The quiet, age-smoothed voice behind him tapped raw nerves like a jeweler's hammer. Ryouma stiffened reflexively, hands dropping to his sides. There was no threat he could defend Kakashi against, here in the guarded halls of Konoha's hospital; there were only a limited number of ways an old lady could be a threat to them anyway. He still had to force his hands to relax out of fists.

"You're Ginta's grandma?" Stupid question, even if she hadn't named herself and practically named Ginta. She was tiny, faded blue eyes barely level with the bottom of his breastbone, but no stoop would dare bend those straight shoulders. She was the kind of old lady who could fill a room by herself, he'd bet. Ginta had that gift, too.

And if she was here, willing to leave Ginta's side to look for him...

"Is Ginta okay, then? I mean--" He waved a useless hand at the still body in the bed, the cluster of IVs, the hiss of machines measuring Kakashi's tenuous hold on life. "He's awake? They told me he was in critical condition. I didn't even know they'd gone out together. Kakashi only left a few days ago, right before I did. I was gonna brag to him, when I got back; I didn't even get scratched this time..."

He cut himself off. The words didn't stop; they bubbled up faster and harder, questions, prayers, curses. None of them fit for this severe old woman's ears, most of them meant for Kakashi's. A few for Ginta's. You told me not to get messed up. Why the hell didn't you listen to yourself?

Why'd you have to get him involved?

"Son of a bitch," he said, and wheeled to kick the corner of Kakashi's bed. The whole bed jarred. Kakashi didn't stir. "What the hell happened?"