Kakashi blinked his right eye awake and thought, Damn.

It was a sharp, crystal thought, slotting neatly into place. Most of his thoughts had clean borders now, after a week of fluff and fuzz and empty black spaces. He could remember yesterday, and parts of the day before. The important things. Raidou’s suspension, everything that followed.

The room smelled like paper and ink and bureaucracy. Intel was finally here.

Be truthful, Genma had said. Captain’s orders.

He tugged the magazine down from his face, and said grouchily, “Can we make this qui—” He paused. “Yuuhi.”

Underneath the library smell was the old, familiar edge of plum blossom and steel. He should have registered that first, but he was looking now. The grey Intel uniform was standard-wear: high-collared jacket, knee-length tapering skirt, no sword. The rest was Kurenai, eking out personality from the gaps between formality with her red, red mouth and the tumbled curtain of dark, wavy hair. Her skin was pale and smooth, the color of milk. Any grey shadows had been hidden behind clever make up.

She looked ever so slightly sad, staring at his hospital bed.

The last time they’d talked in detail, Kakashi recalled, had been about three years ago, when she’d wrapped her arm around Rin’s shoulders and told him to go jump off the Hokage’s monument. Since then, mostly to appease Rin, they’d upgraded to semi-cordial pleasantries.

Kakashi pushed himself stiffly upright and leaned back against the headboard. “Lose a bet?”

“My coworkers refused to run the risk of Sharingan memory insertion again. I figured I might fare better.” The crimson slash of her mouth curved into something wry. “Are you still accepting congratulations on making it into ANBU, or having second thoughts?”

That almost sounded like an olive branch.

"Both," Kakashi said. "But I think I'd miss the exciting weekly opportunities to get massacred if I left now."

“From what your teammates said, I’d thought the massacre was mostly on the other side.” She watched him with dark red eyes, giving nothing away.

An olive twig, maybe.

Kurenai had been a helix-puzzle even before Intel had snapped her up, with a mind full of sharp metal teeth and a particular talent for the slice-and-parry of taking information and leaving none behind. At least, nothing beyond Your teammates have talked and you should, too.

And your stories better match.