal communication is not his forte.

So he does what any reasonable person would do under the circumstances: he heads to the fridge, digs a mayo jar out of his sleeve -- where did he fit it under the-- wait, he doesn't even have sleeves, so where...? -- and puts the jar in the fridge.

Now, it is his fridge, too!

[amberdrake]

Drake has, by then, cleaned up and changed into his latest set of scrubs, and has been sitting on the couch mercilessly cleaning out the bullet graze wound on his arm. He can't use his Gift to burn out infection, so it's up to old fashioned scrubbing with a bottle of stuff that stings like mad and a bunch of sterile cotton balls.

He pauses mid-scrub and watches this little ritual with faint amusement, but no argument. "So I won't have to argue you into staying here, then?" Drake asks, quite deliberately giving Sanzo the 'well since you want me to stay here anyway, I'm just being generous' out.

[sanzo]

"You'll just get into more trouble if I leave," grunts the monk, like he's not a shining example of this, too.

"This place is no good, though. Needs more servants." Though if he had more servants, he'd be grousing that they're too noisy and nosy and get in the way.

He turns to look Drake over critically, and then wordlessly walks over and holds his hands out for what the kestra'chern's got in his.

[amberdrake]

"I really would get into more trouble," Amberdrake isn't even kidding! Though he's pleased at the solution, and doesn't bother to tuck that behind his kestra'chern mask.

In fact, he hasn't been bothering with that mask since they met back up. Perhaps its less of a permanent fixture, now? Something he takes out when it's needed, and not something he holds his crumbling sense of self together with?

Ten years is a long time. Drake hadn't even been sure of anything still existing under that mask, ten years ago.

"We can go somewhere else, if you like," Amberdrake offers, handing over the cotton balls and peroxide. His scrubs are short-sleeved, and he's rolled up the little sleeve there is to keep it out of the way of cleaning the wound on his arm. "Once we can afford to, of course. The inn you woke up in is no good; the militia poke around there a lot."

[sanzo]

Sanzo starts cleaning out the wound, a little less gently than the kestra'chern might have, but thoroughly all the same.

"No buddhist temples?" He hadn't found any, and it had been easy money: show up, take over, rake in the donations.

He's noticed those changes in Drake, of course, but he says not a word now.

[amberdrake]

"Not that I've encountered," Amberdrake doesn't complain about the cleaning; he doesn't care as long as it doesn't get infected! Not being able to use his Gift on himself is as exasperating as always.

"They have their own gods here, and their own religion. It seems other religions are allowed as long as they don't get too 'uppity'." That is absolutely a technical term. "Just as well for me that the Star-Eyed is far from the jealous sort."

[sanzo]

"As long as they don't get into my face," grumbles Sanzo. "Gods are always getting into business that isn't theirs."

When the stuff is done fizzing and all the blood and unpleasant things are cleaned away, Sanzo gives it all another do-over before looking for the bandages.

[amberdrake]

Drake hands them over next, too. This part, he would have asked for help with, because wrapping bandages evenly and with the right tension and then tying them off... one-handed? He could do it, but he was still tired enough to doubt his own dexterity.

And it was just a lot less fuss to have someone else manage it.

"I think our being here is proof of that," Amberdrake notes mildly, "although I have a hard time being mad at them over it, at this point. I shouldn't be glad for this situation; there are people relying on me on my world, and people relying on you on yours, but..."

But he is glad. Even if he suspects that makes him a selfish idiot.

[sanzo]

Sanzo bandages him without replying for a while. He's done this a lot, for himself and for others, and he'd probably be a decent field medic if that had been his calling.

But eventually he says, "So we make our own way, once we find out the limits of this place."

[amberdrake]

Amberdrake smiles a little at that, rolling his short sleeve down once the bandages are done. His arms being bare like this is more skin that he usually showed casually, ten years ago. And not a hint of apprehension can be felt; he's gotten over some of that, too.

"When we were on Haven..." it seems important to voice the thought, now, so he speaks slowly and carefully, "we both got into trouble, trying to protect the other at our own expense."

It was true. Amberdrake had tried to protect Sanzo from his own inadequacies, often by pulling away. Ducking under his mask. Literally fleeing, sometimes, as when the others had arrived. And Sanzo... hadn't that been why he'd initially allowed Kain to do as he had? To 'make peace'? To keep Drake from becoming collateral damage?

He's had ten years to mull these things over.

"But that was foolish, because it just makes the other person have to try harder to undo the damage the first person did to themselves while trying to protect the other. Does that make sense? It's a vicious cycle."

Ten years of relative peace has taught me more about these things than ten years of war could.