— huit ; eight —

HENRI COULDN'T SLEEP.

HE should have been exhausted after the events of the previous night, where he couldn't have gotten more than four hours of sleep, but no matter what position he moved into his stomach wouldn't stop hurting long enough to allow him to drift off into sleep. The painkillers had done little to help and even after he'd snuck a couple more, once Soren had fallen asleep, they weren't doing anything. He gave up on sleep not much later, rolling onto his back and wondering whether he would die.

It was a morbid thought that he didn't really believe, but he found himself thinking about death a lot recently, which always led back to his parents. Night was the time he found the memories and thoughts hardest to repress. Usually, he was so exhausted from dealing with the Ravens and twelve hours of practice everyday, that he was out the moment his head hit the pillow. It didn't mean he didn't have to deal with nightmares, pretty much every night, but his subconscious was harder to control. He just crawled into bed every evening hoping he was too drained for the nightmares to be too awful.

He must have managed to doze off because he was suddenly woken up by a spike of heat driving down through his abdomen so intense he could barely breathe around it. He struggled into a sitting position and instantly regretted it at the wave of nausea that rocked through him. He stumbled out of bed and threw up into the toilet, barely feeling the acid burn in his throat around the agonising pain in his stomach. He felt as if he'd just puked up all his internal organs. He slumped against the toilet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Despite the dim shadows of the room, Henri knew what the dark smear across his skin was.

The bathroom lights suddenly flickered to life and Henri groaned at the stabbing brightness. He closed his eyes, waiting for the reprimand from Soren for waking him up in the middle of the night when they had practice in the morning, but nothing came.

"Is that blood?"

"Yes," Henri muttered. "Don't waste time telling me you told me so. I'm not in the mood."

"How hard did he hit you?" Something in Soren's tone made Henri force his eyes open. He looked pale in the fluorescent light and was staring at him. "I knew he did it, only ever to Kevin and Riko, sometimes Jean — he told me as much. I didn't question it, knew that I couldn't if I wanted to keep my place on this team."

"That walking cane isn't just for decoration."

Soren's expression was uncomprehending for a second and then he recoiled, looking genuinely horrified. "He used the cane?"

"It doesn't matter," Henri said, knowing that it probably did. Throwing up blood was most likely a sign of something serious but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about it. "Is there a team medic or something? I'll find them tomorrow morning."

"You cannot be serious. You have to go to hospital."

Henri was shaking his head before Soren had finished speaking. "No."

"No?" Soren echoed in disbelief. "Do you have a suicide wish? Blood means there must be internal damage. You could die if it goes untreated."

"Maybe I should just die then. That was a joke," he added, at Soren's expression. He didn't know how else to explain that he absolutely refused to go anywhere near a hospital. "I won't die. It'll probably go away in a couple of days."

"I know you're incredibly stupid, but this is too much, even for you. This isn't just some bruise. As much as I hate you, I'm not going to let you die."

"That's so touching. I'll make sure to cherish your kind words."

Soren pointed at him. "Get up. We're going to hospital."

"No," Henri repeated. "I don't need a hospital."

"Argue it out with a doctor."

"You can't make me."

"Watch me."

Henri glared at him and Soren glared right back, the two of them caught in a stare-down neither was willing to back down from. Henri knew what would happen if he refused — Soren would wake someone else up, or worse, he'd call the Master and tell him what had happened. Then there'd be a whole mess regarding this and threats he'd have to face for letting things escalate this far. If he went with Soren now, they could pop in and out as quickly as possible, and no one had to know they were gone. Even though the thought of the antiseptic and sickness waiting at the hospital put him on edge, he knew this was the safest option.

"I hate you," Henri told him.

Soren knew that meant he'd won. "Hate me on the way to the hospital."

He moved back into the bedroom to grab a jacket and Henri pushed himself to his feet, using the sink as leverage. He had to lean against it for a moment to catch his breath, wrapping an arm around his stomach as if he could hold himself in one piece, and hobbled our into the bedroom. He didn't bother changing for the simple reason it would be too painful and just slipped his trainers on. He flicked off the light and followed Soren out.

He refused to admit it, but every step made his stomach pain worse and he had to slow down to a snails pace so he wouldn't throw up again. Soren didn't tell him to hurry up, simply waiting at the base of the staircase for Henri to catch up. Then Henri looked up and realised he hadn't considered the real monster — the stairs.

"Fuck," he said weakly. "This is going to take some time."

Soren blew out a long sigh. "Get on my back."

"Uh, what?"

