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Rest for the Wicked [Aug. 22nd, 2014|09:30 pm]
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[tousaki_ryouma]
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[User Picture]From: [info]namiashi_raidou
2014-08-23 03:59 am (UTC)

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Maybe Genma had been serious about making Ryouma a medic.

Raidou had exactly zero problems with that idea. They needed all the help they could get.

While Ryouma helped Genma limp painfully back to the bunkroom, shepherded by a brace of Katsuko’s clones, Raidou’s eyes fell on Fukuda’s back. The ridge of her spine pressed up against her shirt, outlined by sweat. Every hoarse breath made her ribs flex like a valley of sticks.

She’d have killed us, Ryouma had said. Why the hell are you helping her now?

And yet he’d been out here first, patching her up. Guilty conscience? Or a renewed determination to toe the line and follow orders after last night’s not-quite-breakdown.

A hot shiver of chakra made Raidou’s skin prickle. He looked sideways. Katsuko had moved to his elbow, good arm crossed over her chest and tucked into her sling as she regarded the cell. Her gaze on the prisoner held no particular emotion—no anger for an enemy or sympathy for a wounded combatant. It was just steady: one professional sizing up another.

“She’s a resource drain,” Katsuko said at last.

Time, chakra, meds, and bandages so far. Plus some frayed tempers.

“Yep,” Raidou agreed.

“And a danger,” Katsuko said.

“She is,” Raidou said.

Katsuko flicked a sideways glance at him, partly shrouded by the hair spilling across her face. For a moment, he thought she might say the unspoken thought: You’re crazy for adding enemy bullshit to an injured, unsteady team. We’re too fried to deal with this.

Her chin dipped once. “I can put a bow on her if you like. Y’know, for Intel.”

Raidou swallowed the punch-drunk urge to laugh. Or perhaps it was relief. Even with his knuckle-print bruising her breastbone, she still trusted him. “The last treaty had specific rules about the treatment of prisoners. Pretty sure cruel and unusual methods got a mention in there somewhere.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Noted,” he said, and leaned against her, very carefully, just for a moment. She leaned back, warm against his side.

From the bunkroom, Genma said distinctly, “Buddha’s motherfu— Ow.”

“Sorry!” Ryouma said, sounding stressed, and there was the metallic clatter of some doubtlessly important piece of medical equipment hitting the ground. Bandage shears, if Raidou had to guess.

Not quite a medic yet.

“Better rescue them,” he said, and glanced quickly at his hands, which were still flecked with Genma’s dried blood from last night’s exploding leg drama. “I need to scrub up. Can you lend Ram a hand?”

Katsuko lifted her right hand, still injury-free, and wriggled her fingers. “Still got one spare,” she said, and went to Ryouma’s—or, more accurately, Genma’s—aid.

Raidou glanced one last time at Fukuda’s back and thought, But for the grace of God. One moment of slipped control, one teammate gone rogue, and she was every captain’s worst nightmare. Captured, crippled, team slaughtered. You couldn’t fail worse.

If she hadn’t tried to massacre half of his team, he’d almost feel bad for her.