Oh, would that Haruichi was prone to moments of cammaraderie in the face of unimaginable oppressive odds and ungodly situations the likes of which his father's fathers had never imagined; Kakashi might have caught a break there and made a pal. But he wasn't. As Kakashi had so surely and glaringly confirmed there really was nobody left who gave a damn about him and Haruichi had decided upon his example that the only way he was going to keep his own sanity intact while he hid here (which might be for the rest of his life) was to not give these people an inch of slack. He wouldn't be able to psychologically bitchslap all of them to their senses, and it'd barely worked here even though it'd come at a price to himself. The fact was that whether he was proud of it or not, it had taken a blow to the head to get Kakashi back to the Infirmary, and if that was going to be a regular occurrance then Haruichi was going to have to silence his qualms and his memories. He'd do his job like any shinobi on a mission and that would be that. He would. He could.

Welcome to ANBU in-bloody-deed.

Haruichi pushed Kakashi onto his back once he was sure he was out, and straightened his arms. His feet would be sore, but fine, same with the large corner-shaped bruise on the side of his face. Not that Haruichi felt up to trying any more healing jutsu on him anyway. After getting a warm flannel and sticking it on Kakashi's bare forehead, Haruichi checked his IVs (the sedative in particular) and pulse one more time before closing the Infirmary door and going back to his paperwork.

He'd sleep later, there was work to do. Files to organize and read up on. Requsitions to draft. Floors to clean. People to save whether they liked it or not. That sort of stupid thing.

He'd get the hang of it. Or they'd get the hang on him.

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