Stream of Consciousness
By: Lynne (aka KL)
Rating: M
Disclaimer: This not-written-for-profit-Fic is based on the story and characters of Eyeshield 21,
which belong to Riichiro Inagaki and Yusuke Murata.
Warnings: Profanity. Spoilers for series. Possible bodily contact?
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Summary: Part one of two parts. Confined to the stadium's infirmary after a disabling tackle, Hiruma thinks about his team's future...and what he wants from his manager.

Part One: Hiruma

No pills. No hospital. Stay conscious.

Come on, fucking brain, keep thinking.

Tiled floor, white walls. Straight backed chairs and iron rail beds. Cotton swabs and bandages in disinfected jars. Sterile smell mixed with sweat, dirt and blood. Close enough to the field to hear what's going on.

It's purgatory for a Devil Bat.

Fucking Eyelashes must be slipping. Thought he'd have had this place set up with an adjustable bed, funerary flowers and a fucking fruit basket since he and his damn manager were so sure I was gonna end up here.

Come to think of it, I was sure of that too. Shit. It's a fucking curse to always be right.

The Fucking Caveman did his best in sending me to oblivion, but I'm not there yet. Right arm hurts like a bitch; there's got to be a couple of cracks, but at least it's not a compound.

Hell, even that wouldn't make me leave. Not until I get what I came here to get.

Never surrender. Pain is a state of being alive. Gotta take stock of the situation and prepare for what's to come.

If I keep thinking, there's still a chance.

Since I refused the ambulance, the fucking stretcher guys are long gone; the assholes bumped and jostled me all the way into bed, which tells me they were either on Marcos' payroll, or too fucking busy drooling over Anezaki to pay attention to what the hell they were doing. Must have been a shocker when she took them out in the hall and read them the riot act for their carelessness. She did it quietly, but I heard. Don't think they'll be coming back for seconds...

The damn manager really came through for me again, like she has all season. No one else could have read my signs and took charge of the stretcher so I could give the damn Fatty a swift kick in the ass.

If certain people have been paying attention out there, by now they'll have figured out that Anezaki's my hidden wild card and the glue that holds this team together.

Tough shit, Marco. You don't stand a devil's chance.

The towel over my eyes keeps me from seeing anything. Anezaki's been trying her damn best to be calm and quiet, but I know what's going on. She's crying. The little catches in her breathing give her away. She better be worrying for the rest of the team. Fucking pity is the last thing I want from her.

"H-Hiruma-kun..."

I grunt in response when she hesitates. In Power Go, that would translate as 'speak up, damn manager, I'm all ears, kekekeke'.

"I didn't say anything to Sena. With this, it'll be all right...won't it, Hiruma-kun?"

As much pain as I'm in, I can't help grinning. Even if she's crying and asking if things will be all right, she hasn't given up on the dream. Anezaki truly believes we can win. She's going along with the plan. She trusts me. Implicitly. And I'm more damn ecstatic about that than over besting her in the battle that's been going on between us ever since we met.

If this was one of those fucking shoujo stories, that could only mean one thing.

Forget it. If I can't get us to the Christmas Bowl, I don't deserve her.

I turn my head to move the towel away and clear my throat to get her attention. Sign language will keep my mind sharp, and takes up less energy than talking. When she looks at me I give her my answer, signing to her with my good hand.

It'll be a comeback win.

She nods and pretends to smooth her hair back from her face. It's a piss poor attempt to hide that she's wiping away tears, but I don't feel like pointing that out to her.

"How about you?" She asks. "You've always carried the team. Don't say it's not killing you not being out there because I know better. Amefuto is your life."

Well, hell. What do I say to that? I more than like hearing that she understands me and that I've succeeded in making her believe that my only passion in life is American football. She's completely clueless that it's not the only one, and I'm keeping it that way. For now, it's the Christmas Bowl or die. If we can survive this... then the sky's the limit.

My hand lifts. You need to get back to the bench.

She shakes her head. "Not a chance. I'm staying."

Your duty is done. No reason to stay.

She sighs, then gives me a smile worthy of the Mona Lisa. "Duty has nothing to do with this."

Dammit, I'm not reading anything into that! And it didn't make me feel good!

Yeah right. Then why am I grinning like a moron? Try again, fucking moron.

Has everything to do with it. Team needs you.

At that moment, the distant drone of the crowd rises to a roar. I can hear the announcer screaming above the bedlam. A touchdown for Deimon! Adrenaline surges through me, sweeping aside some of the pain. Good for the damn kids! They've come a long way...

"They did it! They scored, Hiruma-kun!"

