Ryouma thought, uneasily, of the last time Kakashi'd woken; the warm weight of his head on Ryouma's shoulder, the roughness of his hair under Ryouma's hand. The way he'd melted, boneless and trusting, when they stroked his hair.

It'd felt—right, then, when Ryouma was half-asleep himself, when it was just the three of them and Kakashi wouldn't remember it anyway in the morning. They'd been looking after him, keeping him still and safe. It was only for a little while.

They'd made it through the dark hours, the hurting hours, when even a sober man could reach out for comfort without shame. There was no reason for it to be like that now.

And nothing for him to do but get on with things.

He held the syrette up to the light, judging half a dose. Like squeezing a tube of toothpaste, only there was very little difference between half the tube and the full 10 ml. How the hell were you supposed to get an accurate dose with this?

Maybe you learned that it in medic training. Or maybe everyone else just guessed, too.

Ryouma pinched the cap off, drew back the blanket to expose Kakashi's bare, bandaged thigh, and slid the needle in. He squeezed the tube carefully, until it seemed about half-full, then pulled the syrette out and tugged the blanket down again. "What should I do with the rest?" The needle was still exposed; he couldn't clip it to Kakashi's dogtag chain.

"Label it for Hatake," Genma said, and yawned. "He can have the rest at his next dose."

Ryouma waited. Genma yawned again and tilted his head back against the wall, eyes sliding briefly closed.

"I'll find a pen," Ryouma said, finally. He headed for the door.

Genma's head jerked up, guiltily. "Wait, I can do it. Sorry, there's a pen in my kit." He shifted, as if he meant to get up, and hissed in pain.

"Don't move," Ryouma snapped. "I know the kana."

He could feel their eyes on him, and his ears burned.

He found Genma's armor and gear in a tidy heap next to Katsuko's, found the pen—no longer than his index finger, and paired with an equally tiny writing brush, a vial of ink, and three blank scrolls—and then hunched down against the wall, squinting in the dim yellow light.

Ka, ka. That was easy enough. One vertical line, another crossing it at right angles, then hooking sharply down. Shi was two horizontal lines and then a third, swooping below. The crinkled tube of the syrette didn't take the ink well, but the markings were at least visible.

Probably he could just have scribbled a black mark, and it would've done as well.

He stuffed the pen and the syrette back in their respective kits. "Three cheers for literacy," he muttered, and cleared his throat. "Anything else?"

Kakashi lifted his head up. He had two new pigtails over his left ear. "Wind Country veil dance," he said, almost cheerfully. "You never did one yesterday."

That morphine must have kicked in quick.

Ryouma considered him, and Katsuko, and the lieutenant's faint, lingering flush. Maybe Ryouma wasn't the only one embarrassed. Maybe they were all looking forward to pretending the last two minutes hadn't happened.

"Sure," he said, and reached for the hem of his shirt.