Healing
The first thing he noticed was the chirping of the birds, which was strange for him. As the man fully awoke and opened his eyes, he had to realize he had no idea whatsoever as to his whereabouts. Don’t panic, he told himself and then half sat on the bed. The sound of the birds pierced his ears and brain, and a deep pain crossed his forehead. This wasn’t his home and for the smell coming through the windows, it wasn’t Russia either. Mikhail groaned maddened because of his growing headache, then he tried to fully sit.
“You should stay in bed.” As if he weren’t paranoid enough with not knowing where he was, now there was someone in the same room with him. The blond sat and looked sideways to his left to recognize a dark, long mane that outstood against the red background where it fell on to. Mikhail closed his eyes and touched his temples with his hands. If that person was who he thought he was, then—“You’re in my family’s home in China, Mr. Arbatov.”
Feilong spoke with a calmed voice, then, slowly, he put the brush on the table, next to the rice paper he’d been writing on and then, without any hurries, he turned to the bed. He looked at Mikhail carefully. He was so different now from the man he’d seen a few days ago. Mikhail looked kind of helpless and somehow, he’d decided to become his strength the second he’d brought him to China with him. “You’re wounds haven’t healed yet.” When he spoke this time, he stood up; the rustling of his robe telling Mikhail that he was walking towards the bed.
“Wounds?” Mikhail muttered and then felt the mattress subsiding to someone’s weight on it. Feilong put his hand on Mikhail’s shoulder and made him lay. The black-haired man took a closer look at the bandages that were wrapped around Mikhail’s body and which covered most of his right shoulder and chest.
“I’ve never met someone who moves so much when he’s supposed to be resting.” Feilong’s voice was reproachful and Mikhail blushed. “I must say you’re quite careless, Mr. Arbatov.” His words made Mikhail feel utterly helpless; and as Feilong gaze focused on his body, he felt defenseless. Mikhail closed his eyes, and, supporting himself on his left arm, he tried to sit again.
Feilong observed him and once again made him lay in bed. “You’re not well yet, Mikhail. Stay still.”
The Russian man felt as if his head was about to be split into thousands of pieces. He started breathing heavily, for now his body was responding to the excruciating pain in his body. His chest was burning in a few spots that made him groan. He tried to keep on breathing, but it wasn’t working. “Just like that.” He heard Feilong saying, then he felt his hand stroking his hair. Mikhail felt like crying. The pain was too overwhelming yet Feilong’s caresses were a balm for him. Slowly, his breathing became steady.
“Where am I?” Mikhail asked, his voice trembling out of anger for feeling vulnerable. Feilong noticed, but continued stroking his blond hair, avoiding mentioning anything related to his state. It shouldn’t be easy for him to be in that position, hence, the nicest thing to do was helping him keep his pride.
“My place.” The Chinese man answered stoically as he turned to look at the door, which was being pushed open as he spoke. Feilong nodded as Tao appeared with a tray with clean gausses and bandages as well as some antiseptics to clean the other’s wounds. Next to them, there were pain killers and water for Mikhail to take and drink.
“Tao.” Feilong said in a tone of voice that didn’t pass unnoticed for Mikhail. “Thank you.” He spoke again as he stood up to receive the tray from the boy’s hands, then he sat back where he was before.
“His wounds, Feilong-sama…”
“I know.” Feilong frowned the second he saw blood tainting the bandage that crossed Mikhail’s chest. Slowly, he started to remove said bandages and left the bare skin exposed. Blood was emanating from the burnt wounds and was slipping on Mikhail’s chest. Feilong asked Tao to leave and then took a piece of gausses, poured some antiseptic on it and rubbed it against the wounds, cleaning them.
“Tao!” He called the boy before he crossed the door. Tao entered at once, as if he’d been waiting for that call and stood next to him. “Call Dr. Chang, would you?” Feilong spoke without looking at the little one.
The long-haired man continued taking care of Mikhail, making the latter feel more uncomfortable. “Why…” The Russian one began to speak, “…are you doing this, Feilong?”
Feilong hesitated, which caused him to press on the blond’s hair a bit more than necessary. He groaned and closed his eyes in pain. “Forgive me, Mikhail.” Feilong hurried to speak, and then continued with his task in silence.
Mikhail kept silence himself. He didn’t want to bother, nor did he want to remain without knowing. The last thing he could recall was the encounter between Asami, Feilong and himself. He couldn’t remember who had shot first. He didn’t even know whether it’d been Asami who had taken his gun out or if he’d just reacted out of instinct. He could not even understand why he’d stood in front of Feilong, receiving the bullets that were meant to kill the Chinese man; and what was worst, he was afraid it’d been Yuri who had started it all.
