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Making an awful sound, Izaya suddenly shot up from his seat, and darted to the bathroom without even closing the door. Shortly after the sound of retching reached Namie’s ears, and she sighed, getting up from her desk to pick him a glass of water.
When she entered that morning in his office, she did notice Izaya looking unusually under the weather, if not even a bit pale. More than usual at least, since he always looked like a vampire fresh out of the coffin. Her laconic greeting was returned with an equally curt wave, his eyes never leaving the screen they were staring at, the sheen of sweat on his furrowed forehead reflected by the artificial light. She sat at her desk silently, asking a candid 'how are you', as carefully and meticulously as one would place a mine. Izaya stepped on it fully, muttering a strained 'okay' behind gritted teeth.
A malicious grin cracked on her lips, carefully hidden behind a particularly thick binder. The times she had seen him faltering had been too few to really count, and who was she to miss this golden opportunity in front of her. For scientific purposes Namie decided not to press further, and wait for the reason of his sour mood to be revealed by itself.
That was before he started visibly worsening, though.
As the morning dragged on, marked by the monotonous typing and the occasional thud of a closed binder, Izaya looked waning by the minute, to the point of seeming on the verge of passing out on his desk, apparently not giving in out of sheer resolve. Repeatedly, she found herself shooting inquiring glances at him, catching him squeezing his eyes shut with some sort of pain or shaking with a random shudder. The fact alone that he didn’t call on any of her looks spoke too about his actual condition, another sign that he was actually sick, and not childishly disappointed for a failed plan like she initially thought.
Before she even realized it, her malice gave way to some sort of vague sense of preoccupation. One motivated out of professionalism, of course. What if he was sick with something contagious? She couldn't risk it, and wouldn’t risk it for anyone, much less for that guy. For a while, Namie was on the verge of saying something, a caustic suggestion to go rest and call it a day dancing on the tip of her tongue, almost out the upteenth time she saw him swaying on his seat.
In the end Namie held herself back. She wasn’t her babysitter, and if else, she wasn’t paid enough to be one. If he wanted to ignore the fact that there was something wrong with him, and carry on as normal, she was going to do the same. Closing the binder loudly to strengthen her decision, she resumed her job.
Izaya didn’t even falter at the noise, during her inner conflict having pulled his hands away from the keyboard and clutching the edge of his desk. Seconds after, there he was making his mad dash. And so she was looking at his pathetic form hunched on the toilet, now dry heaving. Despite feeling a bit queasy herself, she courageously stepped inside the bathroom, scrunching her nose up in disgust.
“Just what you’re doing, Namie?” came the echo of his hoarse voice from the toilet after a while. “Go gloat somewhere else.”
Ignoring his pathetic attempt at a jab, she tried to be the considerate one. “I wanted to see if you were fine.”
Izaya’s body shook with something not even remotely like a laugh, “I’ll be much finer on my own, thanks.”
Outraged, Namie was almost stepping away, when her eyes fell on his hands, white-knuckled just for the effort of steadying himself upright. She frowned. For all she cared, he could freely fake his way in every aspect of his worthless life, with all his feeble taunts and sneers. But it was just ludicrous that he could be as delusional as to think he was above help when he was so bad at concealing his need. She placed the glass she was holding on the sink, and put the same hand on her forehead in irritation.
“You know, for how much you brag about being so intelligent, I really think you’re just plain stupid,” she sighed, not even trying to hide her annoyance.
Izaya looked at her sideways barely above the white rim of the toilet. Probably his gaze was meant to be piercing, coming off instead weak and teary, and utterly pitiful.
"Thank you, Namie," he rasped, swallowing over a gag, "You always know how…"
Swallowing wasn't really the most wise thing to do, and he found himself throwing up again.
“Just pathetic.”
With a huff, she bent on her knees, shuffling closer in her tight skirt, determined to help him anyway against his will and her better judgement. She placed a steadying hand on his trembling back, to which he instantly tensed, most probably not even having noticed she had approached him.
“Didn’t I tell you to go away?”
