Recently, I reread all of Eyeshield 21 again and found a delightful cache of HiruMamo fics on that were simply amazing. I love these two characters—especially Hiruma. He's so complex and multi-faceted, and I really think Mamori is perfect for him. They're good for each other. Plus I take those subtle hints in the manga to mean it's canon. IT TOTALLY IS. LA LA LA LA not listening to anything else—

Anyway. Enjoy, and as always, please read and review! No warnings really, besides Hiruma's colorful choice of words.

Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 doesn't belong to me. If it did, I would've had a lot more HiruMamo fluff in it.

It was finally over. They did it—they really, truly, did it.

"And the Deimon Devilbats win 43-42 against the Hakushuu Dinosaurs!"

Mamori stood by the bench, shaking silently, a hand pressed tightly against her lips to silence her sobs.

All around her the crowd was going wild. They couldn't believe it—winning so suddenly, so unbelievably. She could hear their overwhelming cries—

HIRUMA!

HIRUMA!

That guy came back from the dead!

—HIRUMAAAA—

And the Devilbats, too, were joyous. It was a hard-won victory and well-deserved, but at this moment she didn't care about that. She looked past Sena's tearful dance with Monta, past Kurita's loud bawls of relief, past their laughter and rowdy punches of pride.

She looked past all that and focused solely on Hiruma. He still had that devilish grin on his face, and his eyes delightfully proclaimed that of course they would win, they would never give up, he would never let his dreams die.

By god, he truly was a devil.

He had a perfect façade—no one who glanced at him would think he was in any pain at all, that he could just jump right in and play another match or two or three.

But she knew.

Despite his perfect control, or perhaps because of it—no one would realize or think to look in the wild rush of ecstasy—she could clearly see his hand tremble.

She could see the sweat running down his face, the way his right arm was held just slightly higher than the left, as if he was trying to lessen the pain.

She knew she had to get him out of there, now.

Even as she bolted towards him, her mind was a whirlwind of fear and dread, of all the things that could go wrong between now and then.

What if someone ran into him in the heat of excitement? What if that last throw had been one too many?

What if what if what if—

Twice she nearly screamed—in rage or fear, she couldn't tell—when the crowds got too close to him and then some stupid child had nearly bowled him over.

And he just stood there grinning at them all, damn him

It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds and yet she felt time slow to a viscous halt, as if she were trying to push her way through eons with time weighting her down.

Finally she managed to push out from the crowds, coming to a stop right next to him. Breathing heavily, she looked up and—

his eyes, so clear with the faintest taint of pain

that grin, that devilish, carefree grin she loved so much

—her face was barely an inch from his shoulder. He was looking down at her, grinning that same damned grin, pretending everything was perfectly alright and hey, we just fucking won and we're going to the Christmas bowl—

Her breath hitched in her throat as she reached to grab his left arm.

"Come on. You—you need to get that looked at." He opened his mouth and she was already running through a mental list of shouts and arguments to use against him

You can't make me do this! I already let you go once.

Never again.

"Yea. Yea I do." He had a strange half smile on his face she had never seen before.

Her mouth clicked shut as her eyes widened in surprise—and fear. He had stated it so simply and in such a matter-of-fact way that she felt the dread pool in her stomach.

This wasn't like him. He wasn't even making any excuses, trying to play it off, or make fun of her for her motherly ways or anything.

How badly hurt was he to acquiesce to easily?

Rushing him off the field, she could taste her fracturing heart in her throat, threatening to choke her.

-x-

Her restless fingers shredded the napkin ruthlessly. Every other minute or so she would glance nervously at his closed door, waiting for the nurse to come out—bad news, it's going to be bad news, broken and permanent and oh god no—but the door remained closed and silent.

Every tick of the clock was an omen, every swing of the hand a death sentence. A few times she had stood on shaky legs, the wait too much for her to bear, and she had almost burst through the door.