The Russian closed his eyes and stopped thinking for it hurt more than his body did. If it had been Yuri…then it meant he had to settle things and he didn’t want to do anything against his uncle. However, he knew he would do it, for he’d been in danger himself and that was unacceptable.
“Who else…got hurt?” He finally asked, and noticed how Feilong stiffened enough as to reveal he wouldn’t like to answer that.
“Mainly you.” Feilong answered, avoiding Mikhail’s stare.
“Feilong, please.” He pleaded.
Feilong sighed and put the gausses away, then took some new clean ones. He motioned to help Mikhail sit, “Grab here.” Feilong gave him one of the ends of the bandages so that he’d keep it in place while he leaned on the bed and half stood to wrap the bandages around Mikhail’s torso. The man breathed heavily, and then he relaxed when Feilong made him lean against his chest so that he could take care of the back. “A couple of people from each group got injured, Mikhail. Asami got a slight scratch, nothing serious and you…well…you see how you are.”
Mikhail remained silent. “Takaba…”
“Back with Asami.”
Both of them went silent yet again. Mikhail would’ve loved to tell him many things, but there wasn’t much he could actually say. He’d find out about the debt later, so far, he was grateful he was alive—no matter in what conditions. “Thanks”. He muttered when Feilong helped him lay again and he felt some release from the pain. Mikhail’s eyes locked with Feilong’s and he could see something he hadn’t seen before. There was some sort of care in them, something that told Mikhail that Feilong had been worrying; perhaps for him, he wasn’t sure; perhaps for Asami, which was more likely.
Feilong moved his hand through his hair and then on his forehead and try to stand up. Mikhail grabbed him by his sleeve, making him stop. “Why did you save me, Feilong?” His voice sounded as wounded as his body was and Feilong sat again, pondering as to what to answer. “You could’ve just let me die…”
“No.” The man responded and stroked Mikhail’s hair one more time. “My honour wouldn’t have allowed me to let someone who’d just risked his life for me die.” He wasn’t lying, yet he wasn’t speaking his mind completely. There were more into his actions to explain than he was telling.
Asami had attacked first. Of course he was going to do so. Mikhail had tried to trick him—them, actually; and it had been the natural thing to do. After all, Mikhail had wanted to outwit them both. Asami was furious. He could always imagine Asami’s rage when he’d taken Takaba, but could never fathom what Asami had been thinking when Mikhail had taken him. It had been worse, and Feilong saw it, when Asami let his anger go on the body of the bastard who’d betrayed them. After the attack, they all fired back. Asami had killed some of their men, Feilong’s and Mikhail’s. It had been in that crossed fire, Feilong never knew who’d fired against him, which Mikhail had stepped in front of him and had received all those shots. Maybe it was the fact that Mikhail had done so without any hesitation or the fierce way in which he’d responded back, trying to protect him, what had made him resolve to protect the Russian as well.
What had happened to Asami, Feilong didn’t mention it. It seemed that it was enough with knowing that Takaba had returned to the Yakuza, and he didn’t ask any further.
Feilong breathed deep and leaned on the bed, his face coming closer to Mikhail’s. As close as their mouths were, Feilong whispered, “Thank you, for saving me, Mika.” He kissed him on his forehead and stood up, leaving the room.
Mikhail remained there, lying on that foreign bed and was at a loss of words. What Feilong had just done—was unheard of. The Master of the Baishes had just showed some sort of emotion, and it was all for him. Most importantly, now that he thought about it, Feilong had progressed from calling him Mr. Arbatov to calling him Mika. The man brought his hands to his chest and passed them on it. Feilong had just taken care of him and a doctor would arrive later on. He smiled, then groaned when his chest hurt. How long would that last? He wasn’t sure. Maybe, it’d all be over by the time he was healed, but for now, he was going to appreciate what was being done for him. He’d worried about the details later on. For now, he wanted to find out what had happened with his men and with Yuri. He closed his eyes, and decided for the moment, to follow Feilong’s orders and rest. He heard the door opening and closing and the rustle of fabric on the floor.
He half-opened his eyes and saw Feilong sitting on the desk on one side of the room. He was taking a brush and he saw him grab his robe’s sleeve and start writing. Mikhail closed his eyes and let himself go. The birds were still chirping, and his head and body still hurt; but for now, he was going to sleep.
He’d take care of the rest later.
Ariadne, May 02, 2008