“Stop complaining,” she said, voice as stern as always while her fingers started to knead little soothing circles behind his back. Or at least that was the intention, truly. Like it was to be expected, Izaya tried to squirm away, albeit weakly.
“Keep still,” Namie said, sliding her other hand at his side to stop his writhing.
“Maybe I don’t like you in my close proximity, what do you think?”
“The feeling is quite mutual,” she said rather brusquely, “Simply being near you is already revolting by itself, even without this god awful stench.”
“Why thank you, Namie,” Izaya coughed with his head still lowered down, his voice echoing hollowly, “Still, why don’t you scram?”
“I’m doing this to help you, you ingrate,” she muttered, feeling her patience running thin just by having to explain herself and why she was still kneeling next to him. Then she added, “I’ll have you know this always helped Seiji when he was sick, and would always hug me tightly in the end.”
“I’m honestly, truly honored,” Izaya tried his snarky laugh, but that too wasn’t really successful. “But you see, I’m already throwing up,” he gasped theatrically around another gag to bring his point across, “I would rather you not rub it in with your disgusting, nostalgic incestuous stories.”
“You…”
Resisting the urge to smack his head was some of the hardest feats since starting working for him. And that was counting putting up with his crazy endless conversations with the head, and not only cooking a hot pot for a whole bike gang and some other bizarre, questionable people, but eating it with them in the most awkward dinner she ever had. She settled with a harder push of her hand, feeling him quiver under her.
Making his stupid little drama had taken a toll on him, and Izaya was gasping again, the sounds he was making sounding between gags and choked breaths. He was sagging more and more, and so she reached a hand out to support him by his forehead. Her eyes widened when she felt his feverishly hot skin under her touch.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she blurted out before she could stop herself, her voice tinged with urgency.
Izaya didn’t even try to shake her away again, “Not the first one to ask, I never know where to begin…” Another dry heave, “I don’t feel too good, Namie…”
"You're running a high fever, that's why" she scoffed, “Do you want me to call that so-called friend of yours?”
She didn’t even have the time to finish saying it, that Izaya abruptly collapsed on the toilet, his slack body sliding on the other side. Namie was quick enough to catch him before his head hit the wall, hooking a hand around his neck and slowly lowering him down towards her. Immediately she leant on him, her fingers prying open one of his closed eyelids, his pupil staring out void and unseeing.
She fell on her shins. He was totally out cold. The stupid, foolish loser really had the nerve to faint on her. But then again that shouldn’t be surprising at all to her: ramping up from troublesome to troubling really was Izaya’s specialty.
Not wasting any more time, she patted his pockets, fishing out one of his phones, the one she knew had that Kishitani guy on speed dial. The fact that he had Shinra, and only him, on speed dial had always been amusing to Namie. For how often he launched himself in dangerous, if not suicidal situations, one would think the first thing would be to just stop being in those kinds of situations in the first place, and not to have a shady black market doctor on speed dial.
Shinra was quick to answer, his singsong voice busting loudly from the receiver and grating on her ears, aggravating her already paperthin patience.
“Hello, hello, Orihara! How very unusual! Did you miss me? Or do you miss a limb? Just so you know I won’t ask Shizuo to give it back, even though him keeping it would be quite morbid, don’t you think?”
“I’m his secretary,” she sharply cutted in, her eyebrow already twitching uncontrollably at his voice. “Izaya is sick.”
Shinra busted out laughing, his disbelief more evident than his concern. If he was concerned at all. “Yagiri? Is it you? You finally poisoned him, congratulations!”
“If that was the case, why the hell would I call you,” she rebutted, struggling to keep a civil tone, when in truth just having to deal with that frustrating individual and his inappropriate laughters made her tremble with irritation from head to toe. “He was already ill this morning when I came, and now he just collapsed, too.”
“This could be problematic!” he exclaimed, as dispassionate as always. “Yagiri… No, Namie, listen…”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Alright, Namie,” he ignored her, the uncouth hog. “Where is he now? Is he comfortable?”
“In the bathroom,” she said dryly, crossing her arms and shooting an annoyed look at Izaya. He continued to lie motionless on the floor, uncaring of the world and most of all of having caused her immense inconvenience.
