“We’ll have to get Aoba a bottle of the good stuff,” Genma said. He got out of the bed and balanced carefully on his good leg, trying to work the bandaged one into the denim.

“Want help with that?” Asuma said.

“Yeah,” Genma said. “I really don’t want to have to cut these jeans. They’re comfortable. If it’s impossible, I guess we can slit the seam, but I’d like to at least try.”

It wasn’t until Asuma was kneeling at his side, tugging gingerly on the jeans to ease the pant leg over the bandages, that Genma considered how unwashed he was. “Sorry, I know I need a shower.”

Asuma looked up with a smile. “I’ve smelled worse.”

And there was that catch in Genma’s chest again. Asuma was alive. Lone survivor of the Guardian Twelve after the coup-attempt in Hikouto. Genma’d almost managed to forget that week of heartsick denials that his friend had died a traitor, their far-too-brief reunion before Team Six’s last mission notwithstanding. He put his hand down on the bed rail to steady himself. “Actually, I think I might need a bottle of the good stuff, too. Can you stay? At Aoba’s, with me, I mean?”

“Sure,” Asuma said easily. “Can't stand it at my sister's anyway.” Like it was no issue, and he hadn’t even noticed Genma’s plaintive tone. He gave another tug at the fabric, which stubbornly resisted. Genma winced.

“Are you allowed to drink right now?” Asuma asked, giving Genma’s bandages a skeptical frown.

“Technically, no,” Genma admitted. He flapped a hand at the difficult jeans. “Screw it, may as well cut them. Got a kunai on you?”

Dumb question, of course Asuma did. He was just making the incision into the seam when Genma’s nurse appeared with a white paper bag of pill bottles and a sheaf of discharge papers in her hand.

Asuma looked up from his squat, blade in hand, still—after how many days at home?—mission-tense.

“I won’t ask,” she said. “I’ve got your discharge instructions and medications, Shiranui-san. Sarutobi-san, you’re signing him out?” She didn’t give Asuma a chance to deny it. “Shiranui-san’s got an appointment tomorrow morning at 10:30 with PT, and he’s on some pretty heavy-duty meds. Be careful if he takes a shower he doesn’t get light-headed. He doesn’t need a concussion on top of everything else. You’re staying with him, right?”

“I’m right here,” Genma protested.

Asuma nodded. “Those papers have all the details?”

“Everything,” she said. “Medications, restrictions, diet recommendations, future appointments, and warning signs to look out for.” She gave Genma a fond look. “You know the drill, I’m sure, Shiranui-san. No cheating. Limited weight-bearing only as tolerated, and only with crutches. Meds on a schedule. And if it looks even a little red and streaky, or you get a fever, come on back to Emergency.”

Genma tucked his head down in an acknowledging nod. “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble.”

“Sign here and here,” she said, handing him the discharge papers. He glanced over them to see what he was agreeing to, then signed his name where she’d asked.

“I’m surprised you’re not staying with your dad,” she said. “He seemed like he’d have been happy to have you at home.”

“He’s got a business to run,” Genma said. “I’d just be in the way.” And his father was a worrier. Some missions, like their last one, were better recovered from in the company of other ninja. Especially when there were going to be more interviews with Intel, visits from his spooked and unhappy team, far too many reports still to write, and nightmares like the one Asuma’d woken him from. Five more minutes, and he’d probably have shouted himself awake.

Asuma gave him a reassuring pat on the shin and got back to work on cutting the seam out of Genma’s jeans.

“Alright. Easy does it on the way home, Shiranui-san.” She took her signed copies, left Genma his sheaf of instructions and his sack of pills, and headed for the door. “You’re officially discharged.”