“Gojyo, please. Just let me–”

He wriggled and collided, hard, with the side of the doorjamb. “Shit,” Gojyo hissed, holding his bruising side and sinking to the floor.

Hakkai's smile was wearing down to the bones. “Gojyo, please let me have a look at your wound.”

“It's nothing.” He ground out. “Not like I haven't looked after these things.”

“But if you're going to be riding in a jeep and fighting demons, it's going to reopen. You have to think about yourself–”

“Hakkai.”

“And Sanzo will not hesitate to shoot you and leave you behind like a horse with an injured leg! These are completely different circumstances! I was in bed for nearly a month–”

“Hakkai, leave it!”

“And stretching it,” Hakkai continued, eyes flashing like green forest fire. “You'll kill yourself.”

“Faster than the smoking, at least.” Gojyo tried, eying the way Hakkai's fisted hands shook.

“Gojyo,” He said, brightly. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Hakkai stooped and growled, “You will get in your bed and let me look at your wounds or I will personally make sure that you cannot move for at least a week.”

“But, Hakkai–”

“Go. Now.”

Gojyo obediently scrambled beneath the sheets and tossed aside his shirt. “Houran did a fine job so far...”

Hakkai frowned at the bloody bandages and delicately peeled them off. “For the moment, she helped you cheat death.” Gojyo's belly warmed with the power of Hakkai's qi, stitching skin back together, restoring necessary nutrients to the blood stream, and patching ruptured organs.

Gojyo stared up as Hakkai worked. He could never quite bring himself to look as dead skin sprung back to life with a renewed vigor. There was something so...unnatural about it that rolled his stomach. Instead, he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Specifically, that nasty black bruise peeking over Hakkai's collar. Transfixed, Gojyo hadn't realized he'd touched it until Hakkai gasped sharply. Fighting the urge to shrink back, Gojyo slipped apart the clasps to get a better look.

“Dougan got you pretty good, ne?”

“Not exactly.” Hakkai replied, biting back a hiss when Gojyo prodded a bit too hard.

“Golem?”

“Hai.”

“Was it...” Gojyo shook himself. “Was it me?”

Hakkai shook his head.

“Her?”

Again.

“Who?”

“Goku.”

The corner of Gojyo's mouth turned down. “Sick bastard.”

“Did...'I' do this?” Hakkai inquired, tracing the newly-shut wound, pink from the skin's rebirth.

Gojyo smiled humorlessly. “Not exactly.” He sat up, mindful of his movements and patted the bed beside him. Hakkai sat and waited. “It's nothing, really. If you can do it, so can I.”

Hakkai chuckled. “You'll heal faster, with my help.” Pause. “But, it'll scar.”

“Like yours?”

“A bit, yes. The qi will help.”

Gojyo's fingers darted forward, seizing Hakkai's shirt. His eyes never left Hakkai's as he tugged just hard enough. Just enoughto create a gap where his fingers could reach in and touch the twisted skin beneath. Hakkai was stiff against his touch, expression showing nothing as Gojyo recklessly invaded and did what he wanted, when he wanted. Hakkai knew he was no match for the brashness that was Sha Gojyo. He closed his eyes. He submitted, surrendered, and let Gojyo take him where he wanted. Their lips met in a kiss that wasn't sweet or pure, but gritty, passionate, and choking with the sin that sunk into each of their skins. It tasted of the blood of a mother, a sister, the youkai slaughtered and underneath, oh, underneath, there was the taste of ash and late summer or a crisp autumn day with good sake.

Gojyo fell back, mindful of his wounds and Hakkai's and their spirits pressed deeper into one another. His fingers fumbled with the clasps on Hakkai's shirt, so much that Hakkai did it himself. Gojyo pulled him down and as they lay with each other, their scars touched and interlocked.

Hakkai, noticing this, chuckled softly as he buried his face in Gojyo's hair. Karma certainly took him on a wild ride, but it was worth it. His spirit had found its kindred.