—to grab a nurse, any nurse, and demand shake beg the answers out of her—

Howishehowishe—

But every time she got up she would sit down again, afraid to rush in and distract them, cause a slip in the surgery, a fatal error—

But most of all, she was afraid to know the answer.

Flimsy wisps of fiber lay scattered around her feet, so translucent and fragile.

Delicate and so easily destroyed, just like lives and dreams.

Shaking, she blindly reached for another napkin before a strong hand grasped her arm, gently but firmly.

She looked up and for half a second, blinded by such hope and wishful thinking she thought it might have been Hiruma. Blinking, her eyes refocused on the dark hair and scruffy moustache.

Musashi.

He was looking at her with such empathy, as if he almost pitied her.

Why? Whywhywhy—

Was there something to pity?

Letting go, he shifted her pile of napkins so he could sit next to her. Silently, they sat there, he staring at the wall and she at her feet.

Quietly, he spoke. "He's going to be ok. Devils like him won't ever let anyone cut him short."

He had meant for it to sound like a statement, so true and obvious with no room left for argument, but she had still heard the faint pleading note in his voice, as if he were trying to convince himself.

Images of bleached-bright bones in blood-red strings and gaping flesh

She appreciated the effort and tried to smile obligingly, smile past the pain and fear and bout, but he wasn't even looking at her. His eyes seemed to bore a hole through the wall, trying to gain a glimpse of his teammate, his captain, his friend.

Silence reigned between them, accompanied by the foreboding tick of seconds stretched into minutes.

Finally, he stood again, heaving a world weary sigh. Still facing away from her, he said, "He definitely won't give up. You mean too much to him."

At that, her head snapped up and her lips parted to ask him what he meant by that, but he was already walking down the hall to rejoin the rest of the team in the lobby.

She was still staring off into the distance when the door opened. Shocked back into the present, Mamori rushed towards the nurse who was backing out and hovered uncertainly.

"Ah—Hiruma, is he—?"

Waving gently, the nurse whispered, "Ah, Hiruma-san will be fine. It was a clean break. He's been given a sedative and is finally resting now." It went unspoken that it had been difficult getting him to rest at all.

"Oh…" She was relieved, but couldn't help feeling downcast that she would have to wait until later to see him.

The nurse pursed her lips and seemed to think about something before reaching a decision.

"You know what, you go on in anyway. I can't promise that he'll even know you're there, but you'll get to see him at least."

Startled, Mamori looked at her disbelievingly.

She just smiled warmly in response. "I saw you sitting there for the past few hours. You haven't budged since they brought him in. And besides, I'm sure you'll behave far better than those rowdy boys out front."

The nurse pushed her cart past her as Mamori stood in stunned silence. She managed to choke out a heartfelt thanks before she practically threw herself into the room.

Her hands were shaking as she quietly closed the door. Trembling, she remained there for a few seconds before she hesitantly turned around.

In the dim, shaded light, all was silent except for his soft breathing and the steady blip of machinery.

It looked so cold and silent—like the grave, the unbidden thought rushed through her mind before she forcibly erased it.

No, not the grave

Those are for dead people—no no no—

Noiselessly, she made her way towards the side of his bed and knelt there helplessly, hands fisting in the bedspread.

She could feel her eyes prick and moisten. He didn't belong here, in this vulnerable state, this heavy silence.

She missed the excitement he brought into her life. She missed his loose cackle of fiendish glee, his reckless spray of bullets, his trickster's disposition and insults.

She lowered her head and let out an inadvertent dry sob, clenching the sheets so tightly as if her life depended on it.

"The fuck are you doing now?"

His voice was so sudden, so clear—and oh so welcome—that she nearly forgot to breathe as her heart pounded in her chest.

She raised her head and his eyes locked onto hers.

He looked so calm and solid as always, as if he wasn't lying in a hospital bed with one arm in a cast. One eyebrow raised, waiting for her response, he casually blew a bubble. I don't even want to know where he got that, she thought briefly.

A few frayed thoughts ran through her mind

Wasn't he supposed to be sedated? Wait, do sedatives even work on the devil?

