| [Jun. 10th, 2013|05:22 am] |
“Recovering, mostly, at this point,” Iori-sensei said. Her hand dropped from Ryouma’s shoulder to cup his elbow. He tried to cooperate as she levered him up, but his boots skidded on the slick tiles; the crescent moon-masked ANBU, Namiashi, ended up taking most of his weight. “I’ll want Asuka-sensei to see him eventually, but there’s no rush. You did good work, Tanuki.”
Shiranui bowed his head. “Thank you, sensei.” He straightened, looking around; spotted whatever he was looking for, and gestured. A gangly chuunin medic-nin who’d been hovering less-than-discreetly looked startled, then pleased, and darted towards a stack of folded wheelchairs by the entrance. “I don’t mean to overstep,” Shiranui added, “but I really think Kakashi-san needs a dose of hashirido in an isotonic solution.”
“Hmm,” the white-haired medic said, eyeing him more thoughtfully. “We’ll see to it.” She stepped aside as the chuunin came rushing up with two clattering wheelchairs. Ryouma stumbled where Iori-sensei pointed him, nearly tripping on the blanket Namiashi had tucked around him thirty minutes and sixty miles ago, and collapsed gratefully into one.
Kakashi drew himself up like an affronted cat when Shiranui tried to direct him into the other. He shook himself, as if resettling his balance and coordination along with the hang of his flak vest, and shrugged neatly out of Shiranui’s and the Hokage’s holds. “I can walk,” he said. “The jutsu just knocked me.”
“You can sit,” Yondaime said pleasantly, “before I knock you. Our medics work hard; they don’t need to pick you up from the floor after you face-plant, too.”
Kakashi gave him a long, flat stare, cold as water under ice. Then, slowly, he sat.
Yondaime brushed a hand over the wild grey hair. “Good work,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you later.” He looked up, and his blue gaze caught Ryouma’s. He smiled. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
Chakra flared across Ryouma’s senses. The Hokage, and his ANBU, were gone.
The white-haired medic let out out a long breath. “Well,” she said. “Well.” Then she straightened, and pointed at the boy behind Kakashi’s chair. “What are you waiting for? Toxins ward! And Iori-sensei, there aren’t any open beds in General right now, but we should at least be able to find you room to run an IV. Asuka-sensei will be coming on shift soon, if you’ll wait for him. Let’s see your ID tags before you go, boys, and I’ll get the paperwork started...”
Ryouma fumbled at his throat. “Not that one,” he said, when Iori tried to help him. “Here’s mine.” He hooked the second chain off over his head and passed it across, leaving the old single tag to dangle alone. Even that slight effort was exhausting; his heart pounded against the cage of his ribs as he slumped back in the chair, breathing hard.
But he’d used his right hand. And his middle finger had closed, almost half-way.
Tomorrow, maybe, the Hokage had said. They were cutting the second stage short for everyone.
Are you dead? Namiashi had demanded, when Ryouma wondered if he’d washed out, after one mistake too many. Then you’re good.
“Wake me up f’r the third stage,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes. |
|