| [May. 25th, 2015|02:52 am] |
The clock in Kakashi’s room was possessed. No matter how much he stared at it, the hands crawled around at the speed of slow death. Sometimes he swore it was going backwards.
Minato had promised freedom by 1700. Kakashi was slightly afraid he might commit accidental homicide before then.
(Well, not actual homicide. He was better trained than that, even under duress. But he would be sorely tempted to hurl an IV stand.)
(Or the bedside table.)
He’d been so relieved to get the drugs out of his system, desperate to regain clear thought and the ability to stay awake for more than eight minutes, that he’d forgotten the other side of the coin. Morphine made the hospital experience survivable. Without it, everything was hard and sharp and invasive. The lights were too bright. The nurses were too noisy. The doctors were not Rin. He’d read Hisakawa’s novel three times and sworn at the cliffhanger three times, before staging a tactical operation to steal more magazines from the nearest waiting room. There was one with an incomplete crossword, which killed fifteen minutes, and another with a choice of three questionnaires: What Do Your Shoes Say About Your Style?; What Kind Of Sexy Are You?; and Are You A Secret Bitch?
He got Get Help, STAT, Untouchable Ice Queen, and You’re Not Even Secret, Chick.
There was also a free sample packet of lip gloss that he resolved to give to Katsuko, since she apparently had ‘autumn coloring’. Ryouma was a winter. (“You receive compliments in bold shades, black, white, red and jewel tones.”)
That got him to 1600 by the skin of his teeth, when the afternoon rounds began. By 1620 he’d been examined, needled, touched with extremely cold hands, and had his mask questioned by a trainee medic who was not going to survive to the end of the shift. By 1626, he was seriously considering mugging a medic for a white coat and an escape route.
At 1627, he heard the first loud, tuneless notes of Naruto’s personal theme song, and almost fell out of the bed with relief.
“—I’m a ninja, I’m a ninja, oooooh I’m a ninja, the BEST ninja, an’ also a dragon-slayer—s’cuse me, I’m being a distraction—OOOOH, I’m a ninja—NIISAN, I FOUND YOU. I’M HERE TO RESCUE YOU.” A blond blur careened into the door, rebounded, and tumbled into the room, managing to lose both shoes in the process.
Kakashi leaned hastily over and caught Naruto by the collar before the rescue attempt became a concussion against the bed frame. Tiny hands grabbed his wrist and Naruto monkey-swarmed up his arm, giggling and demanding to know if First Mate had defended Kakashi against The Doctors.
There was air in the room again. Kakashi pulled his pillows aside and showed Naruto that First Mate was still present in a defensive seagull capacity, and had also achieved appropriate weaponry. (Namely: one tanto and one sample mascara packet, acquired in addition to the lip gloss.)
Naruto looked deeply satisfied. “I knew he’d look after you.”
“Almost as good as a nin-dog,” Kakashi said, and craned his neck at the door. “Is your dad coming?”
“He’n Rin-neesan are doing paperwork,” Naruto said dismissively. “They’re coming, though.” He shinned down off the bed to poke about the room. “I gotta get you dressed first. Dad said—” he gave a little giggle— “he said he doesn’t want to see your skinny backside.”
Kakashi felt his eyebrows climb. “Oh really? Well then you better pass me the pants in that cabinet — third drawer down, no, next one, little lower, that’s it — so we can all be appropriately dressed to admire his giant slabs of muscle when he finally gets here.”
Naruto broke into laughter. “Dad’s not giant! Dad’s skinny, too!”
“Slabs of muscle,” Kakashi persisted, because Naruto hadn’t quite grasped the concept of sarcasm yet, but repeated exposure might get him there. “There has never been a specimen like him, so uniquely qualified to judge the backsides of others. Pass me that shirt, too?”
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