Every American curse word I knew was running in a never-ending stream of dumbassery through my mind. Coherency gone, buried beneath foul words and the flimsy weight of the girl in my arms. I had to move faster. I blew wet strands of hair out of my face, trying to clear my vision. The woods were thick here and the path narrow. I tripped on a tree limb; she moaned. The sound shredded me, wearing me apart like a rag under stone.

"Just a while longer," I lied. I had lost track of the path long before she fell, distracted by the way her bright laughter bounced off moss-covered trees as she hunted for flowers and edible herbs. She'd found a patch of dokudami and had twirled around, waving dark green leaves like a banner. A misstep to the side and she'd fallen. Her eyes haunted the moment's memory: wide, locked on me in a silent plea as she fell backwards without a noise.

I'd leapt, arms outstretched, trying to force my muscles to obey the command to fly.

But I was not who she thought I was, and my feet stayed ground, running uselessly slow over the boulders to find her curled around herself at the base of one.

You need a break, Yashiro had said.

It'll be good for you, President Takarada had said.

She feels freer outdoors, Kanae-chan had said.

I am never listening to them again. My hands tightened around her, dwarfing her. Fingers stretched up and around her hips, around her shoulders, tucking her in against my chest. I was touching her- finally, finally touching her, the warmth of her slipping into me.

Focus, Hizuri.

Blue ahead, through the trees. Shit. I gritted my teeth against my own incompetency. I'd run as fast as I could without jostling her - and run the wrong way. This is what I get for spending my entire life pretending to be experts on screen instead of actually learning real life skills. Navigating in the jungle when it's inside a studio: Tsuruga Ren, best there could be. Navigating in real life, when it's necessary, when the jungle is real and the rain I can feel on my forearms is real and this achingly beautiful woman is so friggin' real and, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry Mogami-san."

I pushed the last of the branches away and stood staring at the Pacific Ocean. My hands trembled beneath her. I turn to head back into the jungle, blaming myself for letting Yashiro use my phone, blaming myself for letting her phone run out of battery, blaming myself for not turning back while we could still see the path. But she was smiling at me and I had never understood what a siren song was until she said my name with a mouth full of laughter.

"Sirens are supposed to wreck ships," I whispered, "not themselves."

A flash of blue inland; something reflecting the dim sunlight. I could just make out a small swimming pool and a grass roof. I swallowed down rising hope and made my way carefully down the slope. My jeans were soaked from brushing against wet plants; the slope was covered in greenery, almost completely hiding a small compound from view. A yurt crowned it, squatting proudly next to a tiki-torch ringed swimming pool. My necklace slid gently around on her chest as I bounded over the wall into the clearing, yelling out a greeting.

"Hello! Anyone there? We need help!" I strode around the pool, kicking gently on the door into the yurt. "Hello?"

The door creaked open, unlocked and suddenly sinister in the grey rainfall. I gritted my teeth. Kyoko needed out of the rain. Now. I kicked open the door, striding inside, nerves alight and ready to destroy anyone that tried to stop me from finding her rest.

It was empty, recently vacated by the looks of it. A flamboyantly gold brocaded cape lay thrown over a chair shaped like a hand; coals simmered in the small fireplace. I lay Mogami-san down gently on the single bed, striding to the fire. Wood beside it; easily restocked. I threw a few pieces on and bent low. It was hard to blow gently. I wanted to scream, not gently purse my lips and blow on embers. She shifted on the bed, eyes closed.

I knelt in front of the feeble fire, my head on my knees, rocking. Fighting the creeping cold that was inside, not out.

"Not the time. Not now. Move. Move, Kuon."

I stood, terrifyingly slowly, suddenly ancient. A breath, followed by another, and my feet moved. Find a charger. She moved and my heart leapt with the shift, pulse rocketing as I dug through fashion magazines and romance psychology books littering the table, looking for a phone charger that would fit her outdated model. I shook out blankets, patted down the cloak, ransacked the barely stocked kitchen and found nothing except rising frustration.

I clenched and unclenched my fists. It was still raining. I couldn't risk taking her down the slope in the cold rain, not when we could stay here in the warmth. Two long strides and I was beside her, kneeling.

"Hurts," she said softly, her eyes opening slightly to look at me. I brushed hair out of her face, my heart twisting in the grasp of her gaze.

"I'm sorry."

"Shhh," she said, shaking her head a fraction. "No."

"No, it is my fault." I glanced at her leg, avoiding eye contact. The jagged cut clawed its way up from her bruised and swollen ankle clear past her knee, a reminder flesh will always give way before stone. "I went the wrong way. We need to get you home so that doesn't scar."

She smiled faintly, tired. "Too bad we're done filming Mio." A chuckle turned into a wince and I was up. I had to do something; had to help and I was surrounded by nonsense and color and someone else's things. I tossed my jacket on the bed and tugged off my shirt, tearing it into strips. At least I could do this.

I filled a bowl with warm water and sat next to her on the bed, gingerly easing her foot onto my lap. I had a towel from the kitchen; all I would allow myself to steal from the owners. My shirt lay in a pile next to me. My hand hovered over her skin, holding the dampened towel, hesitating.

