The sting of a needle slipping gently into a vein barely registered. But Raidou got lucky; if Genma had hit muscle with his injection, it would have been long, agonized minutes before the drugs could kick in enough to even begin to shave the edge off. But delivered right into his bloodstream, swept through his body by a frantic heartbeat, the effect of the morphine was almost instant.

Slowly, achingly, his fingers unclenched. Words began to make sense again, rasped right next to his ear. Hang on, Raidou. Breathe. Pressed tight against his chest, panting in hitching jerks, he could feel the weight of another body. Smell blood and sweat and, underneath that, Genma. It cut through the carnal stench of the battlefield.

Hang on, Rai.

They were on the floor. He could feel one leg twisted awkwardly beneath him, the other flung out and jammed against the metal strut of the cot. Genma was half on his knees, half in Raidou's lap, skin greased with sweat and blood, shaking fitfully. Raidou could feel slickness smearing beneath his fingers. They were both still very naked.

He opened his eyes.

Genma's left hand, the broken one, was hanging loosely to one side, held away from both of them. Carmine strings dripped from the terrible wounds, splattering skin and concrete. There was blood streaked all over Raidou's thigh. Genma's pupils were blown out wide. His uninjured hand was rubbing down Raidou's arm, over and over.

Raidou swallowed hard.

"Sorry," he rasped. "Sorry. I didn't--you've got to sit back. Let me look at your hand."