ANBU wasn't a place where threats were given and ignored without consequence. Neither were accusations of treachery idle phrases to be bandied about. There had been no indication in the initial reports of any kind of disloyalty on the side of either agent, but they both had warning flags in their files. Hatake carried the family legacy with him, and any child of a suicidal parent was one that needed to be watched. Particularly when that parent had killed himself to wipe away a sin committed against his village. Shiranui carried his warning marks much more openly now, emblazoned on each hand. A month spent in the ungentle care of another village before rescue arrived could easily twist someone against their home. Turn their loyalties to something else.

On the other hand, it was unlikely the Fourth's golden boy was conspiring against his sensei's village, particularly when everything in his file pointed towards an obsession bordering on a neurosis about bringing his teammates home alive. And if Shiranui had plans to run back to the people that had broken his hands, his feet, and most likely done considerable damage to his mind, Kimiho would eat her clipboard. There were cases of captives growing to love their captors, but it was something that affected civilians far more than it did ninja. Especially ANBU.

She glanced between both of them, noting the signs of exhaustion and strain. Of grief. The way it curled in the ebbing shape of their low chakra, and showed in pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. The way both of them were shaking very slightly, and the way they'd turned on each other, flinging accusations. Assigning blame. Dealing with guilt.

And neither one of them was standing down.

"Very well, then," she said quietly, and signaled the sentries. "I'm recommending you both be confined on a psychiatric hold for a mandatory period of forty-eight hours. In two days you will be re-evaluated." Two nights spent under observation, preferably sedated, in a safe place where they couldn't hurt each other. Or themselves. It wasn't the best way to deal with personal tragedy, but it was the best ANBU had to offer.

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Kakashi almost missed Akayama's calm words. He was too busy dealing with the surge of anger that came from being called a traitor. It was just a shot, he knew that, Genma striking back with an argument that made no sense because he didn't have a better one to offer, but it still hit too close to home. He wasn't a traitor, he'd never be a traitor. No matter what anyone said. He'd give anything for his village. Everything. He had once or twice. Everything except the last thing, and that was only a matter of time. His chakra slid like oil under his skin, slick with exhaustion and fury. Bile rose up in his mind, clouding his thoughts, demanding to be said. Demanding he find the right set of words, wrap them up in snarl, and stab Genma through the heart with them. He opened his mouth--

And the sentries' hold tightened. Kakashi jerked. "What--?"

"Don't fight us, son," said one of them, voice rumbling quietly in Kakashi's ear. "Do the sensible thing."

Kakashi's eyes narrowed. Akayama's words registered with their own little flicker of panic. "I'm not," he said with icy clarity, "your son. Get off me. I don't need a watch." He didn't. He needed to go home and take a solider pill, then he needed to call up the pack and explain why they were one member short. How exactly he'd failed. He needed to sleep as long as they'd let him before the next mission order came in.

The sentries' chakra surged up, strong and well-rested. Overpowering against his weak, battle-weary energy. Kakashi tensed, testing the grip. It was solid. He didn't have the chance to get his hands together before theirs pulled his apart, destroying any chance of calling up a jutsu. Kakashi snarled.

"Stop," Akayama's calm voice cut across his own. "Or I'll consider this a sign of a full break, and suggest you be held for a month."

Kakashi stiffened. Then, very, very slowly, he shifted his balance, falling off-guard. Chakra uncoiled, settling. The sentries didn't relax.

"With all due respect," he said, glaring and furious, "I consider your decision a sign of gross mental instability, and suggest you try a little of your own therapy." Broad hands wrapped around his forearms tightened further, holding them pinned to his side. Kakashi's teeth sank into his lower lip, hidden under his mask. "But we don't always get what we want."

"No," said Akayama quietly. "We don't." She signalled the sentries again.

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The hands on Genma's arms tightened, and for a wild, pulse-pounding moment, Genma fought them. Not the sentries, really, and not the woman from Intel. Not even Kakashi. He'd just been pushed so far past his limits that when those hands shifted to a restraining, rather than supportive hold, he reacted with the instinct ANBU had trained into him. Arms restrained, upper body threatened, he had to rely on his legs. The man on his left was slightly farther back, the one on the right a better target for a kick. Genma wrenched violently to his left, putting all his weight on his broken ankle. Even with the splint in place, it gave way. There was a sick sound of bone grating against bone, a harsh cry from Genma, shouts from the sentries...

Even if he'd had a solid ankle to stand on, and had been able to attempt that kick, he'd never have succeeded. Combative, exhausted ANBU were nothing new to the sentries. They immobilized him completely with a combination of jutsu and shear physical force. Caught him when he sagged between them, fierce eyes losing their focus as pain and defeat took over.

He heard the Intel woman sigh as if she were disappointed. "He'll need another visit to the medics before you take him to psych," he heard her say, and knew she meant him. Kakashi was still there, glaring at him like a caged tiger Genma remembered having been taken to see as a child. Could see what looked like triumph twist the mouth hidden behind that black cloth mask, as Kakashi watched him. His muscles were like water, unresponsive and flaccid under the jutsu the sentries had used on him. He had nothing left to fight with. The pain in his ankle was sharp enough to bring the nausea back, choking him. Completing his humiliation. He gagged and swallowed and didn't look at Kakashi anymore.

There were still ghosts in the room. Three of them. A woman who had been an ANBU captain. Who had been beautiful and intelligent and had a quirky sense of humor. A man who'd liked salted dried fish with his beer and danced better than you might think such a big guy could. And a dog, tall and long-legged, with a deep chest and a high waist, and paws too big for him, because big as he was he hadn't reached his full size yet. Two dead ninja. Three ghosts. And two shattered survivors.

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