“If you want,” Ryouma quoted dazedly, “I can fly.”

Kakaashi’s grip tightened a little. “Movie quote,” Ryouma said quickly, before Kakashi could ask any awkward questions about the strength of his grasp on sanity.

“I don’t think I know that one,” Kakashi said.

“We’ll watch it,” Ryouma promised. “When I can see straight again.” He took a cautious step. Kakashi matched him, shortening his stride, bracing Ryouma with an arm snug around his ribcage. They were both wearing flak vests; it wasn’t very comfortable. And Ryouma smelled terrible even to himself.

But they were moving away from that sterile room, back into the square-jawed smoker’s office, out to the main corridor again. A passing young man with an armload of files glanced warily at them and then edged to the far side of the hall. Ryouma grinned hazily. “Y’know, if this is what a hangover feels like, I got more’n a handful of old teammates I owe apologies to.”

Kakashi snorted. “At least you earn a hangover with a good time first, instead of just getting your brains re-arranged. You still feeling sick?”

“More dizzy. The world’s mostly stopped movin’ like a carousel, though.” Even if he was still listing a little as he walked. He frowned and tried to straighten. “You said you’d done this before? Did you end up feelin’ like your brain just went backwards through a cheese-grater, too?”

They reached the elevator, which was just opening. A grizzled older man with a handful of mission reports paused to hold it for them; Ryouma nodded his thanks, and fireworks went off inside his skull again. He reeled inside the elevator car, gasping. Kakashi gripped him tight, held him steady. At last the fireworks died down a little, and Ryouma could tip his head against the brushed steel wall and breathe.

“It was something like that,” Kakashi said, quietly, very close. Ryouma turned his head a fraction, blindly, and hair brushed his lips. “But I was only in there an hour or two. Don’t nod.”

Ryouma stopped himself just in time. “That’s, what, a month? Two? What happened?”