| [Jun. 3rd, 2009|11:11 pm] |
"It's jackASS," Ginta corrected in a whisper. He let the morphine carry him past caring. Past sensing. He'd asked for the drugs. Been weak, he heard his grandfather's voice. Weak like a woman. And he couldn't do anything about it but try to hold his body still while the clone ran, finally losing even that much control.
Kakashi calling him jackass. Him calling Kakashi genius. It had been... It had been something. His weakness. But everyone called Kakashi genius. He was one. Ryouma probably called him that now. Thoughts flitted past, as slippery as koi fry leaping out of the net before Ginta could see their markings.
Running, they were running. He was aware that his legs hurt terribly. Aware that he didn't care. That was the beauty of morphine, want it? You knew you were dreadfully injured but you didn't care. He dragged heavy eyes open to glance up at a masked clone face, then over to the real one.
Kakashi was looking at him. For a moment their eyes met, then Kakashi's gaze flinched away, and Ginta let himself slip under the red velvet veil of drugged exhaustion.
Some noise pulled him out. The feeling of halting. The clone looked down into his face, or maybe it was Kakashi. It was fully dark now. Slender trunks rose all around them, to disappear in a tangle of branches with tiny new leaves, high overhead.
The safehouse was hidden in those branches somewhere. It took chakra to reveal it, the right code. Ginta felt the world swaying under him, even at a standstill, but... No. Kakashi must have already cast the releasing jutsu. There was a dark shadow against the trunk, a heaviness where the safehouse was anchored.
Now they just had to climb up there. |
|