"My back," Soren said, as if Henri was the strange one. "Unless you want to waste half an hour trekking up these stairs."

Henri opened his mouth to flat-out refuse when he looked back at the stairs. They were pitched at a particularly steep angle due to the fact they led underground, and he could imagine the agony every step would cause.

"Not a word of this to anyone," Henri warned.

"I have better things to talk about than carrying you on my back."

Henri swallowed his pride and wrapped his arms loosely around Soren's neck, carefully climbing up. He still couldn't stop the hiss of pain between his teeth as his stomach twisted. Soren secured him by putting his arms under Henri's legs and began the walk up. Henri hadn't wanted to do this because of the embarrassment at needing to be carried, but he hadn't considered just how close they'd be. His entire front was pressed up against Soren's back, and he could feel his warmth through the thin layers of their clothes.

Henri could feel his whole body growing hot and refused to let himself have thoughts like these, not when he'd been doing such a good job of pushing them back down each time they had surfaced so far. It was another issue he didn't have time to deal with.

"Hurry up," Henri said, hoping he'd assume the roughness in his voice was from pain.

Soren grunted and shifted him up higher before he could slip. "You're not exactly a bag of feathers."

Fuck, why did he have to do that? Henri bit his lip and leant back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible without toppling backwards. He was a confusing mix of relieved and disappointed when they finally reached the top, and he quickly hopped down from Soren. They were both in his car and on the road five minutes later.

"Don't fall asleep," Soren warned. "I'm not dealing with a repeat of last time."

"I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to."

Soren glanced at him. "Why?"

"Hurts too much. American painkillers suck — you need stronger stuff."

Soren said nothing and Henri turned his gaze out of the window, watching the world blur into streaks of orange and black from streetlights and shadows. He was beginning to grow a bit restless at the knowledge they were driving to a hospital. The last time he'd been, he had been eight and had a fractured wrist from falling off his bike. It should have been a simple, quick trip, and no one was anticipating the shitshow it would become when the hospital couldn't find him on their database. His parents had gone to great lengths to make sure his identity couldn't be traced, and that meant he didn't exist, at least not on paper. It was only a lot of careful manoeuvring with the hospital staff that had prevented the whole matter from being escalated further.

When Henri had broken his arm not so long ago, his parents had hired a private doctor to fix it up for him instead of risking taking him to a hospital. None of that should matter now, considering his identity was out, but he couldn't tamp down his unease.

"Why does he do it to you and Jean?" Soren suddenly asked, seemingly out of nowhere. He must have seen the confusion in Henri's gaze because he elaborated, "I understand why the Master could get away with striking Riko and Kevin. One was his nephew and the other under his legal custody. How can he get away with you and Jean?"

"Because we let him," Henri replied, the truth stripped down in it's barest form.

"I know that. I want to know why."

Henri couldn't tell him why without getting details of the Moriyamas real bloody business, and the Moreaus being their property, so he stuck with the basics. "Today, the Master knew he couldn't hit Jude the way he could me," Henri said. "There would be outrage and lawsuits because Jude would tell his parents, and it would leak out to the media. An abusive coach would lead to investigations and allegations Edgar Allan obviously wants to avoid."

"Then why can't you tell your parents?"

"Because they're dead."

Henri hadn't meant to voice his thoughts aloud and he didn't know whether to blame the pain-induced delirium or exhaustion on his accidental honesty. The look Soren flicked him was startled only for a second, before it faded into something that came awfully close to understanding. His reaction was more interesting to Henri than what he'd let slip, but dwelling on it meant wading into dangerous territory that he was happy to stay well out of.

When Soren spoke, his voice was even. "Is that why you're here?"

But Henri wasn't having this conversation and his only response was to turn to stare out of the window. Soren took that however he wanted and didn't push the topic any further.

He could feel his body tensing up instinctively when the hospital appeared around the corner, every window glowing with activity despite the late hour. His slow pace from the car to the sliding doors had more to do with his reluctance than pain, but he didn't think Soren would let him turn around now. Inside, it was busting with activity, nurses rushing back and forth as scared patients were shoved into any available waiting space for a doctor to attend them. Henri hung back as Soren made a beeline for the reception, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

Henri was expecting a long waiting time, considering the amount of people who needed to be treated, so he was surprised when a nurse led him and Soren into the hospital only twenty minutes after their arrival. She let them down a wing filled with wails and moans which made the hair on Henri's neck stand on end. He was grateful when they were ushered into a small room, complete with a narrow bed and chair, and told to wait for a doctor who could come as quickly as possible.