Is his arm ok? He's not faking it again, is he?

Please, please let him really be ok this time, pleasepleaseplease—

And WHERE in god's name did he get that bubblegum from?

"You shouldn't be chewing that," she blurted out, the shock of the moment making her forget what she had originally planned to say.

His eyebrow seemed to rise even higher, as if challenging her—oh, really?—before he blew an even bigger bubble. Silence reigned again as she desperately tried to gather her thoughts in vain.

She felt a drop of something land on her hand. The tears flowed freely now, and distantly, she wondered when she had started crying.

He was the first to speak. "You know, if you're just going to sit there and cry I'd rather you do it outside. It's really fucking annoying to look at."

Stunned into silence by how callous he sounded—he wasn't even looking at her—she inhaled sharply.

"You, you heartless bastard!" she hissed. "I was worried about you and here you are, being—" abruptly she stopped, belatedly coming to a realization.

It was only now that she looked closely at him that she understood. He was still looking away but had stopped chewing, as if waiting for her to continue. Her eyes narrowed as she saw his left hand twitch involuntarily.

He had been trying to goad her into their usual bickering. Ever the trickster, he had been trying to comfort her and dispel her worries in his own way.

At her continued silence, his eyes flickered to hers as he sighed inwardly. Apparently she had figured it out already. Damn manager.

"That was mean."

Damn, she was cute when she pouted.

"It's what I do, dearie," he drawled before sitting up and rearranging himself more comfortably. "So now you've seen me, I'm alive and kickin', may your conscience rest in peace."

He closed his eyes again, as if silently dismissing her. Biting her lip, Mamori wondered what to do now. As always, he was perfectly composed while she was floundering for what to say. She knew he wouldn't take to reprimands or apologies.

He cracked an eye open as he heard her shifting, watching as she stood and smoothed down the sheets, gathering them around him again.

"I should've never let you back on the field," she sighed. Her fingers lingered near his arm, encased in coarse plaster.

Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "We've been through this already. What's done is done. 'Sides, you couldn't have stopped me anyway." It's not your fault.

"And I wished I had." I should've tried harder.

Her reply was so soft, her voice so tremulous with emotion. Her face was lowered, bangs hiding her eyes. If she had looked up, she would have seen the strangest emotion flicker across his face.

"Hey."

She drew in a shaky breath—she could feel herself about to cry again and she didn't want to keep crying in front of him—and tried to regain control of herself.

He's always so strong, no matter what's in front of him. He must be laughing at me now, the manager of the Deimon Devilbats, bawling her eyes out because of a simple sports injury.

"Hey."

Even though she knew very well that sports injuries were almost a given, that they were lucky it was such a clean break and not something much worse, her heart couldn't accept that. It's different because it's him.

"God dammit will you answer me?"

Startled out of her depressing reverie, she jerked her head up so suddenly that she felt a muscle twinge in her neck in protest.

"What—"

"If you're going to stay here, might as well make yourself useful." He gestured in the general vicinity of his left side. "Pass me that water bottle."

She decided to ignore his demanding tone this time on the grounds that he was injured and she still felt guilty, deserved or not. Leaning over him, she paused midway, blinking in confusion.

"Hiruma, there's no—ah!"

Without warning, his left arm shot up and pulled her down.

She froze for nearly a minute before she remembered to breathe again—and she did, heavily. She was half-sprawled in his lap, face pressed into the crook of his neck, while his arm had snaked its way around her waist.

It appeared that in the process, her heart had somehow fallen out and now lay somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach.

"Hey…" Oh god, he was so close to her ear.

Her fingers were grasping at his shirt, dragging the v-neck even lower. Dimly, she thought with mild amusement that he had refused to wear a hospital gown. How very like him.

"Mamori…" His breath was warm as it ghosted past her ear and she shivered uncontrollably. She could almost feel his lips, they were that close.

Had his voice always been that husky?

She swallowed. "Y-yes?"

