The knot in Genma’s sternum should have dissolved by now. No one else was dead or dying. His team was safe and for the most part uninjured. Thirteen would all recover. And he’d been dressed down by Kuroda countless times in the preceding weeks. It was a matter of pride that he’d only thrown a coffee cup at a wall once. He would listen to Kuroda throw blame and threats around like blood spray from a severed artery, he’d bite his tongue, and then, gods willing, he’d sleep.

Almost as soon as they stepped onto the outer deck, they were drenched. The storm the Look Far’s captain had predicted was blowing towards them, forcing the ship to tack hard against the wind, and sending her leaping and shuddering over waves that washed the deck. Genma barely kept his feet as they lurched towards the ladder to the upper quarterdeck and Kuroda’s cabin. Every step took an aching burst of chakra he could barely afford to spend, but without it, he didn’t trust he’d stay on the ship at all. If he were swept overboard — if any of them were — there was almost no chance they’d have the strength to swim, let alone water walk, to safety.

Genma kept his head down, squinting to keep the flying salt spray out of his eyes. A wave slapped the ship broadside, and Raidou caught him when he skidded off balance. Genma caught Kurenai on the next wave, grabbing her arm before she could slip.

His companions were grim. Exhausted. And probably expecting the worst.

“If anyone’s seasick,” Genma said, “I’m not sure I have enough suppositories to go around. If Kuroda’s seasick, though, I’ll make sure he gets one.”

Kurenai slanted a skeptical look his way. “If you were looking for ways to improve his temper…”

“Throw him overboard,” Raidou finished for her.

A thick laugh clawed its way up Genma’s throat, past the knot. “It’d improve everyone else’s temper, anyway.” He tensed his shoulders hard and deliberately relaxed them. “Thank you for coming with me. Both of you. You didn’t have to, Yuuhi-san.”

“A favor for a friend,” Kurenai said simply. “Besides, I’m not in his chain of command.”

Raidou spared her a quick, grateful look. “Bastard should be yelling at me, anyway,” he added, irritated.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Genma said quietly. The ship pitched again, something heavy banged below decks, and sailors shouted to each other in incomprehensible jargon, plying ropes and swinging the sails around to meet the wind and hold the ship’s prow to the waves.

Genma grabbed for the railing; another hand landed on it from behind him. Their fingers brushed, and familiar chakra washed through Genma’s senses. “Tousaki?” He turned then. “What are you doing here? Is someone getting worse?”

Ryouma shook his head, scattering droplets from windblown hair. He jerked his chin at a waterlogged figure behind him. “We’re coming.”

Kakashi gave Genma a flat, judgmental look, daring Genma to send them back.

Genma turned to appeal to Raidou, but it was too late. The cabin door banged open in front of them, spilling yellow light that picked out every raindrop. Kuroda stepped onto the deck and gave Team Six a slow, contemptuous look. “I see you felt the need to bring a cheering squad.” His eyes skated over Kurenai as if she weren’t there, and landed on Genma again. “Get in here, Shiranui. You can leave your rookies outside.”