Megumi peered round the little room. It was a well-stocked little nest.
Leaving Kenshin where he was crouching on the floor, she stumbled over to some bottled water. It was cool, a few degrees less than room temperature. She took several bottles in her arms and carried them over to where the man was sitting, trying to catch his breath.
“Here,” she fumbled with the lid to one of the bottles, but offered it to the man, trying to help, knowing that she was responsible for his current state. “start drinking as many of these as you can,” Crouched down, she unscrewed another bottle, setting it beside the first.
“I’ll…I’ll start fixing something to eat,” biting down on her lower lip, she hesitated, then reached over and hesitantly pushed the sweaty bangs out of her friend’s eyes. He was so tired, shaking, so worn out. “You never got breakfast. I never finished it. Or did I?' She glanced down at her chest and the singed, bloody hole in the middle of it, then looked back up at her friend, "There was smoke...a light. It was red...I..I…can’t remember,” unaware that she was rambling; she touched his sweaty cheek with an unsteady hand. He was feverish. Hurting.
“Did you…did they…are you hurt?” she whispered raggedly, looking at the blood on his shirt, his pants, the gore in his hair…on his face. She groaned, and tried to wipe some off of his chin. She was shaking. So was he. There was so much blood on him. On her. They both reeked of death and dying.
“I’m sorry…” she bent her head, so embarrassed that he’d seen her like this, that she’d put him in danger after he’d been so kind. “…so sorry, Ken-san.”
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Leaving Kenshin where he was crouching on the floor, she stumbled over to some bottled water. It was cool, a few degrees less than room temperature. She took several bottles in her arms and carried them over to where the man was sitting, trying to catch his breath.
“Here,” she fumbled with the lid to one of the bottles, but offered it to the man, trying to help, knowing that she was responsible for his current state. “start drinking as many of these as you can,” Crouched down, she unscrewed another bottle, setting it beside the first.
“I’ll…I’ll start fixing something to eat,” biting down on her lower lip, she hesitated, then reached over and hesitantly pushed the sweaty bangs out of her friend’s eyes. He was so tired, shaking, so worn out. “You never got breakfast. I never finished it. Or did I?' She glanced down at her chest and the singed, bloody hole in the middle of it, then looked back up at her friend, "There was smoke...a light. It was red...I..I…can’t remember,” unaware that she was rambling; she touched his sweaty cheek with an unsteady hand. He was feverish. Hurting.
“Did you…did they…are you hurt?” she whispered raggedly, looking at the blood on his shirt, his pants, the gore in his hair…on his face.
She groaned, and tried to wipe some off of his chin. She was shaking. So was he. There was so much blood on him. On her. They both reeked of death and dying.
“I’m sorry…” she bent her head, so embarrassed that he’d seen her like this, that she’d put him in danger after he’d been so kind. “…so sorry, Ken-san.”