Kakashi's eye tightened when they moved on to Tousaki. "He performed correctly on the mission, and in the fight with Mist," he admitted. "But…" He tapped his fingers on the rumpled bedsheet again, a muffled beat, and frowned down at the last traces of black ink sinking into his skin.

He parceled out concerns, as she probed. How Tousaki didn't seem to have dealt with the grislier aspects of the mission with total calm. How he'd been too quiet in what Kakashi remembered of the aftermath, pulling back from his teammates, sleeping alone. The tension and guilt he'd seemed to carry even after their return to Konoha, and his naked fear when he'd learned about Namiashi's suspension.

Riei's report hadn't mentioned any of that.

Then again, Riei had seen Tousaki almost immediately after his return to Konoha, when he was half-dead of exhaustion and hadn't yet learned he should fear for his captain. Any residual blackness in his mood might have read as simple weariness, to her eyes.

Kurenai made a stark note in her margins—check up on Tousaki—and looked up. "In your judgment, is Tousaki unstable?"

Kakashi's eye darkened. He was quiet for a long moment, fingers curling inwards so that his short nails scraped the sheets. He said finally, "I don't know."

He'd had no doubts about Namiashi.

So did that mean merely that Namiashi, veteran of three years in ANBU and one in command, was better at concealing his stress-lines until they fractured? Or that Tousaki, rookie of two missions and inventor of some of Konoha's most lethal jutsu, was already dangerously close to the edge?

She tried to remember the dark-eyed young man she'd seen two days ago, outside Shiranui's door and supporting Katsuko in front of the elevators. Haggard with exhaustion, worried, wary — but Katsuko had liked him.

Katsuko liked Namiashi, too, and she'd had to punch him back to his senses.

Kurenai laid her pen down flat on her notebook. "Would you trust him on a mission with Rin?"