| [Jun. 5th, 2009|03:21 am] |
There's still time, whispered a nasty little internal voice, the same one that kept track of reality; the likelihood of getting attacked again before they made it home. A muscle flickered in Kakashi's jaw.
"Good thing," he echoed flatly, and leaned sideways to check the feed of Ginta's IV. Fluids and antibiotics coursed steadily into weary veins, beating back dehydration and Ginta's low fever. After four hours in the safehouse, he looked much better than he had. Even the fever was good in its own way--his body was still fighting.
Kakashi settled back just as the clone made a small, pleased-with-itself noise and did something that made thin steel rattle. It was ladling rice and re-hydrated vegetables into field-issue collapsible food containers; he glanced back to find it digging spoons out of a drawer before it came over, food in hand and two bottles of what looked like isotonic sports drinks tucked under its arm.
Kakashi blinked. "Are those even in date?"
"Two months left on the lables," the clone said with satisfaction. "Someone stocked up recently."
It knelt, waiting patiently. Kakashi felt his stomach clench and growl, stirred by the scent of food, and looked at Ginta. "If I sit you up, can you feed yourself?" |
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