She clicked her tongue, “On the floor.”
“Namie, how come you’re always so cold-hearted?" he groaned pitifully, “But then again, they say a heartless person is one who cared too much once, don’t they?”
She scoffed, now even more than annoyed, “I don’t see how it applies to this situation and to me.”
“My bad, my bad. I should’ve known better.”
A frown made its way on her face, “Whatever.”
“So nice of you to cover my slip-up, thanks!”
“He should wake up soon anyway, just be sure to keep him on his side, yes?” he said, to which she hummed. Shinra continued. “Otherwise he’d possibly choke and die, okay?”
“Who do you think I am?” she huffed, her frown deepening. “I do have a medical degree too.”
“I guess you do, after all,” he mumbled, his tone suddenly somber, losing all at once his improper cheer. “I just wanted to make sure.”
Namie was getting tired of these pitiful insinuations of his, really. She decided to bite her too. “Nonetheless, I presume you're coming here to help Izaya…”
“Or are you going to ignore him just like that time?”
For a while there was only silent static on the other side, and a little smile creeped on her lips. She pushed more.
“So?”
Laughter exploded again from the receiver. She pushed the phone away from her ear, barely hearing him mumbling over his snorted laughters. “To think you would use that… There truly are no lows for an insufferable woman like you.”
“Luckily for Orihara, I’m already in Shinjuku, only because dear Celty was late picking me up, otherwise there wasn’t really any way I would have even answered!” Shinra laughed again, his jarring shrieks piercing her ears, for some reason even more chilling than before.
“I’ll be there, say… Five minutes top!”
And just like that, he cut the call short, leaving Namie feeling as confused as she felt appalled.
The loser though, wasn’t waking up.
The whole time she waited for that person, Izaya didn’t so much as stir, not even when Shinra ringed the buzzer. Glancing at him one last time to make sure he wasn’t going to suffocate with his own vomit, Namie went to open the door, her legs unsteady and hands shaking with an inexplicable anxiety.
“Hi!” Shinra smiled brightly, waving his hand. “Wow, Namie! Is it me or you look even older since we last met?"
“It is you,” she clenched her hand around the door handle, a sour look making its way on her face before she could stop herself. “Not all of us can keep on looking all their life as a preschooler, you know.”
“That’s so nice a compliment,” Shinra smiled neutrally, already disinterested.
He barged in, not even taking off his shoes, swinging his brown leather bag back and forth. Namie banged the door closed, walking right on his heels while Shinra wandered off in the open space living room, looking around wide eyes as if it was the first time he had been there.
"This place didn't change one bit," he mused, getting close to the coffee table. "Ah, but isn't this new? Whatever happened to the other?"
"He burnt it," she huffed, her hand instead exasperatedly pointing to the general direction where Izaya could very possibly be gurgling his last breaths. "If you don't mind, there are more pressing matters for you being here than furniture changes."
Shinra turned to her with a dumbfounded look, "Oh yeah, right!"
"Unbelievable."
She strolled past Shinra, her steps thudding loudly on the wood floor. He followed her closely, that unnerving smile of his still plastered on his face when Namie showed him inside. At least Izaya was like she had left him minutes prior, still lying sweaty and pale on the floor, doing his best impression of a corpse if not for his imperceptibly soft breaths. Being the room too narrow for even one person, Namie let him enter, while she stood near the door, arms crossed.
Unhesitatingly, and without any talking for once, Shinra kneeled next to him, one of his hands instantly shooting first on his neck, and then on his forehead. Clicking his tongue, he fished out a light from his white coat, and opened his lid, flashing him with it. From where she was standing she couldn’t see what he was doing, moving her head from one side to another to try and see behind his frame. Izaya seemingly gave no reaction, and Shinra started digging inside his bag.
“What happened?” he breathed in the middle of his rummaging.
“I don’t know for sure,” she admitted dejectedly, “All of a sudden he started throwing up, and then just like that he collapsed.”
“How much time has it been since he fainted?”