His arm tightened briefly and she almost thought she would be able to feel those lips after all before he suddenly pulled back, fiendish smirk firmly in place.

"Tricked ya'."

Dumbly, she just looked at him in disbelief.

Three seconds ticked by before she let out a poorly suppressed yell of frustration.

"You asshole!" Wrenching her hands free of his person she tried, unsuccessfully, to scramble out of his lap. "That was not funny, you di—jerk." Huffing, she considered just shoving off of him.

Hiruma just continued his insufferable smirk. "My, my, but you've got quite the dirty mouth today. I think you've been hanging around me too much."

She pinned him with the darkest glare she could muster while blushing. "You just can't be pleasant, can you?" she muttered self-consciously.

Still chuckling to himself, he hoisted her up slightly with the arm that was still wrapped around her. "Alright, alright. Stop squirming around or you'll fall off the fucking bed."

Momentarily thrown off balance, she had ended up clutching his shoulders. She could feel the rumbling vibrations of his laugh and she reddened further. He didn't seem inclined to let her go anytime soon.

So much for leaving in a righteous fit of anger, she thought wryly, deliberately not thinking about how much she didn't want him to let her go.

Something tugged insistently at the edge of her pain, and as she paused, it came to her at once.

In the last few minutes, she hadn't once thought of his arm or the guilt eating away at her. In fact, things had almost been normal, with the two of them quarreling as usual.

Closing her eyes, she smiled exasperatedly. He had managed to distract her again.

"…thanks, Hiruma."

"What for? Have you finally lost all your brains, fucking manager?" he cackled.

She hit him lightly on his good arm. "You know very well what for, you—" She had turned her face to the side only to find that he was already staring at her, that same, peculiar half smile from earlier on his face.

"Um," she said intelligently, suddenly realizing that his face was less than two inches from hers.

She was all too aware that she was still sitting in his lap with her hands on his shoulders while his good arm was draped over her—with no intentions of letting go, said the demon in her mind that sounded suspiciously similar to another demon she knew.

She swallowed hard. Hiruma was being particularly strange today, not that he was easy to figure out any other day, but right now he seemed to be almost…almost nice.

She didn't know how to handle a 'nice' Hiruma. In fact, the only time he seemed to be nice was when—

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Wait a minute. This would be the perfect fodder for his blackmail book…

"You're not—" she began suspiciously before he leaned in—oh god he's not stopping why isn't he stopping—and closed the gap between them, his lips leaving a warm imprint on her cheek.

"So fuckin' noisy," he murmured, kissing away the faint trail of tears.

At that moment, Mamori decided that even if this was going to end up as blackmail later, it was worth it.

Rigid as a tree, she didn't dare move for fear that he might stop. His lips were leaving warm, tingly trails down her cheek and she could feel them heat up.

Biting back her disappointment when he eventually pulled back, she fidgeted nervously in the cage of his arms—well, arm. She had no idea what to do from here.

He regarded her thoughtfully.

For a sudden, blood-freezing moment she thought he was going to whip out a video camera and cackle with glee at the dirt he managed to get on her, but then he began to stroke her back absently and all thought fled her brain.

Hiruma gave a theatrical yawn before lying down, tugging her with him. "My, my, I think I feel those sedatives kicking in," he grinned mischievously.

The blush returned full force, but she found that she couldn't—didn't—want to move away and so instead she curled against him, mindful of his cast.

Reaching an arm up, she caressed the side of his jaw. "Go to sleep," she whispered softly.

And for once, he complied. A few minutes later, his breathing evened out into the soft exhalations of sleep, rhythmic and steady.

Cautiously she slid herself out of his embrace, careful not to jar his right hand. She rearranged the covers neatly before she paused at the head of the bed.

Gently, she brushed his bangs back, letting her fingers linger on his brow. She hesitated before bending down and pressing her lips against his cheek.

Straightening immediately, she rushed out red-faced. Easing the door closed quietly, she turned around—

—and saw the entire Devilbats team staring at her with a mixture of horrified, shocked, and knowing glances.

