One Bright Day in the Middle of the Night

Chapter 51: Waiting with Bated Breath

I'm Sorry!, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry!

I completely spaced yesterday and forgot to update the next chapter here! It's all good, no harm done....really...maybe....I hope.....

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Morning came, and I stirred slowly, opening eyes still heavy from sleep. I stretched in the futon, my arms swinging above my head, fingers interlacing. Completing the stretch, I relaxed, my arms still above my head as I stared blankly at the stone ceiling of the cell. Yukimura didn't come down to the dungeon after I had left, indicating I wasn't needed to help with Shingen through the night, and that was a good thing.

I rolled over to face the bars of the cell and sighed heavily. I still needed to come up with a long term fix for Shingen, and that means antibiotics. Penicillin is the closest answer, but is it even possible to culture enough of the Penicillium mold in this time period to even make a difference, let alone a cure? Without a microscope, even identifying the correct strain of mold will be difficult, and the wrong one can be fatal in the doses required. I was going to have to have a long discussion with Sasuke about the subject. He's been here longer than I have and would be a lot more knowledgeable about what is possible.

It's been a week since the assassination attempt, and according to the letter yesterday, Kenshin should be back by tomorrow night. I couldn't help the little thrill I got as I anticipated Kenshin returning, even though I've got mixed emotions right now. Kenshin is seriously going to drive me nuts, and that's a short damn trip. He's going to be getting those four little words from me that no man likes to hear. "We need to talk."

I put on the Kimpo I was wearing when I arrived here, a little out of nostalgia, but mostly because the damn thing fit so well. It had been cleaned, and I mended the couple of tears that had happened during my journey. There was still the swath of bloodstain across the bottom near the hem, but it was faded at this point. I highly doubt it will ever come clean, but some things will always stick around, a visual reminder of what I have done to survive. Scars of any kind, whether on things or people, can do that. It's just a matter of how you perceive the reminder. It took me a lot of time and expensive ass therapy to realize that little tidbit. 

It's another thing I have mixed emotions about, but it's not as strong as I would have expected. I'm not swamped in guilt or remorse, and I honestly have the Warlords to thank for that change. Without their insights into the different situations I've been in, I doubt I would be as calm or accepting of the things that have happened, both in my past, and the past that has now become my present.

It is when I have these kinds of thoughts that I have to give myself a mental shake, to go and do something to get myself out of my own damn head. That's a big part of the problem of being cooped up down here. I need the distraction of action, as the boredom for me leads to those destructive circular thought patterns that I'm much better without. I finished getting myself together and grabbing my medical kit, let myself out of the cell and headed over to Takumi.

As I neared where Takumi was being held, I had a thought. I know I am bored as hell, how is that poor guy? I immediately went back to my 'room' and picked up three books of differing subjects. Books in tow, I went back to the assassins' cell and let myself in. Takumi was awake, his eyes looking me over, questioningly as I set the small stack of books next to him.

"I figured you might want something to keep you at least mentally occupied." I gestured to the books and then had a thought directly behind it. "Um...you can read right?"

I felt awkward mostly because I forgot that not all that many people are literate, especially since printed books were so rare and costly. Books have to be hand written for the most part, and the time consuming chore was usually left up to scholars and priests. It's still at least a hundred years before the printing press if not more.