“I called you immediately after…” Namie pushed up her sleeve to look at her wristwatch, “It shouldn’t be more than eight minutes.”
He nodded wordlessly, making a sound of recognition when he found the things he needed from his bag, a syringe and a vial with a clear liquid inside. Namie stared at his hands working with nothing like concern while he injected that unknown substance in Izaya's arm. Keeping a cotton pad into the crook of his arm, he reached blindly in his bag with the other hand. He then took out something else, a small little device, and latched it to Izaya's finger.
Without even turning, but watching the device closely, he spoke with a tone no different from the one for small talk, “So you left him here all that time without even attempting to wake him up? Or to help him?"
His shoulders shook with his laughters. "You're the worst, Yagiri Namie."
A rush of indignation made her stand rigidly against the doorframe, her cheeks blushing horribly with a sort of misplaced shame. She started stuttering, "I was… I did… It’s you who told me he was going to wake up soon! I didn't know I was supposed to do something!"
He shot her a sideways look, "Oh, but isn’t this an excuse?”
Before she could talk back, he continued, “After all, don't you have a medical degree? Or your unethical experiments made you forget even the most basic procedures? Paired with the fact I didn’t know the situation fully, a normal person would at least attempt to help a sick person, wouldn’t they? Unless of course, there is no intention to wake the person up, and this is part of a convoluted plan to kill him and having me as an unwitting accomplice! Who doesn't wish for him to die? You would do a favour to many in Ikebukuro, honestly. But if it’s really like this I won’t help you in any way, seeing that…"
"Cut this crap about me wanting to kill him, and just help him!” Namie suddenly screeched, at once relieved and immediately regretting losing her composure. In a split second her gaze turned down, just in time to see an amused expression on Shinra's dumb face.
That insufferable prick had played her. Damn him and his confounding cheerfulness.
“I swear on that wretched head,” she muttered, still looking down but her voice seething with resentment, “After this I’m going to report you and your squalid unethical activities.”
“Coming right after you and your own unethical activities,” he singsonged, then turning to Izaya again.
He placed a hand on his pale cheek, bringing out his light with the other, “Hey, Izaya, could you wake up please? You’re making Namie worry.”
“That’s…” she stomped her feet, “That’s not even remotely true!”
Shinra just nodded, watching his limp body moving just a bit, his eyes hardly blinking against the pocket light. Softly groaning some slurred complaint, Izaya brought a hand to shield himself from it. Taking the device from his finger and placing it again in his bag, Shinra now turned fully to her.
"Here’s too cramped," he said with a smile, "Help me to move him, yes?"
Namie furrowed her brows, a comeback already on her lips, but in the end she silently complied.
The loser didn’t really weigh that much, but probably because Shinra was lifting him up from the other side. Izaya still seemed a bit out of sorts, so much he didn’t even try to shake their hands off him, instead letting himself be manhandled.
Since climbing the stairs to the bedroom was too much hassle, they placed Izaya on the couch in the living room. Namie dropped the side she was holding not as unceremoniously as she would have wanted, still making his face scrunching up just a little when Izaya hit the soft cushions. In the harsh daylight that came from the floor to ceiling windows Izaya looked even worse than before, the redness of his half closed eyelids vividly contrasting against the ashen color of his skin, his black hair sticking everywhere on his sweaty face. Not even when he came back from just being stabbed he looked this bad.
An uncanny feeling made its way in her chest, one that she would rather die before admitting it was guilt. No matter how much she reasoned with herself that Izaya didn’t really deserve a feeling of the sort from anyone, that she did whatever she could even placing herself at risk, that it was all a result of that baby-faced idiot's manipulation, Namie still felt that clench.
Since when did she care about him? That was as ridiculous as it sounded, so much she could almost hear Izaya’s sarcastic sneers echoing in her mind. She supposed seeing him this vulnerable was too weird, and thus made her think weirdly that he was a person that deserved care. In short, her scientific experiment was a failure. Too much bias, she concluded.
Standing immobile behind the armrest where he was resting his head on, she watched as Shinra fussed around Izaya, now feeling for a vein in his arm to place a line. Hoping she wasn’t letting too much of her concern out, Namie leaned over.
