If Genma had been holding anything, he would have dropped it. He felt his fingers flex and clenched them quickly to hide it, but Kakashi was nothing if not perceptive. “Wait here,” Genma said. “I’ll get dressed.”

Kakashi’s masked face remained unreadable, but Genma could feel that lone grey eye on him all the way up the hall.

In his room, he took a minute to steady himself. Asuma alive could mean many things, and—if the rumors about the Guardian Twelve were true—few of them good. Alive and in an interrogation cell in ANBU’s sub-basement? Alive and awaiting execution as a traitor? Alive, but just barely?

Of course it could also mean Asuma’s loyalty had been proven, that he had survived, maybe even unhurt, or at least not badly hurt. Merciful Kannon who sees and hears all prayers, let it be so.

Jamming his legs into underwear and jounin uniform pants went quickly. The dark blue shirt was harder, pulled over stiff shoulders that burned and tingled where nerve connections were still reforming. His gut stabbed a sharp reminder at him that he wasn’t fully healed, and the previous day’s walk with Ryouma down the side of the monument had been a lapse in judgment.

He faced the mirror, braced his palms on the dresser, and stared his own reflection down. Pale, breathing too fast. Far too emotional. Rule twenty-five, Shiranui, he told himself, as he picked up his hitai-ate. The cold steel plate was a reassuring solidity in his hand. He slicked his damp hair back, tied the bandanna over it, and went to rejoin Kakashi.

“Alright,” Genma said when he got back to the living room. Kakashi was still standing by the door, as if he’d never moved. Maybe he hadn’t. “What do you know about Asuma?”

“He’s not a traitor,” Kakashi said, giving the statement the full weight it deserved. “He was injured. Yondaime-sama brought him home this morning.”

“How—” The fragile shell of calm Genma’d gathered around himself cracked. He had to take another breath before he could trust his voice. “I told you he was loyal. How badly hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Kakashi said carefully. “He delivered a report, so he was well enough to speak.”

That was a good sign. That was an immensely good sign. Asuma was conscious, he could deliver a report, enough of one to exonerate himself from any suspicion. The good news didn’t seem to register, though. Genma’s legs felt shaky. “And he’s back in Konoha? You learned this from Yondaime-sama himself?”

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed. “Do you need to sit down?”

“Probably,” Genma said. He sat carefully on the couch and took another slow breath. “I think I also need a cigarette and a stiff drink, but I’ll take more details, if you have them.”

Kakashi hesitated, looking down and to the left, as if his covered eye could see through the walls of the apartment all the way to the Hokage’s Palace at the base of the mountain. He seemed to come to some resolve, though, and lifted his chin to look at Genma again. “He defended the Daimyou. Yondaime-sama said they found him with his back to the safehouse door, and a sea of dead at his feet.”

Genma could picture it. He’d seen the carnage Asuma could wreak on a battlefield—it was why he’d been tapped for the Twelve in the first place. “Did any of the other Guardians survive?”

“No,” Kakashi said, with the crisp finality of a battlefield report.

Genma took a moment to digest that. “The fight must have been hellacious.” And Asuma had survived it, with his loyalty intact. Genma’s fingers twitched over imaginary beads, offering silent thanks for prayers answered. “Do you know where Asuma is now? You said Yondaime-sama brought him back this morning. Is he in the hospital?”

Kakashi shrugged slightly. “That’d be my guess.”

Genma checked the clock on Aoba’s desk—nearly nine already. If Asuma was even allowed visitors, it was likely only family, and the hospital might not kick loved ones out, but they didn’t let visitors in this late unless…

Unless it was to say goodbye. Which it didn’t sound like was the case.

He’d have to go tomorrow. When he went to see Hyuuga-sensei again, he could go find Asuma, too. Maybe if he went in uniform, he’d have a better chance of getting in to see his friend.

A weight shifted as reality finally took hold. Asuma was alive.