Eeeek!

For the second time within these past few hours she found herself at a loss for words.

"Um…hi?" she laughed weakly.

-x-

Mamori let out a sigh of relief as she finally ushered out the last of the Devilbats before Hiruma gunned them all down. As it was, she didn't think Monta's hair would ever grow back symmetrically. A tiny part of her was almost resentful that they had woken Hiruma up after he had finally gone to sleep.

How did he manage to sneak in a machinegun anyway? Then again, she was probably better off not knowing, which was how most things went with Hiruma.

She didn't think she could take anymore of their teammates' incessant badgering—or in Monta's case, his waterfall of tears. Sena, along with the majority of the team, seemed so shocked that she was worried his heart would give out. As she shepherded them out, she thought his jaw had become permanently unhinged and that he'd retain a bug-eyed look for the rest of his life.

Musashi had just looked at her with that knowing glint in his eyes. Speaking of Musashi, she'd have to track him down later and ask him what he meant earlier.

But for now…now it was just the two of them again, finally.

She smiled as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Well, that's the last of them."

"Good riddance," he muttered, twirling his gun.

Laughing softly, she apologized, "Sorry for waking you up again."

He just looked at her, and she was suddenly reminded of exactly how he went to sleep earlier. Feeling her cheeks heating up, she turned to stare at the opposite wall. She still wasn't sure what that had all meant—it was just so unlike him, and it didn't bode well whenever he was acting strange.

Her heart gave a tiny twinge and she ruthlessly squashed the disappointment she felt. Best to just write it off as the drugs they gave him—and her sudden, momentary lapse of reason— instead of thinking it meant anything. Maybe he was just trying to mess with her. Lighten the mood. All that jazz.

Confusing the opponent was what he did best, after all.

Back facing him, she didn't see the way his eyes had narrowed when her shoulders slumped.

One minute she was staring gloomily at the wall and the next she had jerked up in surprise when she felt his chin hook over her shoulders.

She could feel his breath on her neck.

Just as she was about to ask him what he was doing, her mind screeched to a halt as he draped his left arm across her other shoulder.

Wordlessly, his fingers played with the soft locks of hair. She strained to see his face but he merely grinned and pulled back, snickering at her embarrassed confusion.

It was just like him to stop as suddenly as he started. Well, they do say the devil comes and goes as he pleases…

Settling into the pillows, he flapped his hand at her offhandedly.

"Get going already. It's getting late. Don't want to lose a manager before the next game 'cause she walked off a cliff," he smirked.

Back to normal.

She huffed as she stood slowly, probing a thought that had just entered her head.

Briefly, she wondered if what she was thinking would be suicidal. It was definitely reckless and might earn her at least two weeks of teasing and torment, but it was just so tempting at the moment.

Hesitantly, she stood there awkwardly before deciding to hell with thinking things through and just plowed forward before her courage deserted her completely.

She planted a kiss on his temple before whispering, "Get some rest, Hiruma. It's been a long day."

And then she bolted, not waiting to see his reaction or the slow grin that spread across his face and a rather intimidating gleam in his eyes.

She ran out the hospital doors before she could embarrass herself further, only slowing once she got to the next block.

Heart thudding heavily in her chest, she tried to at least pretend to regain her composure. It was only when she reached to adjust the bag on her shoulder that she heard something crinkle.

Blinking, she looked around but all was quiet and empty. She turned in a half-circle before she saw something peeking out from behind her arm.

Reaching over, she peeled off a post-it note with little bat wings stuck on it.

"Stop fucking worrying so much. And don't go drowning your sorrows in creampuffs, either."

A true smile lit up her face as she laughed quietly to herself, tucking the post-it into her pocket and walking away with a light spring in her step.

-x-

Sweeping the front steps of the Devilbats' clubhouse, Mamori sighed for the fifth time. Nothing was really the same without him.

The clubhouse was far too quiet, the field missing the usual round of bullets and curses.

