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It took Eiji a total of three days to return to New York and they were the longest three days of his life. Ibe insisted he slow down, recover a little before trying to sit through another 20 hour flight, but he couldn’t. Something wasn’t right; he could feel it.
Once his feet touched American soil, Eiji was in a cab and heading to the hospital Max had texted him, with Ibe rushing after him the entire way and fussing over his injury.
When the cab pulled up to the curb of the towering Manhattan hospital building, he paid the driver and nearly fell out of the car in his rush.
“Eiji!” Ibe appeared at his side almost instantly, pulling him back up to his feet. He helped Eiji hobble into the hospital and up to the receptionist.
“Ash,” Eiji gasped. “Where is Ash?”
Before the receptionist could reply, a startled voice called out his name. Whipping his head around, he met Sing’s wide eyes. “Eiji, I thought you were in Japan.”
“I came back when I heard,” Eiji said. “Where is he?”
“He’s still out,” Sing told him, then turned to the nurse. “He’s with us, with Aslan Callenreese.”
The receptionist typed something into the computer and passed a visitor’s bracelet over the desk. Sing snatched it from her, took Eiji’s hand, and ran.
From where they left him, Ibe shouted after them to be careful and to mind Eiji’s injury, but Eiji ignored him. He held the hand that wasn’t firmly in Sing’s grip against his stitches and pushed himself to keep up.
They skidded to a stop outside a nondescript door, one of many. There wasn’t a security box on it, a thought that worried Eiji until Sing pushed it open.
Inside was Ash, laid motionless on stark white sheets. Wires connected his body to various machines and a cannula pushing air into his lungs.
Eiji’s knees nearly gave out from under him but he managed to cross the room and lean against the edge of his bed.
“Is… Is he okay?”
“They found him in time,” Sing answered. “But he still lost a lot of blood. He hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Wh-what happened?” Eiji asked, his head whipping around to look at Sing. He was frantic, wanting answers as quickly as he could process them. “Was it one of Golzine’s…?”
“No…” Sing shook his head. “It was a knife attack. Eiji…. It… it was Lao.”
“...What?”
“Lao did it,” Sing repeated, voice cracking. He rubbed an eye with his fist. “I...I’m so sorry, Eiji. I… I didn’t know . I didn’t think he’d --”
“It’s not your fault,” Eiji said, reaching out and holding onto Sing’s forearm. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is!” Sing exclaimed, voice cracking. “If things had ended better with him, if I'd just 've reached out to him….”
“It couldn't have been that simple,” Eiji grabbed Sing's wrist. “You didn't do this.”
When Eiji woke, he thought he imagined the shift of the sheets, the loud exhale of breath, the phantom touch in his hair. He thought it had to have been his dreams, his brain playing a cruel trick on him.
Yet, something in his gut told him to check, just in case.
Looking up, he saw Ash blinking down at him.
“...Ash?”
His eyebrows drew together as he frowned. “...Eiji? What… what are you doing here? Didn't… didn't you go back to Japan?”
“I… came back.”
Ash planted a hand down on the mattress, trying to lift himself into a sitting position when suddenly, he gasped and all but fell back against the pillows, his face white as the sheets.
“No, don't move!” Eiji all but shouted. He jumped to his feet, wincing as the move pulled at his stitches. “I'll get a nurse.”
Wobbling just a little, Eiji rushed to the door, poking his head out into the hall.
A nurse came in not long after. He checked Ash's vitals, rebandaged his side, and helped him to the bathroom. And when Ash was settled back into his bed, he placed a bottle of water in his hand.
“If you need anything else, I'll be right outside.”
“Thank you,” Eiji said for them, returning to his spot at the edge of Ash's bed, carefully lowering himself into the armchair there.
Ash was courteous enough to wait until the nurse left to ask about Eiji's wound.
“Oh…” Eiji glanced down at his sweater, as if he somehow forgot about the gunshot wound in his side, even though it ached with his every move, like he thought that Ash had also forgotten it somehow. “It’s okay.”
Ash fixed him with a hard stare. “You're lying.”
Eiji huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the plush back of his chair. “I've been shot before, you know.”
“Yeah, but the bullet only skimmed you that time!” Ash raised his voice. “And only by Blanca's good grace. He could've killed you!”
“But he didn't,” Eiji snapped, a little harsher than he had intended. But he didn't want to be reminded; he didn't want to remember how easily he could've died back then, how easily he could've died this time.
It reminded him that Ash was almost been taken away from him by death too, just as easily. Softer, he said, “And neither did Shao-tai or John. I'm okay.”
He frowned and repeated, “You're… okay.”
“Yeah, I am,” Eiji nodded. He reached out and grasped onto Ash's hand that was closest to him and said, “So are you.”
“I…” Ash blinked. “ I'm okay?”
Eiji nodded wildly, hair flying about, and he squeezed Ash’s hand. “Yes. Yes, you’re okay.”
Ash stared, then squeezed Eiji’s hand with all the strength he could muster. “I… I got your ticket. I missed the flight.”
“That’s okay,” he told him, smiling. “We can reschedule.”