| [Jul. 8th, 2016|09:05 pm] |
As the silence continued, Kakashi glanced sidelong at Ryouma, realized he’d accidentally inflicted his personal brand of Everything Is Crap So We Might As Well Be Ironic About It on the conversation — which was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be doing — and made a hasty effort to unkick the puppy.
"Then again,” he said, “picture this: bureaucrat attempting to captain for the first time in years vs. melty boy-wonder, exploding girl, and asshole with connections. Place your bets."
Ryouma snorted. “We’ve made such a good showing so far,” he said moodily, but some of Kakashi’s tone shift had landed, because Ryouma straightened his shoulders and sat up. “Guess that means it’s time for our triumphant comeback. You gonna start pulling strings, or is it up to me to start stashing rotting mice in the bottom of Kuroda’s locker?”
“I don’t want to know where you’d get the mice,” Kakashi said. It was a dodge, not a response, but it was easier then untangling his strings.
He had resources. Minato's favor, skills he could trade on, people he could leverage, if he had to. But those were costly, risky, or in Minato's case, a well Kakashi only wanted to draw on when all other options were exhausted. It was too dangerous for them both.
His ice was gone, Ryouma’s was mostly melted. Kakashi glanced at the sun’s arc and judged they’d spent enough time avoiding the real issue. "We should head back."
“Triumphant comeback, here we go.” Ryouma shoved up, collecting both bowls to return to the stall. “Keep an eye out for mice in that buckwheat field. I’ve got space in my pockets.”
“You’re a bad man,” Kakashi said.
Ryouma flashed him a grin like a lightning strike, and took the bowls back.
The run home went quicker, in the way that returning always did. Ryouma’s pace stayed steady up to and beyond Konoha’s walls, only hitching when the hospital rose into view. Kakashi didn’t pause. Ryouma caught himself and kept moving.
The hospital was its usual mix of blood and boredom and chaos. The mid-afternoon crowd was mostly civilians who’d experienced homegrown accidents, genin that had landed on the wrong side of a D-mission, and visitors. Kakashi and Ryouma weaved past an exasperated woman holding a red towel to a scowling teenager’s forehead, and escaped into an elevator.
The orthopedics department was more peaceful. The same shiny-haired, suspiciously happy receptionist was flipping through a magazine behind his desk. A lone elderly man with one arm in a sling sat in the waiting room, looking bored. There were plants nestled in the corners, sunshine drifting through the windows, and pastel art on the walls. It was about the most innocuous medical facility Kakashi could imagine. Ryouma looked like he wanted to dig his heels into the floor.
The receptionist glanced up and flipped his magazine closed. “Tousaki Ryouma!” he chirped. “You’re right on time. I have some paperwork for your friend to do. Are you almost ready? Would you like some water?”
Ryouma cleared his throat. “Water would be good.”
He’d stopped almost in the center of the room, hands locked behind his back, knuckles blanching. Parade rest, without any actual rest.
The receptionist dropped a folder on the desk for Kakashi and hurried into a back room where, presumably, a kitchenette lurked. Kakashi opened the folder, found a pen already inside, and scratched his way through Ryouma’s basic information. There was a signature spot for Ryouma. Kakashi glanced back, studied Ryouma’s tight expression, and forged the blocky dragon-horse kanji he’d seen Ryouma use to sign out equipment from the Quartermaster. When the receptionist returned, Kakashi traded paperwork for two glasses of ice water, and sat down in one of the waiting room chairs.
“I’m keeping these,” he told Ryouma, holding up both glasses. |
|