After far too long of doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, waiting for every scrap of news the medics could bring him, Raidou almost wished he was back in the damn bunker. At least then he could actually see Genma. And he'd only had to wear the manacles for a few hours.

He'd tried getting out of the restraints, but they were designed to hold recalcitrant ANBU, and nothing he did made much of a dent. He also tried yelling, swearing, threatening, pleading, bargaining, bribing, and generally just pitching a fit at the nurses in an attempt to get out and see Genma. Nothing worked, though he did see some fairly extraordinary colours whenever they sedated him to get some peace.

Sometime mid-way through the second day, lying down on his shoulderblade went from a slow-burning agony to its own, very special kind of torment. When he finally roared at one of the medics--probably green-eyes, though he couldn't remember later--they managed to work out a way to re-tie the restraints and prop him up, braced backwards so he didn't stretch or pull on his chest. It made overused muscles ache, but it gave him the wall to stare at, and the long glass window that looked out onto a nurses' station. There was also a double set-up of glass doors, built into a small cube, that the medics had to pass through to get into his room. Green-eyes explained it had something to do with decontamination, but Raidou couldn't stay awake long enough to hear the full story.

After that, for quick snatches of time, they released him just long enough for brief--if staggering--walks around the room, watched by two heavily muscled guards. It was important to move, according to the medics, the nurses, and even the guards, who apparently wanted to dispense advice along with looking threatening. Raidou still tried to get out, but wasn't greatly surprised when he woke up a couple hours later, back in restraints, with what felt like a nerve pinch still fading on the back of his neck.

The third day, his brothers tried to visit once, shepherded under the watchful eye of their foster-mom, but the medics refused to let them into the ANBU hospital wing, let alone the Burn Unit. Raidou tried to tell himself he wasn't glad, that they wouldn't care about his face, but nothing provoked brutal self-reflection like ninety-six hours spent chained to a bed, and he couldn't make the conviction stick.

He did manage to work out an agreement with two of the nurses, though; they set up a clock where he could see it on the other side of the glass, and Raidou got a good idea of exactly how long purgatory could last.

Ninety-seven and a half hours in, a commotion burst into life out in the hallway. He startled awake as the decontamination something-or-other hissed loudly and a frazzled looking medic practically fell into the room.

"Your partner's--awake," he gasped, as Raidou stared at him. "Doesn't--believe--you're alive. Need a--message."

"Let me see him," Raidou snapped, hauling himself up with the cuffs, braced back against pillows.

The medic flapped a gloved hand. "Can't. Too--dangerous."

"He's not going to attack me." Even with his cheek and jaw flaring pain, he was getting much better at yelling.

"For your burns," the medic panted. "Just give me--a message."

Raidou tried not to clench his teeth. "Tell him..." All he could think of was the cell, the run home. The last fight with Sago. There were no good memories there. He yanked on one cuff, wishing he could make metal clank as a soundtrack to frustration, but stiff cloth and stitched leather would never be noisy.

Wait.

He snorted a dry breath. "Tell him the safe-word's curry. And if he rips his stitches out, I'll never let him eat any ever again."