It took Kakashi a second to catch Ginta's meaning, and longer than that to find the mental twist that gave it sense. Their first mission together, back in Rain, when Ginta had suffered broken ribs, burned skin, and temporary blindness--because Kakashi hadn't moved fast enough. Old guilt turned over in his stomach, worn smooth with time like a riverbed stone.

Reason one of many why Ginta's throat had ended up with a handprint bruise in a hospital hallway. Why Kakashi had snarled and threatened and ignored the shard of ice biting between his ribs.

Come near me again, and it'll be worse.

He'd been right.

He'd been trying not to think about that.

Ginta's eyes tracked him, weary and unreadable. He looked older, new lines etched around his mouth, bracketing grey lips. Kakashi almost expected to see silver in his hair, but there was just a pinkish cast from washed-out blood. Blackness from soot.

And he had no idea what to say.

Finally, he touched his own chest. "Copy-cat. What's your excuse?"