“If he needs an IV, wouldn't it be better to bring him to the hospital?” she said, coming out more spiteful than she had intended.
“Oh, no, no, no, he hates those… Gets all paranoid and stuff,” he furrowed his brows, finally hooking the needle. He raised his head to look at her, “Besides there’s no medicine here, it’s just to replenish fluids.”
At once she straightened up, crossing her arms and turning her head away to hide her blushing. “So why doesn't he wake up?”
“I think he’s just sleeping now,” he laughed, now fishing out an instant ice pack from his bag and breaking it. After carefully placing it on his forehead, he closed his bag and stood up with a huff.
“It’s alright, Namie,” he smiled, uncannily genuine, “He’ll be fine.”
Her lips turned down, not convinced at all, “Still, what is it?”
Shinra mused a bit, then smiled, “Unless he wakes up and tells me, I won’t really know for sure, but I think he just ate something reaaaaally bad,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Doesn’t really help that he has low blood pressure, and a general intolerance for any kind of pain.”
As if a weight had lifted from her chest, she started breathing again. Izaya wasn’t dying, he was just a wuss. She smiled too, now.
It was almost evening, the open space bathed in the orange light of the sunset, when Izaya finally woke up, his soft moans barely heard over the dull clacking on the keyboard. From where she was seated, Namie raised her gaze from her laptop to look at him as he tried to sit up on the couch in front of her, his eyes blinking against the dying sunlight.
With a sharp clack, Namie closed her laptop. He seemed startled, turning to her only now.
“What are you still doing here?” he rasped, his voice weak and slurred, the effort of recollecting his bearings seeping from his half lidded eyes.
“I was waiting for you to wake up,” she said simply, placing the laptop at her side, and standing up. “How do you feel?”
“Peachy.”
With a grunt, he tried to reach the glass of water she had placed on the coffee table. She huffed, grabbing it for him and putting it into his shaky hand. Looking at him awake was as pathetically painful as watching him sleep for the whole afternoon, his cheeks still flushed with fever, his eyes lost like a child’s.
“Were you this eager to witness my final moments?” he rasped, bringing the glass to his lips.
“Hardly.”
“And you would want to take smaller sips,” she warned when he looked like he was going to gulp down all the glass. When Izaya gave her a weak glare, she crossed her arms. “Or make yourself sick again, I don’t care.”
“Anyway,” she resumed, watching him drinking slowly, “From what Shinra says it’s just food poisoning.”
Izaya stopped mid sip. He turned to her with wide eyes. “Did you call Shinra?”
“Matter of fact, he was here until a few moments ago,” she said, crossing her arms. “Were you so out of it that you didn’t even notice?”
Wordlessly, he placed the glass on the table in front of him. Namie was wondering if he was going to feel sick again, until all of a sudden he exploded in laughter, hoarse cackles only interrupted by a sudden fit of coughs.
Of course he would do this, she thought bitterly.
“You, and that guy… That’s… It’s…This is beautiful! ” he wheezed between his half laughs, half coughs. In his frenzy, he tried to stand up, uncaring of the fact he was swaying precariously on his feet as he stepped closer to her, his eyes widening more and more with disbelief, “Did you have a good old laugh over my miseries? Did you share awful stories? Or maybe he told you all my secrets? Should I worry about missing organs too? I can’t believe I missed it!”
“You ungrateful imbecile,” Namie grumbled, and without second thoughts, she pushed him back on the couch unsympathetically. Izaya fell limply onto it, still shaking with his hysterical laughs.
“Namie, c’mon! I won’t get mad I swear!”
She shook her head, “Incredibly enough, not everything is about you.”
His smile immediately fell from his lips, “Whatever, you’re no fun. I’ll just ask Shinra.”
“Good luck,” Namie said, walking away towards the kitchen. “I'm going to make some tea.”
Turning to him, she smiled, "Do you think you can manage some?"
"Don't smile anymore, please, you look creepy as hell,” he snorted, "With a little honey, okay?"
"Sure."