Genma paused in the process of opening his food. “How much about my mission did Aoba tell you? Did he read the mission report already or something? Damn Intel weasel.”

“Nothing?” Asuma opened the bottle and kept the cap to fiddle with. He could tell without asking that this wasn’t an apartment to smoke in. “If he read it he didn’t say anything to me about it.”

Genma rested the takeout container on his knee, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes for a moment. “Well, I guess I fail genin-level information confidentiality.” With a sigh, he sat back up straight to get at his food. “My team took heavy injuries. So did I, obviously. I came pretty close to a faceplant trying to fix them. Namiashi had to chakra-transfuse me.”

“Your captain, right?” Asuma gave him a faint smile. “Good to see some things haven’t changed while I was gone. I’d’ve been worried if you’d done anything other than faceplant.”

Genma raised an eyebrow at him. “Like what?”

“Glory-hound. Try to take everyone out by yourself.” He took a swallow from the bottle, not really tasting it. Cheap beer wasn’t for tasting anyway. “And anyway, if the powers that be thought you were at risk of that, they wouldn’t have let you out of the hospital.”

“Yeah, no. Not me. Although my rookies are gonna drive me to drink.” Genma held out a hand, and Asuma obliged by opening and passing over a new bottle of beer. “Hatake tried to take on Iebara fucking Shigematsu on his own. And my other rookie’s the possible suicide risk. Not immediately, I think, but just—first real ANBU mission, with baby-killing and the whole works. Hit him hard, and then we ran into the Phantom of the Bloody Mist and crew, so I never got to debrief him before things went to shit.”

… well. When Genma said ‘classic ANBU mission’ the other day outside the hospital, he really meant it. Asuma nodded, rolling the bottle cap absently through his fingers. “They’ll keep an eye on him.” ANBU administration always seemed to keep a close eye on its agent’s mental health, especially its rookies. “And with your leg like this, your team is bound to have some decent down-time. You’ll get to talk to him.”

Genma nodded over his noodles, eating but clearly preoccupied. “We have talked since, while we were holed up waiting for evac, and he seems like he’s righting himself, so I’m not too worried. Just the right amount, right?”

“The right amount for a lieutenant.” Asuma nudged Genma’s good knee with his own. “Worrying is part of the job. Pretty sure it’s written into any contract where you have to handle other people.”

“Yeah, it was one of the criteria for getting promoted to special jounin, I think,” Genma said. His preoccupation abruptly shifted at that point, and Asuma stoically endured his careful scrutiny. “Speaking of people I worry about, are you okay?” Genma asked.

Was that meant generally, or was that a reference to the fact he hadn’t eaten any of his own food yet? Asuma shrugged, chose to assume the former, and drank more beer. He wasn’t sure what he could and couldn’t say about Hikouto—didn’t know what he was ready to say. Maybe nothing was better, if Genma would let him get away with that. “Still with my sister. Higher-ups put me on genin mission desk. No wall duty, though. Got the paperwork rolling to get back into active duty.”

“Active duty ANBU, or just active duty jounin?”