Anezaki is clasping her hands and beaming like a proud mom on the kids' graduation day. So does that make me the proud dad? No, thinking like that is dangerous. Gotta stick to business.

That's good. I sign. We need more points than them to win.

For once she ignores my sarcasm.

"See? You don't have to worry!" She says happily. "Sena is doing well at quarterback! They're going to be fine!"

Yeah, okay. Time to puncture her bubble of joy.

It's the third quarter. I sign. We have to score four more times and stop them. Marco has figured Sena out by now.

Her smile fades. "They'll still do it. They'll find a way to beat Marco."

Yes. With help.

Her eyes flash a warning. "I told you I'm not going back out there!"

I'm sick of sign language. My voice is raspy, but it's strong enough to bark signals. "Yes you are. You have to."

"I won't!"

"I'm not making it a request, damn manager!"

"I don't care." Her voice is dangerously quiet at first, and then increases in volume. "You can rant at me, wave that stupid gun of yours around...or fire me if you want! But you can't fucking make me leave!"

She's glaring at me again, but there are tears behind it. Whoa. Showing compassion and mercy is one thing, but no mistaking it, this is more.

She's passionate about taking care of the demon bastard who's given her nothing but grief since he met her. She cares. I don't know why that is, but she does. And seeing it has got me more pumped up than any pep talk.

She even said the f-word. With distinct emphasis.

If I wasn't hurting so bad, I'd have a hard on.

The crowd gasps and the announcer starts yelling. Sounds like the Dinosaurs are back on the rampage. The fucking shrimp did well, but as expected, Marco the fucking spy has made the necessary adjustments.

Our team needs a full arsenal of weapons to win this.

Time to ante up. I'm far less than whole physically, but there's nothing wrong with my brain or my bluffing abilities. As long as I can walk and talk and think straight, I'm going to take back that field. And by her own word of honor, Anezaki's going to be there, helping me do it. I would trust no one else. Be it to heaven or hell, we're going together.

These will be our last moments alone for quite awhile, so might as well take my time looking her up and down. She's looking good. The dress gives a sweet little hint of what's under it without putting it on display. She has no idea what amazing legs and tits she has- no, check that. Not tits. Breasts. With a woman like Anezaki, it should be fucking amazing breasts.

There's a pulse beating at the base of her throat. Fast. I'm feeling the impact of those big eyes of hers, and her cheeks are coloring up nicely. Her full lips are slightly parted, and...

... have nothing to do with why I'm here.

Move on with stage two of the plan, fucking moron.

"All right, damn manager. You can make yourself useful right now."

She looks relieved, then suspicious. "How?"

Astute of her to ask. She understands how I work, that I don't give in without reason, a point which will be proved by my using that thing from the past.

The muscles in my abdomen and my left arm scream in protest as I roll and push myself up to a sitting position. It's agony to shift my right arm even a few inches. My groan of pain sends Anezaki flying out of her chair, and I make a move to stand up before she gets to me. Can't let her see that I'm weak.

My dead arm falls off my leg. It hits the edge of the bed. Son of a-

"Hiruma-kun! What are you doing?"

Damned if I know. I want to puke it hurts so bad. Darkness is encroaching on my vision. I can feel the touch of warm hands on my body, guiding me until I'm sitting down again. My broken arm is supported with care and lifted to rest on my thigh. The other follows suit. It hardly hurts at all, or maybe it's because the fucking pain stars are merging into one great big one...

When I open my eyes, Anezaki is kneeling between my knees and looking up at me, just like that night in Texas when she came to me and bandaged up my knee. The Angel of Mercy versus the Demon of Deimon. The night I found out that torture is defined as being able to look but not touch.

Huh. I'm waxing poetic about the Death March in Texas with the Christmas Bowl on the line? Real fucking great, this is exactly why I don't want a girlfriend. They're a distraction and an energy drain. Just spank me and put me on the fucking Cupids' team...

No. Not right. Anezaki and I have something that's a helluva lot bigger and better than what any of those fucking idiots have. We're a brain trust, partners with a shared goal. She loves the team. She understands and loves the game. She wants this win as bad as I do. Having her along for the ride has been worth any distractions. She's made everything better...and sweeter, dammit!

She's useful. She's my jolt of caffeine. She's a painkiller and aphrodisiac all rolled into one, something that I can't go without.

'Addicted to Anezaki'.

Kekekeke, sounds like a fucking bad TV reality show.

"Hiruma-kun, tell me what I can do for you."

What can she do for me? Let's see...there are many possible answers to that question. Ninety percent of them have nothing to do with American football.

I deliberately look away from her as I give an answer that does.

"Tape up my arms, damn manager. I'm going back in the game."

To be continued...:)