Her broom slowed as she leaned against the wall of the clubhouse, revisiting the topic that had been in her mind since last night.

They really gave Hiruma far too little credit. Sure, they all knew how cunning he was, the master of trickery and deception. But how many of them truly gave him the credit he deserved?

At some point in time, they had all just taken him for granted, sure that no matter what, their genius strategist would be there to bail them out with an impossible plan. It wasn't until he was gone that they realized just how much they needed him.

She had watched their practice and while they were just as determined and hard-working as usual, something was missing. She could feel it herself. It was as if they had been thrust into an alternate dimension, one where demons in human form didn't exist.

It just felt so empty, watching them practice their plays, all the while expecting unruly blonde hair and a gun pointed at their face, shouting them down

And that was how Musashi found her, slumped against the wall with a sad smile.

"It's quiet, eh?"

"Ah!" She straightened up hastily. "Y-yes…"

He joined her, slouching against the wall, arms crossed in front of him. He looked at her, as if he knew there was something she wanted to say.

Well, now was as good a time as any.

Clearing her throat, she murmured, "Musashi-san…before, when you said that—that I mean too much to him…" her voice trailed off, unsure and wavering. Knotting her hands in her skirt, she braved on.

"What did you mean?" she asked timidly.

His eyes danced in laughter as he replied, "I meant exactly what I said."

Her eyes narrowed as she glowered at him. He was almost as bad as Hiruma.

"Sorry, sorry," he mollified, grinning at her impatience. "But you really haven't noticed, have you?"

She just stared at him. "Noticed what?"

Musashi sighed wearily. Kids these days. "Hiruma likes you," he said bluntly.

Mamori just continued blinking at him, though he noticed with amusement that she was reddening considerably.

Well. She had guessed as much—well, hoped—from yesterday, but she still didn't expect him to just come out and say it, and that frankly, too!

Uncomfortably, she fiddled with the broom now laying limp in her hands. With Hiruma, you could never tell what he was thinking. "I don't know about that…"

"Trust me." He said it so firmly and absolutely. "That guy…he's never straightforward, but I've known him for years."

He looked at her, eyes piercing through her. She swallowed nervously before he grinned and continued.

"He hates it when you're upset."

So he'll do his best, in his own way, to fix whatever's upsetting you.

Rubbing the back of his head, Musashi muttered, "Ah, I've said too much already. If he finds out…"

All of a sudden, they both felt a chill creep across the air. Both their eyes widened; hers in surprise, his in fear.

Musashi valiantly bit back the scream that threatened to burst out of his lungs.

I-it can't be.

"Kekeke, if who finds out what?" Hiruma's eyes gleamed evilly as he cocked his gun.

Oh, shit. Musashi tried to back away discreetly, and he managed half a step before Hiruma began firing round after round.

Watching the man flee, Mamori slowly turned back around to face Hiruma.

She could feel a headache building between her eyes. Only that man would be up and running about firing off firearms less than twenty-four hours after his surgery.

"Hiruma. What on earth are you doing?" She stalked up to him and poked him in the chest. Or tried to. "And what are you riding around in?"

"Kekeke, it's a mobile oxygen tank! It's going to revolutionize the entire fucking world, I tell ya'!" With unbridled glee, he let loose a rain of bullets into the air as he sped off in pursuit of the burly construction worker turned five-year-old girl.

"Hiruma!" she yelled, chasing after him. "Hiruma, what are you—that can't be safe!"

"Ah, shut your jabbering, fucking manager."

Now things were really back to normal again, she thought giddily. She couldn't help the smile that blossomed across her face, even as she ran after the maniac in an attempt to preserve their kicker.

"Hiruma! Stop throwing grenades at him!"

-x-

-x-x-x-

And we're done! Thanks for reading this really long story, folks! There might be an epilogue, if I can think of how to write it. I wanted to end with another couple of sentences or so that was pure HiruMamo fluff, but I couldn't get it to work out. So perhaps I'll tack on an epilogue. ;)