Softly, tenderly, barely touching her, each movement of my hand a prayer for her recovery. A prayer that I could do this well. A prayer I wouldn't hurt her; my hands had never seemed larger or more clumsy than now as she flinched beneath their touch. Every now and again she would whimper. The small sounds tore at me, memories of her stoicism on the RingDoh set crashing down with each. I couldn't tell if this was causing her that much more pain that she could not keep silent- or if she was choosing to not. I paused, combing her hair back from her face with my dry hand.

"Mogami-san?" I whispered. She squeaked. "I'm almost done. I'm sorry." A shake of her head, delicate hands fisted beneath her face. I wanted to lay down next to her and draw her into a hug, cocooning her in my warmth. It would be nothing more than that; after all, here I was shirtless and she had yet to even sneak a peek.

I reprimanded myself to being a self-centered jerk, wondering why she wasn't paying attention to me when she was injured. "I should be in the LoveMe section, not you," I muttered. I thought I heard a faint laugh and looked sideways at her. Her eyes were closed, features more relaxed than before. She looked on the verge of sleep.

Careful pats with the dry edge of the rag and she was cleaned. I took a strip of my shirt and wound it around her ankle, looping a second and then a third in as I worked my way up. Deep, slow breaths. I focused on the injury, keeping my eyes trained to the gulley of red, broken skin I was working on, not the unbelievably soft white skin surrounding it. Incredibly soft, I thought, as I ran my thumb over the back of her calf.

And in need of more bandages- I leaned too sharply in my haste to distract myself, jarring her leg. She hissed; I winced. "Sorry." I started to wrap again, winding around and above the knee.

"It's… okay," she said slowly, her cheeks flushed. I was proud of the fire I'd made, warming the air for her. "Are you almost done? Not much… higher."

I ran my fingers along the edge of the bandage, checking its tightness. "Almost." She let out a shuddering breath, her eyes tightly shut. "I promise."

A brief nod. I began wrapping again, my chest tight. My body was reacting to her, no matter how intently I tried to shift my focus away. It was a good thing we were almost done. I tied the last knot and looked at her. Her jaw was tense, her eyes squeezed shut tight. I twisted the hair right in front of her ear around my finger, tracing its length along her jawline. I leaned forward, not wanting to startle her.

"All done," I whispered. She shivered. Cheeks flushed and shivering- fever? I frowned, dismayed. The wound had looked clean, could infection possibly set in that quickly? All I knew was that you had to keep fever patients warm. I slid out from under her leg to stoke the fire but no more wood would fit in. I draped the thin comforter for the single bed over her. I knelt by her head, studying her carefully. She shivered again, just as I shifted angles to tell her goodnight with a quiet whisper.

"That's it," I said, climbing into the bed behind her. "No more. We are getting you warm." I didn't let myself think, sinking beside her and wrapping my arms around her, pulling her back against my chest.

So. Small.

She fit perfectly against me. The puzzle piece I'd been missing, the interlocking fingers my hands dreamed of. I was the dark side of the moon and she was the light and this feeling was like turning as one and finally being seen, whole. It was overwhelming in its simplicity.

I was never going to sleep again.

I buried my face in the golden hair fluffing with humidity at the top of her head, smelling her shampoo; unable to place the brand. I loved it. I was going to buy all of it and soak in it for weeks.

She was soft lines and hard angles, slender and strong and oh so very warm against me. I moved my lips in her hair, whispering her name, forgetting myself. Suddenly she was up, stumbling slightly as she stood, hair askew.

"I-" she started, golden eyes wide in the firelight as she looked at me. I kept my face carefully still even though I was terrified. "I think I'll sleep-" she cast about, finding only the hand chair.

I felt a smile creep across my face, unbidden and impossible to stop.

"Here," I said, patting the bed next to me. "Right. Here."

Her cheeks lit up hot pink, then drained to white, a carnival ride of color.

"Now, Mogami-san," I said firmly, watching her closely for signs of a faint. She bit her lip but nodded, sitting primly on the edge of the bed.

I sighed; stood; ruffled her hair.

"Lay down," I said, quiet controlling my voice, my hands, and my heartbeat. "I will take the… chair."

She looked up at me, pleading, though whether for my company or my absence I couldn't tell. I sank into a chair shaped like an open-palmed hand, letting my head loll against the middle finger.

"Sweet dreams, Mogami-san," I said, staring up through the skylight center of the yurt the sky above. Stars wheeled across the opening, fractions of constellations dancing uncaring in the now-dark sky.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper, pulling me back to earth. She was cocooned in the sheet the way I longed to cocoon her with me. "...Ren."

My heart stopped.

"Again," I begged quietly through clenched teeth. I needed to know I hadn't misheard. I needed it as desperately as I needed air.

"Thank you, Ren," she said, and when I looked at her I saw clear golden eyes looking back at me from inside the comforter.

"You're welcome," I said. My chair was the very palm of God, lifting me to heaven as I looked at her and she was looking back at me. "...Kyoko."

A/N: BIRBS AND YURTS 3