| [Jun. 5th, 2009|03:01 am] |
Ginta took a slow breath. He blinked focus into his eyes, taking in bandages and shadows. He raised a hand to his throat, touching the spot Kakashi had touched, feeling the memory of Kakashi's living chakra, not the steadily draining battery of the clone's.
"Hey."
He couldn't quite get his bearings. He knew everything that had happened. Everything. He had a sharply etched memory of Kakashi telling him to go to hell. He had every instant of his catastrophic mission, the almost miraculous appearance of Kakashi at the very last second, and their escape from the inferno. Tsuyako's death and burial. Everything.
But somehow here in silence and the gentle light of the lamp, he couldn't find his balance. Couldn't remember what to say. Or how to keep his guard up.
"You look better." His voice came out leaden and dry, like ash from last year's Obon offerings. Gravity clung to him, pinning him to the cot. What could he say? Thank you? Why the hell are you here? He licked at his dry, split lip and felt the burn on his cheek crease.
Burns. Back in Rain. Back in winter. Not at all the same.
"Didn't we already do this?" |
|