All My Regrets Are Nothing New. [Kakashi & Ryouma]
Takes place seven hours after Welcome to My Morning, and begins two hours before The Little Things Give You Away

This time, when Kakashi woke up, it was with the little mental click of reality slotting back into place. He knew where he was, and why he was there. He knew that Ginta was across the hall, Tsuyako was in the ground, and Ryouma--

Was fast asleep in a chair.

Stiffly, Kakashi raised himself up on one elbow and glanced around the room. The clock said he'd been asleep for at least seven hours, but nothing much had changed. There were more food wrappers in a crumpled heap around the rubbish bin (Ryouma must have eaten), a stack of Intel forms on the rickety bedside table, and a pile of neatly folded black clothes at the foot of the bed: Kakashi's clothes, with a mask on top.

So Ryouma had paid attention to his free pass into Kakashi's room.

Kakashi raked a hand through oily grey hair, pulling it out of his eyes, and decided he was okay with that. Well, mostly okay with that. Ryouma wouldn't be curious enough to mess with his scrolls, at least; not if he couldn't read them.

Welded metal bed-struts creaked quietly as he shoved himself back against the pillows and looked at the man. Ryouma had curled himself up into the ugly vinyl chair, long legs folded beneath him, arms crossed loosely over his chest, head resting against a stolen hospital pillow. Definitely there, not easy to miss, but taking up as little space as possible. Which was not surprising, given that he'd probably had to negotiate for his right to be there all week.

The red Atomic Sunrise hoodie was draped across his stomach and wedged beneath one arm, a makeshift blanket. He breathed soft and slow, eyes not even flickering beneath their lids; too tired to dream, probably, if the fresh hollows in his face were any indicator.

Good. That would make things easier.

Kakashi got rid of his catheter first, easing it out with the comfortable skill of too much practise, and tossed it quietly into the nearest medical wastebin. Next were the IV lines: just blood and a saline drip. He pulled them out, freeing his hands up, and looked at the monitor lines attached to his chest. Heartbeat and chakra levels -- both of which would set off an alarm if he just ripped them off.

Fortunately, Ryouma was within reach.

He really was tired, Kakashi realized, as he transferred both lines without getting more than a twitch from the exhausted ninja. The monitors barely stuttered at the second's break, then settled into strong, steady rhythms. Kakashi pulled the red hoodie a little higher, hiding the suction cups from a casual glance. Then he got dressed.

He needed a bath, really. Or at least a shower. The nurses had probably been giving him regular sponge baths, but that never felt quite the same. And pulling clean clothes on over dirty skin always felt like a minor blasphemy. But at least he covered up the sight of raw-boned ribs and fading bruises, looked less like a starvation victim and more like a very lean ninja. Felt like himself. And even better than that when the mask slipped over his head and down, pressing soft black cloth against his mouth and nose. Hospital scents muted by the faint smell of laundry detergent.

Then he sat cross-legged, rested his open hands on his knees, and breathed through the first stage of a simple meditation exercise. Then the second stage. Beneath waking skin, chakra began to surge back into its proper shape, re-finding the organized patterns he'd spent a lifetime training it into. Less energy then he was used to, but he'd expected that. Third stage; a more complicated exercise. Half-moon slices of pale light glinted beneath his fingernails. It hurt, drawing chakra through coils he'd almost burned out a week ago, but he'd expected that, too.

Ryouma stirred quietly, mumbling something in his sleep.

Kakashi inhaled, exhaled, and gathered himself. One pointed canine was enough to tear the pad of his thumb open. He didn't have the right scroll to work with, but he'd known the seals for years; he scrawled them quickly in blood on the sheets, adding chakra as he went. Then he twisted stiff fingers through the matching hand signs, dragged a long streak of blood across the sheet-seals to complete the jutsu, fixed the right image in his mind, and shoved chakra through everything.

In the chaos of alarms going off, smoke filling the room, and an outraged canine yowl as something heavy landed on the tiled floor, Kakashi gasped painfully and collapsed off the bed.

He hit something soft, which bit him, and managed a relieved laugh before unconsciousness swallowed him whole.