"Blood in your bile could be very serious," the nurse told Henri. "I don't mean to alarm you, but you'll need to be tested immediately to know whether treatment is necessary."

"Shut up," Henri said, the moment he nurse had left. He didn't have to look at Soren to know what was coming. "I heard her. Don't say it."

"I told you so."

Henri flipped him the finger and pulled himself up onto the bed, breathing carefully around the pain. It still hurt but he didn't feel nauseous anymore, which he was taking as a good sign. The nurse had said it could be serious, not that it was. He was willing to look at the silver linings.

The doctor marched in not much later. "Henri Moreau, is it? Nice to meet you," he said, giving his hand a quick shake. "I'm Doctor Lewis. Nurse Sheila tells me you found blood in your bile. Is this correct?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anything that happened which may have caused this?"

Henri glanced at Soren, who was watching him with unreadable green eyes. What he'd said in the car still stood. He couldn't tell anyone the truth because his death would be guaranteed for stirring up something like that and drawing the attention to the Master in that manner.

"I play Exy and a racquet caught me in the stomach during practice today," Henri lied. "It started hurting after that."

Dr Lewis nodded with a frown. "And you threw up once, roughly an hour ago?"

"Twice," Henri corrected, ignoring the piercing look Soren shot him. "Once after it happened, but I...didn't think it meant anything. Then again an hour ago."

"Have there been any other symptoms? Headaches, fatigue?

Henri shook his head.

"I'll give you a quick physical examination to ensure there is nothing serious we need to immediately attend to," Dr Lewis said. "Take your shirt off, please."

Henri peeled the shirt off and knew from Soren's reaction that it must have looked bad. He glanced down to see a large bruise, freshly formed and mottled a deep purple-blue, spreading across his abdomen. Another one was splashed across his side where the Master had struck him in the ribs. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out as Dr Lewis had him lie back and began probing the bruised area with careful fingers, pressing down at certain points, but he was still breathing shallowly when he finally finished.

Dr Lewis scribbled something down on his clipboard and looked up at him. "It's impossible to tell the extent of any damage caused without further tests," he said. "It may be something which can be treated quickly with some extra fluids and painkillers, but I have to let you know, it could be more serious. The blood will be caused by a tear in part of the digestive system and depending on the size, surgery may be required."

Henri swallowed. "Okay. What tests are there?"

It started simple. He checked Henri's pulse and took his blood pressure to determine how much blood he'd lost, and then came a gastroscopy to identify where the bleeding was originating from. Henri was not impressed to know they'd be sticking a tube down his throat into his stomach, and he had to take a sedative for the procedure. It wasn't painful but it was a highly uncomfortable experience, feeling drowsy as someone shoved a tube into his body to poke around his intestines. He was glad he'd kicked Soren out of the room for that bit. It took longer than he expected, and he was struggling not to fall asleep when Dr Lewis finally returned to the room.

"Good news," he said with a smile. "There was a small tear to the stomach lining, but the damage is minor and should heal without any intervention."

"That's good," Henri said sleepily.

"That being said, you will need to remain in hospital for observation for a couple more hours and have an IV drip deliver fluids to replace the blood you've lost. It would make sense to spend the rest of the night here and we can return you home in the morning."

Henri felt a little more awake at that, looking up at Soren. "Practice — "

"I'll deal with it."

"Is that okay, then?" Dr Lewis waited for confirmation and finally got it in the form of a nod from Soren, because Henri was too busy panicking about how the Master would react to this. "We'll prescribe you painkillers to take for the next couple of days to help ease the discomfort. If any pain or blood persists after a week, make sure you come back."

Henri had to change into one of those stupid hospital gowns and then they inserted the IV drip into the back of his hand. His body was ready to drift off at that point, with chemicals pumping into his body and a sedative already running through his veins, but he wasn't ready to leave it at that.

"The Master," Henri mumbled, forcing his heavy eyes open to shoot Soren as accusatory a look as he could muster. "He'll be angry I left. Didn't have his permission. Should have just stayed...there isn't anything wrong with me, anyway."

"Didn't I say I'd deal with it?" Soren demanded. "I'll make sure he knows you didn't say anything incriminatory, so just forget about it."

"Practice?" Henri yawned. Whatever drugs they were giving him was easing the pain in his stomach and was casting a haziness over his brain that was making it difficult for him to think straight. "Can't miss it...I won't be allowed. I'll get in trouble."

"We only have morning practices on Sunday. You won't be missing much."

Anything else he might have said was lost to Henri, because sleep washed over him in a relaxing wave and for the first time in a while, he had a good nights sleep. It may have been drug-induced but he was willing to take what he could get.

— — — —

Henri woke up feeling like he was tangled up in cobwebs, sticking to his fingers and to his brain. It took his cotton-stuffed head a moment to realise he wasn't in his bed in the Nest and another to remember he was still in hospital. It should have been enough to startle him upright, but his body was still lethargic and the most he could manage was pushing himself up against his pillows. He had no idea what time it was, but light was spilling through the small window in his room and it had to be late morning, at latest. The thought that he'd missed the entirety of Sunday morning practice and he'd have to explain himself to the Master took away from how well-rested he felt.

He pressed a careful hand against his abdomen, relieved that it hurt considerably less, and swung his legs off the bed. The IV drip was tucked under his skin and he pulled it out without a second thought. Besides still feeling a little unsteady from the sedative, he felt completely fine and he was sure all his blood had been replenished or whatever the issue was. He was wondering whether to go looking for a nurse or doctor to sign him out of this place when he saw his phone sitting on the bedside table. He still hadn't used it and definitely hadn't brought it with him last night, so Soren must have left it. He hesitated before picking it up.

Soren answered on the third ring. "So, you survived," he said, in lieu of a greeting.

"Much to your displeasure, I'm sure." Henri glanced around the small and bare room. "I'm asking only because I have no other way back — can you pick me up?"

"Manners cost you nothing."

"Seems a little rich coming from you," Henri said, exasperated.

Henri could hear the smirk in his voice. "I'm waiting, Moreau."

"I hate you." Henri sucked up every ounce of his pride and forced out through gritted teeth, "Please could you pick me up, Soren, so I can fall to my feet and worship how amazing you are?"

"Sounded vaguely sarcastic, but I'll be holding you to that."

Soren hung up and Henri had to assume that was agreement. A restless half an hour passed, which Henri spent pacing his room and trying to shake his lingering dizziness, before Soren finally turned up. Henri was relieved he'd bought spare clothes because he wasn't a fan of this hospital gown, and the last thing he was doing was returning to Castle Evermore to the Ravens looking like that. He had to see Dr Lewis before he was allowed to be discharged, going through another quick examination and check of his blood pressure before he was deemed fit to leave.

"These are stronger than over-the-counter painkillers," Dr Lewis said, handing him a small plastic bottle. Henri screwed it open to see little blue pills sitting inside. "Take these over the next few days if the pain is bad enough to distract you from your daily life. And I have to advise you to take it easy for the next few days — I'm no expert in Exy, but I know it's a rough sport. Be careful or this could become something more serious."

"Got it," Henri said, pretty sure there was nothing he could do about being roughhoused on court. The Ravens had only just started their reminder of why he didn't deserve to play with them.

Soren had nothing to say to him as they left the hospital, but Henri wanted answers. He waited until they were on the road before asking, "What did you tell them?"

"You weren't feeling well in the night and I took you to hospital," Soren answered. "That the doctor suggested you stay overnight, for observation. I didn't say anything about why you were there or what happened. You can tell them whatever you want."

Henri considered that and spent another minute turning the medication over in his hands, stalling asking the real question. Soren seemed to understand he was sitting on something else and said, "Just spit it out."

"What..." He curled his fingers around the bottle and switched to French, to make it a little easier for himself. "What about the Master?"

Soren went along with the language change. "He had nothing to say. I suspect he'll be waiting for an explanation along with the rest of the team."

"I don't want to talk to any of them," Henri muttered.

"I don't think you have a choice."

Henri turned to stare out of the window so Soren couldn't see his expression. The obvious and only answer would be to go along with the story he had given Dr Lewis — someone's racquet had managed to catch him where the gear didn't quite protect him, and he'd gotten it checked just in case. It would be what the Master would expect him to say and Henri had to hope he would believe that is what he had told the hospital, too.

"I saw what he did to them," Soren said, but he was staring straight ahead when Henri looked at him. Henri didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "He wore them down to the point they wouldn't dare fight back. They couldn't. Now you're the only one left for him to take it out on."

"Are you trying to make me feel even shittier?" Henri said. "Tell me something I don't know."

Soren looked at him then. "Do you really think you'll survive here?"

"No," Henri said honestly. "But I have to try. I don't have any other choice."

"You could run."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you? Finally rid of me," Henri said, the joke falling flat. He wasn't even sure whether it was even a joke to begin with. "Don't worry. Whether I run or stay, I'll probably end up dead by the end of the year anyway."